Boat Ramps--Where Anything Can and Often Does Happen

Not all boat-ramp evolutions go as smoothly as
the one in progress here.

I've been doing this bass-fishing thing for a lot of years now. And please don't tune me out just yet, 'cause I'm not going to lapse into a pat-on-the-back session about how great a fisherman I am. When it comes to bass fishing, I'm the first to admit that any success I've ever enjoyed in this sport has involved far more luck than any skill I may have acquired along the way.

Putting all that aside, I want to talk about some of the things I've seen, heard and/or had happen to yours truly at boat ramps. I feel like it's safe to say that anyone who has spent a lot of time around boat-launch and recovery sites have at least a few stories of their own they could share.

A Case of Mistaken Hearing

One of my earliest recollections took place at Lake Anna, which, for those who don't already know, is located in Northern Virginia. We were fishing a big open tournament when heavy thunderstorms moved in and got so vicious that officials cancelled the last few hours of fishing. The thunder, lightning, wind, rain, and hail had driven nearly everyone back to the marina. Incidentally, I said "nearly everyone" because a few participants had been forced to beach their boats around the lake and wait for a lull. It turned out that a number of us ended up having to go back out after the storm had passed and help some of those folks get their boats off the beach.

But that's getting away from the heart of this story, which is what was happening in the ramp area. Boats were everywhere, with owners dropping off partners along the shoreline to go get tow vehicles and trailers, while others hurriedly put their rigs on trailers. With lightning popping all around and, in some cases, striking trees in the area, to say the scene was one of total chaos would be a gross understatement. Anyone there knew it just was a matter of time before something bad was going to occur.

One angler had tossed his keys to his wife and asked her to go get his vehicle, while he and his partner waited in the boat. As her turn came at getting lined up and backing down the ramp, the boat owner anxiously bumped the boat's throttle into and out of gear. Then, while his wife still was inching backward with the trailer, he made a run at it, hollering "whoa," as the boat hit the bunks. I should note here that the wife, with all the rain, hail and such going on, only had cracked the driver's side window, so she undoubtedly couldn't hear very well. In any event, she evidently, instead of hearing "whoa," thought she heard "go" and dropped the gearshift into drive. All the subsequent uproar and arm waving from those watching weren't enough to make the wife stop... until the damage had been done. There lay the broken bass boat--as I later learned, a brand new one--on the ramp.

Oh, by the way, the wife finally hit the brakes, but only long enough to turn around in the driver's seat and take a quick look at what she had done. Then, she sped away. I never did hear how things turned out between the husband and her. If what the husband was shouting with clinched fist shaking in the air as she drove away was any indication, I have to seriously doubt there was any conciliation.

Although boat-recovery operations continued at a feverish pace after this incident, no more boats were damaged, no one was injured, and everyone was accounted for at final muster.

Beware Flying Winch Handles

The early '70s found me on Navy staff duty in the Washington, D.C. area, and at least one day of nearly every weekend found me at the Potomac River, Occoquan Reservoir, or Lake Anna. My trips to the latter usually were solo events, much as my trips to the North Landing River are today. One of those 0-dark-30 visits to Lake Anna, however, made an "impression" on me that I've never forgotten to this day, some 40 or so years later. It likely never will disappear from my memory bank unless, God forbid, that I, like my dear, late mother (and all of her sisters), should end up with Alzheimer's. That disease, like so many others, just genuinely sucks.

In any event, this particular Lake Anna trip got headed south when the winch mechanism on my old trailer wouldn't release right. To put this situation in proper perspective, I need to explain a couple things. As I've already said, it was 0-dark-30. I also need to point out that the ramp I was using is (or was at that time, anyway) nearly vertical. And, to make matters worse, I was stubborn back in those days (a habit my wife still swears I haven't overcome). In this situation, I wouldn't pause long enough to grab a flashlight.

So, here I am, trying to get the winch mechanism to release, so I can just let the boat slide down into the water (with winch strap still attached), then load my gear, and be off for a relaxing, fun day of bass fishing. Unfortunately, in my angst with the winch, I absent-mindedly had been getting my face ever closer and closer to it, laying myself wide open for something bad to happen. And, I'm here to tell you that it all happened in a blinding flash.

