by GREG KOELKER
About the only excitement around here lately is the Freddy Peralta trade – I’ll bet a cup of cheap coffee that is a mistake in Milwaukee although I hope it’s not. Oh yeah, I remembered I almost forgot that hated furry tunnel rat seeing its shadow Monday morning in Pennsylvania, dooming us to 6 more weeks of winter. Still, on a positive, less nationally heralded note, Wisconsin’s beloved Jimmy the Groundhog predicted an early spring at dawn on an overcast Monday morning in Sun Prairie! Oh, the Old Farmers Almanac actually concurs predicting sunny and mild temps by mid March; let’s see ten fingers, ten toes . . . wait. What? @#*!
I had a nightmare about a fishing trip in the UP with my old buddy Don Schnering last night. For some reason, I found myself in the Queen all alone on a lake. The fish weren’t biting, so I decided to head in. When I turned to start the engine, I realized I was sitting in water up to my knees. Fortunately, the Yamaha started anyway and I was able to motor back across the lake. Back at the landing, Don, his brothers Dick and Roger, and my brother-in-law Chuck had a good laugh. I managed to load my boat somehow and I tried to wind my way through a festival of some kind, finally stopping at a kind of a boat repair business. In the shop I realized that the bilge plug was out. Gone for that matter! I started yelling at whoever. There’s more, but the A&W root beer I drank the night before woke me! It was one of those stupid so glad I was dreaming nightmares. Anyway, the muse struck about then and the following incidents at landings of some of my less than stellar history with them are down on this page:
One incident came to mind after the nightmare. It happened at a boat launch in the UP of Michigan. I was waiting for Donnie to launch his boat so I could put the Rustic Princes in. Donnie started to pull ahead and his fishing boat rolled off his trailer into the gravel circle parking lot. He raced to get it cranked back on so I couldn’t take a photo. We all had a good laugh but no photo.
Curt Christianson and I launched at the upper Black Hawk Park landing one cool spring morning around the turn of the century. I sort of put the trailer in crooked and one wheel got stuck in some rocks off the side of the ramp. After trying to motor muscle the stuck tire out – and nearly twisting the bumper off my new 2000 Ford Ranger 4×4, and finally stopping to study the situation, we were able to toss an anchor (tied to a rope of course) behind the trailer axle and lift it up and get it out. I had to take the truck to Bud’s Auto Body near Stoddard to straighten the bumper.
One summer morning at the Clinton street landing in La Crosse, Vince Ruetten and I got waylaid by a rope. While I was parking the truck and trailer, he tied up The Queen and was pulling in the rear boat rope. For some reason – who knows what reasons ropes need to tangle up and snare whatever – that rope was wrapped around four St. Croix rods with reels on the side deck. They went over the side into the drink. Vince tried diving into the 15’ of water at the rear of the boat and couldn’t find them. I called my young nephew Chet. He showed up and tried too. Nuttin’ honey. Anyway, then I called in the big guns. It was Ellen’s day off, and I asked her to bring me my Aqua Vu underwater camera. While Vince and I messed with it, El walked over the bridge to a boat repair shop and a guy loaned her a 4-inch treble grappling hook on a rope. I finally found the rods all together in the camera screen and used the grappling hook and got them all in one try. El saved the day once again and saved me about $600. For my birthday, she had a similar grappling hook made for me. It has served on more than one occasion.
One another summer morning, our third son, Davy Becker and I were putting the Queen in at the Bad Axe Landing. As the trailer tipped down the ramp, the untied vessel rolled off the trailer too soon and the Mercury motor hit hard! We cranked the Queen back on and launched it again. It started just fine, but the motor balked at moving and just shook in gear. The lower unit and shaft were damaged to the tune of $500.
I was holding the rope of Steve Trussoni’s boat at the Bad Axe launch one summer morning. When Steve pulled away, I dropped the rope. @#*! The current was swift by that landing and his boat started heading south to Lansing. (Today Steve’s boat might be still running free but I was young then.) I tossed my wallet and keys on the ramp, and waded in after the quickly exiting stage left flatbottom. After a minute or so, I managed to get a hold of the rope and swim the fugitive skiff back to shore. It was hot enough that the wet clothes felt pretty good even with the embarrassment. We did catch a nice mess of panfish.
I learned lots of lessons at boat ramps. One is to know when you are beat. Case in point: El and I had a babysitter for an evening and we planned a fishing trip below the Genoa Dam. On the way down Proksch Coulee Road, the frame broke on the very rusty Rustic Princess’s trailer, noisily dragging along on the pavement. There was a new home being built across the street, and with Ellen’s help, I was able to brace it with a bit of 2×4 liberated from the dumpster. El was reluctant. Not me. We headed south. At the old Genoa Landing we put in without incident but another omen was revealed when the usually reliable 25 Merc wouldn’t start. El said (in retrospect wisely), “Let’s just go home.” No. I studied the situation – think Clark Griswold like. I found a leak in the fuel hose. I cut it short and hooked it back up. The Merc fired. We motored up toward the dam. I baited up a couple of jigs and we drifted along the east shore rocks – all the time I noticed I was getting sideways glances from my wife. Omen two: We both got snagged and I had to cut off. Omen three: the Merc wouldn’t start again. El was reaching for an oar, when It finally fired, and I suggested we try another drift. After three strikes, my exasperated better-half had had enough and brandished the oar like a bat. Anyway, we managed to get the rusty rig home and got burgers at the Big River.
The next afternoon, Randy Meier and I went fishing, putting the Rustic Princess at the old Genoa Landing without incident. When I parked the trailer – that still had the 2×4 in place now held with duct tape and some wire, an older gentleman walking by stopped to look at it. He finally said to me, “I see you don’t have a padlock on your trailer. Aren’t you worried someone will steal it?”
Until next time, get out – I realize I have many more landing stories. There are several places that I am banned from even. At least one fishing buddy will only go up stream in a boat with me. I could write a book. Nah, too many more nightmares.
Pray for peace.
Greg Koelker is a lifelong resident of the Driftless region and a proud member of the De Soto, Wisconsin, community. He is the acclaimed author of the “Grouse Hollow Journal,” a column that celebrates rural life, nature, family heritage, and the traditions that bind communities together. While technically focused on the “outdoors,” his writing often explores broader themes of community values and education.
Add comment