Quite often you will find that I reference stories about my dad. This usually means I couldn't think of anything else to write for the day and he has supplied me with a vast treasure of interesting and/or humorous anecdotes over the years.
You may be a bit incredulous after reading the title of today's post, but I assure you, it is quite possible. Even though it took place before I was born, I was able to confirm this little escapade by talking to actual participants as well as reliable witnesses. The story unfolds thusly:
My dad, his brother in law, and another fellow were all in a boat fishing up at Lake Dubbonnet (French pronunciation, rhymes with, trebuchet.)near Traverse City. Other family member were fishing from shore and were witness to the spectacle that was soon to follow.
Deciding to move the boat, my dad went to start the outboard motor. After several futile yanks on the starting cord, he deduced that they were out of gas. No problem. He opened her up, poured in some gas, spilled a bit all over the motor, and set the gas can at his feet. He then put the cap back on the motor and gave the cord another yank or three. When the spark from the motor ignited the gas, he staggered back and knocked over the gas can.
Well, anyone that understands fire knows what is about to happen. My dad is one of these people. He tried to quickly re-position himself somewhere else in the boat that didn't contain gasoline that was about to burst into flames. (Onlookers would describe this as a mad dash towards the bow.)
It doesn't take a physics major to understand that adding an extra man to the front of a fourteen foot boat is going to change the displacement properties of said boat. As this displacement change took place, gasoline (being a liquid) proceeded to follow the new downward slope presented to it. This sequence of events, which took place in the span of a few short seconds, has been compared to a classic gag from Looney Tunes. Specifically, where Yosemite Sam leaves a trail of gunpowder behind him which Bugs Bunny lights and it chases him down.
My dad, seeing this parallel in person, decided the only logical course of action is to flip the boat over so the water would put out the flames. He quickly leaps up onto the gunnels of the boat which, in fact, caused it to flip. (The fact that the other two guys were hopping around like fleas on a hot griddle probably assisted him somewhat.)
So now all three guys and their gear are in the water. One of the other guys made it known that he had "saved" the anchor.
My dad then swam over to hold onto the boat until another boat could come to their aid. He basically tried to flop up on the boat. He wasn't able to stay there long though as the gasoline continued to burn on top of the water inside the inverted boat. He flung himself back off the boat and did his best to tread water until another boater picked them up. I honestly don't know if they ever recovered any gear besides the anchor.
Many of you are probably beginning to understand just how I came to be the person I am today.
Related Links
Some more good fish stories.
Funny if you're a physics major.
The right way to do fire on a boat.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
How to Get the most out of Your Sunday
Gotta love Sundays in the fall. Definitely my favorite days of the year. Quite often it's nice and sunny and not too warm.
I get my kids (if they're not at their mom's) and I up and get ready for church. I/we go to church and visit with some friends I may only see on Sunday. Listen to the sermon. The pastor tries to be funny and the congregation tries to act amused. Then Sunday School and it's off to home.
Depending on how the Lions are doing this year I'll probably follow the game. If they're absolutely sucking, which is usually the case, I might go small game, turkey, or deer hunting, depending on what's open. Odds are I'll return empty handed which saves me the hassle of having to clean anything. If my kids are home with me I try to take them when I go after squirrels. I'll actually be taking my son turkey hunting this year as he's old enough to hunt under Michigan's mentored youth hunting program.. He could go deer hunting but he's not quite strong enough to pull back a hunting bow and he doesn't have enough experience with guns for me to be comfortable with him using a rifle. Besides, it wouldn't do to have him show me up.
Evenings are spent back at church as I'm a sponsor for the high school youth group. It's usually a pretty good discussion as we have some really smart kids and an amazing youth minister. I'm there mainly for comic relief.
After that I head home and relax for a bit. Get the kids ready for bed, then spend some time working on this blog as well as trolling archerytalk.com. After all, no day would be complete without reading a bunch of well thought out, informative, non-biased forum posts.
Then it's off to bed.
Related Links
I must be a masochist.
For those bowhunters with my same passion.
Who needs to be politically correct?
