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John N. Felsher's Zany Adventures
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At the urging, or insistence, of my wife, I took my two boys, then aged
seven and five, fishing up a local river. Talk about your angling challenge!
I noticed my wife conveniently remembered she had “something important
to do,” like flipping the channels for old television reruns, and couldn’t
accompany us.
She hurriedly packed a big lunch and said, “I don’t mind if you go
fishing. In fact, you can stay ALL DAY. Here’s a big lunch so you won’t
have to come home, er come home early, I mean because I want you to get
as much quality fishing time with your children as possible. Have you
thought of making it an overnight trip? That way you can spend lots of time
with your boys. Too bad I can’t go. He he he. Now get going; time’s a
wasting as you always say. Just don’t get my babies wet. Daniel already
has a cold and I don’t want him to miss any school.”
With that, she threw the lunch and us outside, making a mad dash for
the remote control and sofa. Strange, I didn’t know the deadbolt made that
much noise when slammed shut, muffling out the maniacal laughter
emanating from behind the door.
The day started as a father-son outing, but soon Rocky, the
neighbor boy, joined the entourage. Funny, I don’t remember inviting him.
He just seemed to be in the truck when we pulled out of the yard. Maybe
the mothers plotted against me. He’s around the house so much anyway
that I’m going to try to claim him on my taxes next year.
At 10 years old, Rocky never fished before. What he lacked in
knowledge, he more than compensated in exuberance. Make that over
compensated.
At the marina, I bought a fortune in live minnows, crickets, worms and
other bait. After buying the bait, the boys informed me, “We don’t want to
fish with bait. We want to fish with lures.”
“Boys, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to fish with lures BEFORE I
spent a week’s pay on all that bait?”
“We want to keep the crickets and worms as pets,” they argued in
unison.
With the “pets” safely secured in the boat, I backed the trailer down
the launch. I said, “Rocky, you hold this line and keep the boat from drifting
off. The river current could take it out to sea.”
Backing down the ramp, I noticed in the mirror that the boat still firmly
rested on the trailer. “River must be really low today,” I thought, backing a
little farther. Still, the boat stayed put, not budging an inch. Mentally, I went
through a checklist. “Yes, I unhooked the tie-downs. Yes, I unhooked the
bow winch. Yes, I securely put in the plugs. Must just be heavy with all that
bait and lunch,” I thought.
I backed a bit farther. By now, the submerged truck tailpipe bubbled
for relief. The water nearly reached the taillights as the remaining concrete
at the end of the ramp became scarce. I had to investigate.
Exiting the truck into two feet of water, the problem became instantly
apparent. Rocky, following instructions to the letter, strained like Hercules
against the taut bowline. With his feet planted as if battling a colossal tug-o-
war opponent, he kept the boat resolutely wedged against the trailer.
“Rocky! What are you doing?” I asked incredulously.
“I’m just doing what you told me, Mr. John. I’m not letting the boat get
away. I got it, but I’m losing traction and running out of rope. I can’t hold on
much longer,” he said.
“Rocky, maybe I didn’t make myself perfectly clear. Boats do
something special. They FLOAT! The point of backing a boat into the
water is so that it will float OFF the trailer. It’s much easier to travel on the
river that way without dragging the trailer. When I said don’t let the boat
float away, I meant to hold it at the dock – AFTER it floated off the trailer –
when I go park the truck.”
Once Rocky released his grip, it bobbed up. With little additional
trouble, we headed upstream. With a bank note of bait swimming in the
livewell, the boys tossed lures – occasionally without tying them on
securely. I admit, they did pretty well casting. Nothing bit the lures, but at
least they didn’t snag any flesh, namely mine! Rarely do we return without
someone shedding blood, usually me, by day’s end.
“I’m hungry and thirsty,” said my 5-year-old son, Steven. Where’s the
food Mama made?”
Danny, you were in charge of the lunch and drinks. Where did you
put it?” I asked my then 7-year-old son as he scrutinized the bait.
“In the truck.”
“Where is it now, Son?”
“In the truck.”
“IN THE TRUCK! That’s miles downriver!”
“Great, Danny, now we will starve out here. I can’t fish ‘cause I’m
bored and hungry. It’s all your fault, Daddy,” Stevie informed us.
“My fault! Why is it my fault?”
“Because it’s your boat.”
