Hogmaster
10-21-2002, 10:49 AM
Another chapter gets added to "As The Impeller Turns"...
This is long. It is true. Some of it has happened to you. Maybe not all at once...
The week started out with a decision to “Go East, young (not!) man”. Had heard a report that there was a certain tributary of the Columbia that was kicking out fish last weekend like walnuts falling off the tree in October.
Mainly steelhead, even a few nooks sneaking in for catching enjoyment, and almost no pressure. Shhhhhhh!
Well, as the week wore on it became apparent that the SS Hog Heaven was not going to be going as a full boat in spite of my best attempts. Timing was just off for most of Hogmaster's immediate fishing universe of potential victims, most preferring next weekend. Next weekend is Dad's weekend at OSU. Like I am going to miss that one, right? NOT!
As it turned out, the Saturday trip got changed to Sunday and "Donny" (not his real name) and a certain ifisher that I will leave guilty but anonymous agreed to go.
Then Donny calls Saturday night to attempt the escape. Seems he had work to do that didn't involve fishing. I overruled, however, seeing how it was a long way, a plug pull show, and as Newt calls it, a wall of death is important! He upheld his commitment and faithfully showed up at 5AM. We threw the gear in and off to Troutdale to meet our third.
We got to Troutdale at 5:28 AM for the 5:30 rendezvous. Hmmmm.... No one here. Well, we are 2 minutes early and all. Then we were 20 minutes past our agreed upon time. Hmmm... A cell phone hailing resulted in voice mail only, but a message was left. At 30 minutes a second message was left to the effect that "The Hogmaster waits for no fisher past the 30 minute mark!" Donny and I were going to have to run a narrower wall of death.
When we got to our destination launch the first thing that couldn't help being noticed was the 328 trailers in the lot. Hmmm... Guess the secret is getting out.
We ran to the secret spot that seldom has more than a boat or two in it and found 13 boats in the stretch. Hmmm... Fishing must be good here. Except it really wasn't. Saw lots of Steelies jumping, rolling, porposing, doing all of those things they do to aggravate fishermen since they have no fingers to wave, but not bite. Lots of fish on the graph.
We trolled several areas, saw absolutely no one with fish on, and as the morning wore on, more and more long faces from the other boaters. It was actually a beautiful morning and, though overcast, little wind was present so for an October day in this area it was nice fishing. Just the catching was starting to suck.
Finally about 10 AM we saw three guys in a boat obviously fighting a fish. They were going to net it, but saw it was wild so they seemed to carefully unclip it.
As they were doing so, Donny’s rod doubled in a vicious slam and the yelp of “Fish on!” came out of his flap trap. The fish slammed it really hard, but then turned and came right for us. Donny, not being fully aware of his surroundings most of the time was saying, “He got off”. I could tell otherwise and told Mr. Less than a full hay truck to, “Reel! Reel Reel!” Fortunately, Donny can usually take orders if one can actually get his attention, so he did as instructed.
Well, Mr. Steelhead came right to the boat, then started slow rolling and later I knew why as I have seen this behavior before. As it turned out about 5 of the 6 available treble points had scored and his mouth was sewn completely shut. When this happens I have found that fish frequently roll in what is a basic last gasp effort since they can’t breath. All it managed to do, however, was wrap itself up tight in line and came to the boat with a fight about as exciting as reeling in a loaf of bread.
It was a big buck and had no fin, but wasn’t all that bright. I suggested we let it go, and almost had Donny convinced of the same. We were just looking at it in its trussed state, not even in the net. But the plug was hopelessly sewn in place and needless to say he was not cooperating with the idea of me doing oral surgery, so ultimately Donny decided to keep it. It was the right choice, even if we were to have sacrificed the plug he would not have survived what with not being able to breath and all. Weighed just under 15 pounds.
Beyond that, though, we saw no other fish caught and we just had a couple of real light drive byes. We did, however, see (apparently) the wild fish the other boaters had released floating belly up. We motored over to it and tried for several minutes to revive it. Not to be. When we got to it a fin or two were still twirling, but it just could not be made to wake up. Really nice big bright nate, too. Finally had to let go of it and let nature take its course on that one.
