Opinion

We should have taken the hint

Thursday, June 15, 2006

After last weekend, I've come to the conclusion that boating may not be on my list of favorite things to do.

I guess it started out OK. We went out to pick up the boat where it was being stored and we actually got the trailer loaded onto the hitch on Brad's pick-up. We got our new license plate put on, and I got online and registered the boat. We were basically ready to go, but we thought we should take it home first, make sure it started and make sure the prop was spinning the way it should be.

We got it home without it falling off the trailer-- but that's about the only thing that went right. When we got it home, the trailer lights weren't working, the license plate was missing, and one of the tires had split wide open.

We should have taken the hint.

Once we got everything fixed -- except finding the license plate, we hit the road, on our way to spending the day catching walleye and wipers and white bass. We got the boat to the lake with no problem. We got the boat started with no problem. We pulled away from the dock at about five miles an hour, Brad adjusted the throttle in order to speed away to his favorite fishing hole, the engine roared, and the prop spun uselessly in the water.

We spent the next half hour trolling slowly to Brad's favorite fishing spot. On the way Jeremy caught a six-inch white bass.

We trolled around in the cove for the next two hours, Jeremy caught another six-inch fish -- and that was that.

We continued trolling slowly around the perimeter of the lake until we reached the dock. It was nearly 7 p.m. I was hot, disappointed and mostly disgusted with a boat that could barely make it above five miles an hour.

Jer spent that evening and part of the next morning working on the propeller. We decided to try it again. This time a little closer to home, at Hugh Butler Lake.

Things went a little better. We didn't lose anything on the way to the lake. That's where our luck ended.

We got the boat in the water, pulled away from the dock and kicked the throttle up -- we were flying at 25 miles per hour, for at least two minutes. Then the repair job Jeremy had been working on for the last two days gave out and we were back to trolling at about five miles an hour.

Finally we decided to shut the engine off and drift for a while. And drift we did. Right over to the bank, on the west side of the lake, across from the dock. Nothing was biting. I was getting hot and tired, it was time to go home.

Brad turned the key a few times and it was obvious the engine needed primed.

Jer pumped the gas primer ball, and it split in half. We were dead in the water. Jer tried his best to re-rig the gas line with some success. We were able to get out of the current that kept carrying us back to the west shore of the lake and into the current that would carry us east. Then the engine died its final death and we were about 50 feet closer to the dock -- with another 250 feet to go.

I was still hot. I was still tired. I still wanted to go home. Out of frustration, I took my long sleeved shirt off and handed it to Brad. I took the cash out of my pocket, put on a life jacket and jumped off the bow. I wasn't looking forward to pulling the boat across the lake and probably could have gotten it another 50 feet, but I didn't have to -- Brad and Jer dug out the oars and started rowing, which got us another 150 feet or so. I swam along the side of the boat -- there was no way I was getting back in that boat.

In the end, a young man came along on his personal watercraft and towed us the rest of the way in. I clung to the back of the boat while he zoomed us into the dock. It's probably the closest to skiing I'll ever get, especially if we keep our present boat.

I'd like to thank the young man who bailed us out of our little ordeal. If he hadn't, I'd be a giant prune by now.

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