(So I’ve not been writing much at all, but has this one stashed away and decided to post it just to keep engaged. It means something to me, though I’m not overly proud of it to be honest.)
Sam pumped and pumped but it was no use. The ball was dead flat. He wanted to swim with it as a substitute for the styrofoam kickboard that had disintegrated over the summer through the use of a few too many kids.
He had to use something. The kickball would have worked otherwise his mother would make him wear that orange life vest. “Even if I’m just jumping off the dock?!?” he would whine. “Especially if you’re jumping off the dock!” she’d retaliate.
His father didn’t pay much attention one way or another, other than to get angry when he saw the kickboard – “What did you do to it?” When Sam explained it was how he found it, his father told him to throw it in the garbage. “And all those pieces, too. I don’t want them lying around. We’re here for two weeks and I’d like to keep it clean.” Sam did his best to say those pieces were around when they arrived, but his father wasn’t listening. “Just do it.”
It could have been a near perfect summer vacation if it had been summer. But they were here in early fall. There was a hint of color in the leaves and the lake was empty; most of the summer places closed up by now. Their rental cabin was right on the water. It was as rustic as they come, with chinked log walls and a fieldstone fireplace with a massive moose head looking over the main room. There were even guns on the wall which Sam was told in no uncertain terms were to be left alone. Still, his father would take them down and tell Sam the caliber and what they were used for. “Yeah, this is a 30-06, old but it’s in good shape. You’d get a deer or maybe that moose” or “12 gauge, double barrel. Ducks and geese. It’s seen some I bet.” And then there was the .22. “They used to call it a boy’s gun,” his father explained. “There’s a box of rounds there too. Maybe we’ll shoot it.”
“Can I, please?” asked Sam.
“Maybe, we’ll see, “ said his father.
“Dad, please oh please oh please. It’s a boy’s gun. I bet a little kid got to shoot it!”
“Stop it, I said we’ll see.”
“What can I do to shoot it? I’ll clean up my room better. Can I do a chore or something?”
“Forget it. I’m sorry I thought of it. I said stop.”
With that Sam’s father picked up a newspaper, sat down in a creaky old Morris chair, with its worn, dark green, velour cover with, appropriately, duck patterns, and started to read. Sam remained standing over his father, looked to the guns, and then back to his father. After a while, he gritted his teeth and went outside to walk around the lake’s shore.
They were in a cove, quiet, with just their cabin there. They’d been told it was one of the deepest parts of the lake, really a kettle hole more than a cove, with big fish down deep. “Monsters! Real monsters,” said the old caretaker who’d let them in. “You don’t want to swim too close.”
“Really? Are they that big? What type of fish are they? Can we see them?” asked Sam.
“Heck no, son, and you don’t want to. They stay quiet mostly when folks are around, and if you hook ‘em, why they’ll break your line if they don’t yank the rod right from you. My father once hooked one, back before the war, fishing at night he was. It nearly pulled him in. Said the thing could smell the blood from a cut he got slicing bait. Brought it right to the surface he did, opened its mouth, wide as a bucket he said with teeth the size of nails. Looking at the thing he let the rod down to the water and it chomped right through. One of those old bamboo contraptions and betcha it would be worth some money today. My dad had that busted rod up at the dock for years but he rarely told the story. No one believed it.”
“I believe it,” said Sam.
“Leave the man alone,” said his father who then asked about the fuse box.
“It’s okay, it’s fine. I was the same way at his age. Curious means he’s a smart one. I wanted to know. I believed it. Still do. Still do.”
Down at the dock was a canoe and wooden rowboat that, his father discovered, was too water-logged to get anywhere, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He’d load it up with his fishing gear, push off heavily from the dock, and strain at the oars, saying “damn it” under his breath and starting fishing. Sunfish was all he got, sunfish and an occasional pickerel.