Preparing to fetch lunch, I made the biggest catch of the day. I
caught a 17-foot boat with the outboard motor prop. One of my children
grew bored from a lack of action and decided to toss the bowline over the
side in hopes of catching a whale. When I cranked the outboard, the prop
sucked up the floating rope with an ominous CLUNK! I attempted to
untangle the mass of nylon by leaning precariously over the transom while
hanging on with just my toes.
“Look, Guys. If we rock the boat, Daddy’s head goes underwater. Isn’
t that cool!” Danny said. Through watery ears, I faintly detected hideous
giggling in the background.
Finally, I managed to cut the line and crank the outboard. However,
the motor refused to do more than idle, making a long, slow ride back to the
marina. On the way, Danny studied the local flora and fauna with my prize
heirloom binoculars.
Eventually, we arrived at the marina well after dark. By now, a
pleasantly cool afternoon quickly turned into a frosty autumn night. This
time, I entrusted Daniel with boat rope responsibility.
“Daniel, I wrapped the stub of the bowline to the dock. Just stay here
and hold the end of the rope while I back down the truck. Don’t move and
especially don’t go near the water. It’s getting cold and your mother will kill
me if you get wet, “ I warned, apparently not making myself clear again.
Seconds later, I heard a loud splash and looked around to see
Daniel walking -- make that sloshing -- up the boat ramp.
“What happened?” I asked incredulously!
“IIIIII wwwwanted to ssseeeee how llllong the rope wwwwas and fell off
the dddock,” he whispered through chattering teeth.
“You walked backward sideways on the narrow dock instead of along
the length of the dock? Why?”
“IIII ffffforgot tttthere was a rrrriver there,” he chattered.
“YOU FORGOT THERE WAS A RIVER THERE! Let me get this
straight. We’ve been riding in a boat on the river all day long. You were
holding one end of a rope with the other end tied to a large, white boat
floating about two feet in front of you while you were standing on a narrow
dock surrounded on three sides by water and you forgot there was a river
there!”
“UUUUhuhhh. OOOOne other thing, DDDDaddy. Are your
bbbbbinoculars wwwwaterproof?
“No, they are not. Water will ruin them. Why?”
“Uh, nnnnever mmmmind. Here, Stevie, you can hhhhold the
bbbbinoculars now,” he said.
seven and five, fishing up a local river. Talk about your angling challenge!
I noticed my wife conveniently remembered she had “something important
to do,” like flipping the channels for old television reruns, and couldn’t
accompany us.
She hurriedly packed a big lunch and said, “I don’t mind if you go
fishing. In fact, you can stay ALL DAY. Here’s a big lunch so you won’t
have to come home, er come home early, I mean because I want you to get
as much quality fishing time with your children as possible. Have you
thought of making it an overnight trip? That way you can spend lots of time
with your boys. Too bad I can’t go. He he he. Now get going; time’s a
wasting as you always say. Just don’t get my babies wet. Daniel already
has a cold and I don’t want him to miss any school.”
With that, she threw the lunch and us outside, making a mad dash for
the remote control and sofa. Strange, I didn’t know the deadbolt made that
much noise when slammed shut, muffling out the maniacal laughter
emanating from behind the door.
The day started as a father-son outing, but soon Rocky, the
neighbor boy, joined the entourage. Funny, I don’t remember inviting him.
He just seemed to be in the truck when we pulled out of the yard. Maybe
the mothers plotted against me. He’s around the house so much anyway
that I’m going to try to claim him on my taxes next year.
At 10 years old, Rocky never fished before. What he lacked in
knowledge, he more than compensated in exuberance. Make that over
compensated.
At the marina, I bought a fortune in live minnows, crickets, worms and
other bait. After buying the bait, the boys informed me, “We don’t want to
fish with bait. We want to fish with lures.”
“Boys, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to fish with lures BEFORE I
spent a week’s pay on all that bait?”
“We want to keep the crickets and worms as pets,” they argued in
unison.
With the “pets” safely secured in the boat, I backed the trailer down
the launch. I said, “Rocky, you hold this line and keep the boat from drifting
off. The river current could take it out to sea.”
Backing down the ramp, I noticed in the mirror that the boat still firmly
rested on the trailer. “River must be really low today,” I thought, backing a
little farther. Still, the boat stayed put, not budging an inch. Mentally, I went
through a checklist. “Yes, I unhooked the tie-downs. Yes, I unhooked the
bow winch. Yes, I securely put in the plugs. Must just be heavy with all that
bait and lunch,” I thought.
