Boat ride before the fire

Three years ago, upon my retirement, I decided to purchase myself and the family a present to honor this life milestone. For $1,800, we now had our very own Love Boat. It's a 1966 Starcraft 16-footer with two outboard motors. Only two parties had owned the boat, and it came with a good recommendation from Bob Aavedal whose Alpine Shop professionals had serviced it annually.

I liked the price and announced to all that it wasn't fancy but that it would get the job done. We figured also that its plane-jane look would spare us of worrying about scratching or denting it every time we took it anywhere. We've had a lot of fun with our Love Boat every summer since.

Last night marked our maiden voyage for 2005. We decided at the last minute to take it out for a spin. Bill checked its gas tanks where a swarm of resident yellow jackets were defending their recently-acquired homeland and showing their resentment of his invasion by stinging him four times. After smarting for a few minutes, he finished getting organized for our outing. We rolled out the driveway by 6:30 p.m.

As we launched at a relatively quiet Memorial Field dock, a huge osprey sat on top of one of the dock pilings watching our every move. A middle-aged gruff-sounding man, a younger man and their two dogs were playing fetch off the dock.

"Are ya gonna do some fishing?" the older man asked, while holding a tight rein on his anxious mutt. When I replied yes, he said, "Well, put my name on one of your fish. My name's Frank."

"Will do," I assured him as we cruised away. The boat glided over calm water as if it was as happy to be out on the lake as we were. Bill wasted no time directing it toward Bottle Bay, which means a trip under the Long Bridge and the railroad bridge, which was built in the early 1900s. We were amazed at the number of new huge homes under construction along the mountainside across from Sandpoint.

Just past Contest Point, we pulled into the cove where I flung my lure into the lake. Bill switched to the trolling motor, and within minutes, I had hooked something. It was putting up a good fight as I reeled it in. My usual catch in Lake Pend Oreille consists of a lot of Princess Pike Minnows, as they're now called for PC sake. Not this time. The little 10-inch fighter was a small-mouth bass. Frank would be happy.

As I cast my line again, I commented that the clouds in the north looked like they might hold a little thunder and lightning. Bill agreed. During the next few minutes, as the clouds continued to build up even more ominously, I marveled quietly at how fortunate we still are---in the midst of all the population boom---to still enjoy our glorious lake without feeling like we're squeezed in a can a sardines.

There's still more than ample room for everyone to swim, boat, fish, kayak, sail, or simply sit and behold the splendid and spectacular natural beauty that blesses us here every day. The best part is that, unlike a good portion of its high-priced shoreline, the lake itself puts up no economic walls. It's there for all to enjoy.

After running the small motor for a while so that I could fish, Bill decided it was time to head back. Unfortunately, the big motor refused to start---unfortunate for Bill, that is. He had to resort to using the trolling motor, which gave me that much more time to fish. And, I caught another game fish; this time a cutthroat. Bill reminded me that in the old days, those waters where we were trolling had been known as "Cutthroat Alley."

Eventually, he was able to convince the stubborn big motor to come to life. We were soon back at the dock where some friends were loading up their kayaks and the Osprey was still sitting guard over its territory. It was nearly dark by the time we were driving home and commenting about the ever-increasing sheets of lightning in the north sky.

"Bet that starts some fires," I said. Bill agreed.

We had made a good choice to enjoy that lovely evening on the lake because when we walked inside the phone rang. Carol at the Coeur d'Alene Fire Dispatch wanted to talk to Bill. When I asked if fires were starting in the Bonners Ferry area, she seemed surprised. She hadn't heard about the lightning, but she had heard about a big fire down Kamiah way (about five hours southeast of Sandpoint along the Clearwater River) and wanted a logistics coordinator for the fire team.

By 11 p.m., Bill had taken his fire pack, said good bye and headed down HWY 95 toward Kamiah with orders to report to the Idaho Dept. of Lands office there by 0-400. The last time we planned to take out the boat, he was called to a fire in Bonners Ferry.

At least this time, we enjoyed a beautiful evening boat ride on our gorgeous lake before he had to report for duty.