Sam had a little rod of his own. A Zebco that couldn’t cast very far, but then there wasn’t much need in their small cove. He’d dug worms in the poor excuse for a garden near the cabin every day using a technique his friend Roy’s father had taught him in cub scouts. “Sam my boy, soak the ground with a hose or get there right after a big rain. Push the shovel end into the ground, in a soft area. Yeah, just like that. And use a stick to bang on the handle. They can feel the vibrations under the ground and come up. I suppose they’re curious to know what’s bothering them. You can also fill a bucket with water and add shampoo. That gets them moving too. Only what you’ll need. That way you reserve the rest for later.”
Sam had been fishing since they arrived at the camp. That, or jumping off the dock. There weren’t any other kids around and he was bored but did like fishing. From the dock, he caught dozens, literally, with his worms. And every time he hooked one he yelled out “I caught one!” His mother would look up from the book she’d be reading, smile and wave or smile and say, “Put them back now and wash your hands when you’re done.” His father might look from the rowboat and hold up one he’d caught or frown and continuing his fishing. The rain and the mosquitoes kept them all in for the next couple of days.
“Can I go too, please? I’ll be quiet, I promise.”
“Oh do take him. He’s been just hanging around here and we really haven’t done anything, “ said his mother.
“It’s my vacation, too,” said his father.
“Well take him for a while. Maybe you can motor over here and drop him off, but it’ll be fun for both of you.”
“Damn it,” said his father. “I wanted to be out by myself for once. Oh well, but just back here, got that Sam?”
“Yes, thank you thank you thank you. Can I steer? A little?”
“It’s a motorboat. C’mon, let’s go.”
Sam was bouncing on the backseat of their wagon, excited to be doing something away from the cabin and on a motorboat, too. He imagined a sleek shiny fiberglass machine that could tow a water skier or one of those bass boats with all the contraptions he’d seen at the big sportsman show. His father had crawled all over one there, checking its features and looking at the technical details. Sam was surprised when his father asked about pricing, his car’s towing capacity, and thrilled when his father concluded with, “Do better on that price. Let me think about it.”
“Dad, are you serious? Are we getting that boat?”
“Ha, did I convince you, too? No, we’re not getting a boat. We’re getting a flashlight. The coupon said ‘free Coleman light’ to serious buyers. I had to show I was serious, right?”
“I guess so,” said Sam, then with some excitement, “I’d love a flashlight.”
“Who wouldn’t? I’ll let you use it maybe. If you need it,” said his father.
They drove to the dock where the rental boats were stowed. A young man was working on an old Indian outboard, just pulling the cord as they approached. The motor roared to life. “Beautiful, just beautiful,” he said. He turned toward Sam and his father. “Good morning gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
Sam’s father eyed the smoking Indian with a mix of suspicion and envy. “That’s an old thing,” he said.
“Yes, it is. It must be 30 years old if it’s a day. I pulled it from the storage barn and have been at it since last summer, rebuilding it from propeller on up. I’ve put about 125 hours into her!”
“Hell, if you’d worked those hours you could have bought a new one.”
“At least!” said the young man, “and a boat to go with her. But then I wouldn’t be able to boast that I restored her and that would be a shame.”
“I don’t know about that. Anyway, we’d like a boat. A motorboat.”
“You could work for 125 hours and own one, or rent one of these fellows,” he said as he waved his hand towards several old wooden boats with their outboards lifted out of the water. “They’re old and may not look pretty, but I keep them in shape and they won’t leak a drop. You’ll like the sound, too. The wood’s at home in the water. We’ve got some aluminum ones, too, if you prefer. But they get hot in the sun and when you’re up and running the water bangs them too loud like. Scares the fish, I suspect. Wood, now the wood, sounds like a quiet thud, like a footstep, or maybe a moccasin. These boats were made by our local guide, genuine Abenaki, and he knows fishing.”
“Dad, let’s get a wooden one. I like the sound they make!” said Sam.
“You’ve never heard them so how could you know?” said his father.
