Fishing Fiasco

Our first family fishing trip was such a smashing success, we scheduled a second one not long thereafter.

We arose at a similarly insane time, loaded the kids, rods, bait, etc. in the truck and took off for the fishing hole.  This time, our gracious host Mr. D was not available to go with us, but he let us venture up to the tank on our own. 

The sun was up, a nice breeze was coming off the water, and we unloaded the truck.  El Hubbo got the boat motor and worked on attaching it to the boat.  I unloaded the “stuff” and ushered the kids into the boat.  Just before we got ready to untie and push off, I asked El Hubbo, “Should we take one of the paddles, just in case?”  He looked at me and rolled his eyes and shook his head no.  Trusting the fearless family leader, I dropped the subject.

He navigated us out to the middle of the pond, and we got out the poles and baited them up.  Fifteen minutes later, Jake had snagged his line in underwater brush, and Darin prepared to motor us closer to untangle the line. 

“Um, I think the battery is dead.”  Yep, that was El Hubbo.  I slowly turned around and gave him my best “I told you so” look.  He had the good sense to lower his head and look appropriately abashed.  You gotta love a man who can take his chastisement when he knows he deserves it. 

So, now what were we to do?  I told him I’d be happy to tie the boat’s rope around his waist, and he could pull us along while he swam for the dock.  He didn’t like that suggestion.  We were reduced to hand-paddling our way back. 

Hand-paddling is not the most efficient means for moving a boat from point A to point B.  Especially with two wiggling, screaming kids in the boat.  We zigged, and we zagged, but eventually we made it back to the dock with only minimal mumblings by each of us about the less desirable characteristics of our spouse.

The next challenge was for one of the boating novices to get out of the boat and jump to the dock.  I was elected for that duty.  I stood up, prepared to jump, and the boat moved back farther from the dock.  I have never been adept at the splits, and this time was no exception.  I managed to not go in the water, but in the ensuing ugly gymnastic demonstration, I did manage to take a chunk out of my heel.    

Safely on the dock, I tell Jake to throw me the line.  Any hopes that he might be a future roping champion were immediately dashed.  The boat moved farther back out on the water and now Darin was left stranded by himself with the two kids.  The thought crossed my mind that I should get in the truck and go, but if Darin and the kids survived and tracked me down, it might not be pleasant.  Oh, that and he had the keys.

So, I scrambled down to the bank and managed to slog through the mud where I could reach the rope and pull my family back to safety.  Instead of “Yay for Mama!”  or “Our hero, Mama!” chants, I received the following response:  “Can we eat lunch?”  Why, yes, family, you are welcome.  I didn’t mind risking life and limb to save your sorry hineys.

The rest of the day was spent fishing from the bank.  Jake and Daddy turned fishing into a competition with each of them claiming victory.  Daddy thought the fact he caught two fish made him the winner, but Jake argued that his one fish was bigger than Daddy’s two fish put together.  As Mama was elected judge, and as Mama was still mad at Daddy for his total disregard of her suggestion to take a paddle on the boat, Mama declared Jake the winner.

At the end of the day, we loaded up and took the two tired, but happy babies home.  I was mostly over the forgotten paddle incident, but did mentally file that one away for future use.