Over the years, I have been very well known for being an expert fish and wildlife repellent. I have the uncanny ability to send aquatic life and woodland creatures racing to distant waters and woods. I also have the ability to send anglers and hunters scattering upon the mere sight of me. In short I'm terrible at most things that involve feeding the family by means other than the local supermarket. It's a talent like no other.
I do however, like to take my little boat out and try to catch a few fish once in a while. The story of how I came to own the little boat is of superior story quality.
Years ago, Jeff, my brother-in-law, and I engaged in many fishing expeditions. I am happy to report that at that time I did enjoy modest success in landing a few fish. During those years, we worked with a young fellow who claimed that he was apparently put on this Earth to pull any and all fish from whatever body of water he happened upon at any particular day. "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of listening to him lie constantly about his fishing prowess. We need to go with him one day and show him how it's done," Jeff said, while simultaneously chewing on a bite of tuna salad. We were situated on the tailgate of his truck and hadn't had much luck that particular day.
"I agree. I don't know anyone who has that kind of luck! He's lying his butt off and I'm sick of it too!" I said, as I stabbed another Vienna Sausage with my plastic fork. "We need to go with him one day!"
The next day, I called our lying friend and suggested we get together for a float trip on the Shenandoah River. "Sure! Is your boat river worthy?" he asked, as if we were novices of some sort.
"Oh course it's river worthy! It's a pontoon boat and we've hauled in many a fish from it! We'll see you in the morning." With that I hung up and started making plans.
We arrived at the boat landing to find our truth stretching friend waiting impatiently for us. "Thought you'd never get here. Or maybe you chickened out," he said, as Jeff wheeled the truck around to unload our boat. Immediately, our friend ambled over to the truck and studied our craft. "It's square," he said blankly. An obnoxious smile crept across his face.
"It's not a square, you twit! It's a rectangle!" Jeff replied in somewhat of a irritated tone.
"Naw, it's a square alright. You can't fish off a square. At least you can't fish with me off a square boat."
I took a hard look at our sarcastic buddy's vessel, trying to imagine what could posses him to make fun of our craft. "I suppose you think that contraption you've got there is better than our sq... ah, rectangle!" I barked. His canoe was sitting on the boat ramp, outfitted with a bolted in lounge chair, two pieces of pipe for holding his fishing rods, and a cooler overflowing with beer. "That's the sorriest looking piece of crap I've ever laid eyes on!" I continued.
"Yeah," Jeff chimed in. Yeah? I briefly felt that he could of come up with something a bit more forceful, but at least we were a unified front.
Our boastful friend continued to stare at our rectangle boat, and drew a long gulp of his beer. "Whatever."
We launched our little pontoon boat away from the shore and immediately were passed by the humongous canoe our friend piloted. "He doesn't even have a trolling motor!" Jeff said, as he guided us down the river. We shared a good laugh and floated carelessly into the current, which caused our boat to briefly spin in circles.
We immediately began to catch fish. In fact we caught lots of fish. Our friend did not appear to be having much luck. "I knew he was full of crap. He's had too much beer to even see straight, much less catch anything!" I said, as I reeled yet another small mouth bass into the boat.
"Yeah, I'm glad I'm not in that canoe. Whoever heard of fishing from a canoe while perched on a lounge chair anyway?" Jeff added, while operating the trolling motor with expert skill.
We noticed that our friend and his gigantic canoe had turned into a mere dot on the river and we guessed that he was embarrassed by his lack of fishing skill, or the river was flowing much faster where he was. "He's embarrassed," I said, "I would be too," I continued.
"He's standing up shouting something at us," Jeff said. "I can't quite make out what he's saying though." We craned our heads to the side and attempted to understand what was being shouted at us to no avail.
"You know, the current seems to be picking up a bit. I've got the motor in reverse and it's still pulling us, anchor and all," came the report from the rear of our little boat.
"I think you're right. Heck, just pull up the anchor and we'll just glide on down to calmer waters. By the way, why is he standing on the shore?" I asked. We could see that both the canoe and our tipsy friend were on dry land and he was frantically waving his arms in the air shouting yet again.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" I asked, while turning around to look at Jeff. I have never seen the look that he gave me since that day. His expression was a cross between someone who'd just witnessed the Hindenburg explode and someone who'd just seen bigfoot. He remained silent and pointed down river.
"Uh oh," I said. The river twisted to the right and bottle necked into a raging, angry, monster. The roar was deafening. By the time we realized what was about to transpire, it was simply too late. White, bubbling water crashed over boulders in the middle of the river, and the roar of the rapids drowned out our screams. Our buddy watched from the safety of the shore as we shot past him like a two idiots who'd been blasted out of the end of a cannon.
As if the raging river and the boulders weren't enough of a concern, I spied a rather large log jutting out from the bank and into the river. We were headed straight for the log.
Until that day, I had always wondered what astronauts felt like before liftoff. The water had directed our boat onto the log and thus causing the rear of the craft to be submerged in the bubbling, swirling torrent. As a result, the front of the boat raised up causing it to stand end on end. For a brief second, my back was perfectly parallel to the Earth. "We're going down!" Jeff yelled. I appreciated him pointing out the obvious. Tackle boxes were launched into the air, fishing poles were jettisoned with mad fury. Suddenly, and very much like the Titanic, the pitiful boat flipped and landed upside down. Coolers and life jackets, dotted the river. Soda cans floated aimlessly downstream. Our arrogant and hysterical buddy stood on the shore doubled over with laughter. Jeff and I crawled to shore. Amazingly, our hats, although soaked, remained on our heads.
"Told you that you can't fish from a square boat! Oh this is great!" our friend bellowed. "I tried to warn you, but nooooo, don't listen to me!" he continued. He had indeed tried to warn us with all of his yelling and arm waving, but it was of little help.
We swam to calmer waters and retrieved the boat, and salvaged what other equipment we could, but most of our gear was then one with the river. We rode home in silence, and saturated clothes, embarrassed, but happy that we had survived. Our friend and his canoe floated carelessly to the boat ramp without incident.
I now own that little sq.. ah, rectangle boat. Jeff decided that maybe it deserved another home after such a traumatic wreck. I have been out on that little boat many times over the years, but have never attempted that stretch of the Shenandoah River again, but maybe one day I will. Surely, my son would love to know just how an astronaut feels in the moment before liftoff.
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