“But the man said….” Sam didn’t say anymore.
“The boy’s right though. He’ll like the sound and everyone knows a thud from a bang. Especially the fish.”
“Well, I don’t know. How much for a few hours?”
The young man pointed to a hand-painted sign; boats $15 – half-day, $20 – full day. Motors — 5$ and $8. Worms 10 -$2. Nightcrawlers $10 – $2.50. Rental rods included.”
“I’ll go for a half-day. If I stay out longer, it’s okay?”
“Well, I’d like you to be more definitive. We worry about guests not being familiar with the lake and if they stay out longer than planned we have to go after them. Weather’ll be coming in tonight, maybe sooner. Just keep an eye out. ”
“Well, let’s say half-day with a really good chance it’ll be longer. “
“Your call Mister. Any particular choice?”
Sam’s father looked about and said they all looked pretty much the same. “Which catches the most fish?” he said half-jokingly.
“It’s up to the fisherman more than the boat, but I like that one at the end.”
Sam asked why, and the young man explained it had the least water in it after all the rain. “Less work for me to bail!”
They went over to it. It was an old wooden one, painted in a dark green, with a flat bottom. It floated low in the water due to all the water in the hull, especially at the stern. The young man knelt on the dock and started to bail. “I’ll be a minute,” he said. “ So why don’t you get yourselves some life vests and maybe seat cushions.”
Do we absolutely need life vests, asked Sam’s father.
“State law,” said the young man, “and common sense. This is the north country and the weather can change on a dime.”
He continued to bail as Sam walked on the dock and saw something half submerged in one of the boats. “Mister, maybe this’ll help.”
“Leave him alone Sam, he doesn’t want to play guessing games.”
The young man looked to Sam. “You’re a genius you are. Bring her over here! That’s the pump! I couldn’t find it. Where was it?”
“In that canoe,” said Sam. “It looks like my bicycle pump and I figured…it might be a water pump. From the hose on it.”
“Good thinking on you and good luck for me!”
He placed one end of the hose in the boat, stood up, and pumped away as water gushed from the other end. In less than five minutes the boat was dry.
“See Dad! I helped, I knew it was a pump.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said his Dad, lugging the cushions and vests down the dock.
The young man finished his pumping, put the motor down, pumped in some gas, and pulled the cord. It roared to a blue smoky life. “All aboard,” he said with a smile. He hoisted Sam up and into the front of the boat. “It’s the best seat in the house,” he said. “You’ll feel all the bumps and get splashed, too” Sam nodded his head in anticipation.
The young man offered his hand to Sam’s Dad who waved it away, tossed the life preservers onto the floor, and tripped on the mooring rope as he fell in. “God damn it,” he said.
“Are you okay Mister? Here, let me help you.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just watch where you put those stupid ropes. Christ, right where people walk.”
“I’m sorry about that but it’s how we keep the boats secure. Can I get you a bandage? You cut your knee a bit.”
“I said I’m fine, damn it. Just untie us.”
“Sure thing. If you need anything, just come back and I’ll fix you up. Let me just get a first aid kit.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Sam watch all this from the bow but said nothing. He knew his dad was in one of those moods where you’d couldn’t win for losing. His mood changed as the boat left the dock and they raced out into the lake. Sam looked for other boats. The lake was empty.
“Look there, Dad!” Sam pointed to a big splash near some cattails. “There’s a fish.”
“Uh-huh.”
Sam kept looking his hand positioned as if saluting to protect his eyes. He saw an osprey splash and grab a fish near the shore. “Dad, lookee. That eagle got one. It’s an eagle I think!”
“Maybe so.”
They motored on and then stopped while his father cast his rod and handed it to Sam. “Just watch the bobber and don’t yank until it goes under. Got that? Don’t yank it.”
“Got it,” said Sam.
He watched the bobber hoping. His father, meanwhile, was spin casting and having a time. “Whoa! Got another!” He reeled his third pickerel of the day.
