Question:
I mumbled under my breath as I backed out the rusted lag bolt.two man bass fishing fishing boat “Who asked the little …” A rust chip flaked off the trailer frame and dropped onto the lens of my safety glasses. I grinned, I learned the value of those protective devices a month ago when the emergency room doctor explained them to me.two man bass fishing fishing boat I snapped my head to the side to jar loose the little rust chip, it slid across the lens and encountered my nose. I distorted my mouth and blew up trying to dislodge the little chip. I succeeded – the rust chip found its way under my safety glasses and into my eye. ”Damn,”two man bass fishing fishing boat I exclaimed as I rolled over – well half over, I got stuck between the trailer frame above me and the concrete floor below. “Damn,” I mumbled again as I dropped my head to the concrete with a “thump.” I let out a discouraged sigh, “Who asked the little …” As I twisted and tried to get a hand up to my face, I resigned myself to the fact that the gods were getting even again. It was obvious the bass boat trailer god, whatever his name, was teaching me something I needed to know. two man bass fishing fishing boat With a grunt or two and a few contortionist moves, I managed to roll back to my original face-up position. I grinned an evil grin, I was free – the bass boat trailer god just got beat. I reached over my head, grabbed the frame, and started to muscle myself from under the trailer. Either I miscalculated or the bass boat trailer god suddenly lowered the trailer two man bass fishing fishing boat- I caught my safety glasses on the trailer frame, the safety glasses pushed down and crunched my nose, my nose reacted by issuing a wicked sneeze, the sneeze caused my head to jerk violently up and then violently back down. The upward jerk was stopped by the trailer frame above, the back down was stopped by the concrete floor below. After flushing out my eye, I returned to the garage. My puppy dog looked up with a disinterested look, yawned, and went back to sleep. I sat down on a stool and fired a cigarette. After a couple of coughs, I looked over my shoulder at the beast, the Bassin’ Dreadnought. I slowly shook my head and sighed. two man bass fishing fishing boat A week ago, the image was back, my bassin’ expert image. I was the king of the lake, I was the Bass Man. Then, thanks to some little kid, whatever his name, I was sitting there with a blood-shot eye, a pair of head bumps, and a “yukky” boat. Somewhat disheartened with the state of the image, my bassin’ expert image, I started to ponder golf. An image of a golf ball flying through the air came to mind.two man bass fishing fishing boat The golf ball climbed way up high, reached it’s peak, and then returned to earth. It landed in a pond of water. The water transformed into a lake – Big Bear Lake – and my thoughts turned to last weekend, when I had it all going for me. I had tricked the fishing gods. I figured they would be waiting for me down in San Diego, probably at the Narrows on Lake Hodges, but I fooled them. We left a little earlier than usual and used the early morning darkness to sneak off in the opposite direction, towards the mountains, towards the lake in the sky, towards Big Bear. It was a perfect plan, Big Bear wasn’t a premier bass fishery, it was a noted trout lake. The fishing gods would never look for me there. There are three highways to Big Bear from the southern slopes of the San Bernardino Mountains. The first is a two lane highway with an acceptable grade; however, it is the long way around. The second highway is a four lane highway with a medium grade. It is much shorter than the first way, but offers about 20 more miles of mountain driving than the third way. The third way is a two lane highway, but the grade is steep – too steep for a truck pulling a 3000 pound bass boat. Plus, the curves are more suitable for a sport car with a suicidal driver. We took the second highway, the four lane highway, the highway with the medium grade, the safe way, the sure way to Big Bear Lake. The god of bass boat towing trucks, whatever his name, was in a good mood on that Saturday morning. The miles quickly disappeared as the elevation markers steadily climbed – 2000, 3000, 4000, 5000, 6000, 7000 feet. Before we knew it, we were at the top of the mountain range. With a little drop of 500 feet to the 6500 foot-level and a short 20 mile run of winding, but level, mountain road, and we would be at Big Bear. The last place on earth the fishing gods would be looking for me. As we barreled along the last 20 miles of winding, but level, mountain road,two man bass fishing fishing boat I made a few scientific observations. During the week, my fishing partner had purchased a couple of new coffee containers. They were sealed insulated plastic glasses with built-in straws. The part of the straw you put into your mouth was hinged. When it was bent over and pressed into a recess in the top of the lid, it sealed the glass so it wouldn’t leak. When the straw was pulled up and out of the recess, it aligned itself to a lower straw inside the glass. In this position, you could safely suck out the contents of the glass without spilling a drop. While driving up the mountain highway in the dark, I forgot about my sealed insulated plastic glass of coffee. When the sun came up, the glass caught my eye. I waited for a straight section of road and then picked it up. With the tip of my tongue, I flipped the top part of the straw up and out of the recess in the top of the lid. When the top part of the straw aligned itself with the lower straw inside the glass, the straw coughed, sputtered and blew a stream of hot coffee into my face. Without loosing control of my bass boat towing truck and going over the side, I quickly made a few scientific observations: 1) the atmospheric pressure is considerable less at 7000 feet than at 2000 feet, 2) a container sealed at an elevation of 2000 feet will be pressurized at 7000 feet, 3) smart people probably already know about 1 and 2. After making a quick stop (locked up all six wheels, both truck and trailer) to take care of the errant coffee, we set off again to finished the last ten miles to Big Bear Lake. The miles quickly disappeared and before we knew it, the lake loomed into view. About the same time the lake loomed into view, a fork in the road appeared. With my fishing partner directing, “Right, right, go right,” I cranked the wheel and went left. Within a few minutes, we were at the boat ramp.
