The Girl Who Cried “Gas!”

July 10, 2015, 11:28 am
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Last week the fam went on the annual pilgrimage to Buggs Island Lake (a.k.a. Kerr Reservoir if you’re from North Carolina), which sprawls across the border of Virginia and North Carolina. Not to be confused with its uppity neighbor Lake Gaston, Buggs Island Lake is idyllic if you don’t likhee internet, people or paved roads.

Perfect.

One of my self-appointed jobs, as opposed to jobs assigned to me by my mother (like setting the table) despite the fact that I’m in my mid-40’s, is to check to gas level in the boat. The dangly gas-reader thing in the tank the isn’t exactly reliable, and cell phone service is questionable, so I consider it kind of a life-saving moment each day when I look in the tank.

I’m one of those quiet heroes you read about in Reader’s Digest.

Since I do this every day, and every day I ask Hubby if the gas level is ok for what we want to do, he gets tired of checking and just says, “There’s enough. I’m sure we’re fine.”

You know where this is going….

Well, one of the things Hubby, Big Brother and I love to do is go fishing early in the morning. This year, we broke with tradition and instead of trolling for a couple of hours, we decided to check out a creek we’d never been in before. As we got underway I asked about the gas, as is tradition, and was told, as is tradition, “it’s fine.”

Halfway up the creek the engine sputtered. The only boat within view was along the opposite shore a couple hundred yards away, being used by a man who looked like 30-Beer Santa. Santa glanced over and listened to us trying to start the engine, but made no move to come over and help. Very un-Santa-like. (I wonder what they say to Santa when he’s not being nice? “You’re on Mrs. Claus’s naughty list, Santa, and when Mrs. Claus ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” I’m just sayin’ there was a reason Santa was out by himself.)

When we realized the engine was dead, we tried several times to rouse the teenagers back at the house, who had stayed up til 2:00am the night before. Eventually we were able to request either rescue or a gas can delivery via jet ski. They were thrilled to be woken up because their parents were stupid.

And then the best part of the trip began – the “I-told-you-so’s.”

As the discussion heated up between me and Hubby, Big Brother began the Captain’s Log, documenting our torment on the open water:

Even mom got into it, sending her first, albeit unreadable, text:

She tried so hard…

As we waited for our rescuers, we decided we didn’t want to waste valuable fishing time. We had lures, we had a boat, and we had beer (yes, it was early, but these were desperate times.

Here’s why I love Hubby: He knew I wanted to be in closer to shore so I could try and get the bass I just knew were lurking by the rocks. Hubby took a page form Master & Commander and grabbed the anchor, launched it toward shore, let it sink and hauled it back in, dragging the boat slightly closer to shore each time. He must have done this a dozen times. Eventually, we were close enough in that I could get my line where I wanted it. That’s true love, my friends.

After 30 minutes or so of sheer Hell, and by that I mean we didn’t catch anything and it was really too early for the beer, our rescuers arrived.

Lessons learned:

1. Always check the gas levels in your boat.

2. I am always right.

3. Santa fishes during the off season in a john boat with a sketchy trolling motor

4. Pack snacks.

5. You will pay for days if you wake your teenagers up to rescue you.

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Nice morning read. Thanks! BTW, I’m sure all the commotion from the anchor scared the bass away; otherwise you would have had success in your chosen spot.

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Comment by Susan Dennis July 10, 2015 @ 12:01 pm

Loved it! Humor and lessons learned in the context of a desperate fight for survival. Sounds like a screenplay to me. I suggest casting Brad Pitt as Big Brother.

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Comment by Big Brother July 10, 2015 @ 12:57 pm