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~ Diabetes, Cancer Fighter, Father of Twins, Kayak Fishing, Woodcrafter, Lover of Life

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Tag Archives: Equipment

What’s in my Kayak

18 Friday Sep 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Family, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Nature, Retirement, Uncategorized, Weight Loss

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adventure, Communications, Equipment, Family, Fishing, Fishing Rod, Garmin, Garmin InReach, Kayaking, Life, Mishaps', Nature, Rescue, Travel

As I’ve written about so many times, I love to fish.

I have a 12-foot Wilderness Systems kayak that I bought from a dear friend. It has become my little fishing machine, although I’m not sure the fish are nearly as impressed with it as I am.

I found the kayak on Facebook Marketplace when I was looking for one. The only problem was that my friend lived in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Nearly six hours from my house.

Surely, I could have found a kayak closer to home. But my friend was going through a difficult situation. Her husband had taken off and drained her bank account, and she desperately needed the money. I bought the kayak for $700, even though it was worth more than $1,500.

So I made the nearly six-hour drive to Knoxville.

Six hours there. Six hours back.

But I saved over $800.

I’m not sure if that qualifies as a bargain or just an excuse to spend twelve hours in my truck.

The most expensive piece of equipment on my kayak is my Garmin Striker Vivid 7cv fish finder.

Has it helped me catch more fish?

Probably not.

But it does tell me the water temperature, my direction of travel, water depth, sunken structures, and whether there are fish underneath me. It also tells me how fast I’m paddling.

And that’s probably the funniest feature on the entire thing.

I’m pretty sure I could get out and walk faster than I’m paddling.

The fish finder can show me the 37 fish directly underneath my kayak.

What it can’t tell me is why those 37 fish are ignoring everything I throw at them.

I also made myself a fishing crate out of a milk crate. It holds my soft plastics, hooks, weights, and crankbaits. It sits behind me, making everything easy to reach.

It’s even easier to get to now that I’ve lost all my weight.

There was a time when reaching behind me required some planning.

Now I can reach things without wondering if I’m going to flip the kayak.

I carry four rods and reels with me. None of them are what you would call professional equipment. I don’t think I’ve paid more than $100 for any of them.

I have always believed that you can catch just as many fish with a cheap setup as with an expensive one.

Of course, I have absolutely no scientific evidence to support this theory.

It’s just what I tell myself when I’m standing in the fishing aisle looking at a $300 rod.

I’ve spent several hundred dollars on tackle over the last few years. I’m constantly researching what the fish might be biting, looking at new lures and trying to figure out what might work.

I also have a friend who catches a lot more fish than I do, so I pay close attention to what he uses.

There is a lot of truth to the old saying that it’s not the equipment—it’s the person using it.

Unfortunately, I’m beginning to suspect that might be my problem.

But there is one piece of equipment I take with me that is more important than anything else in my kayak, other than my paddle.

My Garmin InReach.

The place where I do most of my fishing has absolutely no cell service. If I run into a problem, I’m on my own unless I have another way to communicate.

There are no houses nearby. No convenient little convenience store where I can walk in and say, “Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

So far, I’ve been lucky and haven’t had any serious problems.

Well, except for the treble hook incident.

I was fishing with my daughter when I managed to get a treble hook lodged into my thumb.

And when I say lodged, I mean lodged.

We were only about a quarter of a mile from the launch, so I had to paddle back, load the kayak into the truck and head to the emergency room to have it removed.

Thank goodness my daughter was with me to help load my truck. I couldn’t have done it without her.

I didn’t have the InReach back then, but fortunately, I didn’t need it.

And just for the record, getting a treble hook stuck in your thumb does not qualify as a true emergency.

It may qualify as an emergency in your own mind, but apparently emergency responders have higher standards.

The Garmin InReach is a satellite communicator. It allows me to send and recieve text messages through satellites to people I have programmed into the device.

More importantly, if I ever have a real emergency, there is an SOS button that I can activate to contact emergency responders.

Hopefully, I will never have to push it.

Because apparently, pushing that little button can get expensive.

Depending on how I need to be rescued, the cost could be more than $20,000.

Twenty.

Thousand.

Dollars.

At that price, I hope the rescue includes a helicopter, a steak dinner and someone carrying my kayak back to the truck.

