Close Calls

Some seven years ago, I went fishing for first time (and, so far, the only time) to Kelsey Bay with a friend. On my 17.5 ft Double Eagle with an inboard-outboard Volvo 4-cylinder, we went to Hardwicke and West Thurlow Islands; and after a not too successful fishing day, we decided to return to Kelsey Bay. Then, half-way between Helmcken Island and Kelsey Bay, I saw ahead of me what it looked like a static tsunami: a wave several feet high that was there but not moving. I have heard of rip tides before, but had never actually seen one. The current was pretty strong (I understood later where the names “Current Passage” and “Race Passage” came from) and I didn’t know the area. I recall the wind was on our back and the wave was ahead of us. I was not too sure of which way to go, but my gut feeling was telling me to stay away from the wave. My friend obviously did not understand the danger and encouraged me to go towards the wave and take it at 45º. Normally I obey my instincts but for some reason I listened to my friend and decided to go through the wave. Big mistake!!! I am unsure of what exactly happened, but I recall a big mountain of water hitting the windshield and going over the boat’s hard top, then the boat span around and the engine stalled. It felt for a few seconds like being on a roller coaster, then I realized we were still afloat, away from the rip tide and drifting, with the engine well and part of the deck full of water. I had 1500 gallon per hour bilge pump installed on a float switch, and it was doing its job very well, for all the water was pumped out in a few minutes. I didn’t manage to start the main engine right away, but I was more successful with the 9.9 high trust Yammy I had for a kicker. A fish boat came to assist us, but I let them know we were OK. After awhile, I managed to start the main engine and made it safely back to port.

I learned several lessons that day. One of them was to avoid rip tides at any cost, and another other one was to follow my gut feeling at sea, unless I am with someone far more experienced than I am in that particular area. Also, I though it would be prudent to start shopping for a larger boat.

Today, I go fishing on a 22’ Double Eagle.
 
We were anchored up halibut fishing off shore between Constance bank and Boarder bank in our 18 foot Campion powered with an older 200 HP Evinrude, soft top roof. It was a nice calm morning and no wind in the forecast. Well... half way into the day the weather instantly turned and we were in a Westerly Gale ! We get the anchore in.. on the gps we point the boat towards esquimalt boat launch where we had launched from and head on we are faced with Huge swells white capping at the tops.. ! Gulp. I look at the gps speed and it reads "0" meaning we are going less than 1knt. ! At this rate we will never make it in. Realizing we are trouble and in very bad water we turned the radio to ch. 16 and immediately listening to an emergency call in progress from another boat on the u.s side that was caught in the same sudden gale. As we are listening to this emergency call we look up and there is this Monster swell with no bottom to it approaching us..! We put the motor in neutral to ride it out, the swell crested above the boat, I remember looking straight ahead and all I saw was the inner blue of the ocean water as the swell came down on us... from inside the soft top all I saw was blue water.. for a few seconds it felt like we were in a submarine looking out.. at that point I new we were at the mercy of the ocean. One of my most scariest moments I ever been in. Some how the bow of the boat came through the top of the swell and I could see the sky again... I look at my partner beside me and water is pouring off his head, and realize we are both completely soaked from head to toe! from in side the soft top! we look at the dash board and it is completely soaked, gps has turned it self off !! The fear of death is literally running through me at this point... we had no other choice to ride with the oncoming sea, quickly turning the boat we were now traveling with the swells, we started to angle our selves towards shore but in the opposite direction we wanted to go but at least we were making some ground towards shore.. took us about 3hrs to get in and found our selves by Discovery Island... now we had to run the coast from Discovery Island all the way to Esquimalt boat launch, took us another 2hrs. Come out of this experience was some very big lessons learned. This was the turning point where we decided to shop for a bigger boat, we now fish in a 22 foot Renken Sea Master, Solid back wall with a pod and 225 HP outboard, self drain deck.
 
