I know I used to wonder - that is, until a few summers ago when, finally, it all became crystal clear. I am convinced that compulsive trolling is a subconscious, Freudian response to traumatic experiences during one's formative angling years.
In more primitive techno-times, shutting down the outboard was considered taboo - an act so daring, with consequences so punishing, that few boaters or anglers dared do so. As some of you may recall, there was a time when outboards didn't offer oil / fuel injection, auto rope recoil, electric starting, and the like.
In the good old days, to start one up - no matter the horsepower - you pulled The Rope, usually repeatedly. And, when the motor coughed and choked itself out, you pulled it some more. In those simpler times, nobody - at least no one in their right mind - voluntarily shut down the outboard, not when it had to be wrestled into starting again later.
Starting my old Firestome 3-1/2 HP was not only a challenge and a chore; it was also a sentence in corporal punishment - as many as 20 lashes at times! The bite of The Rope across one's back was but one of the cruel indignities inflicted upon anglers of yore.
Around the cottage, rope welts were symbolic testimony to one's commitment to fishing and boating. The more "stripes", the more avid the angler, the bigger (or older) the motor.
Long before PFD's, paddles, bailing cans, sounding devices, anchor ropes and flares ever became standard boating equipment, there hung The Rope for all to see.
Boaters and fishermen quickly learned to do everything else while "under power" - bait hooks, tie knots, eat and fish. Particularly gifted or seasoned anglers could stand, steer, troll, fumble with zippers and use the "bailing can" simultaneously.
And so it came to pass that that trolling became the only way to fish for generations of anglers. The guy trying to start the motor wasn't the only one who feared The Rope.
Fishing partners and passengers alike knew it well - sometimes the hapless victims of a reckless whipping. Passengers were more often than not, straight-faced and silent upon returning to the dock, having heard strange utterances on the lake.
The uninitiated must first come to know The Rope - 3 feet of unruly, greasy, wet, hemp cord with a bundled granny knot at one end and a crudely fashioned, wooden dowel handle at the other.
The Rope was usually badly frayed beyond the knot and partially worn near the middle. Invariably, while pulling The Rope, one, some or - on a particularly memorable day - all of the following events might unfold.
Occasionally, the terminal knot would inopportunely untie or disengage itself of the notch in the flywheel, sending any over-enthusiastic starter hurtling backwards, gymnastic-like, over a seat or two, into the front of the boat with partner or passengers.
Back then, most boats leaked like beer drinkers at Oktoberfest, so wet clothes were telltale evidence of starting woes. Especially aggravating and frequent was The Rope's snake-like tendency to unwind itself at the very moment the starter gave a mighty heave, occasionally sending the unfortunate soul overboard.
At other times, less than perfectly tuned motors would backfire and kick back mid-pull, recoiling both The Rope and starter. A day on the lake was an accepted substitute for your morning workout or stint at the gym.
Nowadays, people enjoy the occasional tour of the lake in a rowboat - real romantic stuff, that. Back in time a bit, though, no sensible cottager or angler spoke words of greeting or encouragement to those who were rowing a motor boat.
Motors had a lot more nicknames, most not especially endearing, in those days, too, it seems. As of late, pulling The Rope has become routine, even safe - a task without much of a challenge. The Rope is easily pulled, has a comfy, shaped, rubber grip, recoils automatically, is housed inside the cowling, and actually starts - most times.
I was reminded of times past a while back when the 80-HP brute my fishing partner and I were using proved stubborn in starting, killing the battery in the process. In desperation, far from camp (and too far to row, never mind paddle), off came the cowling.
And there, much to my surprise and disgust, in a well hidden pouch, was The Rope. Pull-starting that baby was no easy task. Fortunately, it wasn't my motor!
Sure enough, though, after a few tugs, the motor roared to life and we were soon fishing - trolling. The Rope has since become standard equipment - again. More recently, the recoil mechanism of my usually reliable 9.9 HP failed, leaving me adrift.
There was no hesitation this time. Off with the cowling. Anchor rope shortened by three feet. Two pulls - one that hurt and one that worked - and I was on my way.
I love trolling! Thankfully, it wasn't that old Firestone or the monster on my bass boat, or I'd still be out there flailing away.
Regardless, pulling The Rope does work ... sometimes. Just don't count on it. Trolling tactics have come so far in recent years - what with planer boards, downriggers, and deep-diving crankbaits - that you might even come to enjoy it.
You just might have to!
No comments:
Post a Comment