Agreed, if I lived and fished in lakes in the bay area or southern California, where ski-boats dominate the main body of many lakes, and high-speed bass boats roar into every cove and river arm, I might feel different about the possibilities of canoeing. Thankfully, though, I live in an area where there are countless, trout filled waters that are too cold for watersports and/or have poor access or restrictions for big boats and high speed. Tahoe itself, the world-famous tourist attraction, with parasailing, speedboats with engines like dragsters, and jet-skis rentals at every marina, goes completely quiet from October through April. Call me crazy, with a hypothermia death wish, but this is when I use my canoe on "the big lake" with great success.

In writing this article, I quickly realized just how big a subject I'm attempting to cover, with implications ranging from the rising popularity of ocean kayaking for offshore species including tuna and marlin (bragging rights are determined by how many miles you were dragged by the hooked fish, provided you've even made it back to deliver the boast), to my own blame in encouraging anyone to venture on ice cold lakes in the windy mountains in a toy boat.

As a matter of fact, if you choose to follow my advice any further, please sign the waiver and release from liability at the bottom of the page. In pursuing this extreme sport (soon to be seen on ESPN 5 and The Nashville Network), please consider the following:

Barring acts of god and faulty leak repair, there are three main ways in which a canoe can fail on stillwaters:

Tipping: I was never good at physics, but one good action deserves an equal and opposite reaction, and when your dog jumps out or your drunk buddy falls from one side of the canoe, it may flip up and tip over on the other side. Keep high centers of gravity (standing) and sudden, jerky movements (sex) to a minimum. If someone else pulls a spaz, try not to overreact- when in doubt, drop your body low, hold loosely to the gunnels, and try and "roll with it" like a sailor on high seas.

Flipping: This horrific phenomenon is fortunately quite rare, occurring only when wind gusts are strong enough to actually pick up and flip over a canoe on the water. A 100 pound individual in an ultralight racing scull might actually take flight, working those oars like flapping wings, but my experience as a lard-ass in a big canoe full of gear has never lead to anything remotely like a flipping incident. Long before the winds are that powerful, I would be faced with a less sudden but much more common and equally frightening situation-

Swamping: Water into the canoe. It's that simple. It's as likely to occur from the wakes of large boats as it is from wind-borne waves, but in either case, the result is the same. As the lake splashes into your canoe, it will ride lower from the weight, until the water inside finds the same level as the surrounding liquid- somewhere around your upper chest. Actually, the more likely occurrence when almost submerged is that the canoe rolls to the side, dumping you and your 500 dollar fly rod out in slow motion. The first defense against such an event is awareness! Look at the waveheights and watch for whitecaps splashing into the canoe. Usually it's simply a matter of quartering into them, turning your bow toward them and possibly accelerating, by paddle or motor, at the right moment to ride safely up and over a particularly large wave. Wakes from boats can be even trickier, sneaking up at odd angles in otherwise calm water, sometimes long after a boat has passed. You will often feel these manmade waves before you see them- use the same quartering approach, and as in any possible tipping situation, if the churning water threatens to overturn your boat, get low and don't make sudden or overcompensating moves. A bailing device of some sort is not a bad idea in big water either. I've used a bleach bottle, with the cap on and the bottom cut out at an angle, held by the handle, to scoop water off the floor of the canoe. There are even tight-fitting, waterproof fabric covers for canoes, but before you turn your vessel into an ocean kayak too heavy to roll back upright if it tips, try another option, called "getting the hell off the water".

Now that I've scared half of you off and satisfied the Fish Sniffer legal department, let's back up, starting at the first step in conversion to my religion:

Canoe Choice: Any canoe can be used for fishing, but if you intend to ply the large, wind prone high Sierra lakes, you'll want stability. Width is the key, and for safety in rough water and when your landlubber friend leans way over the side to deposit "seasickness chum" into the lake, I recommend a canoe in the three foot range at its widest point. my 17 foot Coleman is 36 inches wide, and my friend's 16 foot Olde Town is even fatter, 40 inches. I've used the 15 foot Coleman, which is several inches narrower than its big brother, and considerably more tippy.

Weight is another consideration, both for portability and safety (see Flipping, above). A canoe's weight is determined not only by size but by hull material as well. My Coleman is made of polyethylene (think plastic garbage can) and is close to 100 pounds. I load, unload and carry it by myself, inverting it and lifting one end overhead, lowering the center crossbar onto the back of my shoulders, positioned the way a weightlifter would place a barbell behind his neck to perform squats. I did a lot of squats and other weightlifting in college, though, so for those of average strength and threshold of pain, I'd classify this as a two person canoe. This distinction is important when determining just what your plans are- do you intend to go alone? Will you be carrying the canoe to the shores of lakes without launch facilities? I carry mine down a steep, rocky bank at Caples Lake, while my friend with the Olde Town canoe has to pay seven dollars to launch at the marina, as his is just a bit too heavy to carry in. For portages over smoother ground, though, he has a canoe carrier, which is a set of wheels you put under the boat to roll your way over land. He built his, but you'll find them in the catalogs as well.

Aluminum canoes run a bit lighter in the same size than my $350 plastic Coleman or Jeff's $1000, high tech composite Olde Town, with prices normally running between the two. Fiberglass is lighter still (though much easier to damage), and there are canoes made of Kevlar and other space-age materials that weigh about as much as my paddles, but cost the same as a NASA shuttle launch. If you do plan to carry your canoe long distances, though, the cost and fragility of the lighter materials will be made up for in decreased chiropractic bills.

Once you've selected your canoe, let's move on to the reason you did so in the first place- fishing!

Part II

Until next time, don't drink and canoe!
Mark (Never stand in a canoe) Wiza