The Boat…Section 4
Well, the pain didn't go away, but neither did the other problem that was floating, barely, in front of me. I decided that I could sit there on the side of the lake crying from the bashed toes and cuss at the whole situation or get the boat back on it's feet (or keel, in this case) and do the crying when I got home. I put the pain on the back burner and started charting out my next course of action.
It appeared that if I could somehow manage to pull the rear of the boat around to the left; with the extra rope I "rescued", tie it to another tree, which, I saw jutting out of the side of the bank, then I would just need to pull the rope at the front, tie it off, and do the same in the rear. HAW! Needless to say, that didn't work. It took what seemed like an hour just manuvering the boat around so I could get the rear of the boat in a position that even made it possible to tie it off to the tree. When I finally did it, all I could do was lean back against the dirt, shale, and sharp little rocks and try to catch my breath. After about three or four minutes of resting, I started tugging on the rope.
Pulling a boat full of water up a steep embankment with a rope wrapped around a tree is just about as stupid as it sounds. However, I was on a mission and I could not be thwarted.
I pulled and strained and tugged and lifted. I wrapped the rope around my hand then around my waist trying to find that leverage I needed to make it move. Just an inch and I would have felt victory. Nothing, not even a whisker. I let up and stared at the boat. I had managed to tip it to its side a little, but not nearly enough to accomplish anything except to give birth to an idea.
I don't really need to get the entire boat out of the water I thought, just enough that I can pull the plug in the rear of the boat and let the water drain out.
It sounded like a good idea, but the boat was facing in the wrong direction. While the plug is at the aft, its at one side and it just so happened that in this case, the manufacturer of this boat, who ever the hell he was, put the drain hole on the other side. So, my only alternative was to turn the boat around. Sounds easy...NOT!
I had to scale the side of the embankment and untie the rope holding the rear of the boat in place. That done, I let the rope go. When I did this, there must have been a quick jerk on the rope in the front, because I immediately heard a snap. I twirled around just in time to see the broken rope sliding down the side of the rocks and watched the boat drifting away from the shore.
NOT AGAIN! I yelled, then dove into the water. I quickly found the length of the broken rope and with it securely wrapped around my wrist I moved it back toward the shore. This time however, I turned it around with the aft and the stern facing in the opposite directions. I needed to address the problem of the broken rope, because I still needed to tie up both ends, and I needed two ropes to do this. After a quick examination of the boats mooring rope, I could see that it was frayed and lacked any kind of stability, especially if I was going to use the rope with any amount of pressure. Now what?
At almost that same moment, my eyes caught sight of the anchor. I had this heavy anchor sitting in the boat that was tied to the side of the boat with a nice yellow nylon rope. Perfect, I thought, that rope is just what I needed.
Now, before we go any further, let me explain this anchor. You most likely thought as you read the part about an anchor sitting in the boat secured with a nylon rope, that I could have used this anchor and/or rope to my advantage several times already. OR, you may be wondering why I didn't remove the "heavy" anchor from the boat when I was trying to lug it up the side of a hill. My answer to you is simply this...where were you when I really needed this input!
I finally got the anchor untied and placed on the side of the lake between the rocks and was amazed at how much lighter the boat felt. Dah!
I fastened the extra rope to the front of the boat and quickly made my way around to the other end holding the boat in place with my hands as I went. I tied off the rear of the boat in some brushes that were barely even visible in all the tangled vines and undergrowth next to the shore. I started around the front of the boat swimming and bobbing as I went. I was reminded that my wallet was still neatly stuck in my back pocket and my cell phone was still securely attached to my belt. Oh well, I wanted a different phone, anyway.
With the rope that was tied to the front of the boat wrapped around my waist, I started the climb up to the tree that moments earlier tethered the other end of the boat. This seemed much harder to do than what I thought it should have been, but after a few little mishaps, I finally got the boat tied to the tree. While I was there, I decided to try and lift as much of the front of the boat up the embankment as possible. I kept reminding myself that I didn't need to pull the boat completely out of the water, just enough so the drain plug could be utilized.
With a couple of rocks stratigically jutting out in the right spots, I was somehow able to move the boat a few inches in the right direction. I felt bouyed up. I love it when a plan comes together.
