The Big Blow Up

Something from the tackle box:

       That evening, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let’s cross to the east side.”  So they left the crowd, and his disciples started across the lake with him in the boat.  Some other boats followed along.  Suddenly a windstorm struck the lake.  Waves started splashing into the boat, and it was about to sink.

       Jesus was in the back of the boat with his head on a pillow, and he was asleep.  His disciples woke him and said, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re about to drown?”

       Jesus got up and ordered the wind and the waves to be quiet.  The wind stopped, and everything was calm.

       Jesus asked his disciples, “Why were you afraid?  Don’t you have any faith?”

(Mark 4:35-40 CEV)

       Grandpa Otis and little Joey had gone out early in the morning, before sunrise, because grandpa had wanted to get to the far end of the lake, two and a half miles away, before first light.  There was a hole there, just sixty yards due south of the dense clump of cattails that jutted into the lake from the swamp.  Grandpa Otis had never fished that hole himself, but the nice young man who lived next door had told him that the perch would bite there in the first light of day if you fished right down near the bottom.  When it came to fishing for panfish, the nice young man knew the lake better than anyone else Grandpa knew.  The nice young man had also been Grandpa’s next-door neighbor on the lake since the day he was born, so Grandpa trusted the tip as the result of many years of genuine good-neighborliness between their families.  Grandma Otis sure loved perch. 

       At six years old, little Joey was spending a whole week with Grandpa and Grandma on the lake.  His parents and two teenaged brothers were roughing it on a wilderness fishing trip to a remote lake in Western Ontario, and he wasn’t quite big enough for that sort of adventure just yet.  That was OK.  This was his third day at the Lake with Grandpa and Grandma, and his third trip out to fish with Grandpa, or with anyone else for that matter. 

       For a brand new fisherman, little Joey was learning fast, and he liked it.  He liked it a lot.  He had been awake and ready to go when Grandpa had told him that it was “time to get up and at ‘em,” around five fifteen, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so dark and drizzly as they puttered northwest on the lake this early in the morning. 

       There had been some thick fog on the lake when Grandpa had taken him out on Monday, but that had quickly burned off.  Joey’s first fish had been caught on a glorious sunshiny morning.  Yesterday they had slept in and goofed off in the morning, so Joey’s second outing was a late afternoon affair.  There had been a cool breeze, but the sun was out again, and a sweatshirt was all Joey had needed to stay comfortable on the lake.  This morning Grandpa had made him put on both his sweatshirt, and his fleece lined hooded windbreaker, before putting on his lifejacket and heading down to the dock.  By the time they were a few minutes out on the lake in the cold drizzle, he was glad he had them on. 

       “It’ll be another ten minutes or so until we get to our spot.  Are you OK, or do you want to turn back?” asked Grandpa.

       “I’m OK, Grandpa, keep going,” Joey replied.  But he was beginning to realize that fishing might not always be quite as comfortable as it had been on his first two tries.

       For his part, Grandpa Otis had watched the weather report before turning in the night before.  He had known that they could expect this drizzle, and maybe even some brief rain showers here and there, but he had fished in much worse and, if he was dressed for it, it would be good for Joey to experience a bit of rougher fishing.  It would give him a story on par with the ones his brothers would have for him.  Little did he know…

       After a fifteen-minute boat ride, Grandpa and Joey anchored in their spot at the far end of the lake around a quarter to six.  If it hadn’t been so overcast and drizzly they could have expected to see the sunlight coming through the treetops to the east in another ten minutes or so, but cold gray light was the best they could hope for this morning.  Pondering this fact, it dawned on Grandpa Otis that, drizzly overcast skies or not, it should be getting a bit lighter by now than it was.  That’s when they heard the first deep and long rumble, and saw the first flashes of light, coming from the dark skies off to the west of them. 

       “Well, best fishing buddy,” announced Grandpa Otis, “Sorry to head back in before we even get a worm wet, but that’s the way it is.  Fishing in a drizzle is one thing, but fishing in a thunderstorm is out of the question.  And it looks like that’s what we’re going to get, and real quick too.” 

       With the next flash of distant lightening, Grandpa could see that the treetops on the western shoreline were starting to wave back and forth a bit.  It was blowing up fast.  The lightening wouldn’t be on them before they could get back home, but the wind and rain certainly would be on them in a minute or two.  Grandpa Otis winched the anchor up as fast as he could crank, and then gave Joey a few instructions before firing up the Johnson.

       “Buddy, I’m going to be taking us back in a bit faster than you’ve gone in this boat before.  I want you to put your hood up and snap that top button under your chin to hold it on snug.  Then I want you to sit on this middle bench, facing me.  Hold on to the side of the boat with your right hand, tight.  Now hold on to the back edge of the bench with your other hand, tight.  That wind coming in is going to stir up some waves for us to go through on our way home, and it could get pretty bumpy, so hold on.  But even if it gets pretty bouncy, don’t worry.  I’ve been out on this lake in rough stuff before with this boat.  She can take it and get us back safe.  We are going to get pretty wet though!  Especially if we have to plow through choppy waves in this flat-bottomed johnboat, which it looks like we’re going to have to do from the way those treetops are acting.” 