So, by the time we decided to get off the water I felt both lucky that we enjoyed action since so few did and disappointed that the pressure? (man and barometric?) didn’t line up for a good bite. I swear Sunday is consistently the worst day of the week to fish! Anyone else find the same?
OK, now the true adventure starts. We trailer Hog Heaven and then have to wait in line for about 15 minutes for someone to check in a multi-camp site before we could buy a simple bag of ice for the fish. Late start is now combining for a late return. A good portion of this wait the rig was sitting and idling. Fateful.
Then we hit the freeway. I was motoring at freeway speed when I saw a small car behind us flipping its brights at us. The driver pulled along side and yelled, “You lost something!” He made kind of a dipping motion with his hands and went on by. I looked at Donny since I thought the boat was well secured when he stated, “Hmmm, I don’t see the net back there anymore.” Dang! I had made the rudimentary mistake of not looking over everything that Donny does when he tries to be helpful. He had put the net next to the rail of the boat but I had not noticed he did not secure it.
A 20 minute round trip loop on the freeway and we came back to the net. It was laying in the center lane of the freeway and had obviously been sail-pizzaed by an 18 wheeler. Not a pretty site. Donny properly said we needed to get it out of there, then left it for me to do my best impression of a sprinter (Yeah, right – I may be slow but I have terrible form, too!). He wasn’t going there – “Bad knees”, says he. I managed to grab the net and get back off the freeway before becoming fisher-pizza myself, but not without almost hyperventilating and a fast beating heart. That 20 minute loop was a killer as it turned out.
I have a rule when traveling – No Sleeping Shotgun! If the shotgun position snoozes, who will keep the coach driver safe, in particular safe from snoozing as well? But of course Donny immediately is out like a light and is sawing logs rhythmically within minutes of the net incident. I do my best to stay awake in the now getting toward late Sunday afternoon traffic, and manage to succeed to enter Hood River noticing the Tahoe is getting low on fuel. No big deal thinks me, I can get to Troutdale. Well, Donny wakes up as traffic comes to a near standstill due to a one lane funnel of road construction. He looks at the gage and points out that I might want to get gas. The last Hood River exit approaches as the lanes separate back to two, but there is a big semi that ends up between us and the exit. I am being molested by traffic – you know, the basic combo of tailgaters and lane changers who have no idea what 9000 pounds of rig, boat and trailer would look like on their windshield and because of this I miss the exit.
Oh well, I know I can make Troutdale, the gage isn’t even on the “E” yet.
Well, guess what? The gage never actually gets to the “E” on the frggin Tahoe! About 2 miles before Dodson that disconcerting feeling best described by “Chug, Chug” happens. I slam the tranny first in OD, and then coast to Dodson and make the exit. The rig actually never stopped running. It was great to be off the freeway, but now what?
Hmmm. We do have a boat basically full of fuel… Donny convinces me to sacrifice the wash down system hose to use as a siphon. Cut,cut, off goes the ends, in the hose goes to the boat tank and the other end goes right into the Tahoe. We try blowing in the hose to start a vacuum. Nothing.
Hmmm the Tahoe’s filler looks to be above the in floor tank in the sled. Plan “B”. Siphon into the 5 gallon bucket in the sled. Blow, hear lots of gurgling, no gas. Create a seal around the filler hole and hose. Same result. Well, I guess it is to that point. You know, instead of blow, start the siphon action with a suck.
Well, I learned something valuable last night. I think the last time I sucked for gas I was about 15 and even with statutes of limitations I will not divuldge any more detail about that. But between all those years they did something to gas. They added all sorts of chemicals. About the second attempt at sucking and I was seeing double, spinning wildily and burning noxious fumes into my lungs that clearly did not belong there!
A lesson for those of you at home: Duh! Don’t suck for gas!!!!!!!!!! Of course Donny pulls the hose out of the boat tank and notices that the hose isn’t actually wet. “Here. Let me push it in further and try again” By about the 8th pass I am beyond caring about getting home and just want to go take a nap.