I slid down the embankment to the rocks and started toward the rear of the boat which was still barely floating in the reeds and undergrowth. I was almost there when all of a sudden the slippery rocks got the best of me again. Down I went! Everything went black.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
The Boat...Chapter 3
As I sat there on the rocks working on a plan as to how to get out of this mess, I knew that before I tried anything, I had to get the motors out of the boat. The trolling motor shouldn't be too much trouble, I thought. So, I decided to fetch that one first. One thing I had failed to consider was the fact that when I swam out to the aft of the boat, there was no bottom to the lake. As I wrote earlier, the "shore" went out about two or three feet, then the floor of the lake dropped off into oblivion.
When I reached the back of the boat and finding no bottom to stand on, I knew that I was not going to have any leverage to lift the motors out of the back of the boat once I got them loose. I undid the holding screws of the trolling motor and found that even without touching the bottom the task of lifting the motor over the edge of the boat was not as difficult as I had assumed.
With motor in hand I swam back to the shore and deposited it on the shore behind some rocks. This was when I broke my first toe. When I placed the motor on some rocks, thinking it would hold, I was suddenly caught off guard when the semi heavy motor slipped unexpectedly, and slid down the face of the rocks. I was able to catch the motor before it slipped into the lake, but not until after the shale had caused some other larger rocks to slide as well...one of them slamming into my toe next to the pinky on my right foot. I didn't realize I had broken it until I went to the doctor the next day because of some other injuries received later that day. She asked me if "that" toe, pointing to the injured toe that somehow had become quite swollen, hurt.
Even though I didn't know the toe was broken, I did know it hurt, but there was nothing I could do about that situation, when I had this Herculean task ahead of me. How was I to get the Mercury engine out of the boat knowing I could not stand on the bottom? And, if by chance, I did get the thing out of the boat, how was I supposed to get it to the shore? I envisioned the motor dragging me to the bottom like the battery when it plummeted to the floor of the green murky deep.
OK, I thought. I can sit here and rationalize all day, but that does not solve the problem. I made my way out to the rear of the boat and started unloosening the bolts. Eventually, I was able to move the engine up and down the side of the craft. I pulled myself up the side of the boat as high as I could get and tried lifting the engine enough so the bolt ends would clear the lip of the boat. It didn't work. I just could not get the leverage I needed. I tried again, and failed again. I tried over and over without success. I finally stopped this course of action as I was starting to ask myself if I was starting to go a little crazy seeing as how I was doing the same thing over and over and getting the same results. I held on to the side of the boat and tried to come up with a different plan.
I needed a strong tree limb that I could put at one corner of the rear of the boat and place the other end of the limb on my shoulder. That would give me a "cheater stick" of sorts and a little leverage to push the motor bolts up over the edge. I figured I could rest the motor housing on the side of the boat long enough to get around behind it to "catch" it as it slid into the water..."CATCH IT?" Had I lost my mind? But, I didn't see any other way.
I found the shore again and started looking for a strong stick. When I found the only thing I thought strong enough to work, I made my way back into the lake. With stick strategically and securely lodged in the right place, I "pushed" with everything I had...SNAP!" It broke.
I was not to be beaten, damn it! I pulled myself up on the lip of the rear of the boat grabbed the housing of the motor and from somewhere I found the strength and the leverage to actually lift the motor. Soon, it cleared the rim and the housing rested on the edge. Holding it in place, I eased back into the water ready to let the motor slide down the edge of the boat.
"Please God! Don't let it drag me to my cold slimy grave."
In order to balance this monster, I held onto the motor's lift handle with one hand and steadied the descent with my other hand holding onto the rail of the boat. When the motor was completely submerged, I realized that as long as I held onto the side of the boat, I would not sink with the motor. I also realized that with the motor dangling from my left hand, the task of "swimming" to the shore was going to be impossible, so I started inching my hand along the side of the boat, moving towards the bank of the river at a snail's pace. This process took close to 30 minutes, I think, but my feet finally touched a rock. My heart leaped with relief.
I made my way to the lake's edge, Merc in tow, and tried lifting it up onto the rocks. What folly, I had no strength left. Nevertheless, I couldn't stand there holding onto that motor until next Thursday.