I backed a bit farther. By now, the submerged truck tailpipe bubbled
for relief. The water nearly reached the taillights as the remaining concrete
at the end of the ramp became scarce. I had to investigate.
Exiting the truck into two feet of water, the problem became instantly
apparent. Rocky, following instructions to the letter, strained like Hercules
against the taut bowline. With his feet planted as if battling a colossal tug-o-
war opponent, he kept the boat resolutely wedged against the trailer.
“Rocky! What are you doing?” I asked incredulously.
“I’m just doing what you told me, Mr. John. I’m not letting the boat get
away. I got it, but I’m losing traction and running out of rope. I can’t hold on
much longer,” he said.
“Rocky, maybe I didn’t make myself perfectly clear. Boats do
something special. They FLOAT! The point of backing a boat into the
water is so that it will float OFF the trailer. It’s much easier to travel on the
river that way without dragging the trailer. When I said don’t let the boat
float away, I meant to hold it at the dock – AFTER it floated off the trailer –
when I go park the truck.”
Once Rocky released his grip, it bobbed up. With little additional
trouble, we headed upstream. With a bank note of bait swimming in the
livewell, the boys tossed lures – occasionally without tying them on
securely. I admit, they did pretty well casting. Nothing bit the lures, but at
least they didn’t snag any flesh, namely mine! Rarely do we return without
someone shedding blood, usually me, by day’s end.
“I’m hungry and thirsty,” said my 5-year-old son, Steven. Where’s the
food Mama made?”
Danny, you were in charge of the lunch and drinks. Where did you
put it?” I asked my then 7-year-old son as he scrutinized the bait.
“In the truck.”
“Where is it now, Son?”
“In the truck.”
“IN THE TRUCK! That’s miles downriver!”
“Great, Danny, now we will starve out here. I can’t fish ‘cause I’m
bored and hungry. It’s all your fault, Daddy,” Stevie informed us.
“My fault! Why is it my fault?”
“Because it’s your boat.”
Preparing to fetch lunch, I made the biggest catch of the day. I
caught a 17-foot boat with the outboard motor prop. One of my children
grew bored from a lack of action and decided to toss the bowline over the
side in hopes of catching a whale. When I cranked the outboard, the prop
sucked up the floating rope with an ominous CLUNK! I attempted to
untangle the mass of nylon by leaning precariously over the transom while
hanging on with just my toes.
“Look, Guys. If we rock the boat, Daddy’s head goes underwater. Isn’
t that cool!” Danny said. Through watery ears, I faintly detected hideous
giggling in the background.
Finally, I managed to cut the line and crank the outboard. However,
the motor refused to do more than idle, making a long, slow ride back to the
marina. On the way, Danny studied the local flora and fauna with my prize
heirloom binoculars.
Eventually, we arrived at the marina well after dark. By now, a
pleasantly cool afternoon quickly turned into a frosty autumn night. This
time, I entrusted Daniel with boat rope responsibility.
“Daniel, I wrapped the stub of the bowline to the dock. Just stay here
and hold the end of the rope while I back down the truck. Don’t move and
especially don’t go near the water. It’s getting cold and your mother will kill
me if you get wet, “ I warned, apparently not making myself clear again.
Seconds later, I heard a loud splash and looked around to see
Daniel walking -- make that sloshing -- up the boat ramp.
“What happened?” I asked incredulously!
“IIIIII wwwwanted to ssseeeee how llllong the rope wwwwas and fell off
the dddock,” he whispered through chattering teeth.
“You walked backward sideways on the narrow dock instead of along
the length of the dock? Why?”
“IIII ffffforgot tttthere was a rrrriver there,” he chattered.
“YOU FORGOT THERE WAS A RIVER THERE! Let me get this
straight. We’ve been riding in a boat on the river all day long. You were
holding one end of a rope with the other end tied to a large, white boat
floating about two feet in front of you while you were standing on a narrow
dock surrounded on three sides by water and you forgot there was a river
there!”
“UUUUhuhhh. OOOOne other thing, DDDDaddy. Are your
bbbbbinoculars wwwwaterproof?
“No, they are not. Water will ruin them. Why?”
“Uh, nnnnever mmmmind. Here, Stevie, you can hhhhold the
bbbbinoculars now,” he said.
"Look how Daddy's head bobs
underwater when the boat shakes
underwater when the boat shakes