Truck Boat

Fishing Trucks

The spring of my sixteenth year brought about many changes, my voice was getting deeper, hair had began to grow on my chest and other places, my thoughts began to turn to different things, like my voice was deeper and Melba Jane Thornapple was starting to look prettier. But it wasn’t the fact that Melba Jane smiled and waved at me all the time now or that I could sing bass in the church choir. No the thing that was occupying my mind most of all was a fishing truck.
It’s a little known and even less cared about fact, that every teenage boy has to have a fishing truck, either owning it himself, borrowing it from his father, or having a friend that owned one, (a friend that could go fishing at the drop of a hat preferably).
Now the problem as I saw it was, how was I to obtain this fishing truck that I wanted. If my family had been well off it wouldn’t have been a big deal, I would point out the truck I wanted and dad would buy it for me, but we weren’t well off.
There were poor people where I lived and then there were POOR people, we were the latter. 
My father had tried several different ways to strike it rich, but apparently mosquito farms and rock gardens were not that popular.We were always broke, and my father hardly ever had a dime that he could spare, I knew I had to find another way to get my fishing truck.

It was at supper one evening whilst in the middle of a spoonful of mosquito stew that I got hit with an idea.”HEY! I JUST GOT HIT WITH AN IDEA!” I said spitting a mosquito wing onto my mother’s forehead.
“No that was a mosquito leg.” My dad said, while picking his teeth.
“What is this great idea?” My mom asked wiping mosquito wings off her face.
“Well I never said it was a great idea, just that it was an idea.” I said.
Mom gave me a dirty look, and reached across the table to the plate of rocks. “Well, are you going to tell us?”She asked.
“Elmer, his dad always has extra cars laying around. With Elmer around I don’t have to have my own fishing truck, I can just get him to go fishing with me and we can use his dad’s cars.” I said.

My best friend’s, (Elmer Throckmorton JR) father, always seemed to have an extra car lying around his place, one of the main requirements of a best friend was a few extra cars. So we often had transportation, to and from the fishing holes, but it just wasn’t the same, heck, every body knows a ‘74, Maverick just aint the same as a real live truck.
Of course I had no way of knowing that Elmer’s father would pack up the family and move to North Dakota the next week.

By the time that summer began I had been working doing everything I could to make money.
If it was a yard to be mowed, I mowed it.
If it was a barn to be painted, I painted it.
If it was a fence to be built, I built it. If it was a ditch to be dug, I dug it.
If it was a horse to be shod , I shoed it.
I would work from sun up to sun down stopping only to get a drink of water or to travel to my next job.

By the end of the summer I figured that I had saved enough money to use to purchase a truck.I went down to the dealership, Honest Abe Franklins, and picked out the truck that I wanted.

Honest Abe himself stood looking at me in disbelief when I told him about all of the money I had saved to buy the truck.Scratching his head, with a really odd look on his face he informed me that $68.67 just wasn’t enough to buy the truck I wanted.
Heartbroken but inspired, I mowed about ten more yards and came up with a whole $79.00 to use for my truck.
I went back to Honest Abe’s.”Well I still can’t put you in that truck, but I tell you what I can do.” He said scratching his head.I figured Honest Abe must have dandruff because he sure scratched his head a lot.”I have a beauty of a truck at the house I was holding onto just in case someone was to come along looking for a good fishing or hunting truck. Why don’t you come over this evening and I will sell that one to you. I’m sure that we can work out a deal.”

That evening my new best friend Arlen Swenson  and I walked over to Honest Abe’s house to see the truck.Sure enough sitting in front of his barn was a beautiful Cheverolet pickup.
“Wow!” I said to Arlen. “Look at that truck it would be perfect.”
“Howdy boys!” Abe shouted as we walked up to the truck, “Come on I’ll show you your prospective new ride. I parked it back here to make sure that no one else had the opportunity to buy it.”
He led us past the pretty Chevy to a clump of bushes and weeds that were obviously surrounding something metallic. “Let me get the tractor and we’ll pull her out.”
We pulled the truck out and with a little effort a new battery and a lot of foul language from Honest Abe, we got it to crank and run.
“Alright ya’ll take care of old Bess here.” Honest Abe said as he jumped into his car screamed something and lit out like he was headed to the emergency room.

I had just purchased my first fishing truck it was a 1957 Ford, I paid seventy-five dollars for, he had wanted a hundred dollars but with my great bargaining ability I had talked him down.It was an awesome machine, with four bald tires, a cracked windshield and  large patches of primer showing through the rust.
I couldn’t help but remark to my friend, Arlen, “You know the engine must be good look at all the oil on top of it.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It must be good because if it were clean you’d know he had to work on it a lot.”
“Hah, hah!” I said. “Did you hear him? Who fishes for suckers?”
“Yeah.   Do you think that if he knew we were going to use the truck to catch bass, he’d of charged us more?”
“He probably would have tried to, cause a bass truck is always worth more than a sucker truck, but he just didn’t know who he was dealing with.”
“Yeah and did you hear when he said it was a prospective truck, who knows maybe we can find some gold with it.”
After stopping the truck from my first drive and promising Mr. Richardson that I would rebuild his fence, and repair his barn, as well as promising to get the truck out of his pond, I learned the valuable lesson about test driving before you buy.