I decided that if I could find the muscles to lift the thing out of the boat, I could certainly find the muscles to put it on the shore. So, I took a big breath, huffed and puffed and lifted. I got the thing up far enough, or so I thought, to rest on a couple of boulders. Just before I placed it on the rocks, my feet flew out from under me because of the green slime on the shale I was standing on. I tumbled to the ground; motor banging onto the rocks, knees slamming down in the rocks, feet sliding out from under me. Then...pain! Pain shooting up my leg from my feet. Of course, I let go of the motor and thank heavens it didn't move as it was snuggled down between a couple of rocks. I rolled over on my back and grabbed my left foot. When I raised it out of the water, I saw a rather odd looking toe formation.
My middle toe on my left foot was unceremoniously sitting jaggedly on top of the toe next to the big toe.
I sat there holding onto my left thigh and rocked back and forth, hoping the pain would just go away.
When I reached the back of the boat and finding no bottom to stand on, I knew that I was not going to have any leverage to lift the motors out of the back of the boat once I got them loose. I undid the holding screws of the trolling motor and found that even without touching the bottom the task of lifting the motor over the edge of the boat was not as difficult as I had assumed.
With motor in hand I swam back to the shore and deposited it on the shore behind some rocks. This was when I broke my first toe. When I placed the motor on some rocks, thinking it would hold, I was suddenly caught off guard when the semi heavy motor slipped unexpectedly, and slid down the face of the rocks. I was able to catch the motor before it slipped into the lake, but not until after the shale had caused some other larger rocks to slide as well...one of them slamming into my toe next to the pinky on my right foot. I didn't realize I had broken it until I went to the doctor the next day because of some other injuries received later that day. She asked me if "that" toe, pointing to the injured toe that somehow had become quite swollen, hurt.
Even though I didn't know the toe was broken, I did know it hurt, but there was nothing I could do about that situation, when I had this Herculean task ahead of me. How was I to get the Mercury engine out of the boat knowing I could not stand on the bottom? And, if by chance, I did get the thing out of the boat, how was I supposed to get it to the shore? I envisioned the motor dragging me to the bottom like the battery when it plummeted to the floor of the green murky deep.
OK, I thought. I can sit here and rationalize all day, but that does not solve the problem. I made my way out to the rear of the boat and started unloosening the bolts. Eventually, I was able to move the engine up and down the side of the craft. I pulled myself up the side of the boat as high as I could get and tried lifting the engine enough so the bolt ends would clear the lip of the boat. It didn't work. I just could not get the leverage I needed. I tried again, and failed again. I tried over and over without success. I finally stopped this course of action as I was starting to ask myself if I was starting to go a little crazy seeing as how I was doing the same thing over and over and getting the same results. I held on to the side of the boat and tried to come up with a different plan.
I needed a strong tree limb that I could put at one corner of the rear of the boat and place the other end of the limb on my shoulder. That would give me a "cheater stick" of sorts and a little leverage to push the motor bolts up over the edge. I figured I could rest the motor housing on the side of the boat long enough to get around behind it to "catch" it as it slid into the water..."CATCH IT?" Had I lost my mind? But, I didn't see any other way.
I found the shore again and started looking for a strong stick. When I found the only thing I thought strong enough to work, I made my way back into the lake. With stick strategically and securely lodged in the right place, I "pushed" with everything I had...SNAP!" It broke.
I was not to be beaten, damn it! I pulled myself up on the lip of the rear of the boat grabbed the housing of the motor and from somewhere I found the strength and the leverage to actually lift the motor. Soon, it cleared the rim and the housing rested on the edge. Holding it in place, I eased back into the water ready to let the motor slide down the edge of the boat.
"Please God! Don't let it drag me to my cold slimy grave."
In order to balance this monster, I held onto the motor's lift handle with one hand and steadied the descent with my other hand holding onto the rail of the boat. When the motor was completely submerged, I realized that as long as I held onto the side of the boat, I would not sink with the motor. I also realized that with the motor dangling from my left hand, the task of "swimming" to the shore was going to be impossible, so I started inching my hand along the side of the boat, moving towards the bank of the river at a snail's pace. This process took close to 30 minutes, I think, but my feet finally touched a rock. My heart leaped with relief.
I made my way to the lake's edge, Merc in tow, and tried lifting it up onto the rocks. What folly, I had no strength left. Nevertheless, I couldn't stand there holding onto that motor until next Thursday.
