You
know you've got friends when
The
day was June 21st, 2008. Fishing plans that were literally
two years in the making included three of my buddies from
our Ashwood Forest subdivision. It was a day to be dedicated
to finding the elusive Moby Salmon. We even had a meeting
ahead of time for planning the adventure on Lake Michigan.
This was a meeting that included tackle boxes, beer and
arguments about which color spoon, J-Plug or Thin Fin baits
to use. It was good.
All
of us have wives, kids, dogs and mortgages that result in
many of our manly pursuits getting pushed back into the
realm of, "we'll do that next month, sometime, or next year."
But
on this day, all of our wives had other plans. We had clearance
to dump the normal weekend responsibilities. Alarm clocks
were set for 4:00 a.m. Todd, Louis and Gino arrived at my
house around 4:30 a.m. We fired up the suburban and hit
the road. St. Joseph, Michigan was still dark when we arrived.
My vintage Sea Ray, Mile Zero was wet with morning dew and
was quickly loaded with coolers, fishing equipment, soda,
sandwiches and a stash of emergency beer rations.
We
felt like we were on an ESPN fishing show. Lake Michigan
was covered with gently rolling waves under one foot and
we pointed the boat northwest and hit the gas as we exited
the St. Joseph pier heads. Our destination was about six
miles out with a water depth of around 100 feet. Moby Salmon
was waiting.
The
motor was pushing us along at about 25 mph with a healthy
exhaust tone and everyone was grinning. Then, the motor
noise changed. The temperature dial started rotating clockwise.
Inside the motor, the rubberized nylon water pump impeller
was tearing itself to little pieces. The day was officially
a washout before 7:00 a.m.
I
called my buddy Larry, and he showed up along Dennis in
his boat about three hours later to tow me in. I'm lucky
to have friends that will get up out of bed, drive to St.
Joseph from Niles and tow my broken boat in from three miles
out.
Another
expression of true friendship occurred when Gino had to
hold me by the ankles so I could reach far enough over the
front of my boat to hook up the tow line. It takes a bit
of trust to hang over the edge of anything by one's ankles
and Gino didn't drop me. He did, however, dip my head into
the water a couple of times, probably on purpose. He also
complained about the view from his vantage point.
What we did right:
