The Canoe

            It was still there, lying by the side of the house. Unfortunately, nobody had bothered to steal the canoe over the past eight years since its last use. Covered with leaves and surrounded by miscellaneous trash, it kind of reminded me of an abandoned child sitting quietly in a remote corner of the park, just waiting for someone to come along.

            Thirteen feet long and 42 inches wide with a squared off back to accommodate an electric trolling motor, I remembered how heavy it had been when I had wrestled it from the roof of my car the last time. Oh well, at least this time I would have some help in the form of my nieces and nephew. My brother-in-laws’ children were visiting for a couple of weeks, and in a weak moment, I had agreed to take them fishing up on the North Slope of Pikes Peak.

            Logan and Jordan were fifteen year old twins; Allison was twelve. They were basically good kids, full of energy and desire to have new adventures while here in Colorado. Ingrid (my wife) and I had just about exhausted all other alternatives, and the fishing trip had initially seemed like a good, inexpensive way to occupy a day and keep them away from the video games and wearing their thumbs out texting their friends back in Texas.

            Let me be clear. I am not an expert fisherman. In fact, I have a well established reputation for almost never catching a fish and that’s just fine with me. I would rather simply enjoy the view and the fresh air and relaxation than be continuously bothered by having to pull some slimy trout out of the water and figure out how to butcher it. Nonetheless, the kids had certain expectations and hopes of a classic mountain experience, and I decided to give it a shot.

            The first step was locating all the necessary gear which had been stashed in various corners of the basement and garage. All things considered, I actually possessed quite a bit of fishing stuff, mostly misguided gifts over the years from well-meaning friends and relatives who couldn’t think of anything else to give a retired guy on special occasions. We started getting organized the day before, laying out all the lures, poles, reels of fishing line, etc. I luckily had three vests; you know, the kind with all the different Velcro pockets and zippered pouches. We divided things up fairly evenly so each kid would have a fishing pole and a vest containing the basics. We spent a couple hours putting new line on the reels and talking about the difference between a fly and a lure. Naturally, there was some degree of fascination with the jars of dried out smelly stuff in my tackle box and a couple of arguments over who was going to get the best pole, vest, rain poncho, and several other things. But we got through it, and hopes were high.

            The next step was to see what it would take to get the canoe up on the car roof and safely out on the water. Hmm. One life vest short, and the old boat battery had been dead for eight years. Plus, we would need fishing licenses.  A trip to Wal-Mart was in order. My wife went along and made sure we filled in all the gaps (picnic supplies, sunglasses, suntan lotion, bug repellent, new air horn, hats, paper plates, napkins, and several dozen other things). A few hundred bucks later, we were ready to put the boat on the roof of the Toyota and strap it down.

            On the big day, everybody got up early which is saying a lot for three kids who had routinely slept until after noon every previous day that week. We had our stuff together, ate a good breakfast and piled in the car. All the way up the Pikes Peak Highway, the conversation was lively and full of good-natured bets about who would catch the first fish, fall out of the boat and so on. Finally, we arrived at North catamount Reservoir and began the process. After about 20 minutes of unstrapping, hauling, spraying bug repellent and suntan lotion, etc., we had a considerable mound of material piled by the lake shore next to a fishing pier occupied by about eight fishermen who had gotten there earlier than us. They evidently sensed that entertainment may be about to happen, because it seemed they were more intent on watching us than they were about their fishing.

            I had a pretty good plan, or so I thought. North Catamount is a beautiful lake about 3 miles long with hiking trails around it. I wanted the kids to have both the experience of fishing from the boat as well as the shore. I knew we could put no more than 3 people and some gear in the boat at one time, so we decided to take some gear and the two oldest twins in the boat and go up along the shore a mile or so to a beach area where we could set up a picnic and fish from shore in a nice little cove. Then I would return with the boat, pick up the other two people and gear and go back. The fun began almost immediately.

The boat launch area consists of a gentle slope down into the water; the depth is about two to three feet a fair distance out from shore. We wrestled the boat into place, attached the motor and put some gear in, then I stepped into it. Immediately, it became clear that I had forgotten to raise the trolling motor up out of the shallow water, because the motor shaft and propeller was driven about six inches down into the lake bottom and the motor popped off the boat. The fishing pier guys thought this was pretty cool.

After some digging around in the lake for awhile, we got things properly arranged, loaded the twins, and took off for the cove. It was one of those perfect Colorado July mornings: warm, crystal clear blue sky, just a hint of breeze. The scenery was fantastic and the twins were full of questions: how deep is the water? Where are the bears? Why can’t they receive texts? I think they were enjoying themselves. I dropped them off and came back for Ingrid, Allison, and the rest of the gear. They had been waiting patiently for the 30 minutes or so it took me to go up and back.

I did much better pulling the boat into the launch area this time. We got Allison and a couple of ice chests in and tied down. Ingrid gingerly stepped in, then it was my turn. The boat sank about six inches and water began pouring in over the sides. Everybody screamed, I swore, and the fishing pier guys applauded. After a hell of a lot of work bailing out the boat we got everything on shore. That is when we noticed the sticker inside the boat that identified its load capacity as 490 pounds. Allison was a little over 100 lbs., I hovered around 250 lbs. The ice chests, battery, and other gear were fairly hefty. Ingrid was probably--I am too smart to venture a guess here.

Anyway, we either had to make two trips with the boat, or somebody had to walk. Ingrid would not allow Allison to hike by herself, so that meant Allison and I would take the boat; Ingrid would hike. We took off in the boat and got to the cove without further excitement. We unloaded the boat, distributed the fishing gear and started doing what we had come there to do, even if it was already a three hour trip.

I went through a short demonstration of how to cast a fishing rod. We put on some bait, discussed why it had to smell the way it does, etc. Jordan wanted a lure tied on instead of bait. OK, we began fishing. After about two minutes, Allison determined her bait had come off. While I was working on that, Logan developed a big knot in her fishing line. While working on that, Jordan’s pole came apart in the middle of his cast and went out into the water about 20 feet. Allison developed a knot. Logan’s reel came apart while casting and went out about 20 feet. Jordan got tangled up in a bush behind him on the shore. About this time, Ingrid arrived.

The hiking trail followed a ridge up above the lake and did not actually come down to the cove, so she had to climb down the last few hundred yards through the forest. It was evidently pretty steep and slippery in places, as she had spent some time sliding down rather than walking. Did I mention we were at about 9000 feet above sea level? She was exhausted, scratched up, dirty, and mumbling something about my choice of places to fish. We decided it would be a good idea to have a lunch break.

Blankets were spread out, and we cracked open the ice chests. We even had paper plates, napkins, and plastic silverware just to make it a real official picnic. Everybody had taken about two bites when the sky turned dark, the wind suddenly gusted out of nowhere, and everything went flying. Another thing about Colorado July days in the mountains is that sometimes thunderstorms build up pretty rapidly and the accompanying wind can get pretty stiff. We had blankets in the bushes, napkins and plates all over the cove, and adults yelling at the kids to get this and that while watching out for lightning.

We decided the essence of the fishing experience had been accomplished and it was time to head for home. We loaded the gear in the boat, and the twins joined Ingrid for the hike back to the car. Allison and I went back in the boat. We all got there about the same time, and for some merciful reason, the rain did not start to fall until we were on our way.

All in all, it was a good day. Nobody got hurt.  I had a new boat battery and a fishing license. The kids got to make some memories. Ingrid got some exercise. And all the fish were safe.