I decided that if I could find the muscles to lift the thing out of the boat, I could certainly find the muscles to put it on the shore. So, I took a big breath, huffed and puffed and lifted. I got the thing up far enough, or so I thought, to rest on a couple of boulders. Just before I placed it on the rocks, my feet flew out from under me because of the green slime on the shale I was standing on. I tumbled to the ground; motor banging onto the rocks, knees slamming down in the rocks, feet sliding out from under me. Then...pain! Pain shooting up my leg from my feet. Of course, I let go of the motor and thank heavens it didn't move as it was snuggled down between a couple of rocks. I rolled over on my back and grabbed my left foot. When I raised it out of the water, I saw a rather odd looking toe formation.
My middle toe on my left foot was unceremoniously sitting jaggedly on top of the toe next to the big toe.
I sat there holding onto my left thigh and rocked back and forth, hoping the pain would just go away.
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Boat...Chapter 2
I was so tired after my little "swim", it was all I could do just to raise my head. But, I had to take a moment to assess where I was and what my next move was going to be. That was when I saw something else that was quite disturbing. There in front of me was most of the contents of the boat, or at least the stuff that could float, moving with the current down the lake and toward an underpass type structure. I could see my tackle box, which contained every piece of fishing accessory I could imagine. There were four fishing rods and reels, one of the seats to the boat, and my blue lunch box that has seen me through thick and thin over the past umpteen years.
I quickly took the boat rope that was secured to the stern and wrapped it around a rock and dove back into the water. I reached the fishing poles first, well at least three of them, I never could find the fourth. I held them in my left hand and started for the my tackle box, which looked to be about 20 feet away. When I finally reached the box and tried pulling it up out of the water, I was immediately reminded that the top of the box had been open when the boat went down. As a result, I saved the tackle box...but there was nothing left inside except a small round container with a few swivels in it and a couple of packages of hooks; No sinkers, no lures, no floats, no knives or pliers, so forth and so on.
I eventually made it back to the rocks and threw the salvaged items on the bank. My blue lunch box, which contained a brand new, unopened box of worms, was quickly fading off under the bridge. Everything else was gone.
I dragged myself back to the rocks and plopped my backside down on the edge. I had to rest for just a minute or two.
Finally, someone to help, I thought, as I heard an approaching boat. I wasn't sure what they could do, but at least I will have some company and another brain or two to figure this all out. Not to be! Two fishermen putted right by me about 50 yards of shore. When I realized they were not going to stop, I stood and hollered at them and waved. Nothing. I figured with their boat motor running they probably didn't hear my cries and because I was nestled back up underneath a lot of trees and over hang, they didn't see me wave, either. OK, I thought, back to my own devices.
I decided I had rested long enough, that this dilemma was not going to correct itself by staring at it. It was easy to surmise that I was not going to be successful at any level until I got the water out of the boat and it became floatable again. And, I knew that the only way I could do that was to tip the boat up on one side far enough that the water would escape over its edge. Sounds easy enough, I thought.
I found a pretty sturdy looking tree with a trunk about 4 inches thick just five or six feet up the slope of the shore. I started my climb and after sliding down the edge a dozen or so times, I finally was able to wrap my arm around the trunk to keep from slipping back down to the bottom. I wrapped the rope around the base of the tree and started pulling with every ounce of strength I could muster. The boat inched over to the side, but not even slightly did it move UP the side as I had hoped, thinking I could pull the front of the boat up on it's side and then move towards the back and tip that end of the boat so the water would pour out. I decided that even a 12' aluminum boat is extremely heavy when it's full of water.
I left the front of the boat moored to the tree trunk and moved back down to the water to reassess. That's when I realized that if I was ever going to get the boat tipped to it's side, I was going to have to remove the two motors (the little trolling motor and the 6 HP Mercury) and get them off the boat. But, how on earth was I going to do that?
I quickly took the boat rope that was secured to the stern and wrapped it around a rock and dove back into the water. I reached the fishing poles first, well at least three of them, I never could find the fourth. I held them in my left hand and started for the my tackle box, which looked to be about 20 feet away. When I finally reached the box and tried pulling it up out of the water, I was immediately reminded that the top of the box had been open when the boat went down. As a result, I saved the tackle box...but there was nothing left inside except a small round container with a few swivels in it and a couple of packages of hooks; No sinkers, no lures, no floats, no knives or pliers, so forth and so on.
I eventually made it back to the rocks and threw the salvaged items on the bank. My blue lunch box, which contained a brand new, unopened box of worms, was quickly fading off under the bridge. Everything else was gone.
I dragged myself back to the rocks and plopped my backside down on the edge. I had to rest for just a minute or two.
Finally, someone to help, I thought, as I heard an approaching boat. I wasn't sure what they could do, but at least I will have some company and another brain or two to figure this all out. Not to be! Two fishermen putted right by me about 50 yards of shore. When I realized they were not going to stop, I stood and hollered at them and waved. Nothing. I figured with their boat motor running they probably didn't hear my cries and because I was nestled back up underneath a lot of trees and over hang, they didn't see me wave, either. OK, I thought, back to my own devices.
I decided I had rested long enough, that this dilemma was not going to correct itself by staring at it. It was easy to surmise that I was not going to be successful at any level until I got the water out of the boat and it became floatable again. And, I knew that the only way I could do that was to tip the boat up on one side far enough that the water would escape over its edge. Sounds easy enough, I thought.
I found a pretty sturdy looking tree with a trunk about 4 inches thick just five or six feet up the slope of the shore. I started my climb and after sliding down the edge a dozen or so times, I finally was able to wrap my arm around the trunk to keep from slipping back down to the bottom. I wrapped the rope around the base of the tree and started pulling with every ounce of strength I could muster. The boat inched over to the side, but not even slightly did it move UP the side as I had hoped, thinking I could pull the front of the boat up on it's side and then move towards the back and tip that end of the boat so the water would pour out. I decided that even a 12' aluminum boat is extremely heavy when it's full of water.
I left the front of the boat moored to the tree trunk and moved back down to the water to reassess. That's when I realized that if I was ever going to get the boat tipped to it's side, I was going to have to remove the two motors (the little trolling motor and the 6 HP Mercury) and get them off the boat. But, how on earth was I going to do that?
Sunday, June 26, 2011
My wife, Sarah, told me that in time, the story will be funny. But, right now, she told me, it was too painful. She was right, of course. However, a week or so has gone by, and I think I can write about it. It is kind of a long story, and you know me, I can make reporting the Dodger/Giant baseball score into a half hour story. So, I hope you don’t get bored and can find it interesting and funny…well, a little funny.
One of the things a guy is supposed to do when he retires is fish, or at least the old retiree stories seemed to involve fishing more times than not. So, contrary to what I said on my last blog, I decided to take up this ancient sport of drowning worms. Much to my surprise, I kind of liked it. And, I really started liking it when I caught something. Then, I really, really started liking it when my neighbor took me to the lake and we went out in his little fishing boat.
I’ve got to get me a fishing boat, I said to Sarah. Fishing from the bank allowed me to catch little crappie about the size of my palm. After I filleted the crappie and cooked them, it looked more like popcorn shrimp than fish. So, I watched Craig’s list and EBay daily looking for that one unbelievable deal. Well, I finally found it. A little 12’ aluminum number with a trolling motor and a Mercury 6 HP engine (doesn’t work, needs a new carburetor kit installed) It has two swivel seats and an anchor and a trailer.
I took Sarah out fishing, Aidan out fishing, Christian out fishing and one of my bus driving friends out fishing. Then, I decided that it was time for just me and the boat to get acquainted. The boys were with their Dad up in New Hampshire for a couple of weeks. Sarah was off to work and I was hooking up the trailer to the pickup with my sights set on Chilhowee Lake.
