It's
well known to all women that men, behind the wheel of a car, are not
the best at navigating our streets and highways. When it comes to
swallowing our pride and asking others for directions, we become
dismally worse as we try to arrive at our destination without
assistance.
Our
endeavors fail even more remarkably when we attempt to maneuver a
watercraft on any body of water larger than a bathtub.
Shawnee
State Park, right here in Pennsylvania, was the scene of one such
example where a know-it-all man and his boat tactics resulted in
total chaos.
My
dad, my father-in-law, and I were on the lake fishing for bass one
summer's day. We were in my father-in-law's flat-bottom boat and I
was operating the electric motor located in the rear of the craft. I
should also mention that both of my fishing buddies were well into
their mid-to-late seventies at the time.
As
the sky turned gray, we heard the unmistakable sound of thunder in
the distance. I cranked up the electric outboard motor and navigated
quickly to the protective area under one of the bridges where I
assumed we would remain dry and still be able to continue our
fishing.
As
the self proclaimed skipper of the group, I was extremely proud that
I managed to not only get us there safely, but also succeeded in
anchoring our boat with a snug line that kept us almost motionless.
The concrete bridge abutments acted as a great wind barrier, too.
The
cloudburst commenced and before we knew it, we discovered that our
boat was positioned right beneath a large, six-inch diameter drain
pipe used to gather heavy flash rain runoff from the road above us.
Do
you have any idea just how much water can accumulate in a flat boat,
during a deluge, before the operator can get the motor started and
the anchor pulled from the bottom of a lake? I bet not.
Both
elderly fishermen were ferociously fighting to propel us out of
danger with the oars, but it did little good. The anchor was stuck
in the deep mud that plagues the depths of Shawnee. So the boat
continued to fill.
By
the grace of God, we managed to return to shore, but I have no idea
how we remained afloat. Or, should I say, partially afloat?
The
sun was shining brightly as we approached the dock with our liquid
cargo, and onlookers just stared at us as we unloaded our drenched
bodies and saturated gear. Do you have any idea, too, how heavy a
boat becomes when it's filled to the rim with water? Again, I bet
not.
Another
bass boat blunder...
The
next scenario took place at the same location a year later. This
time my dad was not with us, and my father-in-law suggested, then
demanded that he operate the motor. Obviously his vivid recollection
from the prior summer was enough of a reason to not want to chance
another maritime disaster.
I
was not the least bit upset concerning the mutiny that he mounted to
take me from the helm. I figured long before we arrived there that I
deserved the demotion to first mate.
We
completed our fishing for the day without mishaps and he ran the
craft head first onto the concrete slope that served as our dock.
Always
thinking ahead, I jumped out of the front of the boat and immediately
turned around and snatched the rope and gave a heave to get my half
of the boat out of the water. Now, had I known that my
father-in-law was going to stand up in the rear of the boat at
precisely the same time, I obviously would not have acted in such
great haste.
He
somehow pulled off an almost perfect backward somersault, in pike
position, in full fishing attire. It was truly an impressive site to
witness as he entered the water feet first, hardly making a splash.
He
emerged from the water even more quickly than he entered, drew his
wallet from his pants pocket and tossed it toward the dock. I ducked
at first, thinking he threw something at me in anger. He stood there
in thigh-deep water, totally soaked, while our gear and cooler
remained unscathed – but the best part was yet to happen.
As
he made his way up the hill toward the parking lot, he could barely
look my way. In fact, he could barely look anyone's way due to his
embarrassment.
A
witness to this blunder just so happened to be sitting in his truck
with his window down. He was waiting for his partner to come up the
same hill with some gear. He had a clear, close-up view of the
entire episode.
As
the spectator scrutinized the elderly fisherman in his drenched,
marsh-smelling attire, he asked with pity, “Is that your son with
you?”
“No,
he's my son-in law,” replied my father-in-law.
The
stranger then responded with a line that I will forever remember.
“I'd kick his a_ _ anyway.”
A
natural knack for kayaking...
You
might sail the seas for many years before you'd experience the many
miss-adventures that my poor wife had to endure after we purchased
kayaks about 12 years ago.
Despite
her pleas not to park our Jeep in the deep mud that bordered the
Raystown Branch of the Juniata River, I attempted to back our
trailer, carrying our kayaks, into the quagmire anyway. As if my
testosterone levels took complete control over my mind, I could not
resist my compulsion to show my wife that my manly boating skills
were as sharp as ever.
If
there's a silver lining in this story, it would have to be the fact
that we only had time to float about a half hour or so on this lovely
afternoon. Let's just say that my walk (in black, mud-covered
clothes) to a local garage, my call for a tow-truck (and subsequent
$75.00 bill), a lost paddle, two broken taillights on the trailer and
a broken mirror on the Jeep prevented us from enjoying an otherwise
great day.