Response:
I looked both ways and then pulled out onto the highway. My fishing partner was telling me about what a great day it had been. I was thinking about the rusted bolts, rusted bolts sent to me by … Damn, it finally came to me. I was done in by the gods. They had spent the whole day looking for me. That was it. When I didn’t show up in San Diego, they started looking for me all across Southern California. They probably split up so they could quickly cover more ground. That’s probably why I got caught by the … by the… by the … bass boat trailer god, whatever his name. “Right, right, go right,” directed my fishing partner. I cranked the wheel and went left. There are three highways from Big Bear down the southern slopes of the San Bernardino Mountains. The first is a two lane highway with an acceptable grade; however, it is the long way around. The second highway is a four lane highway with a medium grade. It is much shorter than the first way, but offers about 20 more miles of mountain driving than the third way. The third way is a two lane highway, but the grade is steep – too steep for a truck pulling a 3000 pound bass boat. Plus, the curves are more suitable for a sport car with a suicidal driver. For once in her life, my fishing partner way right. I should have gone the other way, to the four lane highway, the highway with the medium grade, the safe way, the sure way down from Big Bear Lake. I didn’t catch on right away that we were heading down the third highway, the highway with the too steep grade, the highway more suitable for a sport car with a suicidal driver. I was deep in thought about my yukky boat, and the whereabouts of stainless steel lag bolts. I could see another nation-wide search coming up for peculiar marine hardware. I had the touch-up paint, and I had the sandpaper. I suppose I’d have to epoxy the holes before I put in the new lag bolts. No biggie, I’ve done that one before. “Slow down,” said my fishing partner. “Right, right,” I replied. Damn, where are the other two lanes? Damn, I suddenly got a sinking feeling. We crested a slight hill, a short straight away lay ahead. I watched the speedometer: 10 – 15 – 20 -25 -30 – 35 – 40 – 45, curve coming – brakes: 40 -35 -30 – 25 -20, coast around the curve: 20 – 25 – 30. The road wasn’t all that bad. I recalled the caution in my bass book trailer book, “Too avoid overheating the brakes of your new bass boat trailer, do not downshift when going down a steep grade.” I also flashed back to my high school driver’s education class, “Brake going into a curve, coast through it, and accelerate out the curve.” Something from my high school physics class also tried to pop into my head, but the details were as fuzzy as the first time I encounter it, “Momentum has something to do with mass and velocity.” The next couple of curves were much like the first: 20 – 25 – 30 – 35 – 40 – 45, curve – brakes: 40 – 35 – 30 – 25 – 20, coast around the curve: 20 – 25 – 30. A sports car passed us on a short straight away. A yellow diamond appeared on the side of the road. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was a symbol for a hair-pin turn – brakes: 40 – 35 – 30 -25 -20, coast around the curve: 20 – 25 – 30 – 35 – 40 – 45 – argh – 50. Damn, that was a hair … brakes: 50 – 40 -30 – 20, coast: 20 – 30 – 40 – aarrgghh – brakes: 40 – 20, coast around the curve: aaarrrggghhh – 30 – aaarrrggghhh – 50, brakes: 50 – 20, coast: 30 – aaarrrggghhh – 50 – aaarrrggghhh. Suddenly, we were looking at the grade, the steep grade, the grade that: aaarrrggghhh – 60 – aaarrrggghhh – 70 – aaarrrggghhh – 30 – 50 – aaarrrggghhh. A slight straight away and we blasted past the sports car with the suicidal driver – aaarrrggghhh – 70 – 50 -70 – 20 – 80 – AAARRRGGGHHH. Finally, the mountain roller coaster ended and the highway spit us out onto a level stretch of freeway. I looked at my fishing partner, “What were you screaming about? I had everything under control.” Slowly the color returned to my fishing partner’s cheeks, she pried her hands from the dashboard, “I wasn’t screaming,” she answered. ”You were.” She took a deep breath, made a funny face, “What’s that smell? It smells like burning rubber.” I sniffed and looked around. I checked the rear view mirror, I saw the trail of smoke behind us, the smoke coming from the front brakes, the smoke coming from the front brakes of my bass boat towing truck. Suddenly, I remembered the caution in the bass boat towing truck book, “To avoid overheating the brakes of your new bass boat towing truck, down shift into a lower gear when going down a steep grade.” I wasn’t sure about the seemingly contradictory instructions between the trailer book and the truck book, I had a feeling it really all had to do with that stuff from physics – momentum has something to do with mass and velocity, velocity squared, and the nasty part was the squared part. And i it wasn’t that, then it was the bass boat trailer god, whatever his name. My puppy dog woofed at an invisible something, slowly got up and woofed again. He stretched forward and then backwards, then he wandered over to the yukky bass boat trailer. He sniffed the tire the way only puppy dogs do. ”Don’t you dare,” I warned in a low threatening tone. My puppy dog looked up at me, yawned and then went back to bed. I looked over at the Bassin’ Dreadnought, I looked back and down at the pile of stainless steel lag bolts. I divided them into groups of five and counted – 19. Damn, that meant I’d only done three. I looked at the clock on the wall. Damn, it had taken me an hour and a half to do three bolts. I thought back to grade school, looking for an arithmetic rule to figure out how much longer it was going to take me to clean up after the bass boat trailer god. It seemed too complicated and not all that important. No matter how long it was going to take, I had to replace all the yukky rusted bolts. I grabbed my socketed ratchet and safety glasses. I stood up and faced the beast. I had to get this job done, the bass boat towing truck would be back from the shop by Wednesday with new brake pads, rotors, wheel bearings and seals. Come next weekend, some ugly sucker was going to redeem the image, my bassin’ expert image. An evil little grin came to my lips, my eyes shifted from side-to-side. I bet the fishing gods will be waiting for me at Bear Big. I laugh aloud and slid under the bass boat trailer – go Bass Man, go 