I found the “perfect” place just up past the dam. I launched the boat from the dock and shoved off to find that pool of fish. Everything was going pretty good. I caught a small crappie and threw it back, then a little baby trout, and threw him back. I decided that I was fishing too close to the shore and moved the boat further out towards the middle and the deeper part of the lake. Finally, I reeled in a nice pan size rainbow, then another. I soon hooked into a crappie that was large enough to actually look like a filleted fish when cleaned. With three fish worth keeping “safely” tucked away in my little Styrofoam ice chest, I hooked into “the monster of the midway.” My reel started spinning backwards (something that never happens when I hook into one of those bite size Crappies.) With much patience and reeling, I finally got the trout into the boat. It was a beauty; about 15 or 16 inches long and very heavy. Of course, nothing goes perfect. The guy jumped off the hook and landed at my feet and then slid under the seat in the back. THE SEAT IN THE BACK! That information alone, might give you a hint of what was to come. When I got to where I wanted to fish, instead of switching to the middle seat to balance the weight in the boat, I stayed in the seat at the rear so it would be easier to operate the trolling motor. I started grabbing for that big trout and he kept eluding my grasp and then disappeared. I grabbed for him on one side of the boat and then the other. Needless to say, the boat was jostling all over the lake. That was when I noticed the unusual amount of water at my feet.
“Hey! Where’s all this water coming from?” I said out loud as if someone was actually listening to me. My first thought was that the plug had somehow come loose and the boat was taking on water through the drain hole. When I spun around, I quickly learned that it wasn’t the plug hole at all…it was the backside of the boat. With all my bouncy movements looking for that stinking fish, I had somehow allowed large amounts of water inside the boat, and of course with each wave of water the boat sat lower and lower in the lake.
Within seconds, literally, after realizing I was in trouble, the boat submerged. I quickly jumped into the lake and then grabbed the front of the boat as it was rising higher and higher into the air. With the trolling motor battery on one side of the boat, and because of the weight of the battery, the boat started tipping in that direction. I didn’t know if an aluminum boat would actually sink all the way to the bottom, or not, but I didn’t want to experiment at that point. I held onto the front of the boat as best I could, trying to keep it from rolling over. The weight of the Mercury was to my advantage, but the strength of water with an attitude is hard to argue with. Finally, the boat rolled slowly back upright, and that was when I realized that the trolling motor battery was now on its way to the bottom of the lake. At least I still had the boat, even though the stern was stuck up in the front and the aft was buried in water.
I looked toward the shore wondering at the same time, what the hell was I supposed to do now? The assessment didn’t take long as I knew there was nothing I could do in the middle of the lake in water so deep there was no bottom. Afraid that the boat would actually sink if I let go, I started to swim with my legs and one arm and held the boat with the other arm. I looked at the shore and guessed that it was about a hundred yards away. It was now 10:00 AM.
I swam and swam, alternating hands as I became tired. After what seemed an eternity, the sight of the shore looked as far away as it did when I had started. But, I kept plugging away. I was thinking about all sorts of weird stuff as I splashed through the water. “I hope those stupid fish are happy now.” “If the battery was attached to the trolling motor, and the battery sank? Why didn’t the trolling motor sink?” “Are there fish large enough in this lake that could and would actually bite my feet?” “Once I get to the shore, what am I going to do then?” “I can’t wait for Sarah to hear about this one…ugh!”
Little by little, it appeared that the shore was getting closer and closer. When I got close enough, I started to scope out where a good place was to moor this half sunken tin can. (Technically, an aluminum can.) That task alone, was impossible. Anyone that knows anything about Chilhowee Lake knows that there is no “shore.” There are some rocks at the edge and then it drops off like a cliff into Morey Heaven.
My feet finally hit “solid” ground. I pulled myself to the rocky edge and hardly had room to sit, as the overgrowth of trees and shrubs were unrelenting.
It was now around 11:30 or so. I didn’t know for sure because I didn’t have a watch. I figured I could just keep track of the time with my telephone. Obviously, that was going to be impossible now.
I looked up momentarily and saw another disturbing sight…
To Be Continued…
The Boat
The Boat
My wife, Sarah, told me that in time, the story will be funny. But, right now she told me it was too painful. She was right, of course. However, a week or so has gone by, and I think I can write about it. It is kind of a long story, and you know me, I can make reporting the Dodger/Giant baseball score into a half hour story. So, I hope you don't get bored and can find it interesting and funny…well, a little funny.
One of the things a guy is supposed to do when he retires is fish, or at least the old retiree stories seemed to involve fishing more times than not. So, contrary to what I said on my last blog, I decided to take up this ancient sport of drowning worms. Much to my surprise, I kind of liked it. And, I really started liking it when I caught something. Then, I really, really started liking it when my neighbor took me to the lake and we went out in his little fishing boat.