Well, somehow from my self-induced fog it occurred to me that I could save a lot of brain cells if we disconnected the fuel line from the motor and used the ball to pump gas into a container. Duh! I had been influenced by Donny early on with the hose plan and bypassed a much less lethal solution.
Dug out the “Type I Coast Guard Approved Waste Container” (at least that is what the pee can is labeled) and, as Donny pumped the ball and held the container as I pressed in the fuel stop with a screwdriver and a multi-fill transfer started from boat to relatively small container to Tahoe and back. We did it a bunch of times. I was trying to count, but I kept losing concentration. Don’t know why that would be…
Finally decided that we had enough of this fun and we started back toward Troutdale as evening was approaching. It was nip and tuck, but we did make it through the back loop and around toward the truck stop side only to find there were about 37,094 rigs in front of the gas pumps. Seems there is a bit of a gas war going on out there. I knew we would have a hard time pushing the Tahoe and sled after it ran out again in line so I made yet another loop to come back to the station at the front of the “truckers row”. You know, the one that charges about 50 cents a gallon more than everyone else. At this point who could be choosy?
Great service and lots of gas later we finally made the last leg home. By the time I filleted Donny’s fish out for him, cleaned the boat, put the boat away in the dark and got myself cleaned up, the headache was almost gone. So much for watching the series…
Key learnings:
That ifisher that missed the trip missed an adventure! But now on rendezvous probation, there is no more than a 20 minute window of waiting next time. We could have missed the morning bite. There wasn’t one, but we could have!
You can’t revive dead fish.
Sunday is the dubious day.
Captains, never trust passengers of questionable caliber to do what you need to do to ensure safe travel. Donny may have blown the net securing, but it was my responsibility to ensure it was really secure. Mighty glad no one was injured or worse trying to dodge the net. If I was a cop I probably would have written myself a loose load ticket!
Never believe you have enough gas. You don’t.
NEVER SUCK MODERN DAY FUEL. Find another way.
Oh well, for the price of new ends on the wash down hose and a new net, I learned a lot yesterday. The old one was getting pretty worn anyway…
:cheers:
[ 10-21-2002, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: Hogmaster ]
This is long. It is true. Some of it has happened to you. Maybe not all at once...
The week started out with a decision to “Go East, young (not!) man”. Had heard a report that there was a certain tributary of the Columbia that was kicking out fish last weekend like walnuts falling off the tree in October.
Mainly steelhead, even a few nooks sneaking in for catching enjoyment, and almost no pressure. Shhhhhhh!
Well, as the week wore on it became apparent that the SS Hog Heaven was not going to be going as a full boat in spite of my best attempts. Timing was just off for most of Hogmaster's immediate fishing universe of potential victims, most preferring next weekend. Next weekend is Dad's weekend at OSU. Like I am going to miss that one, right? NOT!
As it turned out, the Saturday trip got changed to Sunday and "Donny" (not his real name) and a certain ifisher that I will leave guilty but anonymous agreed to go.
Then Donny calls Saturday night to attempt the escape. Seems he had work to do that didn't involve fishing. I overruled, however, seeing how it was a long way, a plug pull show, and as Newt calls it, a wall of death is important! He upheld his commitment and faithfully showed up at 5AM. We threw the gear in and off to Troutdale to meet our third.
We got to Troutdale at 5:28 AM for the 5:30 rendezvous. Hmmmm.... No one here. Well, we are 2 minutes early and all. Then we were 20 minutes past our agreed upon time. Hmmm... A cell phone hailing resulted in voice mail only, but a message was left. At 30 minutes a second message was left to the effect that "The Hogmaster waits for no fisher past the 30 minute mark!" Donny and I were going to have to run a narrower wall of death.
When we got to our destination launch the first thing that couldn't help being noticed was the 328 trailers in the lot. Hmmm... Guess the secret is getting out.
We ran to the secret spot that seldom has more than a boat or two in it and found 13 boats in the stretch. Hmmm... Fishing must be good here. Except it really wasn't. Saw lots of Steelies jumping, rolling, porposing, doing all of those things they do to aggravate fishermen since they have no fingers to wave, but not bite. Lots of fish on the graph.
