I need a boat that can jump beaver dams and get under culverts and move through shallow streams, one that I can pull or push over sand, not one that I’m afraid to get scratched or dirty. I need a boat that I can launch anywhere, even where there is no launch. I need one that I can tie up to a rusty dock and leave for a couple hours, or let a friend borrow knowing he can’t possibly beat it up more than I have. I need one that can absorb stump hits and bounce off rocks, without costing me a fortune to repair. I need one that can fit a family of three plus a dog for Sunday trolling adventures.
I already have that boat.
She’s an old fiberglass tri-hull tiller from the 1980s. My feet are inches from the water, yet stealthy. I can take big fish for long walks, around and around, until they are ready for the bag. I’m free from ever having to turn a hooked fish near the boat because of some obstacle, which keeps them pinned. During tournaments, I’ll remove my rod holders and seats to ensure a totally snag-free and trip-free work space.
I consider my boat a tool for catching muskies, not a chick magnet. I have more money invested in other tools I need several times over — reels, rods, lures, graphs, line, leader material, hooks, beer, gas, etc. And I already have a chick.
It’s not all roses, however, fishing out of a smaller rig. There are headaches while holding her on a main lake center bar with a robust wind in my