Copyright 1997 Sir Rogue
Response:
The first thing I noticed at the ramp was the lack of bass boat trailers. I narrowed my eyes and scanned the lake. There was a large number of pleasure boats and rental aluminum boats. They were all anchored, they were all still fishing, they were all fishing for trout, they were leaving all the bass for me. A big grin twisted the corners of my mouth – it was time to look good, time for the image, time for my bassin’ expert image. After paying the lake use fees and paying tribute to the nearest porta-potty, we put the Bassin’ Dreadnought into the water. At first it coughed and sputtered, but after a minute of two, it acquired a smooth idle. With my fishing partner in the fishing partner seat, I swung the beast around and idled out towards the 5 mph buoys. Off to the right, a fisherman on a dock yelled something. I put my hand to my ear to signal I didn’t catch what he said. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled again. I still didn’t catch it, so I tipped my hat to him . I turned to my fishing partner, “Did you catch what he said?” “He said you ran over and cut all their fishing lines,” she replied. When we reached the buoy-line, I made a few more scientific observations. As the bow of the Bassin’ Dreadnought crossed that magic line, I throttled up. The beast moaned and the bow came up and out of the water. I waited for the rest of that pulse-increasingly scenario to unfold – I waited for that sudden roar – I waited for the beast to jump out of the water – I waited for the beast to climb on plane – I waited for that sling-shot fling across the lake. I waited, but it didn’t happen. The beast just moaned and plowed along with the bow sticking up at a 45 degree angle. I throttled down. Without loosing control of myself and jumping over the side, I quickly made a few more scientific observations: 1) the atmospheric pressure is considerable less at 7000 feet than at 2000 feet, 2) less atmospheric pressure means less available oxygen, 3) less available oxygen means a 200 hp motor runs like a 100 hp motor, 4) smart people probably already know about 1, 2 and 3. As I hit the trim tab and tuck the prop under the boat, the thought of the beast tucking it’s tail crossed my mind. I throttled up; the Bassin’ Dreadnought moaned, the bow came up; the Bassin’ Dreadnought groaned, the stern came up; the beast came alive and that old familiar roar returned. The beast blasted across the lake as only an overpowered bass boat can do. Heads turned as we roared by, the image was back, my bassin’ expert image. The morning bite was long gone before we ever tossed our first lure. However, it didn’t matter – the lake was beautiful, the weather was beautiful, the surrounding hills with quaint cottages and fancy estates were beautiful. We passed the morning fishing the bays, throwing spinner baits under and along the numerous docks that led up to the quaint cottages and fancy estates. On one of the docks, a bleary eyed man stood on the end of the dock and stared at a red and white plastic bobber. He was casually dressed in a white tee shirt and a pair of pink boxer shorts. His face was darkened by a couple of day’s growth, his hair was unkempt. As I trolled by, I nodded at the bobber and asked, “Breakfast?” The man looked up, replied, “I hope,” and went back to staring at the bobber. I tossed a spinner bait under the next dock. As I began a reel – pause – reel retrieve, I looked back at the man staring at the bobber. Damn, if that was a troutin’ expert image, I’d stay with my bassin’ expert image no matter how tarnished it got. With the mid-day sun overhead and the bass taking their daily siestas, we found a local marina and loaded up on some good old American junk food. As we munched on potato chips, beef jerky and candy bars, we puttered around the lake and took in the sights. Along the way, we came across a capsized catamaran. Remembering something in the boating rule book about offering assistance to vessels in distress, we helped the crew right the boat. With the sail boat heading for shore, a place for the crew to regain their wits, we turned the Bassin’ Dreadnought towards the dam. As we blasted along, it suddenly occurred to me I didn’t help the catamaran crew because of the boating rule book. I did it because it was good for the image, my bassin’ expert image. The dam at Big Bear Lake is noted for its rocks, big rocks. These rocks, some reaching 20 feet above the water, line the shore and form rocky islands just off the shore. The rocky islands are also part of the local right of passage for the young boys in the area. They swim out to the highest rock, climb to the top, and jump off. When the Bassin’ Dreadnought pulled into the dam area, the gang of boys on top of the rock stopped their typical banter and took note. I dropped the trolling motor, plopped down in my seat, picked up a rig, and tossed a spinner bait to the nearest rock. The spinner bait flashed in the bright sunlight as it glided through the air and came to rest an inch from rock. As the spinner bait settled into the water with a slight plop, one of the boys from on high called