Learning never stops for all, including anglers

Sometimes I think that if I spend enough time on the water, I’ll learn everything I need to know to do at least a few things the easiest way possible.

Then reality rears its sometimes ugly but other times beautiful head. I learn something every time I leave home.

Here, in no particular order, are a few examples.

Throwing a cast net

When I was about 10, my grandfather brought a 6-foot cast net home from Corpus Christi, Texas. I needed about 10 minutes to figure out how to spin it out over the water in a near-perfect circle. I used it to catch sunfish for use as flathead bait until its cotton netting rotted.

Flash forward 50 years. I bought a 6-foot cast net with monofilament netting and sallied forth to Truman intent on capturing a year’s  worth of shad. A half hour later, the only thing keeping me from becoming convinced that cast nets were not meant to be used by adults was the memory of watching a Louisiana guide throw a 16-footer with obvious ease.

Thinking technology might be the answer, I bought one of those green plastic thingamajigs guaranteed to make throwing a cast net simple.

I broke it. In desperation, I tried holding the excess net in my right hand instead of my left. When I threw the net, I released the netting in my right hand a second before turning loose of the single thickness of net in my left hand. Viola! I don’t know if my method is correct, and I don’t care. It works for me.

Preserving shad

The opinions of some expert catfish anglers notwithstanding, shad can be frozen for later use. The trick is to get the shad on ice immediately.

I put about two dozen shad each in pint-sized Ziplock bags, seal the bags and then bury them in crushed ice in an ice chest I reserve for that purpose. When I get home, I press the shad into the bottom of the bag to minimize contact between shad and frost. The bags then go into the freezer.

After the shad are completely frozen, I open the Ziplock seal, place the bag inside a bag suitable for use in a vacuum sealer. The vacuum sealed bags go back into the freezer, and the shad they contain will be fresh and firm when I want to use them next spring.

Solo boat launching

If you fish by yourself as often as I do, you might have noticed that manhandling a heavy boat off its trailer is not fun. It’s especially not fun if you forgot your boots and are standing calf-deep in cold water.

There’s a simple, inexpensive and totally effective answer to this problem. Secure one end of a length of stout rope about 10 feet longer than your boat trailer to the boat’s bow eye and secure the other end to the winch support post at the front of the trailer.

Carefully arrange the rope on the boat’s bow deck so it will play out easily and without tangling. Back down the ramp until the boat floats free of the trailer, and then pull forward slowly until the trailer is just clear of the water.

Untie the rope and use it to gently pull the boat up onto the edge of the ramp or over to the courtesy dock.

Solo boat recovery

Loading a boat onto a trailer is easy, if you don’t mind getting your feet wet.

I do. I absolutely detest wading a boat onto its trailer even if the water’s warm.

The solution begins with covering the top surface of the trailer’s tongue with nonskid tape. After that step, the only variable involves the body style of the tow vehicle.

If you’re driving a station wagon, van or SUV, open the rear hatch before backing the trailer into the water. Drive the boat onto the trailer, secure it to the bow winch and exit through the vehicle.

Pickup drivers can climb into the truck’s cargo bed. People who use passenger cars have two choices. They can clamber over the car’s trunk, or they can get wet. Sometimes they can do both.

Sounds absurdly simple, doesn’t it? I’m not going to say how many years it’s taken me to figure it out.

Avoiding underwater hazards

There are only two kinds of boaters on Missouri’s Corps lakes: those who have hung their boat on a subsurface stob and those who will.

It’s a good thing I operate a heavy-gauge aluminum boat and that my motor’s skeg and stainless steel prop are protected by a heavy metal device called a “River Runner,” because I’m a member-in-good-standing of the former group.

When boating in hazard-filled waters, lone boaters should operate their motors at the slowest possible speed. Removing the bow seat and anything else that obstructs the driver’s view is  a good idea.

Amber and I have developed a team approach that has served us well in rock-studded Canadian creeks. She moves to the bow and, when she spots a hazard, points in the direction I should turn the boat.

When the best route lies straight ahead, she raises both arms above her head and motions me forward.

Note: This system only works if both spotter and driver have absolute faith in each other’s judgment. After spending 37 years together in small boats, we do.