06-26-2009, 04:55 AM
Tuesday evening my little bride of 43 years shocked me by inquiring “Can we go fishing tomorrow?
She got deadly seasick in 1976 while I was fishing in a sailfish tournament in San Carlos, Mexico. After she puked for five hours and had zero left inside her, even the bile was gone, I relented and took her back to the dock. She was so sick and dehydrated the hotel called a doctor from Hermossillo treat her. Now she pukes when she sees a picture of a boat in a magazine and has never asked since. I wouldn’t say this anti -boat thing bothers me, I’m indifferent to the whole thing. It’s been my observation when ever women are aboard they need to find a toilet every half hour. Something about all that water going by them, I suppose.
After I picked myself off the floor and recovered from the shock, I told her we would go to strawberry with the coming of the dawn. Late into the night I toiled making the fishing boat ‘Pez Vela’ spotless and seaworthy. I couldn’t let my little bride see the boat in anything less than perfect condition even though I expected to see her deck covered in nasty vomit.
Six, seven and eight o’clock passed as I paced the driveway waiting for her to ‘put on her face and do her hair’. Hell, I’ve been married to her for nearly a half century and have seen her without make up plenty of times. It don’t even scare me anymore!
We had lost so much time I decided to go up Sheep creek and skip Daniel's. I realized I had made a mistake when on the steepest part of the grade I encountered a huge herd of cows, all making a mad dash up the middle of the road. At least half of them were galloping with their tails fully erect and depositing their runny processed lunch in the road way. I didn’t pay much attention to their doings rather my whole being was searching for a path throught the milling herd. My head was bobbing around like the small OBama dolls that adorn the back windows of freedom loving democrat’s cars all across this great land.
I finally got through and a half hour later we arrived at Renegade boat ramp. I knew something was up when I was greeted by a bevy of old codgers like myself with placards and signs of protests held high. It seems as though the forest service or someother faceless bureaucrats that knows nothing about fishing or anything else outdoorsy had raised the launching fee to 7 bucks. Man, were those boys hostile. One of them even toilet papered the cash box!
The morning was rapidly slipping away so I didn’t get into the politics at hand, rather I put seven hundred pennies in the envelope. moved the protesters TP out of the way and paid my fee.
As I turned to return to the truck I was shocked to see my boat had changed colors on the way up. Instead of the beautiful gloss black and brilliant white, my boat was now green! At first I didn’t think it was by boat and truck but my little bride was in the cab of the truck pinching her nose. I might not have recognized the boat but I knew her, that much was for sure.
When I got within 25 yards of the boat I about puked. My beautiful boat smelled like a Wisconsin dairy barn. Tears fell down my face.
Finally I decided to Cowboy up and make the best of it. I had come a long way and by damn I was going to fish even out of a green boat!
I couln’t get the old girl out of the truck to help me launch so I did it my self. I tied a rope to the bow and held in through the window as I backed up. I was going about 20 miles an hour as I hit the water and slammed on the brake. The truck stopped and the boat kept going and the rope ripped through my hand like a chain saw I jumped out of the truck and ran to the water submerging my smoking hand in the cold water. I was pleased with my self for putting out the fire on my hand until I realized that I was standing in water up to my neck and my cigarettes were floating away and the boat had finally stopped about a quarter of a mile from the dock. Since I was already wet I just did the back stroke until my head crashed into the side of the boat. I had taken off the ladder and cxouln’t drag my fat ass in the boat for the longest of time, but finally made it onboard and headed back in. The old girl was unimpressed by me saving the boat as were the thirty or so spectators that stood on the dock making numerous observations as to my sanity.
It was a good thing the crowd had gathered as it took 7 or 8 of the strongest of them to get my bride aboard. I didn’t know the little gal had so much strength. Five of them and me couldn’t get the job done.
I had to blindfold her with an old sweat shirt to get her calmed down. I thought she was afraid of getting seasick, but that wasn’t it at all. It was the thick coat of cow manure that coated the inside of the boat. She didn’t want no part of that! She insisted that I wash the deck with water from the lake bucketed up with a folgers can and sloshed on the deck. This worked OK until the bilge pump clogged up from cow dung.
