spincast

I read the story below every spring since the first time I read it to remind myself. For those who don't know the author - Just google or look him up on facebook. Or check out Great Lakes Angler. Very glad to hear the story for the Simcoe man has a good outcome They say confession is good for the soul, but bad for the reputation, but I'm going to tell you about the blunders that led to yours truly hanging on to a cooler in waves of many different sizes, about five miles from shore out on Lake Michigan the day before the July 4th holiday. I was in the water about 3 1/2 hours, while my boat mates stayed in the drink up to an hour longer. But let me interject a quick boat review: I loved my first trip in the 18-foot Lake Assault center console Tuesday, out of South Haven, Michigan. The boat seemed built like a tank, with aluminum diamond plate decking and floors, with lots of convenient storage and, pushed by a super quiet Honda 90-hp outboard, was able to handle fishing in three-footers really well. Overall, it was great—until it took a few waves over the transom and capsized, sending me, my buddy Matt, his 10-year-old son Jack and Matt's cousin John (who turned 50 on Monday) into the lake some five miles from shore, largely without life jackets, without time to advise anyone over the hand-held radio of our predicament. Then it sank like the Titanic. End of boat review. I don't think I'll buy one. So, the boat swamped, and Matt, with a boat cushion, and young Jack, the only angler wearing a life jacket, clung to each other and headed for the distant shoreline. John drifted one direction; I drifted another direction. Soon I was as alone and feeling more helpless than I can remember, with waves seemingly ever building and pushing me north, more parallel to the beach than towards it. Although I kicked in moderately sustained spurts for the shore, I never seemed to make headway. And no, I didn't bury the lead. No one died, and other than early signs of hypothermia for Jack, a severely bruised ankle for Cousin John and a pretty well sunburned face for me, we got out of the ordeal a lot better off than we might have. I must interject something else, unapologetic to any atheists or agnostics reading this: God is good. And I renewed a direct, personal relationship with Him. Just as there are no atheists in foxholes, I imagine few atheists bob around for long way offshore, knowing that aside from three other people—also bobbing—no one knows that they're in trouble. Here's what happened: My buddy Matt, his cousin John and son Jack and I towed the boat from its storage barn in Paw Paw, Michigan to South Haven. We caravanned with our mutual friend and Matt's business partner Al, who took his 17-foot Sea Nymph with his grandson Tyler and friend Travis. It was one of those moderately uncomfortable days to fish; not really bad wind and waves, but lumpy, occasional three-footers. Not the kind of waves you'd ever expect could sink a boat. After launching at around 5;30 and trolling for around four hours, we had three decent fish in the built-in fish box. At about 10:15, we were starting to discuss heading in to the ramp and thought we had another fish on a copper line, but it turned out to a tangle with the other copper line on that side of the boat. This mess proceeded to tangle with a wire dipsy, and then both downriggers. It was a superb mess, maybe the worst tangle I've ever seen--and I've seen some loo-loos. If only I'd have listened to Matt, who suggested I just hand-over-hand the massive wad of copper in and worry about untangling back at the shop. But no, I was sure just one more snip of the braided super-line backing and the tangle would be solved. And as I worked on it at starboard side of the transom, the copper, apparently stuck in the port downrigger, got too close to the propeller on the 90-horse Honda outboard. "B-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d!" Instantly, a lot of copper was wrapped in the prop. Matt ordered John to kill the engine and trim it up. Didn't actually look too bad, as far as the copper situation, neatly spooled in front of the stainless steel blades. If it had been just the copper, I'm thinking we might've been able to fire it up, put it in gear, let it fall to pieces and head in. But remember, we also had a good amount of 7-strand stainless steel wire somewhere in the fray. That stuff is definitely not good for lower units. So Matt and I started to try and pull the copper off the propeller. I just weighed myself this morning--up to 244 pounds. I don't know what Matt weighs, but he used to play defensive lineman for a Division I university, is about 6 foot, 5 inches tall and, well, he's just a big guy. With both of us at the back of the boat and John (who shares some of Matt's big-guy genes and is no lightweight himself) at the helm, we have a lot of weight at the back of the boat when Matt and I are working on the outboard. So, here's the first mistake: Not having a sea anchor aboard to deploy off the bow to allow the boat to ride up and over the waves, front first. But in retrospect, I bet that even had there been on aboard, we wouldn't have deployed it. We just aren't feeling like