Dead In The Water

With one quick tug I started the outboard and away we went. We traveled about 100 yards before the engine abruptly stopped and Chris turned from the bow and gave me that look of disgust. I sat in disbelief that my brand new motor had assumed a stance of inoperability and returned my friends look with a quick laugh before attempting to restart the motor. No such luck. We were, as it could be so correctly noted, dead in the water.

Chris turned to man the oars while I fumbled with the motor checking fuel lines and all that was possible from the limited tools I had aboard and the sparse resources for making any type of adjustment. I had just begun to comment on Chris’s rowing technique resembling that of a little girl when we heard thunder in the distance. Suddenly this was no joking matter.

The sky grew black in a matter of minutes and an eerie calm fell about the bay as the thunder grew louder with each stroke of the errant oars. We knew by all accounts that we were about to get soaked at the least and the worst was unthinkable. I have to admit Chris made some fairly decent progress while we had calm waters to navigate but his look of moderate calmness was overshadowed with the obvious plight of doom that centered around his true thoughts as the winds began to build in force.

At this point it actually becomes a race to the shore before lightning strikes or the building waves capsize the small craft and leave us with a long swim in rough waters. It’s disheartening to say the least when you can clearly see the shoreline, your wives, and neighbors, in the distance who are all watching in earnest and inevitably expecting the worse outcome. From our standpoint it came to a sense of seemingly complete helplessness when the winds began to howl across the bay tossing our small boat off course and those who were previously watching from the shoreline retreated to the confines of their homes for safety.

It was at this point when I noticed Chris had fallen deeply into panic mode and the oars were no longer making contact with the water. I yelled above the wind that we needed to switch places now before we were blown miles away and smashed against the rocky shoreline. We had one small but safe landing area in front of the cottage that was completely sand where we could, if need be, ditch the boat and swim a short distance to shore. We timed the waves and each made our move at the same moment which ended in both of us lying face down on the deck of the boat before staggering into the seats in opposite positions. It became immediately apparent that Chris was truly no longer holding the confidence he vaguely held earlier as with each word from his mouth grew in octaves to resemble that of a screaming female. That’s not to say that I was calm and collected but from my viewpoint I felt that since I could see my destination there’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to reach it.

I ran the oars deep in-between the waves and was able to set the boat back on course but headway was gained and lost with each stroke. The old wooden oars strained and arched with each stroke as wave after wave slapped the side of the boat relentlessly knocking us towards the jagged rocks embedded deeply into the shoreline. In short small bursts we gained enough advantage to see that now those neighbors and family members were watching from their windows. I imagined the helpless feeling they must have endured knowing full well that there was nothing they could have done to help other than put in a distress call that would surely come too late.

I’m not sure if the vision of our wives was the motivation or we actually had a brief moment where the wind subsided enough to gain some ground but it became evident that we could safely reach our landing point. I clearly remember jumping out of the boat with Chris in close procession as the boat itself rode a wave onto the shoreline, got pulled back out, and then was turned over further up the shore than I normally anchored it each night. We grabbed what fishing gear was immediately available and darted for the cottage where both of our wives looked on in relief and anger. We were soon joined by several neighbors who couldn’t believe we actually made it to shore much less in one piece. We found out at this time that we had recently been put under a tornado watch which is rare for the area to begin with. It wasn’t two hours later before the sun was shining and I was digging a boat out from under a ton of wet sand that had all but buried the boat and blasted the outboard motor into nothing but a rebuild project.

This one of those actual events that plays out every year. Even though I had checked the weather forecast you just really never know what mother nature might throw at you. With boating season in full force this old story can serve as a good reminder to those venturing out this summer and create some motivation to be prepared for similar instances that can occur even on small ponds and inlets that offer relative safe harbor throughout most of the boating season.

I could go into a lengthy productive speech on how to safeguard your boating activities but I’ll leave that to the qualified individuals strewn about the internet boating safety websites. Besides, I highly doubt that even the best conveyance of boating safety tips from myself could be construed with any authority after that twisted water trail.

author website: visit | author bio