We were anchored up halibut fishing off shore between Constance bank and Boarder bank in our 18 foot Campion powered with an older 200 HP Evinrude, soft top roof. It was a nice calm morning and no wind in the forecast. Well... half way into the day the weather instantly turned and we were in a Westerly Gale ! We get the anchore in.. on the gps we point the boat towards esquimalt boat launch where we had launched from and head on we are faced with Huge swells white capping at the tops.. ! Gulp. I look at the gps speed and it reads "0" meaning we are going less than 1knt. ! At this rate we will never make it in. Realizing we are trouble and in very bad water we turned the radio to ch. 16 and immediately listening to an emergency call in progress from another boat on the u.s side that was caught in the same sudden gale. As we are listening to this emergency call we look up and there is this Monster swell with no bottom to it approaching us..! We put the motor in neutral to ride it out, the swell crested above the boat, I remember looking straight ahead and all I saw was the inner blue of the ocean water as the swell came down on us... from inside the soft top all I saw was blue water.. for a few seconds it felt like we were in a submarine looking out.. at that point I new we were at the mercy of the ocean. One of my most scariest moments I ever been in. Some how the bow of the boat came through the top of the swell and I could see the sky again... I look at my partner beside me and water is pouring off his head, and realize we are both completely soaked from head to toe! from in side the soft top! we look at the dash board and it is completely soaked, gps has turned it self off !! The fear of death is literally running through me at this point... we had no other choice to ride with the oncoming sea, quickly turning the boat we were now traveling with the swells, we started to angle our selves towards shore but in the opposite direction we wanted to go but at least we were making some ground towards shore.. took us about 3hrs to get in and found our selves by Discovery Island... now we had to run the coast from Discovery Island all the way to Esquimalt boat launch, took us another 2hrs. Come out of this experience was some very big lessons learned. This was the turning point where we decided to shop for a bigger boat, we now fish in a 22 foot Renken Sea Master, Solid back wall with a pod and 225 HP outboard, self drain deck.
 
Interesting how most of the stories are from innshore areas,great stories, JDF can be wicked for sure with currents added in giving standing waves. Nice thing about a Westerly in the JDF is that you can watch the clouds above as a sign unless foggy, rather than wait for the black line to appear before heading in. Depending on how fast they start moving and getting whispy, you can usually tell when a blow is coming. A SE is a diffrent animal as it usually comes quick out of Puget Sound with fog and no warning.
 
Interesting how most of the stories are from innshore areas,great stories, JDF can be wicked for sure with currents added in giving standing waves. Nice thing about a Westerly in the JDF is that you can watch the clouds above as a sign unless foggy, rather than wait for the black line to appear before heading in. Depending on how fast they start moving and getting whispy, you can usually tell when a blow is coming. A SE is a diffrent animal as it usually comes quick out of Puget Sound with fog and no warning.
 
My worst was in Johnston's Strait blowing a strong westerly with the tide running the opposite direction. I was leaving Brown's Bay trying to get to Hole in the Wall. Very large swells with wind waves on top and in a 17 ft whaler. It was getting dark, a cruise ship was trying to make way, he produced no wake as the swell and wind waves were considerably larger than the wake he produced. Trying to drain all the water coming aboard I had my boat plug pulled, bilge pump on, handheld radio on 16 inside my cruiser suit, praying I make it across the strait. Remember the bottom of the swell was dead quiet but on top of the wave it was raging. I ended up running through the bottom of the swell trying to reduce breaching a wave until I made it across. Once across I was 15 ft from shore all the way up the strait thinking in case I ditched I possibly could swim for shore. By the time I was through the strait it was midnight. I was young and stupid, should have stayed the night in Campbell River.
 
My worst was in Johnston's Strait blowing a strong westerly with the tide running the opposite direction. I was leaving Brown's Bay trying to get to Hole in the Wall. Very large swells with wind waves on top and in a 17 ft whaler. It was getting dark, a cruise ship was trying to make way, he produced no wake as the swell and wind waves were considerably larger than the wake he produced. Trying to drain all the water coming aboard I had my boat plug pulled, bilge pump on, handheld radio on 16 inside my cruiser suit, praying I make it across the strait. Remember the bottom of the swell was dead quiet but on top of the wave it was raging. I ended up running through the bottom of the swell trying to reduce breaching a wave until I made it across. Once across I was 15 ft from shore all the way up the strait thinking in case I ditched I possibly could swim for shore. By the time I was through the strait it was midnight. I was young and stupid, should have stayed the night in Campbell River.
 
