(HOST) Fishing is a popular activity in Vermont. Commentator Mary McCallum is remembering one time when she went fishing – with some unexpected results.
(MCCALLUM) In summer Vermont’s lakes beckon to folks who like to get out on the water and fish from a boat. I remember one fishing trip with my friend Ralph, who was mad for crappie, a delicate pan fish that most anglers lob back into the water.
We took his boat to Lake Hortonia, brought plenty of bait and jigs, and a cooler of chilly drinks. For hours we caught and released lots of fish but hooked no crappie. We cursed the swathes of milfoil that clung to the motor. By 4:00 we reluctantly headed for the boat access ramp and Ralph’s pickup. We would load the sixteen-foot boat onto the trailer, hit the lakeside general store for more cold drinks, and head home.
Hortonia’s access ramp is steeply pitched. A dad and his little boy watched with interest as we maneuvered the boat onto the submerged trailer for the mighty pull – with one of us at the wheel and the other in the water pushing the boat. We made several runs without getting the boat to center on the trailer.
"Need any help?" asked the dad faintly.
"No, we’re fine," replied Ralph in a manly fashion.
We repeatedly tried to center the boat on the trailer, drove the truck up the ramp, backed down, readjusted and tried again. We were feeling tense and incompetent.
The boy watched Ralph intently. "Daddy," he trilled. "How big is that man’s boat?" Ralph rolled his eyes at me.
"Daddy, how big is our boat?" he continued, as the truck gave off a small hiccup. Then, its chassis groaned and the tires nudged backward on the ramp a few inches. I told Ralph I was nervous. He tightened the winch and said flatly, "Don’t worry. It won’t go far."
I hopped out of the truck while Ralph wrestled with the boat.
It happened so fast it was just a blur of commotion on the still surface of the lake. The truck’s emergency brake let go and it popped out of gear. In a muscular burst, the boat careened backward into the lake, pulling the truck with it. The truck pounded into the water with an explosive rush, stopped, and began to sink.
Its speedy submersion was impressive. Ralph ran after it, kicking up great gushes of water and milfoil. But in less than a minute the truck rested below the surface of the lake, which was now silent except for the regular swishing of windshield wipers that, through an electrical short, activated underwater. They emitted a watery crump-crump, crump-crump from below.
The lake’s surface smoothed to glass and a voice sang out. "Daddy? If that man was trying to get his boat out of the water why did he put his truck in the water?" "Be quiet!" commanded the father testily, and we all stared at the floating boat still attached to the sunken truck.
"Well," I said. "Guess we won’t be coming back here anytime soon."
"Oh, I’ll be back," said Ralph. "There’s crappie out there somewhere – stacked up just like cord wood."