Ever Had One of Those Days?
February 15, 2001
Ever have one of those days? You know, the ones that make you wish you had just stayed in bed. Well, I had one on Monday. After a day of steelhead fishing, I returned to the parking lot where I left my rig, only to find my truck on blocks and my front tire and rim stolen. To make matters worse, it was raining and all I had been thinking about for the previous couple hours was how good a hot shower and a nap were going to feel. And that was just the beginning of the bad news — I was without my spare AND my boat was still 5 miles downriver. Luckily, the Fontaine crew from Auburn had been fishing with me that day and were nice enough to guard the boat for over an hour (thanks guys!) while I arranged for a tow and another vehicle to hitch the trailer up to.
I ended up wasting the rest of that day and half the next finding a matching rim and getting a new tire and, in the process, forked over exactly $246.27. My insurance deductible? Yup, you guessed it — $250. Geez, it would have been easier just to write the thieves a check for a new tire and rim! Would have saved a lot of time.
While I was hanging around the tire shop for a couple hours and trying not to go completely nuts, I got to thinking back on some past days when luck just didn’t feel like it was on my side. We’ve all had ‘em…here are a few of mine:
Some of my worst fishing misadventures were compliments of a Force outboard motor I used to own. That damn thing blew up on me three times — and never in a convenient location. Ever have an outboard die on you at the boat ramp? Didn’t think so. How about in the driveway at home when you hooked up the hose to the lower unit and did a little test start? Never!
Anyway, the first time the ol’ Force crapped out on me was at Bullards Bar Reservoir. We’d been having a grand time catching kokanee and when we limited out early, I decided to make a run way up the river arm to fish for trout. Of course, the engine died about as far away from the Dark Day boat ramp as possible. Since it was a new motor at the time, I wasn’t too worried about having a back-up source of propulsion — a fact that was all-too evident when my partner and I began taking long turns paddling (against the rain and wind, of course) with a 4-foot plastic raft oar that was actually designed for one of those little one-man rubber ducky style boats.
After much trial and error, we found that the most efficient way to paddle a 15-foot Westcoaster Widebody with such an instrument was to straddle the bow and make alternating strokes on the port and starboard sides. A guy was good for about 25 minutes of this until he needed a rest. The lucky mariner who was on break got the added benefit of being able to seek refuge from the elements under the canvas top. While Randy was up on the bow, taking his turn as beast of burden, I flipped on the fishfinder and noticed a dense school of fish about 85 feet down. As quietly as I could, I lowered a downrigger to 80 feet, figuring I might as well do a little fishing while I had the time. When it was a few minutes to the shift change, I quickly cranked up the 10-pound ball and big string of flashers from the depths — I didn’t want my compadre to know that I was making his job tougher by dragging all that unnecessary junk around behind the boat. Then, I climbed up into the paddler’s seat and took my turn. After nearly half an hour of difficult paddling, I called to Randy to have him come spell me. When he didn’t answer, I went aft and found him asleep with both downriggers in the water!
Camp Far West Reservoir, three months later: I had a friend out with me and we were going to spend the night on the boat chasing stripers and crappie. Well, as soon as we had motored up to the submerged trees in the Rock Creek arm, the Force blew again and we were dead in the water. This time, I had a pair of real paddles on board and we started the long process of heading back across the lake. Well, with the help of a (rare) favorable wind, we made very good time and reached the boat ramp area about 2 a.m. Since the gate was locked for the night, we tied the boat to a tree and sacked out. When the sun came up, we realized that we were actually about 3/4 of a mile away from where we though we were and the wind had shifted around and was blowing against us. The night had been very dark and, with the wind, we got blown quite a bit of track. Hey, at least we didn’t think we were in the Indies!
Sorry, a little 1492 humor for ya there. Of course, there was also the time when I invited my wife (then girlfriend) on a rafting/fishing trip down the Mad River. Being from L.A., it was her first such experience and I didn’t completely explain the routine. We parked her car at one spot along the river and then she hopped in with me and we drove my truck to the put-in 5 miles upriver. We spent a leisurely day drifting down the river and when we arrived at the take-out, I asked her to bring the car over so I could load the raft into the trunk.
“But I left my keys in your truck…”
Uh, yea, forgot to mention that one little, teensy-weensy, minor detail to her prior to departure…oh, well, I just slung the raft over my shoulder and we spent the rest of the afternoon hiking back up to the truck. Funny how things go — had a fishing buddy pulled the same stunt, I would still, 10 years after the fact, be giving him a serious ration of grief. A cute girl, on the other hand…
When my sister-in-law did the very same thing to me a couple summers ago, I had only myself to blame. Been there, done that! And with nary an angry word, I started hiking back upstream to the truck again…
Of course, there was also the “unmentionable” salmon season that one of my best fishing buddies, Rob Bonner, and I experienced many moons ago. We swore we’d never, ever utter a word about that year again, but I’m happy to report that my weekly therapy sessions have been working and I’m ready to talk about it. For some unfathomable reason, we were absolutely jinxed that year and everything that could possibly go wrong did…the Murphy Brothers go fishing.
One painful memory I have that is representative of that entire season was of us trolling the lower river and getting skunked (again) when a guy pulls up right next to us in a dumpy little boat. He’s got all the wrong tackle and very obviously doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. We were having such a downer season that I could almost see what was going to happen before it did. His stupid little lure wasn’t in the water 2 minutes before a suicidal salmon slammed into it. The fight lasted about 3 times as long as it should have because the clown didn’t even know that his drag was too lose — or how to adjust it for that matter. He got the fish in the boat and put that damn lure in the water again…BAM! You know the rest of the story: joker limits out in half an hour, we go fishless yet another day. Well, not exactly fishless — We looked so hapless late that afternoon that an elderly gentleman in another boat felt sorry enough for us that he offered us one of the many salmon he’d taken that day. I’m not sure what felt worse — him offering the fish or us taking it!
Phew! I feel much better now, having gotten all those bad days off my chest. I am happy to report, however, the good days far outnumber the bad. So, if you find yourself having one of those days, keep in mind that the good ones should be just around the corner.
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