Our Canadian seine boat was hired to do test sets with a herring net to catch juvenile salmon off the coast of Washinton and Oregon for Oregon State University's marine biology department. We were tied up in Astoria near the mouth of the Columbia River overnight and when we headed out the next day, there was a nasty combination of spring runoff, 30 knot winds and an incoming tide. As we got closer to the famous Columbia River Bar, the waves were getting truly enormous. It was too windy to set the net by now so there was no point trying to get out to the open ocean. On the otherhand, we didn't know if we could turn around in between swells either. By now the waves were close to 50 feet as we jogged slowly out. The boss elected to try to turn around. The moment we started heading down the back of one wave, one guy was working the bow and stern thrusters while the boss turned her hard over and gunned the 700 horses. When we were in the trough and turned 90 degrees to the swells, the next wave was level with the top of our crow's nest. We kept turning and made it around far enough to take the next one on the stern quarter and all was fine. Scary though. That boat has packed sockeye out of Bristol Bay and been to Tahiti for tuna, but I don't think it has ever seen waves as big as at the mouth of the Columbia. No place for any size boat on certain tides/days.
 
Our Canadian seine boat was hired to do test sets with a herring net to catch juvenile salmon off the coast of Washinton and Oregon for Oregon State University's marine biology department. We were tied up in Astoria near the mouth of the Columbia River overnight and when we headed out the next day, there was a nasty combination of spring runoff, 30 knot winds and an incoming tide. As we got closer to the famous Columbia River Bar, the waves were getting truly enormous. It was too windy to set the net by now so there was no point trying to get out to the open ocean. On the otherhand, we didn't know if we could turn around in between swells either. By now the waves were close to 50 feet as we jogged slowly out. The boss elected to try to turn around. The moment we started heading down the back of one wave, one guy was working the bow and stern thrusters while the boss turned her hard over and gunned the 700 horses. When we were in the trough and turned 90 degrees to the swells, the next wave was level with the top of our crow's nest. We kept turning and made it around far enough to take the next one on the stern quarter and all was fine. Scary though. That boat has packed sockeye out of Bristol Bay and been to Tahiti for tuna, but I don't think it has ever seen waves as big as at the mouth of the Columbia. No place for any size boat on certain tides/days.
 
CLOSET CALL ever wasnt weather but another boat in a halibut derby almost hitting me in the dark with my 2 million watt remote marine light on the bow shining to light up the WHOLE ocean and this guy with no running lights on at all almost t-boning me scared the you know what out of me then he proceeded to anchor almost to where I could have gave him a free cup of coffee in turn he DID get too close and YEP got my gear in his anchor on the turn what a great day to be on the water thats for sure!!!!!!

Wolf
 
CLOSET CALL ever wasnt weather but another boat in a halibut derby almost hitting me in the dark with my 2 million watt remote marine light on the bow shining to light up the WHOLE ocean and this guy with no running lights on at all almost t-boning me scared the you know what out of me then he proceeded to anchor almost to where I could have gave him a free cup of coffee in turn he DID get too close and YEP got my gear in his anchor on the turn what a great day to be on the water thats for sure!!!!!!

Wolf
 
Howdy,

I agree Hoochiebob. Here's another one that happened 'right in my backyard'...

Summer, 1980 or so. After dinner my buddy and I are headed out from Mosquito Creek Marina in N.Van to watch the fireworks in English Bay. We're in my same old 18ft/Fiberform that I wrote about previously in this post.

It's overcast, drizzly, and we could've cared less - cause we had a sack of cold beer.

Visibility is poor and there's a lot of wood in the water so I elect to fall in behind and follow this huge old wooden cruiser headed out through the First Narrows beneath Lions Gate.

The boat ahead of us was probably over a 100/ft - the kind of old wood classic you'd expect to see John Wayne sipping martini's on the aft deck - and she's heavy and throwing about an 8/ft wake.

After following along behind her for a quarter mile or so, at about 8 to 10 knots, we were almost directly beneath the bridge when I decided I'd had enough of 'trolling-speed' and decided to pull out and pass her.

I crept up to within about 50yds of her butt then quartered off to climb her wake at 90-degrees.

Standing at the wheel I eased back the throttle as we climbed the first slope... it was then, there lying in bottom of the first trough that I saw it.

WOOD!... left to right as far as my eye could see.

As the keel of my v-hull began its 8-ft. freefall upon this 60ft., 3ft. diameter Douglas Fir behemouth, I remember this certain feeling I had in my gut then... "Yer' f#&*ed - buddy!"

