D
DB Crouper
We left Eugene at 5:10 AM, heading to the Tiernan boat launch between Mapleton and Florence on the Siuslaw. The trip was uneventful, and we arrived at the launch at 6:15 AM. There was one boat in line in front of us, but they were afraid to launch in the dark, so told us to go ahead of them. Those of you who know Tiernan, know that it takes the whole launch area to pull your boat ahead before backing down to launch. With their boat in the staging area, I had to go around them on the left, which gave me too little room to straighten the 20' sled, and back down the curved launch. After about 4 back and forth jockeying maneuvers, I finally was able to jackknife the boat down the narrow launch( not happy at this point).
Eventually I got the trailer into the water, but could not see much in my mirrors, as we had a canopy, and the pickup was not in a straight position. It was almost low tide, and the ramp was extremely flat, and I backed down until the trailer tires were submerged. When Rick tried to drive off the trailer, the anchor nest (aluminum cut to hold a rock anchor) caught on the bow roller, locking him onto the trailer. At this point, in the dark, Tobe went up front to try to dislodge the hooked anchor nest from the bow roller, while Rick continued reverse power. The boat shifted, and Tobe's middle finger on his left hand was caught between the anchor nest and the bow roller, virtually ripping it wide open to the first 2 knuckles down, with bones crushed and tissue shredded, and nail nonexistant. Blood was every where, and Tobe's first remark was, "We got blood in the boat and it's only 6:30."
We got the boat back on the trailer, and headed for the emergency room in Florence. It's a very nice little hospital. As they took Tobe away, I heard him say to the doctor, " Just wack it off and sew me up. We got fishing to do!" It was too gruesome to even look at. Rick and I made plans to get Tobe and his pickup back home in Eugene, and had all the details worked out. At 8:15 AM Tobe came to the waiting room with a bandaged club of a left hand and said "Let's go fishing!"
We're saying no way, and he's saying the doctor made an appointment with a hand specialist and a plastic surgeon in Eugene at 4:30 this afternoon, and told him he could go fishing, only if he wouldn't fish. We verified his claims with the doctor, they gave him some pain pills, and we headed to the launch in Florence. You can't argue with a 70 year old tougher than nails fisherman.
We headed up to the Dairy Hole, dragging plug cut, and caught a 12 pound and 16 pound salmon in 3 hours of fishing. We had to practically strap Tobe down to keep him from trying to clean his dried blood from the boat. It's doubtful they will be able to save his finger, but, as Tobe said when we parted, " I'm 70 years old, and I've got nine more. That's pretty good odds!"
And that's why I'm naming my next dog "Tobe".
Here's me and Tobe in Elk camp last month. Also, my 12 pound buck. (seems unimportant)
Eventually I got the trailer into the water, but could not see much in my mirrors, as we had a canopy, and the pickup was not in a straight position. It was almost low tide, and the ramp was extremely flat, and I backed down until the trailer tires were submerged. When Rick tried to drive off the trailer, the anchor nest (aluminum cut to hold a rock anchor) caught on the bow roller, locking him onto the trailer. At this point, in the dark, Tobe went up front to try to dislodge the hooked anchor nest from the bow roller, while Rick continued reverse power. The boat shifted, and Tobe's middle finger on his left hand was caught between the anchor nest and the bow roller, virtually ripping it wide open to the first 2 knuckles down, with bones crushed and tissue shredded, and nail nonexistant. Blood was every where, and Tobe's first remark was, "We got blood in the boat and it's only 6:30."
We got the boat back on the trailer, and headed for the emergency room in Florence. It's a very nice little hospital. As they took Tobe away, I heard him say to the doctor, " Just wack it off and sew me up. We got fishing to do!" It was too gruesome to even look at. Rick and I made plans to get Tobe and his pickup back home in Eugene, and had all the details worked out. At 8:15 AM Tobe came to the waiting room with a bandaged club of a left hand and said "Let's go fishing!"
We're saying no way, and he's saying the doctor made an appointment with a hand specialist and a plastic surgeon in Eugene at 4:30 this afternoon, and told him he could go fishing, only if he wouldn't fish. We verified his claims with the doctor, they gave him some pain pills, and we headed to the launch in Florence. You can't argue with a 70 year old tougher than nails fisherman.
We headed up to the Dairy Hole, dragging plug cut, and caught a 12 pound and 16 pound salmon in 3 hours of fishing. We had to practically strap Tobe down to keep him from trying to clean his dried blood from the boat. It's doubtful they will be able to save his finger, but, as Tobe said when we parted, " I'm 70 years old, and I've got nine more. That's pretty good odds!"
And that's why I'm naming my next dog "Tobe".
Here's me and Tobe in Elk camp last month. Also, my 12 pound buck. (seems unimportant)
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