Gone Fishing

part two

This Saturday Story is a continuation of last week’s. To get the full context go back and read the Story from May 10th. Enjoy your weekend!

Then, Lewis, not one to worry about a thing like being rudderless at sea, picked up his rod and started casting.

“We might as well fish,” he said.

Harry and I couldn’t argue with that simple logic. We both picked up our rods, baited our lines, cast them into the lake, and contemplated our fate.

After a bit, we floated fairly close to the lake shore line, close enough that Lewis, having calculated the odds of success and survival, said, “Preacher, you’re going to have to jump in, get to the shore and pull us back to the ramp.”

I had a hard time arguing with his logic. After all, I couldn’t ask either of those men to do it. Just the fact that they were walking around was a miracle. The idea of them abandoning ship to pull a boat along a lake shore with a 30-something guy sitting in it was not going to happen. So, I took my wallet out and set it in the boat (I didn’t worry about my cell phone because we didn’t have such things to be concerned about back then, and if we did we probably would have just called someone for help. Which, as I think about it, is to our detriment today because we don’t have to solve as many problems like this for ourselves as we used to. We don’t have to know how to read a map, or find information in an encyclopedia, etc...but I digress).

Now, I’m not a swimmer. Never have been despite having taken swimming lessons several times over the years. I just never figured it out. Therefore, I made sure it was shallow enough that I could walk to the shore before I jumped in. But jump in I did. With rope in hand I made my way to the shore. Once there I began the long trek back toward the boat dock pulling on the rope that was tied to the boat in which Harry and Lewis sat.

The trip was slow. It wasn’t that it was hard to pull the boat. I wasn’t fighting against a contrary current, but I had to keep the boat from getting too close to the shore where it might get bogged down in sand or mud. It was pull a short distance, let it drift out for a bit...pull, drift...pull, drift.

One might think in such circumstances that elderly gentleman might feel somewhat sympathetic for the difficult plight of a fellow traveler like myself, the one who drew the short straw in this situation. But one would be wrong. Harry and Lewis both made the best of the situation and continued to fish as I drug them along the shores of the lake.

We finally made it back to shore. I pulled the boat up to the dock. Harry went and got his truck and backed it down to the ramp. We tied the rope to the winch on the boat and pulled the boat back onto the trailer.

Harry looked at me and Lewis and said, “Now, you guys can’t say anything about this to anyone. If Jessie finds out I will never get to go fishing again!”

We swore ourselves to secrecy. My clothes had already begun to dry out, but I was still wet. Harry knew what to do though. He stopped at another fishing spot he knew of. We spent a couple hours fishing from the bank by a bridge. We caught a few fish – enough to give us a decent cover story. I dried out and we went home.

Jessie never found out that I know of. Harry and Lewis have long passed from this life. I am the lone survivor who was a personal witness and participant in this fishing trip. I feel that since all the other concerned parties have left this world, I am free to tell this tale.