I get my kids (if they're not at their mom's) and I up and get ready for church. I/we go to church and visit with some friends I may only see on Sunday. Listen to the sermon. The pastor tries to be funny and the congregation tries to act amused. Then Sunday School and it's off to home.
Depending on how the Lions are doing this year I'll probably follow the game. If they're absolutely sucking, which is usually the case, I might go small game, turkey, or deer hunting, depending on what's open. Odds are I'll return empty handed which saves me the hassle of having to clean anything. If my kids are home with me I try to take them when I go after squirrels. I'll actually be taking my son turkey hunting this year as he's old enough to hunt under Michigan's mentored youth hunting program.. He could go deer hunting but he's not quite strong enough to pull back a hunting bow and he doesn't have enough experience with guns for me to be comfortable with him using a rifle. Besides, it wouldn't do to have him show me up.
Evenings are spent back at church as I'm a sponsor for the high school youth group. It's usually a pretty good discussion as we have some really smart kids and an amazing youth minister. I'm there mainly for comic relief.
After that I head home and relax for a bit. Get the kids ready for bed, then spend some time working on this blog as well as trolling archerytalk.com. After all, no day would be complete without reading a bunch of well thought out, informative, non-biased forum posts.
Then it's off to bed.
Related Links
I must be a masochist.
For those bowhunters with my same passion.
Who needs to be politically correct?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
How to Fit in when You Feel Like the Black Sheep
Could I have chosen a more overused cliche for my title? Possibly, but I couldn't think of one at the moment. Everyone claims to be the black sheep of their family. Now if that were the case, we'd be nothing but black sheep. And I actually think that's pretty accurate. We're all odd in our own ways. I think people just don't want to be identified with their family members. Which, knowing some people's families, I can't blame them.
However, when it comes to my family, it's a knock down, drag out, battle royale for the title of blackest of the sheep. The VanLoon family (read clan), is well known in the area I live. Notorious would not be an inaccurate description.
The place my family really shines though is deer camp. I grew up waiting, wishing, and counting down the years until I could go to deer camp with my dad. I wasn't allowed to go the first year I was old enough to rifle hunt because my grades weren't good enough, so I had to wait an extra year.
To give you a little better feel of what I had been waiting for, let me tell you some of the "legends" of deer camp that I remember growing up.
First of all, I'll preface with the fact that you, the reader, should assume that anything that is happening outside of hunting hours is done under the influence of alcohol. My family has never been the paragon of common sense or moral fortitude. I am relating these stories, that does not mean I condone or approve of any of it.
Every night at deer camp consists of playing cards. Whether it's euchre or some form of poker, card playing is the pass time of choice. Well one night, after several hours of card playing and drinking, one of my uncles staggered outside and commenced puking. Well, at that time, the frying pan used for cooking was set outside the door in the snow so whatever leftovers were in it wouldn't spoil. Some time later, another of my uncles went out to use the privy. On his way back he sees the skillet of leftovers and decides he'll have some. So he stumbles back into the tent with the frying pan in one hand eating out of it with the cooking spoon in the other. He was so drunk, he didn't realize that the frying pan had been right in the receiving area of his brother's earlier act of regurgitation.
The second story takes place one night when some family friends were visiting the camp. There was a younger fellow with the group and he was bragging that he never threw up from drinking. That's a boast that the men in my family cannot resist putting to the test. For some reason it was rather dark in the tent that night. They had this fellow drinking my great great uncle Jake's, homemade dandelion wine. Now, Uncle Jake didn't bother with filtering the bits and pieces of dandelion out of his wine. Just strain it out with your teeth if you wanted to drink his. Anyway, the young guy is pretty well hammered late into the night. Somebody cranks up the lantern and the guy sees all the stuff floating in the wine. Apparently that was just too much and he bolted out of the tent to empty the contents of his stomach into the snow.
The third story...is about drinking and puking. I guess I really don't need to relate that one, you all get the picture.
You would think, hearing these stories growing up, I would have been somewhat prepared for the atmosphere of my family's deer camp. Either I didn't realize the implications of all these stories or was just so eager to be considered one of the guys that I didn't care. It took one day to remove all illusions of what the mythical time at deer camp was about. Not sure about anyone else, but I wasn't very comfortable heading out into the woods with a bunch of guys that had been stumbling drunk as recently as four hours previous.