We trolled several areas, saw absolutely no one with fish on, and as the morning wore on, more and more long faces from the other boaters. It was actually a beautiful morning and, though overcast, little wind was present so for an October day in this area it was nice fishing. Just the catching was starting to suck.
Finally about 10 AM we saw three guys in a boat obviously fighting a fish. They were going to net it, but saw it was wild so they seemed to carefully unclip it.
As they were doing so, Donny’s rod doubled in a vicious slam and the yelp of “Fish on!” came out of his flap trap. The fish slammed it really hard, but then turned and came right for us. Donny, not being fully aware of his surroundings most of the time was saying, “He got off”. I could tell otherwise and told Mr. Less than a full hay truck to, “Reel! Reel Reel!” Fortunately, Donny can usually take orders if one can actually get his attention, so he did as instructed.
Well, Mr. Steelhead came right to the boat, then started slow rolling and later I knew why as I have seen this behavior before. As it turned out about 5 of the 6 available treble points had scored and his mouth was sewn completely shut. When this happens I have found that fish frequently roll in what is a basic last gasp effort since they can’t breath. All it managed to do, however, was wrap itself up tight in line and came to the boat with a fight about as exciting as reeling in a loaf of bread.
It was a big buck and had no fin, but wasn’t all that bright. I suggested we let it go, and almost had Donny convinced of the same. We were just looking at it in its trussed state, not even in the net. But the plug was hopelessly sewn in place and needless to say he was not cooperating with the idea of me doing oral surgery, so ultimately Donny decided to keep it. It was the right choice, even if we were to have sacrificed the plug he would not have survived what with not being able to breath and all. Weighed just under 15 pounds.
Beyond that, though, we saw no other fish caught and we just had a couple of real light drive byes. We did, however, see (apparently) the wild fish the other boaters had released floating belly up. We motored over to it and tried for several minutes to revive it. Not to be. When we got to it a fin or two were still twirling, but it just could not be made to wake up. Really nice big bright nate, too. Finally had to let go of it and let nature take its course on that one.
So, by the time we decided to get off the water I felt both lucky that we enjoyed action since so few did and disappointed that the pressure? (man and barometric?) didn’t line up for a good bite. I swear Sunday is consistently the worst day of the week to fish! Anyone else find the same?
OK, now the true adventure starts. We trailer Hog Heaven and then have to wait in line for about 15 minutes for someone to check in a multi-camp site before we could buy a simple bag of ice for the fish. Late start is now combining for a late return. A good portion of this wait the rig was sitting and idling. Fateful.
Then we hit the freeway. I was motoring at freeway speed when I saw a small car behind us flipping its brights at us. The driver pulled along side and yelled, “You lost something!” He made kind of a dipping motion with his hands and went on by. I looked at Donny since I thought the boat was well secured when he stated, “Hmmm, I don’t see the net back there anymore.” Dang! I had made the rudimentary mistake of not looking over everything that Donny does when he tries to be helpful. He had put the net next to the rail of the boat but I had not noticed he did not secure it.
A 20 minute round trip loop on the freeway and we came back to the net. It was laying in the center lane of the freeway and had obviously been sail-pizzaed by an 18 wheeler. Not a pretty site. Donny properly said we needed to get it out of there, then left it for me to do my best impression of a sprinter (Yeah, right – I may be slow but I have terrible form, too!). He wasn’t going there – “Bad knees”, says he. I managed to grab the net and get back off the freeway before becoming fisher-pizza myself, but not without almost hyperventilating and a fast beating heart. That 20 minute loop was a killer as it turned out.
I have a rule when traveling – No Sleeping Shotgun! If the shotgun position snoozes, who will keep the coach driver safe, in particular safe from snoozing as well? But of course Donny immediately is out like a light and is sawing logs rhythmically within minutes of the net incident. I do my best to stay awake in the now getting toward late Sunday afternoon traffic, and manage to succeed to enter Hood River noticing the Tahoe is getting low on fuel. No big deal thinks me, I can get to Troutdale. Well, Donny wakes up as traffic comes to a near standstill due to a one lane funnel of road construction. He looks at the gage and points out that I might want to get gas. The last Hood River exit approaches as the lanes separate back to two, but there is a big semi that ends up between us and the exit. I am being molested by traffic – you know, the basic combo of tailgaters and lane changers who have no idea what 9000 pounds of rig, boat and trailer would look like on their windshield and because of this I miss the exit.