out, “Look, look, it’s the Bass Man.” Bass Man. I liked the sound of that. It had a ring to it. It went well with the image, my bassin’ expert image. I moved the Bassin’ Dreadnought into a channel between the rocks. The Bass Man was on, the image, my bassin’ expert image was on, I was looking good. My baitcaster smoothly sang as I tossed a spinner bait here and a spinner bait there. When I rounded a rock in the channel, another boat, a pleasure boat, a pleasure boat with a couple of couples of sixtyish preppies in whites duds and white boat shoes, came into view. I ignored them and did my Bass Man thing, I tossed a spinner bait here and a spinner bait there. The people in the other boat came to the conclusion we were on a collision course, which we were. However, the Bass Man in me had to toss one more spinner bait before doing something about it. “Were going to hit them,” someone said. “He’s not looking, he doesn’t see us,” said somebody else. “Grab the pole,” ordered another. “Who’s got the right away?” ask somebody who might have been one of the first three, or might have been the fourth. When my spinner bait broke the surface of the water, I frowned – I didn’t get a hit. My foot found the foot control, the throttle switch clicked. The Bassin’ Dreadnought pulled forward and slipped around the rock and out of harm’s way. The foursome in the other boat sighed and dropped to their seats. As the Bassin’ Dreadnought disappeared around the corner, one of the boys from on high called out, “Go Bass Man, Go Bass Man.” I tossed another spinner bait, I was the Bass Man, I had the image, my bassin’ expert image. I was looking good. As I maneuvered to the next rock, a conversation from around the bend carried on the wind, “I’ve got the faster boat on theis lake. Nobody can beat me.” I tossed a spinner bait into a crack in the rock, the boat with the conversation came into view. It was a blue and white speed boat. An animated bronze beach boy was doing his bad talk to a trio of bikinied beach bunnies. As the Bassin’ Dreadnought loomed into view, the bad talk quieted for a moment. Then as if replying to an unheard question, the beach boy continued, “No, not as fast as that. That’s a bass boat.” Another spinner bait sailed through the air. ”No that’s just for going slow, it pulls up out of the water when the big motor is being used. Wish I had that motor on this boat. Bass boats are interesting, they fly across the lake from fishing hole to fishing hole, then they go real slow with the little motor. If I had that 200 hp motor on this boat, then I’d have the fastest boat around.” The image was back, my bassin’ expert image, I was looking good. Go, Bass Man, go.
Response:
The shadows from the peaks in the western sky were stretching long across the lake, it was time to call it quits. I fired up the big motor and pointed the Bassin’ Dreadnought toward the 5 mph buoys. ”Nice boat,” came a cry from behind. I tipped my hat in reply, I throttled up, the beast moaned, the beast groaned, the beast bounced out of the water. As we blasted back to the launch ramp, the pictures and sounds of the day flashed into my head. Fishing-wise, the day wasn’t all that good. All I managed to do was boat a dink, but then again, it was a small mouth bass – my first smallie. On the other hand, it was a great day for the image, my bassin’ expert image. I had the biggest and baddest boat on the lake, I was looking good, I had fooled the fishing gods, I had beat them. I was the Bass Man. There is an old saying that goes something like, “You can fool all of the gods some of the time, and you can fool some of the gods all of the time, but you can’t fool all of them all of the time.” Enter the bass boat trailer god. The Bassin’ Dreadnought was resting on the trailer, she had done herself proud today, she had laid claimed to the biggest and baddest boat on the lake image and proved it. About twenty yards behind her, stood the porta-potty. It rocked and creaked as only a porta-potty could, then its door swung open, and a kid about four stepped out. He reached down and grabbed the elastic band of his faded blue shorts and pulled them up. Then he reached behind his back and tugged his shorts down a little bit. As he walked along, he stared at the ground while still adjusting the fit of his shorts. I tightened the hold-down straps while I watched the kid approach. The way I figured it, he was so preoccupied with adjusting his shorts, he was going to walk face-first smack into the beast. ”Whoa,” exclaimed the kid as he dug his heels into the asphalt. His eyes grew big as he took in the battleship gray and maroon beast before him. ”That’s a big boat, Mister,” he said as he walked to the back of the Bassin’ Dreadnought. ”What kinda boat is it?” “It’s a bass boat,” I said as raised the motor so I could install the motor toter. “Is it a fishing boat?” “Yes, a bass fishing boat.” “My dad’s got a fishin’ boat. It’s an luminna boat, over there,” the kid said pointing in a general non-descript direction. ”How fast does your boat go, Mister? Can it go fast like an airplane?” “Yes,” I replied aloud and then added under my breath, “As long as the plane is only taxiing.” The kid put his hands on his hips and surveyed my boat, “Fast and pretty boat.” Something caught the kid’s attention and he made his way to the front of the boat. ”That a gun or something? Like a harpoon gun or something?” “Nope.” “A tronic ray gun or something?” “Just a trolling motor to go slow and sneak up on bass,” I replied realizing that we were about to play a game of twenty questions. “Hmmm, a motta,” confirmed the kid as he turned and made his way to the back of the boat. ”Big motta,” he announced as he looked up at the 200 hp outboard. Showing a little excitement, he continued, “Fast