After a few minutes, I turned around to see that the dock was a good fifty feet behind me! The kid let one more encouragement fly, yelling “yeah man, go go go!” And I did, I made it to the very middle of Quail Lake. It was honestly one of the coolest feelings I have had in my fishing life time. I wasn’t on a buddies boat, and I sure wasn’t stuck shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of salty bastards on a party boat. This was my boat. As I looked along the shore, I saw miniature versions of all of the people I saw while I set up the boat. I was out in the middle of Quail, alone, and feeling pretty damn proud of it all. And, not to my surprise, it didn't last.
As I started to row again towards the dam, I thought to myself why I was going so slow. I looked forward, and saw that the metal frame was half in the water. It was supposed to be about three inches above the water. I was losing air pressure. In my research, I had learned that cold water temps, decrease air pressure in the bladders. The water at Quail that day happened to be a very crisp forty five degrees, and I didn't think it would decrease that much. Add on top of the fact that I had not done the best job of inflating the bladders, and you have an inflatable boat that is only half filled, and about as useful as a politician. To make matters even more enjoyable, the wind picked up, and pushed in the exact direction that I didn't want to go. Although I wanted to panic, I made sure I stayed calm, and made getting to shore my primary focus. I struggled along the dam, slowly slipping into exhaustion as I furiously worked the ores.
Thirty minutes later, I finally made it to the other side, and land had never been more enjoyable to step on. I pulled out my dock rope, pulled the boat along shore, and tied it off to a stick in the ground. There was an old timer fishing a few feet down…
“Um, that looks like a lot of work?”
“Nah, it’s not that hard when you start to get it all down” I said, realizing then that I was nowhere close to “getting it down”.
Lucky for me, a buddy of mine happened to be out that day fishing as well. With a quick call, he was able to drive around, load my boat in his truck, and drive me back to my truck on the other side. He could tell I was a bit disappointed, or at the least embarrassed. He tried his best to cheer me up, but at this point I didn’t even fill like tossing bait. I thanked him for his help, drove home, and licked my wounds with some grilled food and drinks.
For the next few weeks, I waited for my registration to come in the mail.
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Writtin by: Shantro Buck
AKA: Catman1979
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