we're in hazardous waves. But we're out there, no power, transom getting smacked. Little tops of waves are splash splashing over the cut out transom. Still, nothing to get really concerned about, right? Matt and I were both at the rear and John was seated in the helm seat that we took a moderate amount of water over the back. John turned on the bilge pump, which immediately spurted water to the side, and then he moved to the bow platform to reduce the amount of weight at the transom. Now it's just Matt and me back there trying to reach the copper to pull it off the propeller. Matt took off his shirt because he didn't want to get it wet. And we take a pretty good wave over the back. I move forward. Another wave. I suggest Matt might want to move forward, and yet another wave swooshes into the cockpit. Matt turns around and sees water rolling around the whole boat, almost up to the level of the front platform, and several things happen in quick succession. The boat is definitely foundering, and I reach into my bag and grab the Onyx inflatable PFD. I didn't even have time to think about putting it on. John throws a Coleman cooler overboard as the boat starts to tip big-time to starboard. Matt jump-falls out of the rear of the boat. John picks up 10-year-old Jack and tosses him clear. I do my best to launch myself to starboard, hoping the boat won't be on top of me, holding the PFD, not yet inflated. Suddenly we're all four in the water and the boat has turtled. We all got clear of it and maybe we'll be fine. We can just cling to the boat and await a rescue. Both young Jack and I hang to the hull, while John tries to find a way to hold the cooler and keep his head out of the water. I feel some of the tangled lines around my right ankle and make it my first priority to get my foot free. Matt has a seat cushion-style flotation device, which I believe John was able to throw to him. He's yelling to see if Jack is all right, and he is. Except now the boat isn't turtled, it's being pulled down so the bow is almost sticking straight up, the heavy outboard suspended directly below. Within way less than a minute, it slips down and is gone. By now I've found the pull tab and the cord to inflate the Onyx. I jerk and it works. I'm not wearing it, but it's easy to hang on to. We're all kind of looking around. Matt grabs a yellow dry bag that's afloat. I see the yellow, water-proof had case I'd gotten at a long-ago Evinrude press event. I'd used it to hold a half-ass ditch kit, kept on the old Starcraft. I'd included the Humminbird hand-held marine radio we had been using that morning to talk to Al and I know the radio isn't back inside. I try to remember if it was supposed to float (it wasn't, but it is submersible) and don't see it anywhere in the waves--it's really not easy to see stuff at water level. The radio had been on the ledge near the horizontal rod racks and I only had enough time to think of and grab my PFD. The radio is with the boat (not to mention all of Matt's fishing gear), on the bottom, 89 feet below us. I recall that I had a packet of four flares in the case, too. So I swim over to the hard-side case, just as we realize there's a nice-size boat, maybe a 28-footer, an express open, trolling close to the same depth as we were, away from us, maybe 300 yards away. We scream. We wave as best we can. It keeps trolling away. So I open the case and pull out the zippered mesh bag of flares, noting they expired in 2010. Four are inside and I fumble with the zipper, but get the pack open and pull one out. And I have no idea of how it's supposed to work, so chin-deep in three-foot waves, sputtering the occasional mouthful of water, I'm reading directions. By some act of God, I still have my glasses on so I actually CAN read, and see I need to pull the plunger down, unscrew the bottom cap and yank on the chain. Not simple while holding on to an inflated life jacket, flare inches from my face. I jerk. Nothing. I jerk again and "POP!" a smoky trail heads skyward. And that's it. No burning ball of fire. A smoky trail that the southwest wind disperses in seconds. The express cruiser is now really far away, headed for Saugatuck water. I grope for another flare, but the mesh case is no longer in my hand. I put my face in the water and look down and see the orange mesh case sinking ever so slowly, just below my feet. I dive for it, unwilling to release the PFD. No way to reach it. Now I hear Matt yelling at John to hang on to the cooler and see that John is having a really tough time. John, despite being an experienced scuba diver, is on the verge of panic. In the waves, he just can't hold on to the cooler and keep his head above water. I kick over to him and suggest we trade, Onyx for Coleman. Except I didn't really suggest so much as shove the PFD into his chest, whereupon he grabs it, along with the fabric of my long-sleeved Great Lakes Angler shirt. I can't explain the calm that came over me other than as being divine. "Just the life jacket Bubba," I say as if it's a joke. "Let go my shirt please." And he does. And I grab the handles of the cooler and learn immediately why coolers aren't USCG-approved PFDs. It's a medium-sized, blue cooler