That was my one and only year at deer camp. Not only did I not get a deer, I didn't see ANYthing. That includes squirrels, birds, etc.
The next year I told my dad I just wanted to hunt around home and that's what I've been doing for the last sixteen years. My dad also stopped going to deer camp so we could hunt together. Since then, the two of us have killed more deer than the dozen or so guys that go up there every year. All of the guys that go know they would have a lot better luck hunting other areas but that isn't important. Apparently I just don't "get" what deer camp is all about.
So when it comes to me, I am a bit of a black sheep compared to most of my family because I don't enjoy drinking myself stupid. I guess I'm okay with that.
Related Links
More fun cliches
In case you want to be like Uncle Jake. Kids, you ignore this link.
This is quite accurate.
However, when it comes to my family, it's a knock down, drag out, battle royale for the title of blackest of the sheep. The VanLoon family (read clan), is well known in the area I live. Notorious would not be an inaccurate description.
The place my family really shines though is deer camp. I grew up waiting, wishing, and counting down the years until I could go to deer camp with my dad. I wasn't allowed to go the first year I was old enough to rifle hunt because my grades weren't good enough, so I had to wait an extra year.
To give you a little better feel of what I had been waiting for, let me tell you some of the "legends" of deer camp that I remember growing up.
First of all, I'll preface with the fact that you, the reader, should assume that anything that is happening outside of hunting hours is done under the influence of alcohol. My family has never been the paragon of common sense or moral fortitude. I am relating these stories, that does not mean I condone or approve of any of it.
Every night at deer camp consists of playing cards. Whether it's euchre or some form of poker, card playing is the pass time of choice. Well one night, after several hours of card playing and drinking, one of my uncles staggered outside and commenced puking. Well, at that time, the frying pan used for cooking was set outside the door in the snow so whatever leftovers were in it wouldn't spoil. Some time later, another of my uncles went out to use the privy. On his way back he sees the skillet of leftovers and decides he'll have some. So he stumbles back into the tent with the frying pan in one hand eating out of it with the cooking spoon in the other. He was so drunk, he didn't realize that the frying pan had been right in the receiving area of his brother's earlier act of regurgitation.
The second story takes place one night when some family friends were visiting the camp. There was a younger fellow with the group and he was bragging that he never threw up from drinking. That's a boast that the men in my family cannot resist putting to the test. For some reason it was rather dark in the tent that night. They had this fellow drinking my great great uncle Jake's, homemade dandelion wine. Now, Uncle Jake didn't bother with filtering the bits and pieces of dandelion out of his wine. Just strain it out with your teeth if you wanted to drink his. Anyway, the young guy is pretty well hammered late into the night. Somebody cranks up the lantern and the guy sees all the stuff floating in the wine. Apparently that was just too much and he bolted out of the tent to empty the contents of his stomach into the snow.
The third story...is about drinking and puking. I guess I really don't need to relate that one, you all get the picture.
You would think, hearing these stories growing up, I would have been somewhat prepared for the atmosphere of my family's deer camp. Either I didn't realize the implications of all these stories or was just so eager to be considered one of the guys that I didn't care. It took one day to remove all illusions of what the mythical time at deer camp was about. Not sure about anyone else, but I wasn't very comfortable heading out into the woods with a bunch of guys that had been stumbling drunk as recently as four hours previous.
That was my one and only year at deer camp. Not only did I not get a deer, I didn't see ANYthing. That includes squirrels, birds, etc.
The next year I told my dad I just wanted to hunt around home and that's what I've been doing for the last sixteen years. My dad also stopped going to deer camp so we could hunt together. Since then, the two of us have killed more deer than the dozen or so guys that go up there every year. All of the guys that go know they would have a lot better luck hunting other areas but that isn't important. Apparently I just don't "get" what deer camp is all about.
So when it comes to me, I am a bit of a black sheep compared to most of my family because I don't enjoy drinking myself stupid. I guess I'm okay with that.
