GPS And The Modern Fisherman

 

 

 

 

The Global Positioning System (GPS) is a space-based satellite navigation system that provides location and time information in all weather conditions, anywhere on or near the Earth where there is an unobstructed line of sight to four or more GPS satellites. The system provides critical capabilities to the military, civil and commercial users around the world. It is maintained by the United States government and is freely accessible to anyone with a GPS receiver.

I have always contended that GPS, really just means girl pointing and shouting. Hey it works great in aircraft, but can give us fits down here in the real world.

I have friends who think it is the greatest invention of all time. They won't leave home to drive across town without checking the GPS on their car, or smart phone. More power to them, but give me a map, or nautical chart any day. Add a wet compass and I can get you pretty much any where you want to go. I have had GPS direct me to an obsolete stage coach road, that a mule could barley traverse in the mountains, and once in San Diego in a rental van, I witnessed the driver drive around a city block three times, because a female voice from the GPS kept saying left turn now.  At least it was a pleasant voice pointing and shouting.

In regards to the modern fisherman, GPS works great for fast marking of good fishing spots, so that you can get back to them. Now, for the cautionary side, what it will not do for you is let you know when channels change, sand bars shift, or tides change. Always remember it is a point to point system.

Why oh Captain, are you providing this Saturday morning review of your history with GPS you ask? Well as some of you know the month of July has presented it's share of challenges on the water. Heat, storms, runaway tubes on mountain rivers, and the story does not end there.

On Friday, we set out on a beautiful summer morning, in hopes of filling the fish box and beating the afternoon summer squalls. All was going splendidly well, right up until the decision was reached to change location, the tide was dropping and off we motored to a low tide fishing spot, where we had had good luck in the past. Ah, a leisurely ride a cold drink and good conversation, following the GPS track on the screen, what could go wrong, done this thousands of times. This was right up to the point where entering a smaller tributary, our GPS track carried us right up a sand bar and after a hard sudden stop, and the re-decorating of the bow of the boat with sun warmed bait shrimp, we find our selves in a situation akin to the one Noah found himself  when he parked the Ark on top of Mount Ararat. High and dry, with a tide still dropping and storm clouds gathering.

No amount of pushing, pulling, digging, or crying helped. Nothing at this point but to sit it out and wait for the water to rise. Moral to be added here, sometimes obstacles are placed before us to remind us that we are not in charge and just need to slow down. Not always a lesson we want. We had other boater sail by while looking at us as if to say, look at those two dummies run aground, never once did they offer assistance, most likely because they knew we just needed to wait on the tide to rise. The tide did rise and we were freed from our perch in the river, and even beat the major rain back to the ramp.

Another memorable trip out on the water, and other than a little extra soreness, no worse for the wear  of the grounding. Our lesson again slow down and smell the roses, or in our case the bait shrimp, and never trust a Girl Pointing and Shouting,

Old Capt Sends.

Admin Day Between The Swamp And The Sea

After the triumphant return from an excursion into the red dirt country, and after a restful, thankful Sunday, it is admin day at the shack between the swamp and the sea. I hate admin days! Book keeping, house cleaning and laundry. Feeling like Uncle Charley from "My Three Sons" again. The young adult male left in charge of the outpost, didn't let anything bad happen while I was out, but on the other hand didn't do any preventive maintenance or cleaning either. Welcome back Captain.

It is now noon, and I am finally ready to cut the grass, hopefully before an afternoon squall, and did I mention a tropical storm formation possible in the Atlantic, which may be headed our way. We are not even into the dog days yet! Anyway after a morning of paying bills and an hour and a half of looking for lost stamps, I am ready for some outdoor activity, that does not require a lot of thought. Some days being the Captain of this enterprise is not all that it is cracked up to be, however I think I'll keep the job, and thankful to have it.

Just read the beginning of the 103rd Psalm, and feeling very renewed and lucky to be me! Now off to get that grass cut.

Old Captain Sends.

In-land Crusing, Or You Can't Steer A Tube

This is a cautionary tale of the Old Captain's adventures back home in the red dirt country. Most all who know me know of my love of the water and wild places, this shall be the tale of a lovely Sunday afternoon cruise. Cruise indeed, actually a tubing experience, at least that is what it's called.

