I’m writing this on the morning after while it’s fresh on my mind. Betsy, who is nursing a sore back thanks to my boat piloting mishap, is on the sofa behind me working at her laptop.

It all began the afternoon of Monday, May 13th. I had taken the boat to the river and launched it at Pickstown’s St. Francis Bay. While on the road, I had debated about picking up some minnows or night crawlers, but decided to go with artificials. I would slowly work tube jigs over rip-rap with the electric trolling motor.

There was no action during the first hour, but past experience told me to stay with the rip-rap. During the next hour I picked up a half dozen fat smallmouth bass and a pair of 20+ inch male walleyes that hadn’t spawned yet. I kept a few 16 inch smallies and a walleye as I was only allowed one walleye over 20 inches. For Tuesday’s lunch we dined on fresh fillets. I wanted to go out again, but this time I talked Betsy into going along. She doesn’t enjoy fishing, but she could read a book.

It was around 3:30 when we launched the boat. We began the outing with a cruise along the partially flooded campground and on into Svatos Bay. A few boats were working some of my favorite structure in the area, so we headed south toward the rip-rap where I had enjoyed success the previous day.

During the first hour of fishing, it was positively dead. No strikes, no gentle pickups. Betsy suggested going elsewhere, but I told her the fish could turn on like someone flipping a switch. I knew they were there. And then we caught two fish no more than a minute apart. It was fishy din-din time! The action continued at an almost frantic rate.

Because most of my swivel, pillar-mounted boat seats were bent out of shape by fellow anglers who must have thought the back rests recline, I put my camo-colored hunting seat in the boat. It had a folding back rest, and the seat contained a Styrofoam box that held some ice, snacks, and drinks. Betsy actually commented on how much she liked the seat. In minutes this same seat would be our undoing.

I was seated in the bow. A modest north wind was blowing our boat into the boulder strewn rip-rap, and it was necessary for me to constantly monitor the trolling motor while manning my fishing rod. When a fish was hooked, I turned the motor toward open water, played the fish, and eventually grabbed the landing net. I was busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest.

It was following one of these forays when disaster struck. By the time I had the fish out of the net, posed for a photo by Betsy, and returned the fish to the water, the boat was about 75 yards from the rip-rap. As the action was smoking hot, I wanted to get back to the structure right now. I started the Johnson and put it into gear. The forward thrust tipped Betsy and her seat over, and she fell hard against the transom. I didn’t know if she was seriously injured, but I feared the worse as both of us are getting on in years.

After some careful maneuvering, Betsy was back in her seat. Her back was sore, but she appeared to be ok. We resumed the fishing. I immediately hooked a large fish that effortlessly peeled line. I guessed that my drag needed to be tightened, and I over did the tightening. The fish broke the six-pound test line……a very stupid mistake for a veteran angler. As I have trouble tying knots with my tremor, I went to my back-up rod as I was in a hurry.

Almost immediately another good fish was on. Minutes later I had an 18 inch smallmouth in hand. I asked Betsy to take another picture. It was at this moment we discovered the second part of the falling disaster. Her combination cell phone, camera, and camera case-billfold was gone. It had gone into the river when she tumbled. Gone was her credit card, driver’s license, and other important ID. I no longer felt like fishing, so we headed home. I still haven’t asked her how much money was lost.

Betsy just asked me why I’m writing about this. I told her that all good news fishing columns could get boring. My columns need contrast. See you next week.