with a white top. I hold upside down, closed tight, drinks and ice rattling around inside. Holding the handles sucks your body underneath legs first, leaving you face-up for waves breaking over your forehead and into the orifices you use for breathing. I still have the yellow hard case the flares were in, and before long I realize I can hold the cooler's handles with my knuckles against the lid, fingers pointed outwards, stretching my arms in front and can keep my head out of water and legs behind me fairly well. It's just the right size for this. My left hand holds the handle and the buoyant yellow hard case, now empty. At this point, I can't explain exactly how, but we go three separate directions. One moment we're all three swimming towards shore--I notice four Church planer boards, still attached to fishing lines, floating foam side up. The next moment, we're all far apart. I hear a boat behind me in deeper water and turn to see an IO model, a white and red fiberglass boat maybe 20 or 22-feet long, maybe a Four Winns, complete with fishing rods and downriggers, maybe 150 yards away, maybe less than 100 yards away. I'm close enough to see two people, young men, talking to each other and for a second or two, I think they've heard me yelling for help--along with Matt, Jack and John who join in, although I find out at the end of the ordeal no one else even saw that second boat. It doesn't turn, Now the cooler is obstructing my view of my former boat mates, and I hear Matt yelling for me. "I'm OK!" I yell. "I'm fine." And that's the last I see or hear of them in the water. OK, before I get into the circumspect self analysis and explore those thoughts I remember having while adrift and alone, let's review all the things we did wrong and some of the things that would have helped our situation. Let's start with me. 1. I let foolish pride get in the way of just pulling all of Matt's copper into the boat and ended up getting it tangled in the prop. 2. I wasn't wearing my PFD. If I had, it's likely I would have looked for and grabbed the radio instead of looking for the life vest. 3. I didn't know how to use my flares. If I did, and if I had been wearing the PFD in the water instead of hanging on to it, it would have been a lot easier to hold on to the other three flares in their pouch and shoot more off, maybe before that boat had trolled so far away. Also, I don't know if that flare I successfully fired was a dud or if it performed correctly. My ditch bag (case) should have had flares that hadn't expired two years ago. 4. The boat should have had a dash-mounted marine radio instead of relying on a hand-held (which, in retrospect, probably would have been left at home with the rest of the ditch bag anyway). Still, a dash-mount would have been easier to grab and call for help. 5. Another essential piece of big water gear has to be a drift bag that can attached to a forward cleat to keep the boat pointed into the wind, avoiding waves washing over the transom. 6. All of us tough men should have been wearing PFDs, as young Jack was. I used to be in the habit of wearing an inflatable--an unfortunate habit to break. We should have known where they were stowed on the boat, too, and been able to at least pull them out of the compartment before the boat capsized. I take that back. We wouldn't have had time even if we knew where they were. The boat was gone that quickly. *** So I find myself in the water, alone, clinging to the handles of a cooler, and collect my thoughts--and not all of them, especially at first, are pleasant. "I'm 55 years old. I could have a heart attack." "I wonder if I could black out with the way I have to take a deep breath and hold it all the time?" "God, please don't let Matt have a heart attack." "I hope John is OK." He seemed a lot better with the life jacket, but he wasn't doing well and I'm most worried about him. "I've been having weird spasms in my fingers and thumb. What if I have one and let go of the cooler?" "What if a handle breaks with these waves slapping the cooler?" "What if the predicted thunderstorm comes through and pummels this area with icy water oo even hail? Water is warm now, but I wonder if it would get cold enough to get hypothermia. And what kind of waves would come with a thunderstorm? It's hard enough to stay on top and breath with this cooler. If I drop it or some wave rips it out of my hands, it's over." The water's surface temp was warm--really pleasant, and I later learned it was 70 degrees—someone said the warmest on record for early July. But a couple of the press releases I've received over the years from the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary and companies that make safety gear play through my mind. I remember one with a chart that showed how long people have before hypothermia sets in when they're immersed in varying degrees of water. I don't remember the specifics, but it seemed like if you fall into 38-degree water, you've got something like a minute. 