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It had
all started out as an uneventful day as I readied myself for
guys weekend up at a family camp located at the base of
Whiteface Mountain on Union Falls. We have done this trek since the dawn of
time as a way to prove we are manly men braving the harsh elements
as we fish for the elusive walleye pike. The weather at this
time is usually in the mid thirties and part of the problems
at this time of year is the fact that ice forms on our
fishing tips and lines.
During
this time like any
other tribal groups, there are rituals that take place when
the younger lads what to go from being boys to young men.
For an example, one such ritual is to stay up most of the
night trying to catch bullhead and keeping the ones that are
of age and drinking that have become intoxicated from becoming tangled in the fishing
lines and falling into the lake. These youngsters also double
as beer boys running for their fathers, uncles and older
cousins to the beer coolers located up at camp.
There is
also the ritual of large bonfires on the shore that can be
seen for miles by any one passing by. Even if viewed with an
expert eye, it would look like the whole camp was on fire
and I can remember as a youngster that that was almost the
case. You can always tell who the perpetrators of the
bonfires were by the black soot covering their whole body
and just seeing the whites of their eyes the very next
morning.
Oh….I am
getting a little off track here, back to the story. My son Robert and I had
everything all packed and headed the 120 miles to camp. We
arrived around there in the afternoon and my future
son-in-law and a friend of his where already there waiting
at the marina for the weekend to start. The marina is
privately owned and still in the same family of the owners
since I had first starting coming up some forty years ago. He wished us luck with a wiry grin.
That was
my first hint that this was going to be an out of the
ordinary day. One look at the lake and you could tell with
the winds blowing, it was going to be a rough ride to camp.
The only way in or out is by boat and crossing the one mile
span over to camp. Now with everything unloaded from the back of
the truck and part of the gear placed into the boat, I backed the trailer down the
launch to put her into the water.
So far
it was going pretty good…last year we had forgot to put the
plug into the back of the boat and she sunk right there at
the dock while still on the trailer. We ended up soaking all of our gear and spending most of the
weekend trying to get our wet clothing dry.
It was decided that I
would first take the run across the lake with Justin as
first mate with part of the gear on board. We both gave each
other a glance as the boat steered herself outside the break
wall. For those of you that are unsure of what a break wall
is, it's a protective wall made of concrete or rocks piled
high to keep the waves from entering an area such as a
marina or residential area.
I
had considered myself a seasoned Captain with crossing this pond
many a times over the past 40 years, running the St.Lawrence in a 17’
tracker boat and running charters off the shores of Lake Ontario
with a 28’ twin screw fishing outfit. With all that being
said, I would have to say that the majority of my experience
came from watching every episode of the deadliest catch on
the learning channel. I had even been given the nickname of
Sig…the bustard sea Captain by my wife sweetie.
As
Justin and I came out of the protective cove of the break
wall, we meet the full force of Mother Nature at it’s finest
with 3 to 4 foot swells. The boat lurched forward smashing
into every wave as though it were a brick wall sending a
spray of water into the air soaking both of us in the
process. Every wave meant more water being added to the
water already in the boat from the previous one.
By the
time we made it across the pond to the camp shore, the boat
had taken on a lot of water. So much so, that we were unable to reach the
shore line with so much water and gear in the already half
submerged boat. At around fifteen feet from shore, the boat
run aground on the sand bar and I had Justin get out and
drag us in the remaining distance to get the gear unloaded.
Instead
of bailing out the boat like most sane people would do at
this point, I
decided that I would just start the motor and keep doing
circles in the protectiveness of the cove out of the wind
and allowing this action to cause the suctioning of the
water from within the boat back into the pond. It had worked many a times in the
past and usually proved to be the quickest and easiest way
to accomplish this feat. Of course this is all based on the
fact that the
motor has to keep running.
I pulled
the plug in the rear of the boat and on my second circle in
about ten foot of water when the outboard quit. This caused the
water to flow in at a much faster pace than expected and I could be seen
trying to find the plug to put it back into the hole as well
as pulling on the pull cord attached to the outboard trying to get it to start. The
motor finally took off and I headed her toward shore as she
continued setting lower in the water. When she finally hit
land, all that was visible was just my head sitting above
the waterline.
Justin
helped me drag the boat up onto shore and he and I proceeded
to bail out the boat with a two gallon pail and a dog dish
found on shore. Once this was accomplished I bid my
farewells to Justin as I left the shoreline headed back to
the marina to pick up Robert and Nick patiently waiting on
the other shoreline. The seas had grown much worse since the
first crossing as the
boat was gently picked up by a wave only to be tossed back
down.
As I was
telling of my harrowing experience to the two boys, Keith
and the other guys showed up. Nick said it looked pretty bad
out there as he watched Justin and I make the crossing. I
asked if he had ever watched the deadliest catch on TV and
that he was now going to know what it felt like to be a crew
member on one of these boats in rough seas. As a precaution, I had the guys put their wallets and
belongings into zip lock bags to keep them dry.... it was
too late for my own.