“Dad, can I try what you’re doing?”
“Not yet, not yet. You just watch…..Christ I got, wow, this is big!” He reeled in a three-pound small-mouth bass. “Man what a day.”
Sam looked down and thought there was a bit more water in the bottom of the boat and said as much. His father looked down and said, “You’re dreaming. If you’re worried put on that life vest.”
Which Sam did. It was stiff and smelled of mildew. Sam had trouble adjusting the straps and asked his dad to help. “Come over here then.” Sam edged over the middle seat and splashed a bit. “Dad, are we supposed to have this much water in it?”
“It’s nothing,” said his father. “That guy just was lazy about pumping it all out. Should have used a sponge.”
His father pulled in the straps and said, “Now back to business.” Sam sat watched his bobber when it started to jiggle back and forth. “Dad I got one!”
“No you don’t, he’s just playing with you. Let him take it under and then pull back, get ‘em on that way.”
Sam kicked lightly at the lapstrake siding and leaned over to pick at some punky wood on the floor. He was sure it allowed more water to leak in.
The bobber went under and Sam pulled back, but the fish go off. “Dad, I lost it and it took my worm.”
“Aw, bring it over here then.” He put on another one. “Can you cast it yourself?”
“I think so.”
“Well then go ahead.”
Sam held the rod back and cast. The line hit the water in a series of loops. He looked to his father. “Reel it in slowly and try again,” his father said then turned to cast his rod. Sam did, recast, and managed to get it a bit further out His father, meanwhile, caught another fish. “Oh boy, oh boy! This is great.”
Sam lost a worm again, picked more at the punky wood while his father replaced the worm. He tossed the box to Sam. “You do it next time. Just put the hook through the worm a couple of times, and don’t hook yourself.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” said Sam.
They went at this for a couple of hours. Sam managed to catch a few sunfish, which thrilled him. His father tossed them back saying, “Tell your mama to start biting next time.”
They motored about a bit, in and out of coves, when Sam saw their cabin. “Dad, look! That’s our place.”
“Well what do you know,” he said and turned the boat towards their dock. With that, Sam’s father motored the boat toward their cove. Sam knew what was coming, knew that arguing wouldn’t help, but had to ask, “Dad, are we going in?
“Not we, my boy. You. I want a little alone time and, anyway, you’re not catching many fish, it can’t be much fun.”
“That’s okay, really. I just like being on the boat. Let me get a can or something and I’ll get the water out. I won’t be a pain or anything.”
“Sam, I just want some daddy time, okay. Maybe I’ll come get you when I’m done and motor you over to the boat dock. What do you say?”
“Okay.”
The dad pulled the boat to the dock and Sam jumped out. His mother, hearing the motor, came onto the porch overlooking the lake and looked at Sam leaving the boat with disappointment. “They could have had a day of it,” she thought.
Sam looked towards the lake as his father motored away, full throttle, and gave a halfhearted wave. He trudged over the dock towards the cabin. “Catch anything?” his mother asked. “Just some sunnies. But dad caught a lot. He had on the right bait.” He again looked to the boat but could only make out the vee-shaped wake and the fading rumble of the motor. His mother’s eyes followed his gaze.
“Well, look, you still have your life vest on. Maybe we can get a boat of our own.”
“REALLY! Dad won’t be angry?”
“Why should he be angry? He’s having his fun, let’s have ours.”
Sam kept on his vest when he got into the car, but couldn’t get his seatbelt around it.
“Just leave it, Sam. We’re just going around to the boatyard. Our secret. “
The young boatyard worker looked up as they walked down the dock.
“Now you look familiar! My pump boy and savior. You must be Mrs. Pumpboy. But where’s Mr. Pumpboy?”
“He wanted to fish alone. Way out on the lake somewhere and dropped me off at home.”
