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Boating in Fish Lines
By Diane Dean White
My Dad was a fishermen and my parents often
went up to Canada to fish on vacations. It was
my Dad's way of relaxing and getting away from
his executive duties. One summer weekend they
rented a cottage in northern Michigan near a small
town on the lake.
My younger brother invited a friend of his and I
invited a girl friend of mine. My parents had invited
other couples with kids and we had a good group
for a fun time. Of course Linnea and I would be in
senior high and the oldest, so we had dibs on the
best room and beds. Being the oldest also allowed
us the seniority of handing down our part of the
kitchen duties over to the younger kids, and we'd
escape and do our own thing.
Linnea was an avid reader, she always had a book
in her hand wherever we went. And on this particular
afternoon we decided to go for a ride in the row boat
tied outside at the dock. My Dad had a small
motor he brought with him for a quick getaway out
on the lake when the fish were biting. But he was in
town with the other men, and Mom gave us
permission to take the row boat out.
Dad had a large speed boat that he had chosen
not to bring on this trip, it was great for skiing and
we did a lot of that in the summer and on weekends.
But there were too many younger kids around on this
trip.
I didn't attempt to start the motor on the row boat,
I pulled it up and out of the water since we were just
going for a ride and using the oars. I didn't want the
motor to get stuck in any weeds during our trip.
I had my transistor radio with me and Linnea had
her book! I took the oars and started out on the Lake.
I was enjoying the afternoon row and listening to my
favorite top ten oldies. "One, two, three, four, tell the
people what she wore..."
But at some point during the song I heard a man's
voice yelling.
"Hey watch out, your gonna get my line, lady." Lady! I must
look sophisticated for a 14 year old, must be the sun hat!
I looked up to see the person who had been speaking.
His face ruined the image of his words and my sophistication!
He was mad and he wasn't alone. There were several people
fishing from the bridge above where we were rowing.
In our enjoyment it seems we had drifted the wrong way
from the cottage, and Linnea with her nose in the book
and me rowing backwards, didn't take notice of the bridge
with the fishing lines in the water.
"Hey, turn that thing around, my line's getting caught
in your motor," another guy yelled.
"Linnea, get your nose out of that book and help me
here," I scanned the situation and wondered what I would
have her do!
The boat was under the small bridge where the local
town folks were fishing. I was trying to row it away from
them, but in doing so, the fish lines from their rods were
tangled in the small motor attached to the end of the boat
and I was taking them further out! Pretty soon I'd have their
fishing rods in the lake! If people were hanging on, they
might just come too! "Oh, Lord, help me, please," I sent up
a silent plea!
"Look at all these specimen of fish," Linnea was giving
no thought to our predicament. She was leaning over the
boat, looking at fish in the water!
"Linnea, quit looking at those fish and take these oars,
and don't stand up! Just move slowly over to middle, I'm
going to try to get these lines off of this motor." I instructed.
Words I'd never heard were coming off the bridge at this
point, every time I tried to do something, another line appeared.
Linnea obviously knew nothing about a row boat and we were
heading into more lines!
"Steer this boat, Linnea, they aren't looking to happy
up there, and this is northern country, they'll eat you for
dinner after they shoot us" I tried a scary tack.
"Hey you girls get out of that boat and take our lines off
that motor, your gonna break some expensive equipment."
One guy yelled.
Another said "Ya' get in the water and take care of this,
you're responsible."
I wanted to tell the guy to jump in himself, but he
did have a point. Then I saw my Dad, he and his
friend were rowing over to us. He wasn't looking all
that happy! My Mother was up near the bridge watching
us, the other kids were all standing around too.
At this point I did want to jump in!
One guy was up there swearing like I'd done something
awful, another was giving my Dad orders not to break his
line, the others had taken their lines down the bridge out
of harms way! One guy was howling over with laughter holding
onto his stomach.
Dad told Linnea and I to sit in the middle of the boat and
we obliged. He carefully got the boat closer to the area
where he could untangle the lines instead of pulling it
further away. He was working on the motor and lines
while his friend held the boats together. Dad lost a bobber
in the process, but the first guys line and hook came up
unharmed. The other one took a bit longer as it was tangled
around the bottom of the motor, but soon he was able to
release it too.
"Sorry guys," my Dad gestured a farewell to them. Some
onlookers applauded.
"Hey, keep them women out of here," the big mouth
guy scorned.
My Dad just waved. I wanted to stick my tongue out at
that guy, but would a "woman" do that?
We all made it safely back to the dock and out of the
row boats to the cottage without anymore words or incident.
My Dad did suggest that I look, as in driving a car, to see
where the boat was actually heading next time. I told him
I would, but I wasn't planning anymore excursions at that
point. And when I did I'd sure pick a spot where people weren't
in my way fishing!
© by Diane Dean White, 2002
About The Author: Diane and her husband Stephen reside in
Hilton Head, SC where she continues her love
for writing. She is a former newspaper reporter
and fundraising writer for organizations. Her
stories have appeared in several major newspapers
across the country and in thousands of homes in
Michigan. They are the parents of three grown
children and two grand-gals.
Diane has a women's
ministry called SEEDS OF ENCOURAGEMENT, at: www.heartwarmers4u.com/members?thelamb212 and Featured writer for Ripplemaker, at: http://www.ripplemaker.com/Writer-of-the-Month/Diane-White.htm
.
Previous Stories We Have Published By This Author:
Where The Violets Bloom
The Old Farmhouse
A Change Of Seasons
Onions and Roses
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