Aaron and I have been looking at buying a boat. Not terribly seriously, yet, as we'd like to get our finances a little more in order before we make a purchase like that. But we have gotten into fishing more and more these past couple of years, and you can't really graduate beyond pan fish from the shores of the nearby lakes. So I think a boat is in our future eventually.
Recently, a friend of Aaron's lent us a small aluminum fishing boat for use in getting off the shore line into deeper water. We had our first opportunity to take it out on Fox Lake on Sunday afternoon.
Aaron went over to the lake ahead of us, to take the boat out on the water and get comfortable using it. We followed behind a couple of hours later. The sun was shining (finally!) and the kids were jumping out of their skin to get out into the middle of that big ol' lake.
The boat fit our our family of 5 rather neatly; not a lot of room to wiggle or walk around, but room enough to cast and sit back comfortably enjoying the sunshine. With a top speed of about 10mph, and a water line high enough for me to trail my fingers in, we moved easily across the water and headed to the west end of the lake to try out a recommended fishing hole. For those not familiar with Fox Lake, it is roughly 1000 acres, with a maximum depth of about 20 feet. It's fairly large, as far as our local lakes go, and gliding along in the center of a small little fishing boat made it seem perhaps larger than it actually is.
About 15 minutes in, and halfway to our intended destination, the motor cut abruptly.
I glanced back at Aaron, a question in my eyes, and I recognized that deer-in-the-headlights look he gets on rare occasions when he feeling panicked. He fumbled with the motor a few times and it wouldn't even sputter.
The kids were chattering ceaselessly, about this that and the other, completely oblivious to the fact that we are a looooong way from shore, with only a single paddle in the boat, and not a single other boat in sight. Aaron was on his feet, playing with this, messing with that, trying this, loosening that, tightening this, and trying not to let his anxiety show.
I was oddly detached.
Detached because as soon as the motor cut, 27 possible outcomes of this problem flashed through my brain in about a millisecond. And before I could settle on any one plan of action, I had one clear thought.
Every time my husband has put me on the water, and I do mean every single time, something BAD has happened. And not little tiny "oops" bad things. I'm talking "Oh My God" bad things. (Pardon the swear word.)
Aaron has always been a boater; on our third date he put me in a kayak and took me down the river in Mankato. (I cried for about 45% of that trip, because I am a great swimmer, a trained lifeguard, and smart enough to know that you don't want to be swimming in any moving water unless you really have to be. And I was unskilled at kayaking; no way could I roll that thing over, and I knew that if I flipped it, I was coming OUT of that boat.) That day was mild, just tears mainly, but no serious injuries.
A year later I was navigating that same kayak down Boulder Creek in Colorado. I cried about 60% of that trip, because I DID come out of the boat on that one, several times, and they don't call it Boulder Creek for nothin'.
A few months after that, I was navigating that same kayak down the Blue River in Summit County, CO. I cried for about 99% of that trip, because I came out of the boat, got rolled in a rapid along the bottom of that rocky terrain, washed up on the wrong side of the river, and realized I would have to GET BACK IN the river to get my sorry butt home.
**Side Note: Aaron is an excellent boater. I know that he harbored dreams of me becoming one as well, and God love him for trying, but there is apparently a steep learning curve in this sport, and I could never quite get the hang of things.**
A short two years after that, we abandoned the kayak and put me in an inflatable sit-on-top hoping that would provide me with the stability I needed to stay in the damn boat. On that trip, I wrapped my inflatable on Raft Ripper, at the bottom of the Brown's Canyon Run in Buena Vista. It took three private boats, two throw ropes and 3 hours to get me out of that one.
That was my last boating trip with Aaron until Sunday.
So here we are, in the middle of Fox Lake, in a boat that is getting smaller by the second, on an evening that is getting darker by the second, with the three most important possessions of my life on board, and the motor stops. I admit it, I thought I might throw up for a second. My heart skipped about 27 beats and I was close to pulling out my phone and dialing 911 when Aaron realized that he had inadvertently leaned on the fuel line and cut fuel supply to the motor.
Within seconds, the motor was up and running and we were scooting along again.
I didn't say anything, just swiveled in my seat to look at him. My face must have said it all because he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me and laughed that easy laugh and just said, "It's okay."
When we buy a boat, I swear to God I will mortgage the house if I have to, but we are buying a 20' Glastron that is sturdy enough to SLEEP on if we have to. I don't care if it goes fast, I don't care if it's pretty, I just want, for once in my life, to feel safe on the water.
And maybe pull a tube for the kids.
And maybe catch a few fish.
