A Little Redneck Engineering..

Six hundred dollars for a push pole? Really? After I googled push poles and saw the mind-numbing prices, the first thing I did was go to Lowe’s to buy a 10 ft. closet rod. I’m not proud, or stupid for that matter. Well, I take that back. I’ve done my share of stupid things in my life. And the only thing I’ve learned is that being stupid is painful and expensive. So if I can help it, I try to be smart.

I realized the first trip out on my new boat that I was missing 4 ft. from my closet rod. So I spent most of the afternoon crouched in the catcher’s position on my polling platform. Despite the discomfort on my knees, it worked. And my dad, the Old Man, hooked up with his first redfish. I wish I could have seen the take, but I was too busy trying to get the feeling back in my legs. But by all accounts, it was a successful trip: I didn’t wreck the boat, no one fell into the water, we caught fish and it only took one try to successfully back the trailer down the boat ramp.

On the way home, the Old Man had an idea.

“You know, I got a way to give you an extra 4 ft. on your push pole,” he said.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I asked.

“A Dutch Uncle,” he said.

“A what?” I laughed.

“A Dutch Uncle,” he replied.

“Have you seen the movie Zac and Miri?” I asked.

“Who?” he answered.

“Nevermind,” I said as I shook my head.

“It’s an old traditional carpentry joint used in colonial homes, barns and ship making,” he continued.

“Ah…” I said, still confused but glad I didn’t have to explain the Urban Dictionary to my father

So the next day, we “Dutch Uncled” a 10 ft. closet rod with a 6 ft. closet rod. And it looked good. I was actually quite proud of my carpentry skills. My last experience with woodworking was the Pine Wood Derby in Boy Scouts, so to build something that was actually useful made me really happy. After a few layers of Teak Oil for aesthetics, I gave my custom made wooden push pole a test run on my polling platform in the backyard. I measured it against the hull of my boat and it felt good. I put pressure on it, imaging I was sliding through the shallow flats with complete silence and stealth. It broke immediately.

“I was afraid of that,” the Old Man said. “Back to the drawing board.”

I’ve seen the movie Tarpon. In the days before $40,000 skiff boats, carbon fiber push poles and graphite fly rods, those guys were getting it done. They made it happen with the materials at hand. So I was determined to do the same.

Our second attempt involved a simple end-to-end joint reinforced by a 5/8 in. wooden dowel inserted into each section. In essence, a glued male to female connection.

“It’s the rule of thirds,” the Old Man said. “The strongest joints follow this concept,” he continued.

We finished it off with a beautiful black and white cord wrapping to cover the joint.

“Now you need a foot,” he said, “to keep you from getting stuck in the mud.”

“Good idea,” I replied.

So the next day, we “Dutch Uncled” one of those on there and covered the whole thing with a coat of polyurethane. I took another imaginary test run in the backyard and it held. So much so, I catapulted myself off the platform into the center console of my boat. Satisfied with our redneck engineering, we decided to hit the water the following day.

As I cut the motor and drifted towards the edge of the bay, the strong SW winds already had my boat turning in circles. I quickly climbed on to my polling platform and jammed the foot of my push pole into the mud. The boat slowed. Then the push pole buckled and snapped. The black and white wrapping unfurled, leaving me with a working section that was a little under 10ft. I shook my head in frustration. Turns out 5/8ths is not 1/3 of 1¼.
I poled (more honestly, paddled) to a calm stretch of water that funneled into a creek mouth. I decided that standing after each push was the best way to keep a perspective on the approaching water. Mid-crouch, I noticed two dark submarine shaped fish making their way towards the boat. I stood up.

“Redfish, 12 o’clock, 20ft.!” I said.

“What?” the Old Man replied.

“12 o’clock. You gotta make it happen. Two redfish headed right for the boat. Just give me 20ft.,” I said.

The Old Man put a cast perfectly in front of the approaching targets.

“Strip, strip, strip!” I directed from the back.

I could see one of the fish turn on the Old Man’s presentation. As he striped, the fish kept following. And the fish was closing in fast, nearing 10ft. from the boat. I feared that the Old Man would over lead the target. I shouted, “Leave it!”

The fished turned abruptly at a 90 degree angle and swam off. My first instinct was a refusal. He saw the boat and spooked. But as I saw the Old Man’s fly line start to follow the escaping redfish, I realized he had eaten the fly and was swimming off with it.

“Strip!” I yelled, and he set the hook perfectly in the side of the fish’s mouth. His reel screamed as the fish raced out towards to bay. The Old Man was hooked. He wrestled the 6 lbs. of redfish back to the boat and offered a huge smile towards the back of the boat

The next week, I came home to a freshly painted white push pole, half PVC/half closet rod. The Old Man had overcome my Pine Wood Derby level of carpentry and horrible understanding of fractions. It was perfect. And it gave me the luxury of standing upright on my polling platform. The closet rod bottom section has the perfect amount of stiffness to get you through the muddy marsh, and the 5ft. of PVC offers just enough bend to give you some pop. And the best part, all materials included, it cost under $20.