50-degree water and you have half an hour. I wonder how long I'll have, maybe, four hours? All I can do is hope my teeth don't start chattering. (Turns out I wasn't that far off in my guesstimates. Here's a chart:http://westpacmarine.com/samples/hypothermia_chart.asp). Well, I ultimately decide that the Good Lord is testing me. I think of something some fine Christian said about what God gives us--it's never more than we can handle. And this thought gives me some comfort. I try kicking towards shore, but it seems like I'm going nowhere. The only time I seem to move at all is when I take a deep breath and hold it, putting my face in the water and stretching my arms forward and legs behind, as close to the surface as possible. Waves roll into the cooler, and I can feel the sensation of rushing forward. But the surges don't take me directly towards shore, where the treeline appears dark bluish-black through the summery haze. Bad luck for me, the wind and waves come from the south-southwest. When I peer over the cooler in the direction the waves are pushing me, I can't see the tree line in front of me. I guess that at this angle, I'll end up in Grand Haven or farther north, and don't want to do the calculation of how long that will take drifting at about one mile per hour. It's only around 11 or 11:30 a.m. by my best guess (the cuff is stuck to the face of my watch and letting go of the cooler with both hands is not an option). The sun is still more east than west--but with my current course, I'll be spending the night out here. I keep doing spurts of kicking, but also start dealing with cramps in my hamstrings and calves and--of all things--my toes. When I feel them, I go back to cooler surfing, stretching my legs out, which changes my direction towards the unseen shore. A couple of years ago, I read a book called "Adrift," by Steven Callahan, who was sailing a small boat, solo, from Portugal to the U.S. He woke up when something big—he later speculated a whale—hit his boat and caused it to sink. He had a tiny life raft, barely any food, a couple of water makers designed for a couple days use each and a small survival kit that included fish hooks. He survived on largely on fish. And he was adrift for 76 days. That's 2 1/2 months. I think of that book and 76 days adrift, no land in sight, and I feel really, really stupid out here, within sight of shore, hanging on to a Coleman cooler. So I try frog kicks, and scissor kicks like I learned as a kid in swimming lessons. I might be getting closer to shore--have to be getting closer--but there's really no way to tell. Lots of different thoughts about mortality, my career and how I treat my family go through my head. I'm not really worried about dying. I just don't think it's my time yet, and don't allow myself to ponder, "but what if it is?" I'm really feel like I'm in no immediate danger and figure that aside from the eventual possibility of hypothermia, I can survive out here for a long time. I do at one point hope Kathy has made my life insurance payment. But I'm not in dire circumstances, like if the boat had sunk in April with 40-degree water. I think about being laid off as of July 15, with the plan to go back on December 1, and wonder if I really enjoy this Great Lakes trolling that much anymore. Was I even having a good time when we were catching fish? Was it fun to get up at 3:30? I think of the massive amount of tackle I've accumulated for big lake salmon and walleye fishing, and how piles of stuff are in the family room for me to sort, and how Kathy has been overall pretty cool about me not getting it out of there by my self-imposed deadline, although I now have to clean the house--twice--for her granting me a deadline extension so I could go fishing. I decide I'm going to just stack it up, let Al take whatever he wants, and then toss the rest in a dumpster. (I subsequently have decided to have a garage sale before heading for the dumpster.) I think about my lost cameras--a $275 Canon point-and-shoot that has always served as a backup to my Nikon D-70 SLR was in my bag, along with a brand new, as-yet-unused Contour video camera, a $200 deal that is largely waterproof and designed to compete against the Go-Pro cameras. My good Canon video camera and the Nikon are in a (supposedly) water-tight Pelican case, hopefully floating towards shore. Maybe I'll get them back. I hope so, since pictures of John's first king along with some nice photos of Matt and Jack holding a different king are on the Nikon. I don't really care about losing the main tools of my trade, but it would be nice to get them back so I can get those pictures to the guys. If the guys are OK. I've also lost the top to my favorite rainsuit--a Frabill--along with a packet of lures in a large zip-style plastic bag I'd put together that morning (turns out a friend of a friend of a friend found that and I'll probably get that back tomorrow). I didn't set out writing this tale of four hours in the water to be long and boring enough to take four hours to read, so let's get on with what happened next. I continue my spurts of frustrated kicking towards the east, resting and letting unrelenting Lake Michigan push me north-northeast. I don't have anything better to do. I keep my head out of the water and pressed against the cooler while kicking, hoping that this will delay getting chilled. Still occasionally cramping, I do my dead