I’m going to bump Feralmerril for the most lengthy story, but his memory of falling in the horse tank is to blame. There is no way to tell this one quickly. My Grandpa was a vacationing fisherman. Every year for many years, he would make a fishing trip to Minnesota when the factory where he worked closed down for the week of the 4th of July. Remember when businesses did that?
Many of those years, he would “borrow” me from my parents and I got to make the trip too. We would stay in a lake cottage belonging to one of his friends. Since Grandpa was a handy fellow, he arranged to compensate the owner by making a few general repairs while he was there. One summer we took tools and a new screen door for the place, but he found the job was not going to be all that easy and it took several evenings. One of those evenings I was being a typical teenage boy, probably impatient to go do something more interesting, so he told me, “Take that canoe out for a bit, but do not go any further than the lodge, and don’t get too far out in the lake.”
I was 14-years old. I had a lot of experience with rowboats - none with canoes. I had been after Grandpa to use the canoe for our fishing, instead of the rowboat, but he was too smart for that.
I got the canoe underway and was probably 200 yards out in the lake and more or less at the boundary he imposed, viz. the lodge next door. Thinking that the canoe was obviously made the same at either end, there was no reason for tediously maneuvering the thing, I might as well just turn myself around, and thus I would be headed back to the cottage. Any of you who have been in a canoe will know how that brilliant thought ended.
So I was in the lake, with an upside down canoe that did not belong to me, a good 200-yards from shore, no flotation gear, and with some pretty sturdy boots on – literally in the blink of an eye. The first canoe lesson!
I had always been lectured that panic kills, and that in a tight situation there was almost always time to stop and think. I developed a quick plan to first turn the canoe over, throw my boots in the canoe, and then swim the thing back to shore, where I would get the water out of it, get back in and head home, with no damage other than being wet. My plan worked fairly well in the big picture, but turning the canoe over just allowed it to fill completely with water and thus it submerged to just a bit below the surface. Once I determined it was not going to continue to sink (thank God!), I got my boots off and into it, and made the long swim to shore, pulling the canoe along behind me. It probably took twenty minutes to swim that 200-yards. I arrived temporarily exhausted.
After lying on the shore for a few moments to recover, I got up and tried to get the canoe turned over enough to get the water out of it, but it was still largely in the water and it was so heavy I couldn’t make much progress. I was working away at this problem when, to my utter surprise, two men appeared and helped me turn the thing over a bit to get enough water out of it so that we could get it fully on shore and complete the process. As I stood up to thank them for their help, it suddenly came to my attention these gentlemen – and many of their friends – had been treated to my little aquatic sideshow from start to finish. Along the yard of the lodge there were probably twenty lawn chairs, at least half of them occupied by lodge guests taking in the evening beside the lake. While all this was going on, I had no idea there was anyone else within at least 100-miles. Talk about tunnel vision!
Realizing that I had more than done my share to provide the evening’s entertainment, I thanked the fellows for their help as I hastily attempted to shove off. As I was doing so, one of them patted me on the back and told me, “Son, you aren’t much at handling that canoe but you are one hell of a swimmer, I’ll give you that.” Though I had heard the phrase before, this was the first time I truly understood the meaning of Winston Churchill’s old quip, “Damnation! With faint praise.”
I suppose I was really never in much danger, but when I was in the water, it did not seem so. I repaired back to the cottage where my Grandpa, who could see that I was wet from head to toe, said not a word. That little event is one memory from my youth that I will always have.
Many of those years, he would “borrow” me from my parents and I got to make the trip too. We would stay in a lake cottage belonging to one of his friends. Since Grandpa was a handy fellow, he arranged to compensate the owner by making a few general repairs while he was there. One summer we took tools and a new screen door for the place, but he found the job was not going to be all that easy and it took several evenings. One of those evenings I was being a typical teenage boy, probably impatient to go do something more interesting, so he told me, “Take that canoe out for a bit, but do not go any further than the lodge, and don’t get too far out in the lake.”
I was 14-years old. I had a lot of experience with rowboats - none with canoes. I had been after Grandpa to use the canoe for our fishing, instead of the rowboat, but he was too smart for that.
I got the canoe underway and was probably 200 yards out in the lake and more or less at the boundary he imposed, viz. the lodge next door. Thinking that the canoe was obviously made the same at either end, there was no reason for tediously maneuvering the thing, I might as well just turn myself around, and thus I would be headed back to the cottage. Any of you who have been in a canoe will know how that brilliant thought ended.
So I was in the lake, with an upside down canoe that did not belong to me, a good 200-yards from shore, no flotation gear, and with some pretty sturdy boots on – literally in the blink of an eye. The first canoe lesson!
I had always been lectured that panic kills, and that in a tight situation there was almost always time to stop and think. I developed a quick plan to first turn the canoe over, throw my boots in the canoe, and then swim the thing back to shore, where I would get the water out of it, get back in and head home, with no damage other than being wet. My plan worked fairly well in the big picture, but turning the canoe over just allowed it to fill completely with water and thus it submerged to just a bit below the surface. Once I determined it was not going to continue to sink (thank God!), I got my boots off and into it, and made the long swim to shore, pulling the canoe along behind me. It probably took twenty minutes to swim that 200-yards. I arrived temporarily exhausted.
After lying on the shore for a few moments to recover, I got up and tried to get the canoe turned over enough to get the water out of it, but it was still largely in the water and it was so heavy I couldn’t make much progress. I was working away at this problem when, to my utter surprise, two men appeared and helped me turn the thing over a bit to get enough water out of it so that we could get it fully on shore and complete the process. As I stood up to thank them for their help, it suddenly came to my attention these gentlemen – and many of their friends – had been treated to my little aquatic sideshow from start to finish. Along the yard of the lodge there were probably twenty lawn chairs, at least half of them occupied by lodge guests taking in the evening beside the lake. While all this was going on, I had no idea there was anyone else within at least 100-miles. Talk about tunnel vision!
Realizing that I had more than done my share to provide the evening’s entertainment, I thanked the fellows for their help as I hastily attempted to shove off. As I was doing so, one of them patted me on the back and told me, “Son, you aren’t much at handling that canoe but you are one hell of a swimmer, I’ll give you that.” Though I had heard the phrase before, this was the first time I truly understood the meaning of Winston Churchill’s old quip, “Damnation! With faint praise.”
I suppose I was really never in much danger, but when I was in the water, it did not seem so. I repaired back to the cottage where my Grandpa, who could see that I was wet from head to toe, said not a word. That little event is one memory from my youth that I will always have.
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