I took the log almost dead-center of its span almost dead center of my hull/keel. The log was sufficiently massive that it did not move when we hit it. Truly, it felt like we had hit a rock.

The boat hit then slid across it whereupon the log hit the sterndrive. The leg's hydraulics blew out and fortunately the leg gave way and allowed the log to pass beneath us. The engine stalled out.

I was freaked! Certain we were 'holed' in a big way, I quickly ran to the stern of the boat and tore off the engine house lid to see how fast the water was coming in...

Nothing. I listened... still, not a trickle. Nothing?

I was in disbelief that we were not sinking. In fact, she did not take on a drip. Only the trim system for the leg was pooched and that only proved a problem if I needed reverse so we carried on out to English Bay, drank our beer and enjoyed the fireworks.

In my opinion, you just can't beat those 'rock-solid' heavy old fiberglass hulls. When I pulled her out of the water a couple of weeks later, the only evidence of our collision was some anti-fouling paint scraped off her keel.

Cheers,
Terry
 
Howdy,

I agree Hoochiebob. Here's another one that happened 'right in my backyard'...

Summer, 1980 or so. After dinner my buddy and I are headed out from Mosquito Creek Marina in N.Van to watch the fireworks in English Bay. We're in my same old 18ft/Fiberform that I wrote about previously in this post.

It's overcast, drizzly, and we could've cared less - cause we had a sack of cold beer.

Visibility is poor and there's a lot of wood in the water so I elect to fall in behind and follow this huge old wooden cruiser headed out through the First Narrows beneath Lions Gate.

The boat ahead of us was probably over a 100/ft - the kind of old wood classic you'd expect to see John Wayne sipping martini's on the aft deck - and she's heavy and throwing about an 8/ft wake.

After following along behind her for a quarter mile or so, at about 8 to 10 knots, we were almost directly beneath the bridge when I decided I'd had enough of 'trolling-speed' and decided to pull out and pass her.

I crept up to within about 50yds of her butt then quartered off to climb her wake at 90-degrees.

Standing at the wheel I eased back the throttle as we climbed the first slope... it was then, there lying in bottom of the first trough that I saw it.

WOOD!... left to right as far as my eye could see.

As the keel of my v-hull began its 8-ft. freefall upon this 60ft., 3ft. diameter Douglas Fir behemouth, I remember this certain feeling I had in my gut then... "Yer' f#&*ed - buddy!"

I took the log almost dead-center of its span almost dead center of my hull/keel. The log was sufficiently massive that it did not move when we hit it. Truly, it felt like we had hit a rock.

The boat hit then slid across it whereupon the log hit the sterndrive. The leg's hydraulics blew out and fortunately the leg gave way and allowed the log to pass beneath us. The engine stalled out.

I was freaked! Certain we were 'holed' in a big way, I quickly ran to the stern of the boat and tore off the engine house lid to see how fast the water was coming in...

Nothing. I listened... still, not a trickle. Nothing?

I was in disbelief that we were not sinking. In fact, she did not take on a drip. Only the trim system for the leg was pooched and that only proved a problem if I needed reverse so we carried on out to English Bay, drank our beer and enjoyed the fireworks.

In my opinion, you just can't beat those 'rock-solid' heavy old fiberglass hulls. When I pulled her out of the water a couple of weeks later, the only evidence of our collision was some anti-fouling paint scraped off her keel.