and pretty boat with a big motta and a little motta.” After examining everything that was easy to see, the kid did what only kids would do. He dropped to a swatting position to look under the boat. ”What’s that?” he asked as he rocked forward onto his hands for a better look. “Yuk.” For some reason, “Yuk” caught my attention, soI made my way over to the kid. ”What’s yuk?” I asked. “Right there,” answered the kid in a disapproving tone. It was becoming obvious that I would have to get down on my hands and knees if I wanted a definitive answer to my question. With a sigh of reluctance, I shook his head and dropped down. ”Okay, what’s the problem?” The kid’s little finger pointed. ”Yuk,” he said. Damn – rust. Damn – yuk. I twisted my head for a better look. ”Out of the way, kid,” I said as I looked up at the rusted lag bolts securing the gray carpeted bunks to my shiny maroon bass boat trailer. ”Yuk,” I agreed. “Look at this, Mister,” called the kid from other side of the boat. “More yuk, big yuk.” Damn – more yuk, big yuk. I quickly made my way to the other side of the boat. Damn – big rust. Damn – big yuk. Not only was the pair of lag bolts rusted, but the bracket was rusted also. For that matter, the paint was blistered and it had … it had … it had yuk, big yuk. I looked forward for a quick check of the other bolts. Damn, they all had yuk -they all had big yuk. “You got a yukky boat, Mister,” said the kid as he sauntered off. ”My dad’s luminna boat doesn’t have yuk.” Damn – a yukky boat.
Response:
In Article Re: Kids and Rusted Bolts – 4 , Stan Graber Richard, I just want you to know what an *Honor* it is to know someone of your *Integrity*….and, and…*Thoughtful Compassion* and, well…(sniff, sniff), I can hardly go on. Most of us would just say, “Heck with it, I’m goin’ fishin’” or something similar without the *Consideration* you’re showing here for your Fellow Man and your Employer, who probably has no knowledge of or appreciation for your sacrifice. I’m proud to know you, Sir! (salute, salute) Stan G.
I sure am glad this reply was directed at the *other* Richard, and not at me. I might have been tempted to sprain my elbow, patting myself on the back. d8-] Richard C.
Response:
In Article Re: Kids and Rusted Bolts – 4 , Sir Rogue Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones. That’s your age and the weather. There’s probably a little truth to that. Today, it must have hit 90 by noon and I pooped out by 2:00. That bad part of it was we didn’t get to the lake until 10:00 – we were going to do the evening bite – ya, right.
Only 90 at noon? We call that a ‘cool spell’ for August in Oklahoma. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it. It’s all that humility your learning that does it. I thought my luck had changed until Stan burst my bubble. Today went quite well by my standards – no disasters, the boat cam home in one piece, the trailer came home in one piece, the truck came home in one piece. I didn’t catch anything today, but that happens. Then it dawned on me, the fishing weather god did me in – melted me like a popsicle – sent me home early with my tail tucked. And then the water was stained and down, I couldn’t even figure out what to throw. I was done in by the fishing water god. This is getting discouraging – we got to many damn gods (damn, can I say that
Poor baby! The temperature hits 90 and the water isn’t gin clear. In Oklahoma, if you can see more than a foot into the water, it’s a swimming pool, and if it’s more than 20′ deep, it’s a well. d8-] Now, don’t get me wrong, but any fishing trip done while on sick leave is guaranteed to be a bummer. Trust me, I’ve tried it. TOTGA hates slackers. I wish I had gotten this one a little earlier Of course, as we all know, the *worst* day of fishing is better than the *best* day of work. Let me think about that one a little longer. Some of my worst days of fishing are pretty damn bad
Well, I don’t think that saying takes into account breakdowns of all that high-tech gear you use to support your ‘bassin’ expert image’. It’s more of a saying for us low-tech bank angler types. To me, a disaster is getting snagged and breaking off a $3.00 lure. d8-] Good Luck and Good Fishing! Richard C.
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S – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it. It’s all that humility your learning that does it. I thought my luck had change until Stan burst my bubble. Today went quite well by my standards – no diasters, the boat cam home in one piece, the trailer came home in one piece, the truck came home in one piece. I didn’t catch anything today, but that happens. Then it dawned on me, the fishing weather god did me in – melted me like a popsicle – sent me home early with my tail tucked. And then the water was stained and down, I couldn’t even figure out what to throw. I was done in by the fishing water god. This is getting discouraging – we got to many damn gods (damn, can I say that snipped Richard
Richard, IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! I think I will send you the bill for the new thrust bearing in the jet. Why didn’t you keep TOTGA and his minions with you. Go Salmon fishing to HalfMoon Bay. Is a red tide, the fishing is SLOW, not one salmon bite, only a couple small rock fish and the only Ling Cod is an 8″ long throwback. Some one has siphoned gas and I run out as I enter the harbor, come the rest of the way with the kicker. Odd sounding noise from the back of boat. While flushing, hear large bearing noise. Pull the bearing and it’s shot. UPS is on strike. Your luck has to get better as I have got TOTGA on my case now. d:( Regards, Bill — Opinions expressed are mine not necessarily my employers. All other standard disclaimers apply! Remove nospam. To email reply.
