Going on a fishing trip is somewhat like playing Russian roulette. You know something's going to happen but you're never quite sure when or how.
A couple of weeks ago we headed north for a fishing trip and for some cooler weather. Before I even hooked up the boat, I knew I needed to put the cover back on for the trip. Unfortunately, when I unfolded it there was about a three-foot tear on one side. Now it's too late to properly repair it so I whipped out the duct tape and pressed it on as smoothly as possible and then turned over the cover and put a similar strip on the other side. The wife took one look at the handiwork and just shook her head. I told her I thought this might work. She suggested we take bets as to how long that tape would stay on that cover driving up the highway at 70 miles per hour.
We live three miles from town, by the time I neared Horton Street heading for Highway 69, I could see my temporary patch was already starting to come undone. As we turned north she suggested we stop by Cabela's on the way to the happy fishing grounds.
By the time we arrived at the store, the tape was flapping in the wind and the hole was getting bigger, something more was going to be needed.
Five minutes after Cabela's opened we were inside the store and made a beeline to the boat section. In less than five minutes we managed to find a new cover that looked like it would work. We went back to the parking lot, unfolded the cover and tried to figure out where some of the 15 to 20 straps went. After about 15 minutes, I hauled out my bungee cords and we jerked it as tight as we could after having worked up a good sweat. We got back in the truck a little worse for the wear but knowing that more was yet to happen.
Two weeks later we reached home in the drizzling rain, minus one of the covers on the top of the camper. In a desperation move, I placed the dog's swimming pool upside down over the hole, knowing I was going to have more opportunities to be a repairman.