John Van Vleet

This story smells a bit fishy

Last week I joined the Columbia Falls City Pool.

I'm not sure why. I don't really like swimming, I'm not very good at it and I'm horribly out of shape.

It seems like I have all the ingredients for a life ending accident right there, one of those "Local Reporter Found Belly Up In City Pool" kind of stories.

I've been doing laps at lunch and sometimes after work, trying to develop a semblance of a tan and hoping to get to the point where I can do two laps in a row without wanting to inhale a mouthful of water and put the pain to an end.

I never thought the laps would do me any good or serve any real purpose in my life - mainly because having a tan and being in shape is way overrated and apparently only for attractive Californians.

This weekend, I was wrong.

Saturday I went down to the Noxon Reservoir to fish. My buddy and I had his small bass boat loaded up, one that hadn't been started at all over the winter, but one that was said to be reliable. It started up without any problem on the first try and we spent the rest of the day landing perch and smallmouth bass.

Sunday, the plan was the same. Start the boat, find a spot, catch some fish.

I should have known it was going to be a bad day as soon as we got the boat in the water.

The truck backed down the ramp, the trailer submerged and the boat lifted off - just like every other time I've ever seen a boat launch.

Only this time, one small detail wasn't right.

I held the rope in my hand, the one tied "securely" to the boat's railing, and as the truck drove off toward the parking lot, I watched the boat drift toward the middle of the lake.

So I pulled on the rope to bring the boat back to the dock, felt the knot slip and looked up just in time to see it unravel and drop into the water.

For some reason, I felt this was my fault.

I paced around the top of the ramp as the boat floated away, wondering what I should do. I tend to freak out when things like this happen, so I wasn't sure if I should go after it, cry or just yell a lot.

Then I kicked off my flip-flops, yanked off my shirt and did what any dedicated city pool lap swimmer would do - I jumped in the freezing water and swam to the boat.

It was probably 60 feet away, which isn't really that far. It's not even a lap in the pool, so I had no problems getting there.

The thing about lap swimming is this, though. You usually don't have to hold on to a boat with one hand and drag it back to the dock while swimming against a current.

It was probably only a lap and a half in the pool, but it felt a lot farther.

Believe me.

I was paddling away, making progress in the dirty water, when a dead perch floated right by my face and it smelled bad.

Real bad.

So I swam faster and got the boat back to the dock, just in time for us to figure out that the fuel line ruptured overnight and that there was no way we were going to fish or even get the boat started again.

That's also when I remembered I hadn't taken off my belt or grabbed my wallet out of my pocket before I jumped in.

Nice.

Monday morning, I got dressed for work, walked into the office and sat in my chair. Then I smelled something, something putrid - that dead perch smell.

Apparently my belt started smelling like a rotting fish while I slept and I didn't notice it when I was scurrying to get ready for work. So in addition to being 15 minutes late like I am every day, I also got to sit all day sniffing my belt, which doesn't exactly foster great work habits.

Nausea, yes.

Creativity, no.

So I came up with this note to myself: Don't swim anymore with a leather belt around your waist or a boat on your arm. Especially not anywhere near dead fish.

You'll regret it in the morning.