The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th edition (aka DSM-5, the gold standard by which mental illness is diagnosed) defines "canoe over-acquisition syndrome" as a compulsion to purchase canoes such that the affected individual owns no fewer than 5 canoes, without the people, dogs, or other animate creatures to ride in them.
Luckily, I have only just purchased my fourth canoe, so I can still drive my own car to the supermarket for beer, instead of riding a janky riding mower in flipflops and socks.
Luckily, I have only just purchased my fourth canoe, so I can still drive my own car to the supermarket for beer, instead of riding a janky riding mower in flipflops and socks.
Behold, the RKS Bluebottle, ready to disembark:
The RKS Bluebottle is a 15-foot Old Town Penobscot Solo. A previous owner had shortened the thwart, pulling the sides of the canoe in and reducing the width at the gunnels by a good 4 inches, at least. This had the effect of making the boat faster, but considerably more tippy. After replacing the thwarts with some that are basically stock width, the boat has become more genteel, a Percheron instead of a quarterhorse, if you will. And like a Percheron, it makes for a much better fishing platform.
So I put in at Lake Pelham to try my luck. There weren't many fishermen, but plenty of ospreys, like this one sunning herself, drying her wings:
Paddled around, fishing with a little crankbait, caught a few bass, a couple of crappie, one small and one decent, and a bunch of small white perch.
Felt like I was being watched,and sure enough, I was:
I spoke at great length with the groundhog, known to his friends as Chuck he tells me (short for woodchuck, of course), and he told me, in groundhog language, not English, you understand, because the groundhog physiology doesn't lend itself to the vocal fricative so essential to the Queen's tongue, that I should reject the DSM-5 as an arbitrary standard of sanity, and fuck it, buy more canoes, and build my own fleet, nay, my own armada, and ultimately, when the ice caps melt and the sea level is 500 miles inland, that I'll be king of the world, a la that guy in Waterworld, and that if I have to drive a John Deere to Safeway in the interim, well, that's just the price to pay for greatness.