The mechanism suddenly turned loose, and the winch handle snapped around, catching me flush in the mouth. Blood flew everywhere--and here's a guy who has been known several times in his life to pass out at the sight of blood. All I can say is thank God this wasn't another such occasion. I firmly believe He watches out for us a lot of times, especially when we blow off common sense or otherwise just aren't smart enough to look out for ourselves.

Anyway, I'm standing behind my car, holding my mouth, with blood running down my arm from a cut lip and teeth that have been knocked loose from the winch handle, wondering what I should do. Absolutely no one else was around at this hour of the morning. Now anyone with sound judgment is going to be left scratching their heads for a long time when you hear what I finally decided to do in this situation. Just promise me you won't call the folks with the white jackets on me, 'cause I assure you that I've gotten smarter as I've gotten older.

I calmly walked to the water's edge, knelt down, scooped up some lake water with my free hand, tossed it in my mouth, and rinsed it out--not once but four or five times, never once thinking about all those little organisms I probably just had introduced into my system. My only concern was to get rid of some of the blood. I then walked to the car, got in, and using the overhead light and rearview mirror, adjusted the alignment of my loose teeth as best I could, then closed my mouth and kept it shut in that same position the rest of the day. Oh, and incidentally, I went ahead and loaded the boat and went fishing all day.

Once back home from that trip, I spent a lot of time rinsing my mouth with something other than lake water, but I never made an emergency trip to the dentist. And when I had my next scheduled visit, I never said a word to him about what had happened to me at Lake Anna. I figured if he detected any grossly misaligned teeth, he would say something to me, and then I'd explain, but he was mum, and so was I.

Why did I handle this situation the way I did? Was it youth being macho? I don't think so, because the only thing I remember being that day was scared. Did it somehow have something to do with what I had witnessed as a young boy, e.g., I saw my one granddad pull his own tooth with a pair of pliers to stop a toothache. Did I maybe think I had to be as tough as he was? I doubt that, too.

Regardless of the logic I used--if any at all--I lived to talk about it, and maybe by sharing the story with others, will spare them a similar fate. You also should know that I keep my boat winch today well-lubed and try to be more cautious around all things in general that I know can hurt me.

Why Are You So Nervous?

That's the question I was left pondering in my mind one morning many years ago, as I sat parked, awaiting my turn to launch my boat at West Neck Marina. I had watched the gentleman already at the ramp go to meticulous lengths to get everything just right in his boat (I once worked with a guy who actually stacked paper clips in neat rows in his desk drawer, so I know all about being meticulous), but now this fella simply was circling the boat and pickup, stopping every little bit to rub his chin like something might be wrong. I was the only other one waiting that morning, so I was trying to be patient.

Finally, though, I couldn't stand it any longer. I got out of my vehicle and walked over to where the other fella was and asked if he had a problem. His response was, "I'm nervous."

Trying not to sound too much like a smart-ass, I said, "That much I had figured out. But what are you so nervous about?"

The answer I got was, "This is a brand new boat and pickup, and I'm not sure I can get the boat in the water by myself without messing up something. I've never owned a boat before."

I couldn't help wondering how this guy had come by enough money to buy the whole package in one fell swoop, and, too, I wondered if he ever had been in a bass boat before, but I kept those thoughts to myself. With what I'm sure was a bit of a smile on my face, I instead just asked, "Would you like to have my help? I don't want anything to do with your boat, but I feel sure I can back you in the water and let you drive it off. Then if you'll just grab hold of the dock, I'll park your vehicle, hand you the keys, and you can be off."

"Oh, mister, I'd really appreciate that."

So, the fella hopped up in his boat, I very slowly backed him in, the boat floated off the trailer, I parked the vehicle, handed him the keys and wished him well, and I then stood there watching him motor away. He already had left the premises when I got back that afternoon, and I never saw him again, so I've always wondered if he kept up his bass fishing or perhaps found a hobby that didn't cause him so much anxiety.

Boat ramps--the stories are as abundant as the anglers who patronize them.