Response:
In Article Re: Kids and Rusted Bolts – 4 , Bill McKee Richard, IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! I think I will send you the bill for the new thrust bearing in the jet. Why didn’t you keep TOTGA and his minions with you.
Now, Bill. I only mentioned TOTGA, who is the god of the fish. He doesn’t mess with boats, trailers, trucks, electronics, or any of that other junk. It is he, and no others, that I pay homage to. It was the other Richard, Stan Graber, and the rest of you guys who started making up all these other demi-gods, demons, and gremlins to explain the failures of your complex and overblown ‘bassin’ expert images’. You visit these problems upon yourselves and then blame me, sitting there on my plastic bucket, on the bank, waiting for a bite, watching all you ‘bassin’ experts’ go by in your $10,000 ‘biggest, baddest bass boats on the lake’. Well, let me tell you. I have very few mechanical failures with my plastic bucket and my minnow bucket. Of course, I don’t get to go to all the neat places on the lake where the ‘big ugly suckers’ hang out, but that’s the life of the lowly bank-angler. You don’t actually believe that I would put a curse on all you high-tech anglers that keep buzzin’ by in your boats and washing my minnow bucket up on the bank, do you? d8-] Go Salmon fishing to HalfMoon Bay.
I should get so lucky. To me, salmon is something that comes in a can, like tuna only more expensive. Is a red tide, the fishing is SLOW, not one salmon bite, only a couple small rock fish and the only Ling Cod is an 8″ long throwback.
I ate some ling, once, in Brownsville, TX. It was very tasty. Some one has siphoned gas and I run out as I enter the harbor, come the rest of the way with the kicker.
They used their Oklahoma credit card on you, did they? d8-] Odd sounding noise from the back of boat. While flushing, hear large bearing noise. Pull the bearing and it’s shot. UPS is on strike.
Just keep telling me these boating horror stories. It makes me fell less depressed that I don’t own a boat. One of these days, in a couple of years, I’ll join you guys in the boat-angler fraternity. Then *I* will get to pay $20 a gallon for 2-stroke oil, paddle my dead boat back to the ramp, and wash minnow buckets up on shore with my wake. d8-] Your luck has to get better as I have got TOTGA on my case now. d:( Regards, Bill
Don’t feel lonely. I didn’t catch anything last weekend either. I just didn’t have the boat blues to throw in on top of it. Good Luck and Good Fishing (next weekend)! Richard
Response:
Richard, I just want you to know what an *Honor* it is to know someone of your *Integrity*….and, and…*Thoughtful Compassion* and, well…(sniff, sniff), I can hardly go on. Most of us would just say, “Heck with it, I’m goin’ fishin’” or something similar without the *Consideration* you’re showing here for your Fellow Man and your Employer, who probably has no knowledge of or appreciation for your sacrifice. I’m proud to know you, Sir! (salute, salute) Stan G. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Stan, Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones. I’ve had runs of bad luck before, and they don’t last long – well, most of them don’t – okay, I once had a three year run of bad luck, but it only happened once. This bassin’ bad luck thing has only been going on for a couple of months – well, a few months – okay, it’s been bad for about six – okay, nine months. Now, don’t get me wrong, I had a couple of good trips during this period – well, they weren’t bad trips – okay, they weren’t total disasters. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it. Come to think of it, it might change tomorrow. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m not that kind of person. It’s just that I have to go to the dentist for a check-up at 9:30 tomorrow, and by the time I get out of the there, it will probably be too late to go to work. Plus, I might be in great pain or something like that when I get out of there, you can never tell what’s going to happen at the dentist. I mean, the dentist might discover a brain tumor busting out of an impacted root canal or something like that. I wouldn’t want to go to work in great pain or under great stress and do something stupid and hurt the company’s image or something like that. So, I’ve been thinking about being big about all of this and not going to work, and I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m just not that type. Come to think of it, the thought of the dentist has me stressed out. I really should to something after the dentist to settle me down. If I’m lucky, and I get out early enough from the dentist, I just might be able to make the evening bite over at Lake Perris. If I’m not too stressed out to drive, I mean. If I do go, I really should go over a little earlier than that because I need to check the truck out and make sure the brakes will stop the truck and the boat. I worry about the truck when it comes out of the shop. They might have forgot something and the truck might break down on the way to San Diego this weekend or something like that. Plus, I need to check out the bunks on the bass boat trailer. I replaced all the rusted bolts last weekend and maybe they really aren’t stainless steel and they might rust and some kid might … What if the bolts aren’t tight and the bunks fall off and some jetski runs over them or something like that. And what if the touch-up paint peels right off the trailer or something like that. I REALLY need to check this stuff out before I sneak off to San Diego on Saturday and TAKE on the gods AGAIN. I don’t have TIME to go to the dentist tomorrow. Can’t you see I’m CRACKING from all the PRESSURE I’M UNDER. (deep breath, deep breath) Okay, I’m all right again. But then again, I might be minutes, maybe seconds, away from a heart ATTACK or SOMETHING like that. I NEED an ESCAPE, to get away for a day, I NEED TO FISH. (deep breath, deep breath) Yea. Yea, good idea. Okay, okay, I can do it, I’m UP TO IT. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something that – I’m just trying to stay alive – or something like that Richard
Response:
Richard, Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones. That’s your age and the weather.
