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Learning from mistakes key out on the waters

Fishing, as in life, is about minimizing mistakes.

Whether errors in judgment or failures in execution, the goof-ups we experience can turn around and bite us out on the water. A miscue can result in a missed opportunity, a broken line, a lost fish or even an injury.

So it is that we seek to minimize our mistakes.

This is not to say we always succeed. As a matter of fact, I perhaps top the list of anglers who have managed to find just about every way possible to screw up.

Fortunately, most of our mistakes can be categorized as relatively minor. Some, however, are the kind that makes us slap our heads and scold ourselves. “What the heck was I thinking!”

I am more than capable of making stupid moves when it comes to fishing.

For example, I once towed my boat 500 miles into northern Michigan behind a Chevy Vega. In the mid-1970s, most of us towed boats with the same cars we drove to work. Few of us had pickup trucks or SUVs.

Chevy Impalas, Ford Fairlanes, Pontiacs, Plymouths and Dodges – sedans and station wagons – all were common in boat ramp parking lots. But a Vega, with its puny four-cylinder aluminum engine, meager brakes and flimsy suspension was a poor choice for dragging a boat.

Nevertheless, I hooked up my old Arrowglass tri-hull and somehow made the trip to Indian River, Mich., without cooking the transmission or blowing the engine. And then we turned around a week later and towed the rig back to Boardman. Chevrolet should have given me a trophy for that accomplishment.

That was perhaps the first of my bonehead fishing decisions. But certainly not the last.

I launched that same boat one chilly April afternoon at Berlin Reservoir with high hopes of filling a bucket with crappies. We soon realized we had a problem, however, when the boat’s carpet began to get wet.

It didn’t take a lot of deductive power to determine that I’d neglected to secure the plug in the transom.

Then there was the time when during the maiden voyage aboard my new Ranger boat, I felt the need to relieve myself. I was way back in a remote area of Mosquito Lake, far from people who might see what I was up to, so I decided to get down to business.

Worried I might get a few drops on the brand new super shiny metalflake fiberglass, I knelt on the gunwale, but my jeans-clad knees slipped off the slick glass and overboard I went.

That wasn’t the only time I’ve been soaked while fishing. Back in the days when coho salmon fever gripped Northeast Ohio anglers, I donned chest waders and ventured out one frosty December morning to a nice-looking Chagrin River run to cast spinners.

The time came to change locations, so I decided to shortcut across the river on a route that pushed way too much water against my lower body. The swift current swept my feet out from under me and I went down. The belt around the waders’ waistline kept them from filling with water, but my day was ruined.

I could go on, but you get the picture. I have a lot of fun on the water. But I’ve also done some pretty stupid things, yet I have managed to survive and return for many more adventures.

Jack Wollitz’s book, “The Common Angler,” explores the fun stuff that makes fishing a passion for so many people. He appreciates emails from readers. Send a note to jackbbaass@gmail.com.

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