body float routine to stretch and work out the cramp. And I guess I must have looked pretty dead, as Travis later told me when he saw me, he had goose flesh down both arms. After more than three hours in the water, I look up and to my left, and I see a boat, close, and why, it looks like my good fishing buddy Al. A wave obstructs my view, but there the boat is again, a white, 17-foot Sea Nymph with a blue stripe, and sure enough, there's my shirtless, fireplug buddy, looking and waving and clearing lines with his friend Travis. Later I learn that Al had told 7-year-old grandson Tyler, who normally steers, to sit down on the floor because he didn't want the boy to see a dead body. Al is shouting into his microphone--I can't hear what he's saying, but I know he's calling the Coast Guard. Al and Travis are obviously concerned about getting me in the boat and put it in neutral. Hanging onto the side of their boat, I tell them that Matt's boat sank, that Matt, Jack and John are probably still in the water. Al gets back with the Coast Guard, saying three more people are in the water. The Coast Guard says they'll dispatch a chopper. "It's in neutral Dave," he tells me as I hang on the boat.. I hand the cooler to Travis, and out spills the three or four drinks and leftover ice inside--I'd been starting to wonder what was in there booming around, actually considering that they might be life-sustaining sustenance if the wind shifted and I got headed across the lake towards Milwaukee. I go to the transom to climb in that way, but the boat has already spun so waves are slapping against it. "Al! Get this boat pointed into the waves! I already sank one boat today!" I don't really remember if he did, but he and Travis hauled me over the side without swamping. I convince them I'm not hurt and other than a little cold, I'm OK. Al gives the Coast Guard his cell number and is soon talking with them again, relaying the GPS coordinates where he pulled me out. Meanwhile, a mid-size older Sea Ray is cruising by and we flag them down. I think the boat was named "I Got My Weigh," and three guys and a gal are aboard. We tell them what happened and they start searching. Within a half hour (I think--actual time is kind of fuzzy) the Sea Ray radios the Coast Guard that that have found John and he's aboard. This bolsters my confidence that we're all four going to be OK since Jack had his life jacket and Matt had a seat cushion. Before long, eight or so other boats are in the search, having heard our plight on the radio. The Coast Guard shows up in one of their twin-outboard orange RIBs with blue flashing lights, talks to us briefly and then throws out a life ring with a flashing light and starts a grid search. I think about 15 minutes later, the orange chopper shows up, and within just a few more minutes, we see it start to hover, about two miles closer to shore, and note that the RIB is on plane, blasting towards the helicopter. "They have to have found them," I say, hoping Matt and Jack are together and all right. About five minutes later, the Coast Guard comes on the radio to advise that all four of the persons in the water have been located. Al and Travis whoop and high five as I start to break down crying in relief--tears out of nowhere--as Al bearhugs me. It turns out Matt is fine, but Jack had actually shown the first signs of hypothermia--blue lips and shivers. The two had made really good progress towards shore, probably covering about three miles, with two miles left to go. I'm not sure how this happened or if Matt might just have not looked at his depth finder right before we sank, but he thought the boat sank in 89 feet of water, while Al found me in 110 feet of water. Makes me wonder if some odd current had be heading more out to the center of the lake. Al points his boat towards South Haven and I ask how many fish they got. "Around ten," he says. Knowing Al loves to fill the fishbox--and probably the only reason he was still out trolling was because he hadn't gotten a three-person limit yet, I joke, "Well, why we going in? We can get 10 more." And I think about how thankful I am that Al is tenacious about getting a limit of salmon. Finally we're heading up the Black River. We make a brief stop at the pavilion in port where EMTs are waiting with a red truck flashing red lights. I just tell them I'm fine and don't need medical treatment, as does John. Matt, John, Al and I have a tearful reunion back at the launch ramp. Hugs all around. Matt had thought John and I were goners for sure after we got separated. We drive back together in Matt's truck, discussing some of the things that happened. Jack is resilient and more worried about what will happen when his mother finds out than anything else. Matt tells us something Jack said after they had been in the water for a couple of hours. "He says, 'I sure wish we wouldn't have lost those fish.'" It makes us all laugh. So assessing what we lost, it all seems insignificant to what we didn't lose. Thank God, truly, that we all came out of that OK, hopefully wiser and smart enough to be more prepared for that kind of thing happening in the future. Not that it will ever happen to us, of course. –Dave Mull