When
we finally did arrive at home,we were both covered in filth, to such
an extent that we had to shower outside with a garden hose, and
remove all our clothing before we even entered the garage. Good
times, for sure!
Only
thinking of each other...
Naturally,
that incident referenced above resulted in a slightly more cautious
approach when it came time to plan our next adventure. But, thinking
that I really wanted to get back out on the water, my wife was
reluctant to not go along with my suggestion that we give it another
try.
I
admitted later that I was rather apprehensive about our plans too.
Maybe it was the threat of severe thunder storms on the Weather
Channel radar. In any event, I honestly thought my wife actually
semi-enjoyed our kayak activity a few weeks ago and I didn't want to
ruin any fun she might be expecting this time. We men are like that,
in that we have no idea what our spouses might enjoy and what they
more than likely fear.
The
first lightning strike hit close by as we arrived at the far
shoreline of the Wilmore Water Dam in Cambria County. The thunder
was as loud as anything we've ever heard, and the storm seemed to
stall right over our heads. As the tempest escalated, so did the
anxiety level of my first mate.
There
we were, sitting under our brightly colored, fluorescent orange
kayaks, (propped against a tree) trying to find shelter from the
storm. My wife prayed the entire time, while I wondered what our
kids might think if our electrocuted bodies were discovered later by
rescue personnel. I could vividly imagine their faces and their
conversation as they asked each other, “What were they thinking?”
As
soon as the deluge subsided a tad and the thunder became more
distant, we began paddling back across the dam toward the boat dock.
But another storm approached, and my wife set world rowing records
for getting back to the area where our auto and trailer were parked.
I
could not keep pace and I thought my defibrillator was going to
malfunction - if not from my exertion, then surely from the electric
ion field that surrounded me on the open water. She not only reached
the shore before I did, she had her craft dragged up the hill, placed
next to the trailer; and was sitting inside the Jeep before my kayak
reached land.
On
our way home, we had a tough time coming up with any reasonable
excuse for the two of us venturing out on the water - especially with
the threat of a violent thunderstorm clearly visible in the distant
sky. After much contemplation, we could only surmise that neither
one of us wanted to ruin the outing for the other. Needless to say,
since then, we have learned to scrutinize our thoughts more
carefully.
Frugality
to a fault...
As
a happily married man, I can honestly say that there's nothing I
would not do for my wife. But, if there's a chance to save a buck
while I bestow bliss her way, I won't pass that up either.
Such
was the case as I planned our next kayak excursion while Googling the
PA Fish and Boat Commission site online.
[A
side note – I have no clue as to how I persuaded my wife to go out
again in our boats, but I did.]
While
online, I was shocked to discover that the license and permit fees
were rather pricey. And, after our last float on open water, I
wasn't sure that we would use the kayaks again on state owned lakes
or parks.
When
I examined the bright yellow permit stickers on my computer screen, I
immediately remembered that we had some yellow construction paper in
our desk drawer. Before you could type out the word counterfeit, I
printed out two authentic-looking replicas of the state stickers and
had them laminated with plastic covers a short time later.
Honestly, they looked pretty good, even if I have to say so myself.
After
applying a little glue to fasten the fakes to the sides of our two
kayaks, we were on our way to once again enjoy the day on the water
with each other.
Needless
to say, my wife was not on board with any of my ideas relating to the
use of fake permits. And as much as I tried to reassure her that
nothing atrocious was going to take place, she remained steadfast
that this might not be such a great idea.
Upon
arrival, I offered to wade the water to launch my wife's kayak, while
she sat in the vessel with her paddle in hand. Then I followed her
out onto the dam, in my own kayak.
I
swear she was less than 10 feet from the dock, when I noticed that
her flashy, yellow permit with glossy black print was now floating on
the water's surface near her kayak.
Like
any skilled skipper and thoughtful husband, I utilized my inner-most
feelings as I directed her to get away from the shore as quickly as
she could. The chances of her being caught by a fish warden was less
if she was out in the middle of the lake. We males are quick to
think about things like that.
Swapping
kayaks with her never entered my mind. After all, my permit remained
fast on my kayak for the entire three and a half hours on the water.
I
doubt my wife's anxiety level escalated during this trip to the
height it did during the lightning storm excursion. Then again, I
can't say she truly enjoyed herself this time either.
We
were very fortunate, or should I say, she was very fortunate that no
wardens were patrolling the lake that day and we completed our outing
without further incident.
I
bet this won't surprise any of you, but we no longer own any kayaks.
The captain and his first mate are now both land lovers. So much so,
my wife refuses to even contemplate a cruise at anytime in the
future.