Suddenly, the motor caught and we were off … for about fifteen feet, then it died. Five more minutes of pulling on the rope and it started again.
“I think it just needs to be ran some,” Bubba said with a big crooked smile. He then opened the throttle full speed.
As the old motor sputtered and spit we crossed the large lake. The wind was light and the surface of the water was as smooth as glass. When we reached our fishing spot, Bubba threw out a coffee can filled with cement, or his anchor as he would say. Unlike the last trip, he had the can tied to the boat this time, so it was an anchor of sorts.
I loved the peace and quiet. The water was calm and the sun was warm. I could hear the birds and I could just day dream looking into the clouds. I slowly worked my lure near a group of lilly pads. I had been at it for some time with my floating lure with no luck. I was just about to suggest we move to another spot when the tip of my pole started dancing.
“Fish on!” I yelled, just like I usually did in Alaska. I kept the rod tip up and slowly worked the fish.
“Of course it’s a fish. What else would it be?” Bubba responded, not realizing that when you were combat fishing in some states “fish on” was a warning to other fishermen.
I soon landed a nice big bass. I was excited and happy. So far the trip was going as well as it could, with Bubba along. Of course, since I had caught a fish and Bubba hadn't he decided we needed to move to another location, immediately.
Once again he had trouble getting the motor started. Then, all of a sudden, it zoomed to life ... and came right through the floor of the boat. From stern to bow we were opened up. As water began to fill the now cut in half boat, I abandoned the ship and floated next to the sinkin’ “Titanic.” I was soon joined by Bubba.