Aw yes, tubing, floating lazily down a slow moving mountain river, with ones posterior stuck into a canvas covered inner tube, dragging along a cooler of ones favorite beverage. The very thought brings to mind an idyllic setting, also thinking back to the fun we used to have in the 1970's rambling raft race on the Hooch. All in all, a capital idea.

My intrepid group of explorers, first took to the task of stocking the cooler for said experience. Two store stops and a cracked windshield later we arrive at the point of embarkation Here is where one signs a page in spiral notebook and pay up for your tube rental. At this point our group of intrepid explorers is informed, no coolers, no cans, no bottles. So much for said cooler stocking. Then we are informed we can have a personal size cooler, but should not let cans be visible. A personal sized cooler is produced and re- stocked, then we await transport to put in site, along with a dozen or so of various Yuppie tourists.

An old model 1970's short school bus arrives and we are herded onto it, very reminiscent of some transports I rode in during my military time. The driver looks like Kid Rock, I kid you not, no pun intended. Behind it is towed a trailer filled with tube floats and life jackets. When we arrive at the put in sight it is determined that there are not enough life jackets to go around, and one is a requirement for each person. Kid Rock charges off to save the day and retrieve more life jackets.

At long last, properly briefed on the dangers of missing a vital left turn in the river and on not missing the take out spot, we are off into the water. Almost immediately the idyllic thought changes as every one floats off in their own direction. Here it should be added that an out of control inner tube can be next to impossible to maneuver. leaving one out of control in fast moving water, and at the mercy of the river. We have used the straps of two life jackets to fasten two tubes together, a move which may be regretted at a later time. We are pulled under low hanging trees and floated into snaky looking washes.

The first couple sets of light rapids proved doable, and other than high centering a few rocks, all went well. That is, right up until the time when my beautiful float buddy decided to leave her tube in the midst of a rapid, hitting her head on a rock in the process. Once we had recovered and had everyone mounted back up on their float, we almost immediately are pulled under the largest river birch limb that I have ever seen. This is also a point when having two tubes strapped together, may have proved a detriment, as we each choose our own way through the branches, but wait beyond this fine obstacle. just up ahead lies the "fork in the river, where ye must turn left", you guessed it, we're headed to the right. We pull through and get back left, with the help of a friendly sun bathing local, who had nothing be warnings for the rest of our tubing experience.

Alas! Onward to the falls it's only class 4 how bad can that be. I and my beautiful float buddy are still attached by life jacket straps, and we have a conversation about us un- connecting our tubes, and maybe even downing the jackets. Too late for all of that, we are now committed. Hearing strains of Eternal Father in my head I tell my companion to just hang on, how bad could it be. There is a wide array of locals gathered around the falls just to watch the show of hapless tubers, floundering through the falls, and even one brave sole trying to fish right in the main channel. In we go! At the point of the first drop in the falls, my float buddy decides to leave her tube again, we managed to get her on to the side of my tube, where she road out the rest of the falls.

The take out point proved to be no less challenging, getting my float buddy safely to the side to get out, I found myself prematurely exiting my own tube and tumbled into the channel, which you guessed it was pulling me away from the take out. Hey, the water is only about knee to waist deep, just stand up. Slick rocky bottom, bare feet, perfect recipe for a broke ankle, wait! Another idea, lie back down and swim out along the bottom. Works perfect, I am out of the river and awaiting extraction.

Kid Rock, arrives back to pick us up in yet another 1970's short bus, don't care at this point, just get on the bus. This ancient warrior of a bus starts chugging and sputtering, just as soon as we start moving. The question is posed, does this thing have brakes? Answer, no. Just as we crest the highest mountain the bus runs out of gas. Kid Rock is on his fourth cigarette. We coast the next 5 or so miles through the mountains, at times backing up quite the traffic jam behind us. We coast into a country store gas station, we manage to stop at the pump, the bus tire is chocked and the bus is fueled, Kid Rock lights up number six.

Like I said in the beginning. just a cautionary tale. All in all a great experience, with a really wonderful group of fellow floaters.

Old Captain sends.