Instead
of the seas lessoning, it was actually getting much worse
and I decided it would be best to get moving. With the
rest of the gear loaded, Rob pushed out the boat with Nick
riding in the middle. Same deal as before in
that once outside the break wall, we were hitting the waves
and wind full force. With each and every wave, the boat took
on more and more water. Every sane sea captain knows when
the seas are churning at its worse, that it is wise to stay
inside the break wall...but who said I was sane?
We were
about half way across when I spotted a rouge wave come out
of nowhere and was coming straight at us. This wave dwarfed
all others around it and was large enough that any
experienced surfer would have paid good monies to ride this
one. I hollered to Rob to move back toward the center to
keep the boat from going nose first into the wave. I knew I
had too much weight in the front of the boat to allow it to
ride up over the wave and with it going nose first.
The winds and
the roar of the seas as well as the purr of the outboard
found Robert hollering back…”what?” as the wave crashed over
the bow. The boat had now taken on too much water and with every
new crashing wave, it just added more to the point that all
that could be seen was railing around the boat. The boat
looked like a mini sub that was in a dive sequence with my
son's head sticking above the water looking like the subs
periscope.
Panic
started to set in from the crew as I barked orders to stay
in the middle of the boat as I turned her toward a sandbar
that I had fished many a times as a kid. We were in about 21
foot of water as I watched my canvas fishing and duffel bag with
all my clothing float out of the boat. I could hear these girly
scream of “help help….were going to drown” coming from
Nick….or possibly Robert, even though neither would later
admit to it.
I had
practiced my distress calls of "Mayday Mayday Mayday... this
is the SS Minnow and we are taking on water. Mayday
Mayday Mayday... I repeat...this is the SS Minnow in need of
assistance...were going down". The only problem was that I
had left the radios in my fishing bag that had just floated
away off the starboard side.
I told
the crew to remain calm and as long as the outboard motor continued to
run that we would be fine. At that point the outboard quit and I
then announced to the crew that they could now panic because
we were screwed. As I looked overboard
I could make out the yellow color of the sandbar that the
boat at come to rest on. The reason for the outboard
quitting had been due to the
prop hitting this sand bar and not trying to run with the
whole motor under two feet of water.
At this
point I told the crew to get out of the boat.
They both looked at me with fear in their eyes wondering why
I would make them leave the safety of the boat while it was
still technically floating. I
screamed…we are on the sandbar and once Nick spotted Robert
get out of the boat and stand in water only to his knee
caps, he lunged from the boat with this large light blue tote
filled with he and Justin's gear on top of his head, that
had to weigh some 100 pounds and started
running in the direction of land so fast, that he looked like
he was actually walking on top of the water. The sand bar in
this area extended out some 140 yards from shore, and he
made it there in record time.
Robert grabbed
the front of the boat and started dragging it toward shore.
I took off downstream in the direction of my floating gear
that ended up on the shore some 200 yards below. The
tackle box with some three hundred plus dollars worth of
gear was never found and feared it had actually went over
the falls. The following day Robert and I went into town to
pick up a few things and noticed that the cold water rescue team was out in the river and
wondered if they had found my tackle box and gear and were
now looking for survivors’.
Once in camp, it was found that all of Roberts and my
clothing were completely soaked. Somehow Nick and Justin’s
gear and clothing had stayed dry due to Nick’s smart actions
of the walking on
the water maneuver he had pulled from the sandbar. Robert stayed
in his wet clothing and I was seen in my hunting pants that
were damp, no underwear and a sweatshirt that was only
soaked part way up. I also wore my sister Marcie’s fuzzy slippers that she had left
there to use during the summer months.
The boys
fished half the night for bullheads with good luck and were up and going
the following morning to fish for walleyes. There was a
decent chop on the water and Rob and I rolled a couple but
had been unable to land one. We caught a number of perch and
that night the boys ended up doing a number once again on more bullheads.
Justin had been the only one to catch a keeper walleye that
day that measured in at 18 inches. 15 inch is the minimum
size that you are allowed to keep.
Sunday
morning found the pond to be as still as glass with no
breeze in sight. We do the majority of our fishing using
jigs and the wind to help accomplish drift patters looking
for walleyes. Since Robert had to work that afternoon, we
decided to pack-up our gear and head for home. The first day
proved to be enough of an adventure for me and I wanted to
get home to accomplish safe things like falling trees in 60
mile and hour winds.
Everyone
survived another year of guys weekend at the falls and we
are already looking forward and planning for next years
adventures. As it stands right now, I am considered a folk
hero of sort and the talk of the town up there of
....hey...did you hear of what that crazy ass Edie did of
sinking his boat twice? The last fool to cross the pond with
waves like that was his father and grandfather of which both
had a few sunk boats to their names....dumb ass!
As my
wife likes to say…it’s always an adventure when I am around.
Stay tuned because it is still early in the season with many more
adventures on the horizon.
Send your photos of your
hunts!
Good luck and let us know
how you turn out and maybe you might have some good advice,
tips or the stories you would like to share with the rest of
us...send
them to us! |
The New York Hunter