Finally I got the boat part way cleaned and we turned our attention to the fishing. Renegade is a great place to troll and I can generally get a fish or two there. The only thing that was handy was a pair of Lucky craft lures. Even though they are more precious than gold, I put them on and started trolling across the bay. Five minutes hadn’t passed when the rod on the port side (that’s the drivers side for you landlubbers) bent double. Line was screaming out of the reel as I threw the boat into neutral. There was an audible snap and the line went slack. A 16 buck lure swan off in the jaw of a big, big fish. I started to cry.
What happened? the little one asked.
“Mumble, mumble grumble,” was all I could reply. She didn’t say any more cause she knows what that means.
Ten minutes later we were trolling again.t he next strike was as hard as a bulldogs bite and I thought for sure I was going to lose another gold plated Lucky Craft, but I managed to get the fish to the boat and netted it. It tangled itself in the net. I got the hooks out of the 3 pound rainbow and released it, but the lure was hopelessly tangled. Ten minutes later I gave up trying to get the hooks free and cut the lure out leaving a big hole in my brand new net.
The next few hours passed almost uneventfully. I managed five fat fish that were quickly released either intentionally or when they escaped through the gaping hole in the net
I had enough of cutthroats and rainbows and decided to pursue kokanee. We finally found the fish in 115’ of water at the east end of the narrows. I rigged a RMT set up with a small squid and dropped the Downriggers ball to 100’ and then got preoccupied with building a second rig. I was at the back of the boat when I heard that terrifying scream of the steel line being ripped from the Downriggers. A glance at the sonar showed 50’ of depth. I screamed for the bride to put the boat in neutral. Then for one horrible second as I heard the throttle grind and roar as it was thrown forward, I realized I should have shown her how the controls work. There was a horrific ripping sound as the Downriggers strained and then finally tore loose. I grabbed it for a second, but couldn’t release the clutch. I bid it goodbye as my fingernail tore lose and joined the rigger on its journey to the bottom of the lake.
I got the boat stopped and just set there biting my
. “Why honey, there is blood coming out of your mouth,” She observed. Tears were coming down my face joining the blood at my chin and spilling all over my new fathers day fishing’ shirt. I forced a 
and headed back to the ramp. I was quiet on the way home watching for a cow. If I would have found one I would have killed it with a fillet knife, but there were none in sight and it’s just as well.
Now I realize this report is a little lengthy. Perhaps I should have just said. “ Went to strawberry. Took the wife. Caught 5 fish. Nice day!
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She got deadly seasick in 1976 while I was fishing in a sailfish tournament in San Carlos, Mexico. After she puked for five hours and had zero left inside her, even the bile was gone, I relented and took her back to the dock. She was so sick and dehydrated the hotel called a doctor from Hermossillo treat her. Now she pukes when she sees a picture of a boat in a magazine and has never asked since. I wouldn’t say this anti -boat thing bothers me, I’m indifferent to the whole thing. It’s been my observation when ever women are aboard they need to find a toilet every half hour. Something about all that water going by them, I suppose.
After I picked myself off the floor and recovered from the shock, I told her we would go to strawberry with the coming of the dawn. Late into the night I toiled making the fishing boat ‘Pez Vela’ spotless and seaworthy. I couldn’t let my little bride see the boat in anything less than perfect condition even though I expected to see her deck covered in nasty vomit.
Six, seven and eight o’clock passed as I paced the driveway waiting for her to ‘put on her face and do her hair’. Hell, I’ve been married to her for nearly a half century and have seen her without make up plenty of times. It don’t even scare me anymore!
We had lost so much time I decided to go up Sheep creek and skip Daniel's. I realized I had made a mistake when on the steepest part of the grade I encountered a huge herd of cows, all making a mad dash up the middle of the road. At least half of them were galloping with their tails fully erect and depositing their runny processed lunch in the road way. I didn’t pay much attention to their doings rather my whole being was searching for a path throught the milling herd. My head was bobbing around like the small OBama dolls that adorn the back windows of freedom loving democrat’s cars all across this great land.
I finally got through and a half hour later we arrived at Renegade boat ramp. I knew something was up when I was greeted by a bevy of old codgers like myself with placards and signs of protests held high. It seems as though the forest service or someother faceless bureaucrats that knows nothing about fishing or anything else outdoorsy had raised the launching fee to 7 bucks. Man, were those boys hostile. One of them even toilet papered the cash box!
The morning was rapidly slipping away so I didn’t get into the politics at hand, rather I put seven hundred pennies in the envelope. moved the protesters TP out of the way and paid my fee.