Oh well, I know I can make Troutdale, the gage isn’t even on the “E” yet.
Well, guess what? The gage never actually gets to the “E” on the frggin Tahoe! About 2 miles before Dodson that disconcerting feeling best described by “Chug, Chug” happens. I slam the tranny first in OD, and then coast to Dodson and make the exit. The rig actually never stopped running. It was great to be off the freeway, but now what?
Hmmm. We do have a boat basically full of fuel… Donny convinces me to sacrifice the wash down system hose to use as a siphon. Cut,cut, off goes the ends, in the hose goes to the boat tank and the other end goes right into the Tahoe. We try blowing in the hose to start a vacuum. Nothing.
Hmmm the Tahoe’s filler looks to be above the in floor tank in the sled. Plan “B”. Siphon into the 5 gallon bucket in the sled. Blow, hear lots of gurgling, no gas. Create a seal around the filler hole and hose. Same result. Well, I guess it is to that point. You know, instead of blow, start the siphon action with a suck.
Well, I learned something valuable last night. I think the last time I sucked for gas I was about 15 and even with statutes of limitations I will not divuldge any more detail about that. But between all those years they did something to gas. They added all sorts of chemicals. About the second attempt at sucking and I was seeing double, spinning wildily and burning noxious fumes into my lungs that clearly did not belong there!
A lesson for those of you at home: Duh! Don’t suck for gas!!!!!!!!!! Of course Donny pulls the hose out of the boat tank and notices that the hose isn’t actually wet. “Here. Let me push it in further and try again” By about the 8th pass I am beyond caring about getting home and just want to go take a nap.
Well, somehow from my self-induced fog it occurred to me that I could save a lot of brain cells if we disconnected the fuel line from the motor and used the ball to pump gas into a container. Duh! I had been influenced by Donny early on with the hose plan and bypassed a much less lethal solution.
Dug out the “Type I Coast Guard Approved Waste Container” (at least that is what the pee can is labeled) and, as Donny pumped the ball and held the container as I pressed in the fuel stop with a screwdriver and a multi-fill transfer started from boat to relatively small container to Tahoe and back. We did it a bunch of times. I was trying to count, but I kept losing concentration. Don’t know why that would be…
Finally decided that we had enough of this fun and we started back toward Troutdale as evening was approaching. It was nip and tuck, but we did make it through the back loop and around toward the truck stop side only to find there were about 37,094 rigs in front of the gas pumps. Seems there is a bit of a gas war going on out there. I knew we would have a hard time pushing the Tahoe and sled after it ran out again in line so I made yet another loop to come back to the station at the front of the “truckers row”. You know, the one that charges about 50 cents a gallon more than everyone else. At this point who could be choosy?
Great service and lots of gas later we finally made the last leg home. By the time I filleted Donny’s fish out for him, cleaned the boat, put the boat away in the dark and got myself cleaned up, the headache was almost gone. So much for watching the series…
Key learnings:
That ifisher that missed the trip missed an adventure! But now on rendezvous probation, there is no more than a 20 minute window of waiting next time. We could have missed the morning bite. There wasn’t one, but we could have!
You can’t revive dead fish.
Sunday is the dubious day.
Captains, never trust passengers of questionable caliber to do what you need to do to ensure safe travel. Donny may have blown the net securing, but it was my responsibility to ensure it was really secure. Mighty glad no one was injured or worse trying to dodge the net. If I was a cop I probably would have written myself a loose load ticket!
Never believe you have enough gas. You don’t.
NEVER SUCK MODERN DAY FUEL. Find another way.
Oh well, for the price of new ends on the wash down hose and a new net, I learned a lot yesterday. The old one was getting pretty worn anyway…
:cheers:
[ 10-21-2002, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: Hogmaster ]