A Couple of Mistakes on the Lake... in Wisconsin

by Mike Pries
(Chicago, IL)

A trip to Minocqua was an annual July 4th tradition for me growing up. Now, sitting here at work, I can't help but be reminded of all the great times up north. But of course, two of the most vivid memories I have involve less-than-spectacular experiences.

Every year, my family, along with some other extended family members, rented out several cabins at a small resort on Lake Tomahawk. I was 13 when my Dad and I decided to go for a quick boat ride around the lake. We hopped into our rental fishing boat, 9.9 horsepower outboard strapped to the back, and away we went. As we navigated through the Narrows, the clouds seemed to rush in over us - definitely not a good sign. Realizing the weather was making a quick turn for the worse, my dad reversed course and turned us toward home. Unfortunately, we weren't quick enough.

Before we knew what hit us, the sky opened up, and the rain came down in endless buckets upon us. My dad opened up the outboard - well, as much as you could open it up - and I sat in front, suddenly understanding how it felt to be a hood ornament. We managed to dock, and ran like crazy back to the cabin. It took a couple days for my shoes to dry out.

Later on, my family told us that, from their warm, dry viewpoint inside the cabin, they had never seen a boat get tied up so quickly.


Several years later, on a day with much better weather, I climbed up onto a tube, ready for a ride. My cousin had brought up his ski boat, and it was my turn to hang on for dear life.

Apparently, he decided that he was really going to make me earn my stripes out on the water that day. He floored it from the get-go, and whipped me around, making S-turns, and taking me through other boats' wake every chance he could.

At some point during the ride, I realized the swimming trunks I'd bought that summer was probably a size too large, and I had probably done an inadequate job of tying the waist. My trunks made the gradual slip south of the border, dropping a bit further with each bump and turn. Ignoring the laws of physics, I tried in vain to move my legs in a way that would inch my suit back up. The effect turned out to be quite the opposite. Finally, with my waistband just above my knees and approaching the point of no return, I let go of the tube and barely managed to grab onto my shorts as I went under.

Looking back on it, that was a move I probably should have made before my cousin sped the boat past the docks, allowing me to moon a good chunk of my extended family sitting on the shore.