I've got to get me a fishing boat, I said to Sarah. Fishing from the bank allowed me to catch little crappie about the size of my palm. After I filleted the crappie and cooked them, it looked more like popcorn shrimp than fish. So, I watched Craig's list and EBay daily looking for that one unbelievable deal. Well, I finally found it. A little 12' aluminum number with a trolling motor and a Mercury 6 HP engine (doesn't work, needs a new carburetor kit installed) It has two swivel seats and an anchor and a trailer.
I took Sarah out fishing, Aidan out fishing, Christian out fishing and one of my bus driving friends out fishing. Then, I decided that it was time for just me and the boat to get acquainted. The boys were with their Dad up in New Hampshire for a couple of weeks. Sarah was off to work and I was hooking up the trailer to the pickup with my sights set on Chilhowee Lake.
I found the "perfect" place just up past the dam. I launched the boat from the dock and shoved off to find that pool of fish. Everything was going pretty good. I caught a small crappie and threw it back, then a little baby trout, and threw him back. I decided that I was fishing too close to the shore and moved the boat further out towards the middle and the deeper part of the lake. Finally, I reeled in a nice pan size rainbow, then another. I soon hooked into a crappie that was large enough to actually look like a filleted fish when cleaned. With three fish worth keeping "safely" tucked away in my little Styrofoam ice chest, I hooked into "the monster of the midway." My reel started spinning backwards (something that never happens when I hook into one of those bite size Crappies.) With much patience and reeling, I finally got the trout into the boat. It was a beauty; about 15 or 16 inches long and very heavy. Of course, nothing goes perfect. The guy jumped off the hook and landed at my feet and then slid under the seat in the back. THE SEAT IN THE BACK! That information alone, might give you a hint of what was to come. When I got to where I wanted to fish, instead of switching to the middle seat to balance the weight in the boat, I stayed in the seat at the rear so it would be easier to operate the trolling motor. I started grabbing for that big trout and he kept eluding my grasp and then disappeared. I grabbed for him on one side of the boat and then the other. Needless to say, the boat was jostling all over the lake. That was when I noticed the unusual amount of water at my feet.
"Hey! Where's all this water coming from?" I said out loud as if someone was actually listening to me. My first thought was that the plug had somehow come loose and the boat was taking on water through the drain hole. When I spun around, I quickly learned that it wasn't the plug hole at all…it was the backside of the boat. With all my bouncy movements looking for that stinking fish, I had somehow allowed large amounts of water inside the boat, and of course with each wave of water the boat sat lower and lower in the water.
Within seconds, literally, after realizing I was in trouble, the boat submerged. I quickly jumped into the lake and then grabbed the front of the boat as it was rising higher and higher into the air. With the trolling motor battery on one side of the boat, and because of the weight of the battery, the boat started tipping in that direction. I didn't know if an aluminum boat would actually sink all the way to the bottom, or not, but I didn't want to experiment at that point. I held onto the front of the boat as best I could, trying to keep it from rolling over. The weight of the Mercury was to my advantage, but the strength of water with an attitude is hard to argue with. Finally, the boat rolled slowly back upright, and that was when I realized that the trolling motor battery was now on its way to the bottom of the lake. At least I still had the boat, even though the stern was stuck up in the front and the aft was buried in water.
I looked toward the shore wondering at the same time, what the hell was I supposed to do now? The assessment didn't take long as I knew there was nothing I could do in the middle of the lake in water so deep there was no bottom. Afraid that the boat would actually sink if I let go, I started to swim with my legs and one arm and held the boat with the other arm. I looked at the shore and guessed that it was about a hundred yards away. It was now 10:00 AM.
I swam and swam, alternating hands as I became tired. After what seemed an eternity, the sight of the shore looked as far away as it did when I had started. But, I kept plugging away. I was thinking about all sorts of weird stuff as I splashed through the water. "I hope those stupid fish are happy now." "If the battery was attached to the trolling motor, and the battery sank? Why didn't the trolling motor sink?" "Are there fish large enough in this lake that could and would actually bite my feet?" "Once I get to the shore, what am I going to do then?" "I can't wait for Sarah to hear about this one…ugh!"
Little by little, it appeared that the shore was getting closer and closer. When I got close enough, I started to scope out where a good place was to moor this half sunken tin can. (Technically, an aluminum can.) That task alone, was impossible. Anyone that knows anything about Chilhowee Lake knows that there is no "shore." There are some rocks at the edge and then it drops off like a cliff into Morey Heaven.