The following, morning, my friend, Arlen called me to see if I was ready to go fishing.”As soon as I get that fence and them brakes fixed we’ll go.” I said.
With a little ingenuity a piece of steel cable and a whole lot of swearing, I had brakes.
As we walked home from our first fishing trip in the truck, Arlen remarked to me, “I didn’t know that steel cable could break like that.”
“Heck, I didn’t know that pond was on the other side of them honey suckles.”
“Yeah, we’ll definitely have to fish it one day.”
“Yeah, if I can get my truck out of there.”
“Probably be a good idea and I’m pretty sure that old man Richardson is tired of seeing his cows run off every time you crank that truck.” He said with just a hint of sarcasm.
“Heh, heh, heh, yeah I bet.” I didn’t bother to tell him that those cows ran away every time they saw me on a bicycle, (but that’s another story).

My second fishing truck, was a 1967 Chevy.It had a v-8 engine, three bald tires, a bald spare, which was flat, but I didn’t have to pay but twelve dollars extra for that.
It also had at, no extra charge, a cracked windshield, leaking exhaust, and it smoked like a tar kiln, a feature that, I figured would come in very handy during the summer months when I could spray for skeeters. Since dad had gotten out of the mosquito farm business.
As well as having the mandatory patches of rust it also came with added ventilation, little round holes that went in straight lines through the doors and the cab of the truck I got that feature at no extra charge. The funny thing is those holes seemed to magically multiply every time I parked the truck on the side of the house facing old man Richardson’s.
I don’t know why he would be so mad at me I would think to myself, just because I’ve parked in his pond a few times, you know, I did fix his fence every time I drove through it.

The following day after purchasing my second truck, Arlen and I set out for another exciting round of fishing, we caught a few nice fish and as we walked home, Arlen commented, “You know, I’ve never seen a tie rod end break quite like that!”
“Yeah but you saw how we almost stopped before we went into the creek, yep I had good brakes for once.” I said proudly.
The following Saturday morning we set out once again. Upon our arrival at the lake the comment was made that I should probably get those brakes checked.”Yeah, I guess I should!” I laughed, “Hey where’s my back bumper?”
“Probably right in front of my dad’s boat.” Arlen said nervously.
“Think he’ll notice?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s pretty sharp about such stuff.” He said.”Well I guess there’s only one thing left to do.” I said.
“Go back and look for it?” he asked.
“Nope, fish off the bank!”
As we were driving home later that day we passed my rear bumper, lying, in the center of the road. “Hey that looks like my bumper!”
“And that’s dad’s boat!”
Sure enough upon closer examination I saw that his father’s boat was still sitting on the trailer which was attached to my back bumper.
“This must be our lucky day!” Arlen said excitedly, “We ain’t soaked to the gills and we ain’t walking home, and we found my fathers WATCH OUT!!!!”
As we walked home that evening, dragging a boat and trailer, I spoke aloud “I really didn’t know that creek was there, at least we didn’t get too wet, do you think, old man Richardson is gonna miss that cow?”
“Gretjdkfknewshsnobeiwdk.” Arlen replied.
Arlen would later develop a joke he would often use, in which, when he saw me approaching, he would run, screaming, around the house, much the same way old man Richardsons cows would when they saw me walking in the general direction of any vehicle.

Although, Arlen would still go fishing with me, he quit riding with me altogether.
Some people just can’t handle a little excitement, but he is getting better after the last few years of psychiatric treatment. The nervous tick is almost completely gone and he doesn’t run around his house screaming when I pull up into his yard, anymore, which it was about time because after fourteen years that joke got kind of old.

My friend, Leon Fogwhopper was at the store, one Saturday as I pulled in with my father.
We spoke for a moment or two, when Leon asked where we were headed.
“Over to Mr. Richardson’s house.” I replied.
“Oh, that’s right I heard you got a new truck. You know he has asked his congressman to try to pass a law banning you from driving anything with more than one wheel.” Leon said.
“Don’t be stupid!” I said. “He knows I can’t ride no unicycle.”
“I think that was his general idea, he says his cows are so nervous that they only give buttermilk now.”
“Yeah, well you know buttermilk is good for ya.” I said.
“Hey let’s go fishing.” Leon said.
“Can’t right now, I’ve got to go get my truck out of old man Richardson’s pond, and replace his mailbox.”
That was several years ago, I’ve survived and grown up some snd gotten somewhat wiser for my experiences. I’ve gone through about a dozen fishing trucks, a few best friends, a couple of wives, and a whole lot of hell, I’d like to tell you about it all but I can’t right now I’ve got to go fix a fence.

About the Author

I have been an outdoorsman most of my life, fishing, hunting, camping, hiking, kayaking, and other various hobbies.
Currently I enjoy woodcarving, attempting to write humor, restoring old cars and trucks and doing home remodeling.

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