Palaver from Persimmon Crossing
with Warren Faulk
Boat Rides I Should Never Have Taken
I grew up around people who would rather fish
than eat, and were fortunate enough to be able
to do quite a bit of both. And there is no end
to the stories that are told around the dinner table.
Daddy's favorite story was of a trip on Mobile Bay
back in the 40's. He and a friend went out on the
oyster beds maybe a mile from shore to catch a
mess of white trout. As luck would have it they got
caught in a squall. Daddy had an old rope cranked
Scott-Atwater outboard motor on the skiff. The motor
and the rain didn't get along too well. Dad had his
hands full trying to keep the motor running and the
boat pointed toward shore without getting swamped.
When things settled down a bit and he had time to
look up he saw his friend kneeling in the front of the
boat and heard him say "Lord, if you will just let me
out of this mess I won't ever go fishin' with Mr. Albert
again." HE did, and he didn't.
My brother and I got one of Daddy's old boats that
had been sitting around rotting for years and decided
to repair and use it. The front two feet of an otherwise
very thin plywood boat looked like a sieve. We nailed
a board from seat to floor, vertically, in the bow and
poured that little triangle near full of road tar. Then we
took a 1/2 horsepower Elgin with a leaky headgasket
and headed for the creek. Little fishing was done. We spent
most of the time trying to outrun an alligator. It passed us
up and passed under us several times. The motor would
only push the 11' boat for a few yards before overheating.
The 'gator was destroyed a short time later for killing
sheep. It was 9' long and well known along the creek.
Christmas morning 1959 my Dad and I decided to go fishing.
We rented a skiff, stacked all our equipment on the pier and
stepped into the boat. I reached up for the outboard, lost
my balance and motor and I fell into the river. I held onto it,
stood up and put it back on the pier. That was a long time
ago but I still remember that the water was warm and the air
near freezing. And I remember the long ride back to town
to turn the motor in for repair. We then went back to the river,
me all dried out and went fishing with nothing but a pole to
propel the boat. Not one of my more graceful outings.
Sometime in the 60's my brother and I took a 14' "speed boat"
with an 18 horsepower Evinrude out of Alabama Point into
the open Gulf. It was a beautiful, cloudless day as we trolled
west about 2 miles, picking up a few Bonita. We then saw
a tiny cloud a bit further to the west. For some reason it
made both of us uneasy. We turned and ran back toward
the pass at full speed, Mike still hooking fish and skittering
them along the surface of an increasingly angry sea. I didn't
think we were going to make it ... and we didn't. I'm sure the
spirit of Moses must have been with us. The waters of the pass
separated , leaving nothing but sand in a long strip down the middle
of the channel, with towering waves going out from that strip
toward either shore. Our boat bottomed out gently, with the prop
buried in the sand and the motor still running. Instead of rolling
over us the two outbound waves slid back under us and we
continued on our way without difficulty. If I had tried that
maneuver 1000 times I would have broken 999 shear pins and lost
power each time. By any estimate our boat should have been
splinters and both of us drowned in 9' of rough water. As it was
we were unharmed and the only water we took on came in the form
of rain.
I once decided I just had to have a canoe. I had very little money
and I drove a VW bug which isn't much to cartop a boat on. I bought
a canoe kit which was sent postage paid for about $20.00. The kit
consisted of several yards of 10 ounce duck canvas, some precut
1" x 2" fir strips, a box of carpet tacks, a few screws and a set of plans.
I spent $5.00 on a can of rubberized paint, found a piece of rope and
a brick for an anchor and I had the makin's. Twenty-four hours later
I was fishing out of "my" boat. I caught lots of fish and had great
fun with my 10' vessel. The only problem was that everytime I
would shift my weight, one or two of those carpet tacks would take
off like BB's. They really hurt and if you lost enough of them, the boat
would leak and begin to fold up, necessitating a trip to shore for repairs.
I was invited to go fishing with some friends in Vietnam. I was to bring
a large trash can with ice and drinks. When I arrived at the launch site
the "fishing boat" turned out to be a commercial job of about 35'
standing about 100 yards off shore in a channel. Access was by 7'
round, tar coated, woven bamboo basket boat.
With two aboard
and the drinks, my boat was loaded to the maximum. Still, a little Viet
fisherman was able to propel us without incident to the mother ship,
using a thin board for a paddle. I spent the time composing a letter
to my mother. Dear Mrs Faulk, We regret to inform you that your son
died in Vietnam, not as a result of hostile fire, but while transporting
beer in a basket to some other fools with whom he was fishing in a
free fire zone. We are led to believe he died with a smirk on his face,
thinking that he could once again cheat the Grim Reaper....
-- Warren Faulk
Smarr, Georgia
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