There’s probably a little truth to that. Today, it must have hit 90 by noon and I pooped out by 2:00. That bad part of it was we didn’t get to the lake until 10:00 – we were going to do the evening bite – ya, right. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it. It’s all that humility your learning that does it.
I thought my luck had change until Stan burst my bubble. Today went quite well by my standards – no diasters, the boat cam home in one piece, the trailer came home in one piece, the truck came home in one piece. I didn’t catch anything today, but that happens. Then it dawned on me, the fishing weather god did me in – melted me like a popsicle – sent me home early with my tail tucked. And then the water was stained and down, I couldn’t even figure out what to throw. I was done in by the fishing water god. This is getting discouraging – we got to many damn gods (damn, can I say that Now, don’t get me wrong, but any fishing trip done while on sick leave is guaranteed to be a bummer. Trust me, I’ve tried it. TOTGA hates slackers.
I wish I had gotten this one a little earlier Of course, as we all know, the *worst* day of fishing is better than the *best* day of work.
Let me think about that one a little longer. Some of my worst days of fishing are pretty damn bad Richard
Response:
Stan, Richard, I just want you to know what an *Honor* it is to know someone of your *Integrity*….and, and…*Thoughtful Compassion* and, well…(sniff, sniff), I can hardly go on. Most of us would just say, “Heck with it, I’m goin’ fishin’” or something similar without the *Consideration* you’re showing here for your Fellow Man and your Employer, who probably has no knowledge of or appreciation for your sacrifice. I’m proud to know you, Sir!
Ya, I know it All-in-all, it worked out much better than I was expecting. I slept in for an extra hour or so and then got up and went to the dentist. As I drove down there, my conscious began to bother me (probably some god I don’t even know about was haunting me). It was somewhat obvious I wasn’t going to work, I wasn’t dressed for it – I didn’t have on a tie. But then again, I don’t wear ties to work unless a customer is in town. Plus, we go casual on Friday. But I’m not sure shorts and a tee shirt and lucky fishing shoes fit the work definition of casual. I decided to wait and see what happened at the dentist before I decided to go to work or not. The dentist was a breeze; he looked into my mouth, said everything looked good, and told me to start flossing – I was in the chair for less than two minutes. However, the anxiety of a visit to the dentist had already done the damage. When I stepped out of THE ROOM, I held my hand out and asked the receptionist, “What do you see?” “Ah, your hand?” “Can you see it shaking?” “Ah, no. It looks rock steady to me.” “Thanks,” I said as I left. It was worse than I thought, my hand was shaking so fast you couldn’t even see it. I figure it was vibrating about 138 cycles per second – too fast for the human eye. I didn’t go to work, I went back home. I sat around for a few hours, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, steadying my nerves. I figured I needed for them to settle down to the point where I could at least see them shake. It also ocurred to me that if I waited until 1:15, just after the lunch hour, it would be to late to go into work. When 1:15 came, I called the secretary – she’s the real challenge. She has a way of knowing when you’re pulling one. She also has a way of making you feel like you’re pulling one – letting the whole team down – not pulling your weight. “Hello,” she answered “Hello, Margie. It’s me.” “Well hello there. How did the dentist go?” “Don’t ask.” “Sorry ’bout that.” “I don’t think I’ll be making it in.” “Well, I would hope not.” “Huh?” “We know you’re dedicated, but nobody takes vacation and comes in.” “Huh?” “You’re on vacation today. Remember?” “Huh?” “The last time you went to the dentist, you told me to put you down for vacation on your next appointment. So, I did. It’s right here in my little book.” “I know that.” “Bye,” she offered in a tone that was designed to say, “You did not.” “Ya, bye.” I hung up the phone. Damn, I had wasted a half a day of vacation waiting to … I was out the door in five minutes and on the lake within the hour. Fishing wasn’t great – one small dink – but, the nerves were back in check Richard
Response:
I looked both ways and then pulled out onto the highway. My fishing partner was telling me about what a great day it had been. I was thinking about the rusted bolts, rusted bolts sent to me by … Damn, it finally came to me. I was done in by the gods. They had spent the whole day looking for me. That was it. When I didn’t show up in San Diego, they started looking for me all across Southern California.
<snip I loved it Richard! Thanks for another great story. You’ve got a real gift. Too bad you keep getting on the wrong side of the Bass gods! 
Stan G.
Response:
Stan, I loved it Richard! Thanks for another great story. You’ve got a real gift. Too bad you keep getting on the wrong side of the Bass gods!
Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones. I’ve had runs of bad luck before, and they don’t last long – well, most of them don’t – okay, I once had a three year run of bad luck, but it only happened once. This bassin’ bad luck thing has only been going on for a couple of months – well, a few months – okay, it’s been bad for about six – okay, nine months. Now, don’t get me wrong, I had a couple of good trips during this period – well, they weren’t bad trips – okay, they weren’t total disasters. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it. Come to think of it, it might change tomorrow. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m not that kind of person. It’s just that I have to go to the dentist for a check-up at 9:30 tomorrow, and by the time I get out of the there, it will probably be too late to go to work. Plus, I might be in great pain or something like that when I get out of there, you can never tell what’s going to happen at the dentist. I mean, the dentist might discover a brain tumor busting out of an impacted root canal or something like that. I wouldn’t want to go to work in great pain or under great stress and do something stupid and hurt the company’s image or something like that. So, I’ve been thinking about being big about all of this and not going to work, and I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m just not that type. Come to think of it, the thought of the dentist has me stressed out. I really should to something after the dentist to settle me down. If I’m lucky, and I get out early enough from the dentist, I just might be able to make the evening bite over at Lake Perris. If I’m not too stressed out to drive, I mean. If I do go, I really should go over a little earlier than that because I need to check the truck out and make sure the brakes will stop the truck and the boat. I worry about the truck when it comes out of the shop. They might have forgot something and the truck might break down on the way to San Diego this weekend or something like that. Plus, I need to check out the bunks on the bass boat trailer. I replaced all the rusted bolts last weekend and maybe they really aren’t stainless steel and they might rust and some kid might … What if the bolts aren’t tight and the bunks fall off and some jetski runs over them or something like that. And what if the touch-up paint peels right off the trailer or something like that. I REALLY need to check this stuff out before I sneak off to San Diego on Saturday and TAKE on the gods AGAIN. I don’t have TIME to go to the dentist tomorrow. Can’t you see I’m CRACKING from all the PRESSURE I’M UNDER. (deep breath, deep breath) Okay, I’m all right again. But then again, I might be minutes, maybe seconds, away from a heart ATTACK or SOMETHING like that. I NEED an ESCAPE, to get away for a day, I NEED TO FISH. (deep breath, deep breath) Yea. Yea, good idea. Okay, okay, I can do it, I’m UP TO IT. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something that – I’m just trying to stay alive – or something like that Richard
Response:
In Article Re: Kids and Rusted Bolts – 4 , Sir Rogue Stan, I loved it Richard! Thanks for another great story. You’ve got a real gift. Too bad you keep getting on the wrong side of the Bass gods!
Glad you liked it, and not to worry, my luck is about to change – I can feel it in my bones.
That’s your age and the weather. I’ve had runs of bad luck before, and they don’t last long – well, most of them don’t – okay, I once had a three year run of bad luck, but it only happened once. This bassin’ bad luck thing has only been going on for a couple of months – well, a few months – okay, it’s been bad for about six – okay, nine months. Now, don’t get me wrong, I had a couple of good trips during this period – well, they weren’t bad trips – okay, they weren’t total disasters. But my luck is about to change, I can feel it.
It’s all that humility your learning that does it. Come to think of it, it might change tomorrow. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m not that kind of person. It’s just that I have to go to the dentist for a check-up at 9:30 tomorrow, and by the time I get out of the there, it will probably be too late to go to work. Plus, I might be in great pain or something like that when I get out of there, you can never tell what’s going to happen at the dentist. I mean, the dentist might discover a brain tumor busting out of an impacted root canal or something like that. I wouldn’t want to go to work in great pain or under great stress and do something stupid and hurt the company’s image or something like that. So, I’ve been thinking about being big about all of this and not going to work, and I’m not playing hookey from work or something like that – I’m just not that type.
Now, don’t get me wrong, but any fishing trip done while on sick leave is guaranteed to be a bummer. Trust me, I’ve tried it. TOTGA hates slackers. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Come to think of it, the thought of the dentist has me stressed out. I really should to something after the dentist to settle me down. If I’m lucky, and I get out early enough from the dentist, I just might be able to make the evening bite over at Lake Perris. If I’m not too stressed out to drive, I mean. If I do go, I really should go over a little earlier than that because I need to check the truck out and make sure the brakes will stop the truck and the boat. I worry about the truck when it comes out of the shop. They might have forgot something and the truck might break down on the way to San Diego this weekend or something like that. Plus, I need to check out the bunks on the bass boat trailer. I replaced all the rusted bolts last weekend and maybe they really aren’t stainless steel and they might rust and some kid might … What if the bolts aren’t tight and the bunks fall off and some jetski runs over them or something like that. And what if the touch-up paint peels right off the trailer or something like that. I REALLY need to check this stuff out before I sneak off to San Diego on Saturday and TAKE on the gods AGAIN. I don’t have TIME to go to the dentist tomorrow. Can’t you see I’m CRACKING from all the PRESSURE I’M UNDER. (deep breath, deep breath) Okay, I’m all right again. But then again, I might be minutes, maybe seconds, away from a heart ATTACK or SOMETHING like that. I NEED an ESCAPE, to get away for a day, I NEED TO FISH. (deep breath, deep breath) Yea. Yea, good idea. Okay, okay, I can do it, I’m UP TO IT. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing hookey from work or something that – I’m just trying to stay alive – or something like that
Sounds good to me. Just don’t expect to catch much. Oh yeah, and chill out a little. The fish can sense when you’re uptight. Fishing is supposed to be a tranquil sport. You know, communing with nature, that kind of thing. You don’t need to get all pumped up. Of course, as we all know, the *worst* day of fishing is better than the *best* day of work. Richard
Response:
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