Cheers,
Terry
 
Anchored on the Finger Bank in our 36 ft commercial salmon troller, WCVI 1981. The evening forecast was one we used to call a "shotgun forecast" with a wide enough pattern spread that it hit everything up to blowing 25. After listening to it a few times to try and make sense of it, my ex and I hit the hay. By midnight, the wind was way way past 25 and still increasing. I got up and could tell by the boat motion the wind had pushed us off our toehold on the finger bank (if I remember correctly, it was 43 fathoms)and were drifting free. Got the ex up, pulled the anchor with the winch(one hand for you, one for the boat--hang onto the rigging with one hand and use the other to handle the line and winch motor.)I set a course(loran and paper chart) for Beale with the waves smashing our port quarter--it was getting real ugly. After running for an hour or so, I could smell steam and my engine temp went into the red zone. Shut er down and went down into the engine compartment while the waves hammered the boat. My cooling expansion tank had been knocked off the bulkhead by the wave action. Got out the toolkit and started to put it back up, lost my cookies in the bilge as the combo of being down in the cramped engine space with the extreme motion did my stomach in. Got the expansion tank back up, reconnected the hoses, filled it back up with fresh water and came up and fired the engine back up. The engine started to overheat again. Shut it down and came to the realization by about 2:30 am that I was going to have to call for help. Called on 16 and talked to the coastguard who said they would send out the Bamfield lifeboat. They couldn't seem to find me--I heard them talking to other boats coming in off the banks, asking if they had seen me. I called them direct and gave them my loran coordinates but they said they didn't have a working loran!! I called tofino traffic and asked them if they had a fix on the lifeboat's position. They said they did so I asked them to call the lifeboat and tell them where they were. They finally figured a course to find us by dawn. By this time it was blowing 50 + and we are getting the s+&^ kicked out of us. One stiffleg has broken and the only thing holding the port side trolling pole from smashing into the rigging is the weight of the stabie. We get hooked up to the coastguard boat and they begin the tow. About 1 1/2 miles off of Beale (where the waves really start to hump)the stabie line breaks and the next wave sends the pole smashing into the rigging, with the boat healing way over to starboard. I yell at my ex to tell the coastguard to slow down(she's in her survival suit) and I run out and grab the pull up lines for the trolling pole. Before I can throw a hitch around a cleat, the boat rolls back to port and the pole comes back out of the rigging and I go up like Quasimodo the bell ringer hanging onto the line. At the apex of the roll I am hanging by the rope 5 feet above the water, right out of the boat before the roll takes me back over the deck and the pole smashes into the mast rigging AGAIN!(misses the cup) Before it rolls to port I am ready this time and get a loop around a cleat so it can't go back out. However, 1 pole up and 1 pole down severely unbalances the boat, especially off Beale when it's blowing 55. Not good. We are almost going over every roll. I get the ropes in my hand for the pole that is still out, time it and give the stiff leg a kick so it bends up just as the boat is starting it's roll. Up comes the pole, smashes into the rigging and I put a fast wrap on a cleat--I don't want to do the Quasimodo thing again. I tell my ex who is still in the wheelhouse to tell the coastguard to give it a bit more gas as I finish lashing the poles together so they don't bash the rigging any more. We finally make it past Beale and I begin to think for the first time that we are actually going to live. They towed us to Ostrom's where we thanked the crew profusely before finding a motel and sleeping for 10 hours. Roll Ostrom came down when I started to fix all the storm damage and showed me what had happened with the diesel. I had put the expansion tank back on correctly but I didn't know how to bleed the air from the cooling system--hence the motor had overheated again once I had restarted it out on the chuck. (He didn't even charge me for a 1 1/2 hr tutorial to a green kid on diesel mechanics, god bless his soul.)My ignorance almost cost us our lives. Live and learn.
T2
 