More fun cliches
In case you want to be like Uncle Jake. Kids, you ignore this link.
This is quite accurate.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
How to Write Your First Blog Post
Well, as you can see from the title, this is my first post on this blog. If you couldn't tell that from the title then you should probably lay off the paint chips.
I've always been interested in writing, and seeing as I now have quite a bit of free time (thanks Michigan economy) I figured I'd find a way to tie it in with my passion for the outdoors.
I grew up learning about the outdoors from my dad. Despite that, I have actually gained quite a bit of actual knowledge throughout the years. He tells everyone that he taught me everything know. To which I respond, "Yep, took all of three and a half minutes.After that I had to figure it out myself." He has yet to laugh.
The earliest memory I have of the outdoors is getting lost. My dad was going out to build a ground blind in the woods behind the house and I wanted to go along. He didn't know I was following, mom figured he knew I was following. Surprisingly my two and a half year old legs couldn't keep pace and for some reason I never said anything. It wasn't long at all until I was by myself on the edge of a cornfield along a tree line. So I just waited. I don't know if he didn't come home the same way he went out or if I was just wandering through the corn and he didn't see me. (Or possibly he did see me and thought it would be a good time for me to learn that life is scary) Anyway, he got home and my mom asked him where I was. He said he thought I was at home the whole time. My mom, being the calm rational person she is, grabbed our Brittany Spaniel, Jacques, by the neck and said "You get out there and find that boy." To his credit, he did just that. And he stayed with me until my dad caught up. To be honest I only vaguely remember wanting to go along, and then him carrying me home on his shoulders.
You would think that such an introduction to the outdoors would cause a bit of wariness on my part, but it didn't. In the years to follow I would endeavor to find other ways in which to misplace myself in the wilderness. I spent a lot of time outside with my family and as the years went by I developed a terrible disability. I became addicted to hunting and fishing. Only fellow addicts can truly appreciate the despair and heartache this causes. I have numerous cases studies from my own life on just how these addictions effect a persons life. So come on back sometime and I'll tell ya all about it.
Related Links
What to do when you've misplaced yourself.
One of the best dogs ever.
It's even easier to get your little Michiganders into hunting.
I've always been interested in writing, and seeing as I now have quite a bit of free time (thanks Michigan economy) I figured I'd find a way to tie it in with my passion for the outdoors.
I grew up learning about the outdoors from my dad. Despite that, I have actually gained quite a bit of actual knowledge throughout the years. He tells everyone that he taught me everything know. To which I respond, "Yep, took all of three and a half minutes.After that I had to figure it out myself." He has yet to laugh.
The earliest memory I have of the outdoors is getting lost. My dad was going out to build a ground blind in the woods behind the house and I wanted to go along. He didn't know I was following, mom figured he knew I was following. Surprisingly my two and a half year old legs couldn't keep pace and for some reason I never said anything. It wasn't long at all until I was by myself on the edge of a cornfield along a tree line. So I just waited. I don't know if he didn't come home the same way he went out or if I was just wandering through the corn and he didn't see me. (Or possibly he did see me and thought it would be a good time for me to learn that life is scary) Anyway, he got home and my mom asked him where I was. He said he thought I was at home the whole time. My mom, being the calm rational person she is, grabbed our Brittany Spaniel, Jacques, by the neck and said "You get out there and find that boy." To his credit, he did just that. And he stayed with me until my dad caught up. To be honest I only vaguely remember wanting to go along, and then him carrying me home on his shoulders.
You would think that such an introduction to the outdoors would cause a bit of wariness on my part, but it didn't. In the years to follow I would endeavor to find other ways in which to misplace myself in the wilderness. I spent a lot of time outside with my family and as the years went by I developed a terrible disability. I became addicted to hunting and fishing. Only fellow addicts can truly appreciate the despair and heartache this causes. I have numerous cases studies from my own life on just how these addictions effect a persons life. So come on back sometime and I'll tell ya all about it.
What to do when you've misplaced yourself.
One of the best dogs ever.
It's even easier to get your little Michiganders into hunting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)