My feet finally hit "solid" ground. I pulled myself to the rocky edge and hardly had room to sit, as the overgrowth of trees and shrubs were unrelenting.
It was now around 11:30 or so. I didn't know for sure because I didn't have a watch. I figured I could just keep track of the time with my telephone. Obviously, that was going to be impossible now.
I looked up momentarily and saw another disturbing sight…
To Be Continued…
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Retired at Last
The day finally arrived and I turned 62. Unofficially the official retirement age. I took advantage of that arbitrary number and "cashed in". Of course, when the numbers all fell in place, I realised very quickly, that I was going to receive enough retirement money that would keep me quite comfortable in a cardboard box down under the Center Street Bridge. Nevertheless, I started doing what a lot of retirees do when they lay the work gloves down...they start looking for a job.
As a now retired education employee, the first thing I did was get on the list to substitute. I was actually called several times, but never knowing if you are going to work or not until 0'dark thirty in the morning, was getting hard to deal with.
I can remember as a school administrator, one of the most challenging tasks I dealt with was keeping an active, up to date substitute bus driver list. Sooo, seeing as how I have a Class A drivers license, I went through the steps to become a legal bus driver in the State of Tennessee. I was told by a local school bus provider, that beefing up his substitue list was just what he needed to do. I was successfully placed on the list. I actually drove a couple of times, but soon realised that the sub list must have not been very long. I was asked to drive a regular route, full time. So, I guess working each school day for 5 hours still qualifies as retired...kind of.
Anyway, at least I'm retired enough to...fish! Now I know those of you who may know me will be caught off guard when the words "Charlie" and "fishing" are mentioned in the same sentence. That assumption is probably based on the fact that I never really did much fishing as an adult...or as a kid for that matter. This is probably based on the fact that when I was at the "learning" age of my youth, when fathers would teach their children about the fine art of fishing and keeping them spellbound with exciting tales of the "big one that got away", I was busy doing something else. It was all based on the idea of what the true meaning of water signifies. When I was standing on the shore of the lake with my dad, watching him stick that little hook up the worms "you know what", and hypotised by the little bobbers bouncing delicately on the surface of the water, I quickly learned what a person does while at the lake, and it certainly was not watching a little red plastic doohicky floating in the water. Body of water...junp in and swim. Obviously, the two do not mix. Fishing and swimming in the same location is not the most ideal situation for either party. Thus, my "learning to fish" session was over.
At least until I turned 62...but that's the next story.
As a now retired education employee, the first thing I did was get on the list to substitute. I was actually called several times, but never knowing if you are going to work or not until 0'dark thirty in the morning, was getting hard to deal with.
I can remember as a school administrator, one of the most challenging tasks I dealt with was keeping an active, up to date substitute bus driver list. Sooo, seeing as how I have a Class A drivers license, I went through the steps to become a legal bus driver in the State of Tennessee. I was told by a local school bus provider, that beefing up his substitue list was just what he needed to do. I was successfully placed on the list. I actually drove a couple of times, but soon realised that the sub list must have not been very long. I was asked to drive a regular route, full time. So, I guess working each school day for 5 hours still qualifies as retired...kind of.
Anyway, at least I'm retired enough to...fish! Now I know those of you who may know me will be caught off guard when the words "Charlie" and "fishing" are mentioned in the same sentence. That assumption is probably based on the fact that I never really did much fishing as an adult...or as a kid for that matter. This is probably based on the fact that when I was at the "learning" age of my youth, when fathers would teach their children about the fine art of fishing and keeping them spellbound with exciting tales of the "big one that got away", I was busy doing something else. It was all based on the idea of what the true meaning of water signifies. When I was standing on the shore of the lake with my dad, watching him stick that little hook up the worms "you know what", and hypotised by the little bobbers bouncing delicately on the surface of the water, I quickly learned what a person does while at the lake, and it certainly was not watching a little red plastic doohicky floating in the water. Body of water...junp in and swim. Obviously, the two do not mix. Fishing and swimming in the same location is not the most ideal situation for either party. Thus, my "learning to fish" session was over.
At least until I turned 62...but that's the next story.
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