Now that is funny, love the turtle scene - and brings back some memories of learning about boats (as opposed to canoes) - had a similar situation myself in my first boat- lesson learned - Tim Horton's coffee cans are a 1 season solution I now subscribe the recycle mantra, using an old 4 litre oil jug.

These drownings happen every year. Very sad. I found some 10 or 15 foot kill switch tethers at my local marina for $5.00 each at the end of last season. Bought one for each motor. Used them last week when I was ot alone, and they were great. Unlike those short uselss ones that come with the boat, these didn't hinder my movement or turn off the motor accidentally when I was reaching for stuff on the other side of the boat. And I wear the auto-inflatable, with a whistle attached to it. Even the auto-tethers at a couple hundred bucks are a cheap investment when you look at what we pay for tackle, fishfinders, etc. Very sorry for this families loss. Sure hope they aren't watching this thread's direction.

Food for thought Checked on Snopes and most of theses are either fully or partially validated.... NOT ALL THIEVES ARE STUPID 1. LONG-TERM PARKING Some people left their car in the long-term parking at Windsor while away, and someone broke into the car. Using the information on the car's registration in the glove compartment, they drove the car to the people's home in Essex and robbed it. So I guess if we are going to leave the car in long-term parking, we should NOT leave our registration/insurance cards in it, nor the remote garage door opener. This gives us something to think about with all our new electronic technology. 2. GPS: Someone had their car broken into while they were at a hockey game. Their car was parked on the green which was adjacent to the arena and specially allotted to hockey fans. Things stolen from the car included a garage door remote control, some money and a GPS which had been prominently mounted on the dashboard. When the victims got home, they found that their house had been ransacked and just about everything worth anything had been stolen. The thieves had used the GPS to guide them to the house. They then used the garage remote control to open the garage door and gain entry to the house. The thieves knew the owners were at the hockey game, they knew what time the game was scheduled to finish and so they knew how much time they had to clean out the house. It would appear that they had brought a truck to empty the house of its contents. Something to consider if you have a GPS - don't put your home address in it. Put a nearby address (like a store or gas station) so you can still find your way home if you need to, but no one else would know where you live if your GPS were stolen. 3. CELL PHONES: I never thought of this! This lady has now changed her habit of how she lists names on her cell phone after her handbag was stolen. Her handbag, which contained her cell phone, credit card, wallet, etc., was stolen. Twenty minutes later when she called her hubby, from a pay phone telling him what had happened, hubby says, "I received your text asking about our PIN number and I replied a little while ago." When they rushed down to the bank, the bank staff told them all the money was already withdrawn. The thief had actually used the stolen cell phone to text "hubby" in the contact list and got hold of the PIN. Within 20 minutes he had withdrawn all the money from their bank account. ( my edit ---I find this one a bit too much? Really you forgot your PIN at the bank and it was open - but who knows - ) MORAL OF THIS STORY a. Do not disclose the relationship between you and the people in your contact list. Avoid using names like Home, Honey, Hubby, Sweetheart, Dad, Mom, etc. b. And, very importantly, when sensitive info is being asked through texts, CONFIRM by calling back. c. Also, when you're being texted by friends or family to meet them somewhere, be sure to call back to confirm that the message came from them. If you don't reach them, be very careful about going places to meet "family and friends" who text you. 4. PURSE IN THE GROCERY CART SCAM: A lady went grocery-shopping at a local mall and left her purse sitting in the child seat of the cart while she reached something off a shelf. Wait till you read the WHOLE story! Her wallet was stolen, and she reported it to the store personnel. After returning home, she received a phone call from the Mall Security to say that they had her wallet and that although there was no money in it, it did still hold her personal papers. She immediately went to pick up her wallet, only to be told by Mall Security that they had not called her. By the time she returned home again, her house had been broken into and burgled. The thieves knew that by calling and saying they were Mall Security,they could lure her out of her house long enough for them to burgle it.

cool shot. hope you guys get some good rains soon. early in the season for big fires like that.

yup, look for offshore winds. 15 K was my max in the 16 footer. And if you have more than 2 in it, sometimes less. Went out once in about 10 k winds with two friends and G. We got set up about 3 miles or so off shore. Took about 15 minutes to run out. The winds picked up, and water started coming over the bow. We pulled up and ran back. Took almost an hour going at a slight angle to the waves, with them. With the aluminum, the ride is definite more over than through. Not good for the rivets (or welds) to be hammering that hard either - puts a lot of stress on the boat. Windfinder is your friend. I guess the Niagara isn't convenient for you? That would be a good place to run her at WOT?

