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Paddle boat comes to the rescue

y brother-in-law, Jose, is a fishing fanatic. My grandson, Trevor, is afflicted with the same problem.

There is nothing wrong with fishing. I love to fish myself, but when there is not a chance of catching any, what is the point.

Jose and I were sitting around Sunday afternoon bemoaning the fact the lake was high and murky. The wind was blowing and the fish would not be biting. Trevor walked by having missed this conversation and said, "Should we go fishing?" Jose said, "Sure!" I knew it would do no good to argue the point with the two of them at this stage.

The three of us motored across the choppy open water looking for a calm inlet. There was not a calm spot on the lake to be had. We finally tied up to a partially submerged tree and gave it our best. We tried jigs, plugs and spinners. We fished shallow and we fished deep. We tried every color of every lure in the tackle boxes. The only thing I was able to catch was a few submerged branches and on low hanging limb that left my lure several feet above the surface of the lake. Trevor faired no better and the only thing Jose caught was a few bunches of weeds. He suggested we take them home to make a salad so we would not be returning totally empty-handed.

The battery was almost dead by the time I was able to convince the intrepid fishermen we needed to return to shore. We fought the waves back to the dock and tied up fully intending to return in the morning.

By Monday morning, the wind was howling out of the north. Trevor was in school so it was only Jose I had to convince fishing would be no better and the lake conditions would be considerably worse.

We busied ourselves with checking food plots and trail cameras. By evening, the fact the boat was left on the water at the edge of the dock was completely forgotten. The boat was not thought about again until Tuesday when my wife suggested we take a ride over to the farm. As we drove down in front of the cabin my wife remarked on how she could not see my boat. I assured her, rather than being on the dock lift as it usually was; it was nestled beside the dock.

When I got out of the truck beside the dock, I still could not see my boat. A sinking feeling slowly rises up in the pit of a person's stomach when they know something is badly wrong but not entirely sure how bad or what it is. The boat was gone. I could not see any parts protruding out of the water so I did not think it had sunk. It had apparently gotten loose during the high winds and hopefully drifted off to some safe corner of the lake.

When I told my wife I was going to get the canoe and go in search of the boat, she suggested we take her paddle boat. Even though a paddle boat is not a very macho means of transportation, I must admit, it can cover some distance with little effort and is was nice to have some company on my quest.

By the time we found the wayward boat, the wind had died completely. We were able to extricate it from the weeds with the paddle boat and I climbed in for the journey home. It was a very pleasant evening to be out on the lake. The battery on my boat was so close to being exhausted, my wife and I were making the same speed going back to the dock. My boat is now safely off the water and firmly secured though just in case something should happen, the ever sturdy paddle boat is ready for the rescue.

Walter Scott is an outdoors enthusiast and freelance writer from Bloomfield, Iowa.

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