Anchored on the Finger Bank in our 36 ft commercial salmon troller, WCVI 1981. The evening forecast was one we used to call a "shotgun forecast" with a wide enough pattern spread that it hit everything up to blowing 25. After listening to it a few times to try and make sense of it, my ex and I hit the hay. By midnight, the wind was way way past 25 and still increasing. I got up and could tell by the boat motion the wind had pushed us off our toehold on the finger bank (if I remember correctly, it was 43 fathoms)and were drifting free. Got the ex up, pulled the anchor with the winch(one hand for you, one for the boat--hang onto the rigging with one hand and use the other to handle the line and winch motor.)I set a course(loran and paper chart) for Beale with the waves smashing our port quarter--it was getting real ugly. After running for an hour or so, I could smell steam and my engine temp went into the red zone. Shut er down and went down into the engine compartment while the waves hammered the boat. My cooling expansion tank had been knocked off the bulkhead by the wave action. Got out the toolkit and started to put it back up, lost my cookies in the bilge as the combo of being down in the cramped engine space with the extreme motion did my stomach in. Got the expansion tank back up, reconnected the hoses, filled it back up with fresh water and came up and fired the engine back up. The engine started to overheat again. Shut it down and came to the realization by about 2:30 am that I was going to have to call for help. Called on 16 and talked to the coastguard who said they would send out the Bamfield lifeboat. They couldn't seem to find me--I heard them talking to other boats coming in off the banks, asking if they had seen me. I called them direct and gave them my loran coordinates but they said they didn't have a working loran!! I called tofino traffic and asked them if they had a fix on the lifeboat's position. They said they did so I asked them to call the lifeboat and tell them where they were. They finally figured a course to find us by dawn. By this time it was blowing 50 + and we are getting the s+&^ kicked out of us. One stiffleg has broken and the only thing holding the port side trolling pole from smashing into the rigging is the weight of the stabie. We get hooked up to the coastguard boat and they begin the tow. About 1 1/2 miles off of Beale (where the waves really start to hump)the stabie line breaks and the next wave sends the pole smashing into the rigging, with the boat healing way over to starboard. I yell at my ex to tell the coastguard to slow down(she's in her survival suit) and I run out and grab the pull up lines for the trolling pole. Before I can throw a hitch around a cleat, the boat rolls back to port and the pole comes back out of the rigging and I go up like Quasimodo the bell ringer hanging onto the line. At the apex of the roll I am hanging by the rope 5 feet above the water, right out of the boat before the roll takes me back over the deck and the pole smashes into the mast rigging AGAIN!(misses the cup) Before it rolls to port I am ready this time and get a loop around a cleat so it can't go back out. However, 1 pole up and 1 pole down severely unbalances the boat, especially off Beale when it's blowing 55. Not good. We are almost going over every roll. I get the ropes in my hand for the pole that is still out, time it and give the stiff leg a kick so it bends up just as the boat is starting it's roll. Up comes the pole, smashes into the rigging and I put a fast wrap on a cleat--I don't want to do the Quasimodo thing again. I tell my ex who is still in the wheelhouse to tell the coastguard to give it a bit more gas as I finish lashing the poles together so they don't bash the rigging any more. We finally make it past Beale and I begin to think for the first time that we are actually going to live. They towed us to Ostrom's where we thanked the crew profusely before finding a motel and sleeping for 10 hours. Roll Ostrom came down when I started to fix all the storm damage and showed me what had happened with the diesel. I had put the expansion tank back on correctly but I didn't know how to bleed the air from the cooling system--hence the motor had overheated again once I had restarted it out on the chuck. (He didn't even charge me for a 1 1/2 hr tutorial to a green kid on diesel mechanics, god bless his soul.)My ignorance almost cost us our lives. Live and learn.
T2
 
Amazing story Wolf. I had a similar experience. We were trying to anchor on a small pinnacle in the dark in the halibut derby and missed our first attempt so we were pulling the anchor when suddenly this boat came racing out of the dark, way too close for comfort. I don't know how he didn't see us with his huge spotlight ~ a little to excited I guess. As we finished pulling the anchor we spun around and re-set our hook only to discover this guy was preparing to drop anchor right beside us. Unbelievable. We ended up pretty close but it was fishable until the tide changed and sure enough he ran his gear into our anchor line. Once we cleaned off his gear we decided to pull the hook and drift to avoid more problems. Within 20 minutes we hammered a 70lb'r and this other guy was skunked for the day. Talk about Karma. ;)
 
Amazing story Wolf. I had a similar experience. We were trying to anchor on a small pinnacle in the dark in the halibut derby and missed our first attempt so we were pulling the anchor when suddenly this boat came racing out of the dark, way too close for comfort. I don't know how he didn't see us with his huge spotlight ~ a little to excited I guess. As we finished pulling the anchor we spun around and re-set our hook only to discover this guy was preparing to drop anchor right beside us. Unbelievable. We ended up pretty close but it was fishable until the tide changed and sure enough he ran his gear into our anchor line. Once we cleaned off his gear we decided to pull the hook and drift to avoid more problems. Within 20 minutes we hammered a 70lb'r and this other guy was skunked for the day. Talk about Karma. ;)
 
That may be your verion of it but mine is true to the T if you dont believe me better ask some one you know to really get the details I think they may be a little fogged on your part, in no way would I ever put you and Rock down as i KNOW you 2 were not behind the wheel, you guys are better navigators than that I didnt make this personal at all you did and ill be the first to admit any wrongdoing but any boat running in the datk with no running light or nav lights cmon lets be real!!!!!!!We were already anchored and had 2 rods out if you can remember that???

AS I said earlier I KNOW you 2 were NOT at FAULT my partner was way more madder than me for once and we did have fish we didnt bother to weigh them in !!!!!!As for me getting excited you obviously dont know me very well!!!!!

Thats why I hate that derby !!!!!!


Wolf
 
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