Flying Canoe, by Jim Erlandson

Jim caught this 3 lb 6 oz. crappie & 7 lb. 15 oz Largemouth Bass on Aug 31, 2001 at a little lake in Olympia WA. (which to protect his hot-spot will remain nameless). These were caught on two consecutive casts using a purple “Curly Tail Grub”.       .   THE BALLAD OF THE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING CANOE by Jim Erlandson     Some men are born in sight of the sea and live by the pull of the tide. They grow up with the smell of the salt in their blood, and sail the oceans wide. But some, like me are landlubbers grim who live In the rocks and the trees, Yet dream of waves and wind and whales, and ships that sail the seas.     And so when I met those men true and bold that crafted the ship called "The Lady", I couldn't resist the Donkey's Breakfast, and to sing all them chanteys so weighty. So then, here and there we rattled the air with songs both fiction and true, And it led to the tale, which still leaves me pale, of "the unidentified flying canoe".     ‘Twas the fourth of July in the year '94 and so hot the sun fried your brain. In Yakima town the folk festival sound was accompanied by praying for rain. We sang in the morn and again late at night, but were free for most of the day. And thinking of bass in the ponds near the tracks, I had hauled my canoe all the way.     Now, some men will fish from trawlers at sea and some men will wade in the muck, Well, I don't know why, but I likes my butt dry, so I keeps my canoe on my truck. A rope fore and aft for to tie down the craft, but ropes on occasion get spongy, So to keep it on tight as I flies through the night, l straps it down good with a bungee.     The morning went well, we all gave 'em hell, with our ballads and chanteys, and songs, The afternoon too, as I sailed my canoe, for the bass and the trout came in throngs. But is often the case in that forsaken place, as the sun she began to pale, The heat from the valley met the chill from the hills, and whipped up one god-awful gale.     That night in the pub, after downing some grub, we sang and we chanted and bellowed, The crowd was impressed with Donkey's Breakfast and bought several rounds for us fellows. Still, all the while we were making them smile and singing them verse after chorus, Outside, all around, from the sky to the ground a tempest of wind waited for us.     When finally we sung our last farewell song and packed up our instrumentation, I trudged into the wind, to head home again for some rest and some rejuvenation. The gale was so big, as I ran for my rig, it damn near laid me fiat to the ground. So it gave me no thrill to head over the hill to my home down on old Puget Sound.     Now interstate 12 heads into the hills a four hour drive o'er the pass, A head wind so strong, to keep going along, l just plain had to stand on the gas. With both hands on the wheel I started to feel the most unearthly strange sensation, Front wheels leaving the road, hell, my whole damn load was starting to gain elevation.     Then, over my head, as onward I sped into the gloom and the night, With a blood chilling wrench, the damn bungee stretched and the canoe turned into a kite, Front wheels free and clear, destiny near, my life passing in front of my eyes, The bungee came loose, the rope slipped it's noose, the canoe headed into the skies.     I’ve seen no sight so queer, through a rear view mirror, and it chilled me through and through Fifty feet in the air, over cars, horns a blare, flew my shiny aluminum canoe. With a life of it’s own, as if riding the foam, sailing o'er highway and rocky protrusion, Passing out of the light, disappearing in night, like some hallucinogenic illusion.     Well I’ll be a sport and cut this tale short, though it keeps trying to grow with the telling, I got turned around and finally found the canoe up near a sheep herder's dwelling. Now the problem became attaching the thing to the truck without bungee or rope. But down by my feet, pushed under the seat, was an object that gave me some hope.     Out by Hood Canal, with the ferns and salal, grows a plant in the moss and moosh, A plant without which life would be a bitch, the world famous Duckabush. This bush as you know. has a fruit that does grow with adhesive you cannot escape. A fruit that will mend, modern man's best friend, the substance we now call Duck tape.     So around truck and canoe, up and down, in and through, by the light of the quarter moon, I duck taped the mess till, wouldn't you guess, if looked like a giant cocoon. Off into the night, spreading terror and fright, I drove this ungodly devise. Till at last, tired and drawn, and getting near dawn, I arrived at my home paradise.     The very next day I stopped on the way to my job to pick up a paper. When what should I see on the stand in front of me, but a headline that told of my caper. The Yakima Herald, a rag straight and narrow, told the tale purportedly true, That witnesses numerous, not trying to be humorous, saw an unidentified flying canoe.     Now the moral of this verse, though somewhat perverse, could stretch a man’s imagination. No matter your call it applies to us all, regardless of ship or of station. Whatever life's road, when hauling a load, whether flimsy or made of concrete. Secure it down tight, with all of your might and carry duck tape under your seat.                                                       TRIPLES with EMMA