This day happened when I was the ripe old age of 14. We used to spend a whole week every year at a place called Many Islands in Arkansas, trout fishing on the Spring River. Well, my dad had bought a trolling motor to help in getting around on Spring River. The owner of the campground had poured a concrete pad to aid in loading gear into boats and canoes.

He rented a boat and pulled it up to the pad where our gear was waiting to be loaded into the boat. My dad had one foot in the front of the boat and one foot on the pad. He had me hand him the gear and he loaded it into the boat. He assured me that his knot would hold and keep the boat in place.

Well, everything seemed to be going pretty well and then I noticed the boat was getting farther from the concrete pad, but my dad would pull the boat back to the pad with his leg. As long as the knot held, everything would be fine.

Then it happened. The knot failed and my dad was struggling to pull it back. I stared in horror as I realized he was approaching the point of no return. My gut told me this wasn’t going to end well and it sure wasn’t going to be pretty. Then it happened. The gap between the concrete pad where my dad’s foot was planted and the boat where his other foot was planted became too wide for him to recover and into the water he went. FYI the water temp is cold and colder. His head went under water and then after what seemed like an eternity, he emerged from the water resembling the Phoenix rising from the ashes. I learned a whole bunch of new adjectives that I would never be able to use in school. Needless to say, we didn’t go fishing that morning.