The young man looked out on the lake and into the sky. “He shouldn’t have done that without telling me. I’ve got two people registered for that boat and god forbid there’s a problem we’d be looking for two people. But, no matter, you’re here. So what can I do for you?”
Sam’s mother explained they wanted their own boat so for a while so that Sam could catch some fish. The young man looked back out and shook his head. “I don’t like the look of those clouds. See? Expecting weather later tonight but those are coming in pretty quick.”
Sam looked down at the water, disappointed again, and the young man noticed. “Tell you what. Take the rowboat for a bit. Just stay in sight of me and that flagpole. If a red flag goes up, you come in or I’ll get you. Fair?”
“FAIR!” said Sam. “Mom?”
“Okay by me.”
“Super. Now you don’t need to go far at all if you’re fishing. Those cattails over by that point are a good spot. Just fish off the weeds. You’ll see. You’ll be the only ones out today anyway.”
“There’s my dad.”
“Oh yeah, mustn’t forget about him, but he’s off somewhere and won’t bother your fish. Here’s a trick. When you catch the big ones, keep the rod tip up and let them play. It’ll keep the line from breaking. ”
The young man ushered them into an aluminum jon boat with an electric motor explaining how simple it was to use. “Let pumpboy Sam give it a try.” “Mom?” pleaded Sam. His mother looked at him with a smile in her eyes. “Sure.”
She pushed off the dock while the young man pushed with a pole and Sam twisted the throttle gently to get going. The boat veered back to the dock, bumping into it. Sam looked up to the young man expecting to be yelled at, but the young man was laughing. “Try turning it in the other direction now that you’ve learned it’s got reverse! Here, like this.” They spun into the lake, did some circles, and Sam maneuvered it to the dock as the young man jumped off. “You got it, son. Now go catch some dinner!”
They slowed to a stop near the cattails and Sam’s mom baited the hooks on the two rods the young man had given them. She cast one, handed it to Sam, and baited the other and cast that, too.
“Got one!” shouted Sam as the bobber went under. He pulled up on the rod, hooking the fishing, and reeled it in. A small pickerel. His mother handed him the other rod while she took the fish off and threw it back. “Bring your big brother over,” she said.
“I got another, whoa!” said Sam when a few minutes later the bobber went deep and the rod bent. The fish pulled it to the left and the right taking line out as it headed towards the weeds. “Keep the rod up, Sam,” his mother urged. “Reel slowly.”
He did, and when the fish got close to the boat, it charged back out. Back and forth it went, tiring itself and Sam. When Sam brought it in his mother yelled. “Holy moly! Look at the size of that!” It was a large-mouth bass, a good 20 inches, and fat as a football.”
“Let’s let it go, Mom,” said Sam.
“Good idea. We’ll catch it next year when it’s even bigger!”
Several fish later, they heard a horn blow. Looking up they noticed the red flag flapping in the stiffening wind and the young man waving in the distance. Time to go in.
“Sorry to call you in, but the wind’s picking up and those clouds you know. How’d you do?” he asked. Sam could barely get out the words, stuttering about the bass and how they let it go. “Well you are a true outdoorsman,” he said. “Putting them back is the right thing if you don’t plan to eat them. I like that.”
As he tied the boat to the dock and lifted out the motor’s battery, he looked out the lake squinting to see into the distance. “Hold on for a sec.” He jogged to the office, returning with a pair of binoculars, scanning the lake. “Don’t see him,” he said. “If he doesn’t come in soon, he’s going to be one wet father of my pumpboy.”
“Is he okay?”
“Give him some time. He can see those clouds, too. Might just call the local ranger if he’s not back in a few.”
On the other side of the lake, Sam’s father unhooked another fish and slammed it against the gunwales, stunning it and then tossing it into the hold with a half dozen others. They flapped about in the water that had collected there, which kept them half alive. “Keep ‘em fresh,” thought Sam’s father as he cast again.
