Journal of a Living Lady #223

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

 

          Late last summer Buddy and I stopped at a neighborhood yard sale. An elderly gentleman, obviously an avid gun enthusiast and fisherman, was assisting lookers with old outdoors stuff. No Chinese vases or baby toys here.

          I wasn’t searching for anything in particular, but my eye caught a sad-looking Jon boat sitting off to the side. When the man came my way, I asked him the price of the dilapidated boat. When he answered, “$200,” my eyebrows lifted. That was a good buy. What made it even better was that the $200 included the boat trailer it was sitting on and a new electric trolling motor.

           While Buddy and I generally discuss larger purchases, I knew he would be delighted at this bargain. I quickly made the deal. If we wanted to resell it, our money could be doubled or tripled easily.

          Buddy brought the mossy-tinged boat home. He was delighted to have a winter project waiting.

          During the dreary gray days that eventually came, Buddy steadily worked on the boat.  I looked forward to a spring fishing trip. My Buddy spent many hours tinkering with that old boat in-between putting logs in the wood stove in his shop. I often brought hot chocolate to cheer him on.  In spite of the bitter cold and sometimes snow, we optimistically talked about all the fish we were going to catch.

           Buddy repaired small holes and added seats that would give support to our aging backs. He added a wooden plank to the floor to give his often clumsy wife sturdy footing. After a couple of coats of olive green paint, the renovation project was almost complete. As an afterthought, Buddy added metal struts to hold a small canvas canopy to protect us from the summer sun.

          There were still some weeks before spring, so Buddy turned his attention to the boat trailer. He rewired the lights and painted the tires a glossy black. He found the little 3-horse motor stored in our out-building and, after much effort, got it chugging again. The only additional expense was for a fish finder that Buddy insisted we needed.

          I have fished all my life without an electronic fish finder, but Buddy’s buddies convinced him the gizmo was a necessity. Who am I to argue with his macho breakfast pals who spend hours watching fishing programs on television.

          Buddy carefully installed the fish finder and studied the operation manual.  The fish finder measures depth and water temperature. It does everything but point to the location of nearby fish.

          Finally, the boat and fish finder was totally ready. Last Thursday the sun beckoned us to the lake.  Buddy checked his list one last time to be sure we had everything the law required. Fishing licenses. Trailer tag. Boat registration.  Horn. Life preservers.  Finally he loaded the tackle and bait. I added a small chest filled with cold drinks and sandwiches

          Our little boat looks like the African Queen to me, but I couldn’t deny Buddy the pleasure of naming it which he did: Titanic Nancy.

          The small gas motor fired right up. A few minutes later, Buddy shut down the noisy engine in deep water and connected the trolling motor. One final step. With smug anticipation, Buddy turned on the fish finder.

          Almost instantly Buddy motioned to me with an inward wave of his hand. He pointed at the gadget screen. Right under us was a school of fish. Large fish.

          Buddy and I couldn’t get our poles in the water quick enough. We had drifted a little toward the tree-lined bank, so I threw out a fly line. Buddy fished with a black plastic worm on a casting rod.

          It was hard to watch our lines because the screen kept mesmerizing us. One school of fish after another passed beside us. Buddy hastily exchanged his worm for a silver lure. I brought in the fly line and baited my casting rod with a wiggly night crawler.

          For hours, fish passed on the screen. Buddy noted the changing depth and suggested that we fish shallower. No bites. Then he suggested that we go deeper. I pulled out every inch of line on my rod. Buddy did the same. Poles dangled from both sides of the boat. Still no takers.

          I remembered something my father had told me. “If you see fish, you can’t catch them.” He probably was right. Disappointed, we decided to call it a day. 

          Buddy refused to let me help him get the boat out of the water as if I could anyway. I am a liability and not an asset in such situations.  The boat was uncooperative. Buddy wrestled with both Titanic Nancy and the wind. Eventually he won.

           With a deep sigh of relief, Buddy parked the boat trailer at the edge of our drive. Both of us were too weary and anxious for the bathroom to unload anything. Then Buddy frowned. He asked me if he had turned off the fish finder. I didn’t know. Together we checked.

          Sure enough. The fish finder screen was still on. This once-in-a lifetime event should make Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

           There on our gravel road, five miles from the lake, a school of large fish passed by on the screen. In fact, they looked just like the many schools of fish we had been chasing all day.

          Both of us crossed our legs while we laughed uncontrollably. Here we stood. Two would-be fishers foiled by modern technology while trying to do something as simple as fishing. Only the Kellys would fish the whole lake for an entire day with a fish finder in the “demo” mode.

 

_________________

nancyk@alltel.net