A Crime Against Humanity...

With a sandwich in the cooler, we dashed over the pass and dropped into Swan Valley, past the old Commissary, then on to Irwin, zipping past the Husky put-in, as we bolted to Palisades Dam. Turning right off the highway that runs along the majestic South Fork of the Snake River into the parking area at the top of the ramp, just below the Palisades dam. Taylor unstrapped the skiff then transferred the contents of the back seat of the truck into the boat and we began to set up three rods. The sun had yet to crest the steep hillside to the east as a cold morning wind came pouring down over the steep concrete face of the dam. With fleece zipped to the chin and ski hat pulled firmly over ears, we spied another imposing Ford Pickup with a drift boat in tow rolled up to us as we were just about to back the scow down the ramp.

Truck doors flew open as Lola made her entrance, tail wagging, and nose sniffing everything in site. Three late twenty something manly specimen’s piled out stretching and yawning, then feeling the penetrating chill of that cold blast of wind from the dam, each quickly reached back into the truck for another layer to fend off the elements.

The dress code was simple; they all got the memo…T-shirt, flip-flops and shorts, in one configuration or another. The three amigos included Tanner, the possessed cutthroat slayer, and two guys I had yet to have the pleasure of meeting, Tim or, as he is affectionately referred to from time to time as “Henry” and Spence, a buddy from Colorado, who popped into town to commune with mother earth and reconnect with his mates.

After the usual exchange of insults, Taylor backed the skiff down the ramp and I stood there watching.

In an effort to be useful, most uninitiated non-drift boat fishermen make the rookie mistake, when launching or retrieving a pal’s boat into or from the launch, of trying to assist in the process. From years of observation and owning and operating drift boats, the lesson has been learned, it’s just better to stand back and watch. There seems to be an irrevocable law written somewhere that dictates, with exacting precision, the order, sequence and process that each and every boat owner goes through to prepare for and place or remove their respective boats to and from the river. The ultimate test of any friendship and a sign of total acceptance into the trust of your boat owning buddy is for him to allow you to assist in the process.

It will truly mess things up if you place the boat straps that secure the boat to the trailer on the right side of the bed of the truck when the ritual dictates they belong in the yellow bucket behind the drivers seat. Or it may be common knowledge to anyone that the oar blades are to be placed inside the boat facing toward the stern outside and against the rear knee locks. And poor pity the guy who fails to secure the anchor to the carabiner after the boat is launched.

Just watch the owner unclip a strap, reposition a bucket, stow a pack or jacket beneath the main compartment to the right or left of the oarsman’s seat or position the cooler to the right or the left of the foot rest on the bottom deck of the boat. It’s often elegant and graceful as he moves seamlessly from one task to the other without a thought to the process, quick as a cat and with little effort. 

Many a crime against humanity has been committed by overeager boat mates who, while standing like a doofus at the ramp, helplessly holding a bunch of rods in one hand and a jacket or three in the other that your buddy threw at you to hold, while he runs through this intricate choreography embedded in his psyche from countless iterations of the dance over hundreds of launches and retrieves performed through the years. Just stand there shamelessly and wait to be invited to the party, if it comes lend a hand, if not, so what. It’s his boat.