The wind had picked up and pushing the boat further towards the middle of that part of the lake. It was tossed about in the building waves and only when one rogue splashed into the boat did Sam’s father realize how much water had collected in the bottom. He saw a leak bubbling in up near the bow, floating shreds of punky wood around the bottom.
The water was now over the soles of his shoes, allowing the empty bottle of Dr. Pepper to float back and forth as the boat moved about. It was, he sensed, time to go in. He pulled the cord on the motor and it turned over, briefly, before sputtering out. He pulled again, but it was taut, stuck, and he hurt his hand as it flew off the handle. He tried again. And again. “God damn it, “ he said to no one but himself. “God damn it!”
He leaned over to put the oars in their locks – he’d have to row back – when the little boat was struck by another large wave knocking Sam’s father into the still flapping fish and forcing him to drop the oars. His pant legs were soaked now and he was asking himself if that wave had brought in so much more water. He got back up to see the oars, in the water, a few feet behind the boat. “Damn!” he yelled to the sky. “DAMN!!”
He grabbed into the water, soaking his shirtsleeve. He moved over to the other side, to get the second oar, barely out of reach. The wind pushed the boat further from that oar.
More waves splashed water into the boat even before the rain came. Two of the fish were no longer flapping in agony, but swimming about in water that was over his ankles. He looked about for a bucket, found none, and tried to bail using his cupped hands. Each time he leaned over to do so, another wave brought in even more water.
The wind had picked up enough to be blowing the boat and now shivering occupant closer to the far side of the lake, a few hundred yards off a wide cove. The boat seemed to barely move, weighted down with water, inching in the wind. He looked around for something, anything, and thought he saw in the distance a motorboat bouncing up against the waves coming towards him. He stood up to wave using an orange life preserver as a signaling flag and yelled, pleading, “Help” to the boat which seemed to have slowed to ease its progress through the rough water.
The wave that hit him wasn’t huge, but it was enough to lift the boat and topple Sam’s father over the side. He gulped in lake water and sputtered to the surface, looking around desperate for the life preserver now floating some 10 feet away and the boat, swamped to the gunwales. He dogpaddled to it, hanging on the side as it started to go under, and noticed the two fish he’d caught swim under him, leaving a trickle of blood from where he’d hooked them.
The life preserver was halfway between him and the cove. His arms flailed, hands numb from the cold water, and he sensed himself shivering. He was dazed, but determined, and splashed his way forward, the waves cresting over him every few feet. He tried to focus on the preserver that kept pace with his own glacial forward efforts. He knew he was losing it; his swimming became feeble, disjointed, and his mind understood what was happening to his body. As he struggled, he took it as a gift that his mind, too, was giving way and maybe reduce the fear. He almost smiled sure he was hallucinating a huge fish approaching, its toothy mouth open as wide as a bucket.
“It’s good to see you again, Sam. Your mom wrote to say she was renting the cabin again. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, okay is good. Good enough anyway. I’ve thought a lot about you.”
“That rod was the best birthday gift I got. How did you know I wanted one?”
“Oh, I just knew. You were so keen on fishing last year, when, you know. When it happened. Sorry to have mentioned that. I’m such an idiot.”
“No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s funnier for people talking about it. Like they’re, Mom says, awkward, but I’m okay. It’s hard. Harder for other people than even me.”
“You’re quite the fellow, Sam. Teaching me stuff.”
The young man pointed down the dock to a wooden motorboat, whose newly painted dark green hull reflected the sunlight off the water.
“That’s my boat. Built over the winter and kept it at my house. I didn’t want the tourists insisting on renting it.”
“It’s beautiful! Look at the wood inside!”
“Yup, varnished three times. Epoxy on the seams.”
“What do you call it?”
“Look on the transom.”
Sam walked quickly over and read the words: ”Sam’s Choice”
“Yup. So what do you choose?”
“Huh?”
“Well, do you want to man the oars or steer the motor? We’re going fishing.”
Sam caught eight that day. His friend didn’t even put a rod in water.