River Rescue

The rod tips were still, untouched by even the wily bait stealer. Yesterday had been pretty good, and tomorrow would prove fruitful, but this fishing trip was what my buddies like to call “paying our dues.” We would appreciate the good days after these slow times!

My brother, Pat, and his son, Kevin, had driven over to the coast to join me for one of the last days of the sturgeon season. As usual these days, just about the time the fishing gets passable, it gets shut down! But despite all our efforts, and several hours of soaking smelt and anchovy, all we had to show for it were a couple of undersized sturgies that we unhooked and sent back to the Columbia for a few more years of grazing.

Things were getting slow and we nodded into a pleasant stupor as we furtively tried for a last bite or two. Kevin kept himself entertained by watching the fish finder, giving us reports of monster fish sneaking past, seen only by the sonar. They were obviously so full of soft-shelled crabs and other delicacies that they were disdainful of our stinky offerings.

All Alone
As is usual on sunny days on the big river, the wind started kicking in a little from the Northwest. The other boats had departed, and I figured it was time to cut our losses and go home for a shower and a little lunch. We pulled in the lines and cleaned up the deck, and Pat went forward to pull the anchor. I slipped behind the wheel and turned the key. “Whir” went the starter, but nothing turned over. I gave her a little gas—after all we had been sitting for a couple of hours—and tried again. The starter turned but no go.

This was not fun. The engine always started right up. After a couple of more fruitless tries, I took a look at my panel. I could see that the engine fan had been on. Must have hooked it with my float coat when I went in and out of the cabin. That, combined with the depth finder, had cut into my battery’s charge. If my number one battery was a little drained, no problem; I’d switch to number two. I made the change and tried again. “Oh, crud,” I knew that lugging sound, that battery was whimped as well. We had been working on the automatic bilge pump and must have run that one down too! Now we were screwed. No one left on the river, the wind was kicking up, and the engine wouldn’t start.

I got on the cell phone and made a call to our buddies at the Coast Guard. Most all the boaters in our neck of the woods love these guys. Not only does the Coast Guard keep a full group in our area, but they are top-notch citizens as well. Within a couple of minutes they had a 25-foot rescue boat flying out to help pull us out of the soup. There is no ready commercial tow outfit in our area, so the Coast Guard makes dozens of saves every week, often stepping in before inconvenience can turn to tragedy.

Rescue Drama
With the rescuers en route, we had to get ourselves ready. Getting stranded in the water, with the Coast Guard on the way, makes you feel like the kid whose mom told him to wear clean underwear because you never know when something will happen and the folks at the hospital might have to take care of you! We got into our lifejackets, had all of our safety flares and equipment at the ready, and waved at a helicopter that diverted itself from a little touch-and-go practice to make sure we weren’t in need of emergency help.

Kevin was enjoying this part of the outing; it was a lot more exciting than the fishing had been. We took some pictures of our saviors as the 25-foot towboat pulled up beside us. While they couldn’t give our battery a jump—a little dangerous in choppy waters—they quickly tied on a towrope, and got us going back to the marina. Two big 225-horse engines pulled us along much faster than my cruising speed.

When we got to the marina, the three-man crew tied us to their vessel, expertly maneuvered us through the windy slips, and gently edged us into our berth. After they had docked, they gave us a safety inspection (my boat had clean underwear!) and headed back to Cape Disappointment to get ready for their next boater assist. Just before they left, I turned the engine over to show them how weak the batteries had gotten. “Vroom,” the engine started up like there was no problemo! As I hung my head like the village idiot, the driver of the rescue boat broke out in a big smile! “Happens all the time,” he consoled me. “The batteries can recharge a little with a few minutes rest.”

One unexpected benefit of our war on terrorism is that the Coast Guard will be getting a little more funding. They are expected to fill a million roles, from security, to search and rescue, to combat, to drug interdiction, and their budgets have been getting cut on a regular basis. As I and any other boater can tell you, every dollar we spend on the Coast Guard is money very well spent!