       “OK, Grandpa,” replied Joey, as he set down and grabbed the gunwale and the seat edge as instructed.

       Grandpa started the engine and headed them southeast along the lee shoreline.  Even running the little ten-horse Johnson wide open, it would take a good ten minutes to make the run back to the house.  Maybe more if they had to fight a chop.  Which is exactly what they did have to do before they’d gone half a mile. 

       The spray from the johnboat’s bow smacking into the rising waves soon had Joey’s back, as well as Grandpa’s face, dripping wet.  Grandpa kept smiling at Joey with that wet face, and Joey responded in kind, but his Grandpa could tell that it was taking some effort for him to do it. 

       “Keep it up, best buddy,” shouted grandpa over the wind and engine noise.   “Another two minutes and we’ll be at Old Doc’s Cove.  If we have to, we can tie up at Doc Mallery’s place and take shelter there.  That old coot Doc will probably gripe about us waking him up so early, if we do it.  But, on the other hand, Mrs. Mallery will feed us her famous homemade coffee cake until it’s coming out of our ears!  Hot cocoa with marshmallows, too!  Wouldn’t you like that!”

       Grandpa’s wet faced joshing had brought just the hint of a genuine smile to Joey’s face, but it was short lived.  The first bump that was big enough bounce his little bottom off the seat, replaced the forced smile with a look of genuine panic in Joey’s eyes.  His grandpa could see that he was really scared now, and he knew that the big bumps would be coming every second or two now all the way back in.

       “I’ll admit that it’s a bit rougher than the penny-horse-ride at the Walmart, best buddy, but we’re OK,” said Grandpa.  “It would take a lot bigger waves than these to swamp this old boat, or your old Grandpa, for that matter. We’re over half way home now anyway.  I think we can pass up on Old Doc’s place and go right for your Grandma’s hot cocoa. You just hold on tight and pretend that you’re the best cowboy at the rodeo, pal.” 

       The next five minutes were might choppy.  If the truth is to be told, it was rougher than anything Grandpa Otis had ever driven that old boat through before.  But Grandpa knew that it wasn’t bad enough to sink them, and he kept smiling at Joey all the way.  And Joey, in between bounces, kept smiling right back at his Grandpa.  He didn’t like the bumpy ride one bit, but if he had to be the best cowboy at the rodeo to stay on this bronco all the way back to the cottage, he could do it, because his Grandpa believed in him, and told him so. 

       “OK, Joey.  We’re almost there.  One more minute and we’re home.  I can see Grandma standing at the picture window now.  She’s watching us come in with the binoculars.  She’s waving at us,” declared Grandpa.  This news was a huge relief to Joey’s troubled mind.

       Grandpa said, “I’m not going to try and tie up to the dock, best buddy.  It’s too rough for that.  I’m going to run the boat right up onto the sand beach our neighbors put in for their kids to play on.  When I tell you it’s OK, go right up over the front of the boat onto the shore, and then head straight for the cottage.  Grandma is already standing in the doorway, waiting for you.” 

       And that’s just what little Joey did. 

       By the time Grandpa Otis had gotten out of the boat, pulled the craft far enough up to keep it securely beached until the storm was over, and then made his way to the cottage as well, Grandma Otis had Joey in dry cloths and wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace, where a newly laid birch stick fire was just starting to crackle to life.

       “Well, best buddy,” said Grandpa, as he hung up his dripping wet coat and hat, and wiped his face with the fresh towel Grandma had just handed him, “You sure rode that one out like you was old Captain Ahab himself.  For nautical adventures to tell about, I guess even that riming Ancient Mariner has got nothing over on you, for the likes of it!”

       Little Joey had no idea of what Grandpa meant by any of what he had just said.  But the way that Grandpa had said it made little Joey chuckle, and that made Grandpa chuckle too. 

Something to take home in your creel:

       One of the most important books I’ve ever read, apart from the books contained in the Holy Bible, is a little volume entitled, ‘Man’s Search for Meaning,’ written by a Holocaust survivor, Victor Frankl.  This little book taught me that, even when we have lost every bit of control over any of the circumstances of our lives, we can always choose how we will react to those circumstances.  Those who chose to react with dignity and loving compassion for others around them, even in the most dire of circumstances imaginable, like being imprisoned in a concentration camp with unavoidable death staring you in the face, choose the best way.  While they may not be able to save their own lives, much less the lives of any others, in doing so, they inspire hope.  They inspire the will to life that is often the difference between life and death for those who witness it.  Victor Frankl knows because he saw it firsthand.

       My little story has nothing to do with anything like Victor Frankl was forced to go through in his life.  Yet, the way we choose to react to the circumstances of our lives, be they ever so mundane, still holds the power to influence the way that others around us react to them.  Do we choose to react in ways that inspire faith, hope, trust and love?  Or do we choose to react in ways that inspire only fear and despair?  The choice is always ours.