Bad Luck

What’s the old saying? “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all”? Our outing last week was only about half “bad luck.” Could have been worse.

Before I get into that, let me correct the name of my orthopedic surgeon as it appeared in last week’s column. I called Dr. Michael Behr, Jr. by his first name only.

Mom taught me better than that. Considering how long it takes to become a doctor or a pastor, she used to say, such professionals deserve whatever formal courtesy titles they’ve earned. Mea culpa!

We drove down to Lake Eufaula to check on the boat early last week when we had a couple of delightfully cool days. Dave keeps an eye on lake levels, and had read that Eufaula was down five feet.

“It’s going to look terrible,” we told each other, “and too dangerous to take the boat out because of the snags and sandbars so near the surface.” Instead of spending the night aboard, as we usually do, we’d treat ourselves to dinner at LakePoint Lodge and spend one night there.

To our surprise, the lake doesn’t look bad at all. Yes, the water level is low, but if you keep a shallow-draft trawler in the marked channels, you’d have no trouble. And we’ve never seen so few fishermen on the water.

First, however, we’d see if the lodge has a room available. Uh-oh. They’re in a two-year renovation project and the whole place is closed.

I was mollified to learn that at least part of the kitchen staff was now running the little café at the marina. I recognized the woman behind the counter and threw myself on her mercy, begging her to fix me a dinner plate although it was really still the lunch hour.

Dave, of course, was mortified. “Why can’t you eat a club sandwich like everybody else?”

“Dave, this lady makes catfish the way I like it and I have my heart set on grilled catfish and a baked potato.” She not only grilled the fillets perfectly, she cooked a sweet onion until it was limp and placed that on the fish too. Next to the perfectly baked potato and sour cream.

It was not good. It was so far beyond good, I cannot find the words.

We spent the night at an adequate motel further south on Ala. Route 265. Next day we nudged the boat out of her slip and headed out to the lake, having decided to rough it. Not planning to spend the night on the boat (exhibiting an uncommon spontaneity) we had brought along no fresh food. But we have a lot of canned food onboard, and picked up some orange juice and sweet buns for breakfast. We wouldn’t starve.

Dropping anchor at the mouth of Rood Creek, no houses or fishermen in sight, we ate a couple of cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meat balls, and watched the sun go down. I also watched as a 10-foot alligator slowly sliced the surface of the water about a quarter-mile away, easing toward us in a nearly parallel course.

When the ’gator got about three boat lengths from us, a small fishing boat came out of nowhere and putted right next to us, between us and the ’gator. The creature slid into the water without so much as a ripple, and was gone.

We didn’t plan to go swimming anyhow.

Now, the couple in the john boat were very quiet, didn’t wave, just kept fishing, their electric motor correcting their position now and then. Couldn’t have been better company – if we’d wanted company.

But they stayed and stayed. And stayed. Like Dave said, a 47-mile-long lake, and they had to fish 20 feet from our bow. So much for the solitude we were seeking.

I could hear, first, a great horned owl murmuring in the woods beyond the bank, and later, a pair of barred owls calling more stridently. It’s “that time” for owls, as they seek good nesting spots to raise the clutch of 2008.

We kept thinking our neighbors would crank up and head home, but they did not, and the water was too shallow for us to try to find another safe anchorage in the dark.

About 3 a.m., I got up and looked for them, and they were finally gone, although there were lights about half a mile away, very bright lights. At least they were off our anchor line.

On the way home, we stopped at an Applebee’s where I had had the most wonderful salad some months ago.

“It will be just my luck, they won’t have it on the menu,” I said to Dave. “Don’t be so negative,” he replied.

I flung open the menu and looked for California shrimp salad. In vain. “We don’t serve that any more,” said Miss Push-up Bra of 2007, hunkered down beside the table.

“You know,” I pushed on, “the one with avocado and spinach and shrimp and hard-boiled…”

“I know,” she commiserated. “It’s been off the menu for about six months.” And no, I couldn’t special-order one like I did the catfish. They don’t even have avocados in the kitchen. I was disconsolate.

To round out our stretch of good luck/bad luck, when we got home, we discovered that the refrigerator was off, and had been for about 48 hours.

Guess that’ll teach us to be spontaneous.