Boyd Duckett – Sometimes Lucky – Sometimes Not

Sometimes you get lucky. It happened to me last week. Twice actually. I was in Sandusky, Ohio to compete in the BASS Northern Open event on Lake Erie.

The first piece of luck happened when I found a roadside motel about 15 miles from our launch point. I wanted to stay somewhere quiet, and I found this place that reminded me of the days years ago where little roadside motels were dotted along the road. It had about a 10-inch television set. There were no frills whatsoever. And I paid a price for it.

The price was exactly $200 for seven nights. I loved it. If I had moved five miles or so up the road, I would have paid that much for one night.

That was lucky break No. 1.

The second break came on Tuesday before the tournament started (on Thursday). I decided that the strategic thing to do would be to take a trip over to the Canadian side. Fish, I knew, were over there – so I went to scout.

The trip over went fine. It was 40 miles through three-foot waves, but generally it was an ok trip. But while I was near the shore checking out good potential spots for the tournament I heard a “thunk.” Then the boat lost power.

To make a long story short, what happened was a pinion gear broke a tooth, and it went out through the housing. My lower unit was not completely gone – but it was almost dead.

So I weighed my options. First, I called for help, but the closest help I could get was probably two hours away – and I still would have the problem of getting myself and my boat back to Ohio.

My second option was to pull out on the Canadian shore and find a way to drive back to Sandusky, which would be a three-hour trip with a stop at customs. That wasn’t an option, because even if I could find my way to shore, there was no place to easily get on land and find wheels. I was in the middle of nowhere. So I decided to try to limp back. If I could make it halfway, back onto the U.S. side of the lake, I would have a better chance of calling for help in case I died.

I got lucky. It was a slow, agonizing trip back, and I spilled every drop of oil in the boat on the way, but I made it. When I came into the dock, my bass boat sounded like one of those duck boats in the Louisiana bayou – dat-dat-dat-dat-dat!! – you know the sound. But it lease I made it back, and I was able to get the lower unit repaired before the tournament started.

Unfortunately, that’s where the good luck stopped. I didn’t have the tournament I wanted to have, in other words.

I figured 18 pounds a day would do the trick. I had a little better than 14, and that wasn’t even close to enough. Some of the guys were catching the deep bites, and in the end it would have taken more than 20 a day to be in the hunt.

I wasn’t completely disappointed with the way I fished, but I never got that deep bite I would have needed to have a chance to win.

No luck on that one.

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