As I turned to return to the truck I was shocked to see my boat had changed colors on the way up. Instead of the beautiful gloss black and brilliant white, my boat was now green! At first I didn’t think it was by boat and truck but my little bride was in the cab of the truck pinching her nose. I might not have recognized the boat but I knew her, that much was for sure.
When I got within 25 yards of the boat I about puked. My beautiful boat smelled like a Wisconsin dairy barn. Tears fell down my face.
Finally I decided to Cowboy up and make the best of it. I had come a long way and by damn I was going to fish even out of a green boat!
I couln’t get the old girl out of the truck to help me launch so I did it my self. I tied a rope to the bow and held in through the window as I backed up. I was going about 20 miles an hour as I hit the water and slammed on the brake. The truck stopped and the boat kept going and the rope ripped through my hand like a chain saw I jumped out of the truck and ran to the water submerging my smoking hand in the cold water. I was pleased with my self for putting out the fire on my hand until I realized that I was standing in water up to my neck and my cigarettes were floating away and the boat had finally stopped about a quarter of a mile from the dock. Since I was already wet I just did the back stroke until my head crashed into the side of the boat. I had taken off the ladder and cxouln’t drag my fat ass in the boat for the longest of time, but finally made it onboard and headed back in. The old girl was unimpressed by me saving the boat as were the thirty or so spectators that stood on the dock making numerous observations as to my sanity.
It was a good thing the crowd had gathered as it took 7 or 8 of the strongest of them to get my bride aboard. I didn’t know the little gal had so much strength. Five of them and me couldn’t get the job done.
I had to blindfold her with an old sweat shirt to get her calmed down. I thought she was afraid of getting seasick, but that wasn’t it at all. It was the thick coat of cow manure that coated the inside of the boat. She didn’t want no part of that! She insisted that I wash the deck with water from the lake bucketed up with a folgers can and sloshed on the deck. This worked OK until the bilge pump clogged up from cow dung.
Finally I got the boat part way cleaned and we turned our attention to the fishing. Renegade is a great place to troll and I can generally get a fish or two there. The only thing that was handy was a pair of Lucky craft lures. Even though they are more precious than gold, I put them on and started trolling across the bay. Five minutes hadn’t passed when the rod on the port side (that’s the drivers side for you landlubbers) bent double. Line was screaming out of the reel as I threw the boat into neutral. There was an audible snap and the line went slack. A 16 buck lure swan off in the jaw of a big, big fish. I started to cry.
What happened? the little one asked.
“Mumble, mumble grumble,” was all I could reply. She didn’t say any more cause she knows what that means.
Ten minutes later we were trolling again.t he next strike was as hard as a bulldogs bite and I thought for sure I was going to lose another gold plated Lucky Craft, but I managed to get the fish to the boat and netted it. It tangled itself in the net. I got the hooks out of the 3 pound rainbow and released it, but the lure was hopelessly tangled. Ten minutes later I gave up trying to get the hooks free and cut the lure out leaving a big hole in my brand new net.
The next few hours passed almost uneventfully. I managed five fat fish that were quickly released either intentionally or when they escaped through the gaping hole in the net
I had enough of cutthroats and rainbows and decided to pursue kokanee. We finally found the fish in 115’ of water at the east end of the narrows. I rigged a RMT set up with a small squid and dropped the Downriggers ball to 100’ and then got preoccupied with building a second rig. I was at the back of the boat when I heard that terrifying scream of the steel line being ripped from the Downriggers. A glance at the sonar showed 50’ of depth. I screamed for the bride to put the boat in neutral. Then for one horrible second as I heard the throttle grind and roar as it was thrown forward, I realized I should have shown her how the controls work. There was a horrific ripping sound as the Downriggers strained and then finally tore loose. I grabbed it for a second, but couldn’t release the clutch. I bid it goodbye as my fingernail tore lose and joined the rigger on its journey to the bottom of the lake.
I got the boat stopped and just set there biting my
. “Why honey, there is blood coming out of your mouth,” She observed. Tears were coming down my face joining the blood at my chin and spilling all over my new fathers day fishing’ shirt. I forced a and headed back to the ramp. I was quiet on the way home watching for a cow. If I would have found one I would have killed it with a fillet knife, but there were none in sight and it’s just as well.Now I realize this report is a little lengthy. Perhaps I should have just said. “ Went to strawberry. Took the wife. Caught 5 fish. Nice day!
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