Freshtrax - a couple spots were 65 on the surface. Hungry hooks were about 50 - 80 foot below

17.5 Starcraft, 115 and a 20. With swing tongue and motor down I can get it across pretty easy and still have access for it as a main entrance Look at my PA day post and you should get a good idea. During the winter we can get the truck and the van in with room to walk between ( so long as I park at least one of them, anyway:: ) Not to get too technical, but you could draw it to scale?. - rectangle for the garage, triangle for the boat . lay the triangle over the rectangle. Mineis a full 2 car garage though - lots of newer homes are promoted as double car, but really only a car and a half. We had to add width and depth when we built to get the full two car.

Congrats on the PB Jacques, nice fish

woke up with no plans to go. sitting drinking coffee looking windfinder. Only spot looking decently fishable is Jordan, and at 6:30, prime feed time is already 2 hours behind, but the alternative is more on the hunny do list. Having sanded the deck yesterday, thoughts of more work were pretty low on the let's-get-'er-done list . After hmmm,,,, well,,,,, should I??? through 2 cups of coffee, finally decided to just do it anyway. Solo today, the first mate over at a friends last night. Running down the highway, figuring what I am gonna set out and how I am gonna net things solo.....NET!!!....crud , boat got a good cleaning yesterday and I restocked everything but the net. The other half was up and kindly agreed to meet me 1/2 way at the off ramp. Get to the launch, not many trailers. Guess everyone felt the same way I did without the avoidance thing. Set up 1 wire driver, 1 lead core and run out to 80 FOW, radio check - loud and clear - shortly hear its a lure washing station. Just moments later get a rip on the new dipsey, but then it just feels tough. Bring it all the way to confirm, release was 2 turns too tight. Ended up 3 for 7, a bent hook, some beauty weather, some enormous baitballs, and finally the first kings of 2015. This is definitely the latest since I started that I have put a king in the boat. the taker of all but one today not too many wanted to play on the other side? except for this one ! - the spoon was half as big as him! See you in a couple years champ! there is bait out there.... in the sky was something to look at as well Jr's slightly bigger brother gave a good dash on the slash and this one made my carpel tunnel act up, taking few fun runs and making netting with a 10 foot rod a lengthy exercise. Unfortunately. I wasn't able to get him revived, so it smoked salmon and then there was the proverbial launch ramp entertainment... but that is another story. Nice way to finish the weekend Could be time to look at the vacation calendar

nice fish,

great shot. Don't see many of those anymore.

Thanks Lew - that's very kind of you, and I'm glad you enjoy our slimey times updates. I'm trying very hard to write a different book than the one I lived. G makes it easy. Dave, Pikeslayer is either amazingly observant, has fished Lake Erie a lot and guessed, or his reason is right A couple of white perch in the mix. Hard to tell the difference, especially in these pics, but 2 of them are WP.. And good eye on the coho, 10 points for ID skills there. Thanks PE - I'm not much for the silvers and white perch myself, but G loves them sauteed in butter then thrown on a bun for breakfast. Around our house, that will last a couple days, between us and a few neighbours who usually stop by to "admire" the days catch

nice outing, the joy the kids get from the day on the water makes it all worthwhile, even if the fish are not as playful as we adults would like.

Now that is a great day. Cool report

welcome aboard.

always sad to hear of these situations. hoping for the best

Good eye sir! And then there was the Ugly Betty Barn yard animals for the half dozen.

that's a big 'un. I'd be thinking... hmm what would like to eat you? Laker? Pike? Brown? Sammie.... ah let me count the species..... this won't hurt at all, just a little pin prick

oh. I was gonna say downriggers and rod holders ?

Yup, it was one of those for G, and the weather couple hours away looked good, so I cashed in a golden charm vacation day to spend some time with my boy funny how the alarm goes off at 5 and I groan on a work day , but at 4:30 on a fishing day sleep is far behind me for about four hours, all we could find were silvers. Then as were were trying to pick a path between two ahead of us, the boat on the left had rods firing faster than they could bring them in. As we entered the battlefield, we got a triple header. With smiles and "at lasts: we did a 180 and got 3 more. I dont believe I have ever ended up with as many different species in the boat in one day on the great lakes. And just in time for the fish fry, now, what's the weather like tomorrow?

welcome aboard, looking forward to your contributions, nothing like some friendly competition. Like when Terry catches bigger fish than Brian... ice fishing