Fortunately, Garmin offers an insurance option that can cover the cost of a rescue. I believe it costs around $40 a year.

That’s a pretty small price to pay when you consider what a rescue could cost.

The monthly service itself is also relatively inexpensive. I believe I pay around $15 a month and get 10 free messages each month. If my wife responds to one of my messages, it costs about 10 cents per message.

I use the InReach three times on almost every fishing trip.

The first message is sent when I start my trip. I let my wife and kids know that I’m heading out.

The second message comes somewhere around the middle of the trip. Basically, it’s my way of saying, “I’m still alive.”

The third message goes out when I’m finished fishing and loading everything back into the truck.

My wife usually responds to each message so I know she received it.

All together, that’s about 30 cents per fishing trip.

That’s cheaper than most of the lures I lose.

And I lose a lot of lures.

For me, the InReach isn’t really about fishing.

It’s about peace of mind.

If you fish, hike, hunt, kayak, or do anything outdoors where cell service is sparse or nonexistent, I highly recommend having some kind of satellite communication device.

I know my wife worries about me when I go fishing by myself. I also know that she feels better knowing that she will hear from me throughout the trip.

And I feel better knowing that if something really does go wrong, I have a way to call for help.

Hopefully, I’ll never need the SOS button.

I’d much rather continue sending my three little messages, catching a few fish, losing a few lures and occasionally getting a hook stuck in something that isn’t supposed to have a hook in it.

Preferably, that “something” will not be me.

Because as much as I love fishing, I really do like coming home afterward.

An Expensive Day on the Water (and the Ones That Got Away)

25 Saturday Apr 2026

Posted by Tim Hughes Living with CML in Diabetic, Fishing, Kayaking, Life, Uncategorized

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Tags

Adventrue, Back Pain, Costly, Doctor, Equipment, Expensive, Experience, Fishing, kayak, Kayak Fishing, Lesson Learned, Life, MRI, Nature, Travel, writing

{Eidited:) This post was supposed to go out last night (Friday), but I had fallen asleep in my recliner while editing. I woke up at 3:30 this morning and decided it was time for me to go to bed.

I’ve been “offline” for several days now, and honestly, I think life has finally caught up with me.

Between attending both of my Bible study groups, keeping up with my Tuesday night training sessions, trying to stay on top of my craft work, and dealing with ongoing back pain, it’s been a lot. Probably more than I should’ve been trying to juggle all at once.

To make matters worse, I’ve been trying all week to get in touch with my doctor’s office. I’ve left several messages with his nurse and haven’t heard anything back. I know they’re in a tough spot—my doctor passed away, and his daughter is doing her best to keep the practice going—but at some point, I’d just like to know what my MRI results are and what the next steps look like.

This back pain? It’s not subtle.

If I sit with a heating pad or lie down, I’m fine. But standing, walking very far, or trying to get up out of a chair without armrests feels like I’m auditioning for a role in a slow-motion action movie… except there’s no action. Just pain.

Now, what I’m about to say might make you question my judgment. That’s okay—I’ve been questioning it myself.

Most of you know I have an early Bible study on Tuesday mornings. After that, I usually meet up with my fishing buddy for breakfast, and like clockwork, the conversation turns to one thing: When are we going fishing?

We both love it. Probably more than we should.

We’re also not exactly the healthiest guys around. He’s got heart trouble, and I’ve got my own collection of “maybe don’t do that alone” conditions. So, logically speaking, kayaking on a river by yourself probably shouldn’t make the list of good decisions.

But here’s the thing…

Before he ever got a kayak, I used to go fishing alone all the time and never thought twice about it. No worries. No hesitation. Just me, the water, and whatever fish were willing to cooperate—which, let’s be honest, wasn’t many.

After we started fishing together, though, I began to realize maybe going alone wasn’t the smartest idea. These days, I do carry a satellite tracking device that keeps up with me and lets me send messages, which sounds impressive until you realize it doesn’t paddle the kayak for you if something goes wrong.

There’s also something I hate to admit: I actually enjoy fishing alone.

There’s a peace to it. No talking. No coordinating. No “what spot do you want to try next?” It’s just quiet… and the occasional sound of me getting frustrated.

But I know if I go without him, it bothers him. Which makes it feel like I shouldn’t.

Well, this week gave me an opportunity.

He had a doctor’s appointment on Thursday, and I didn’t have anything planned. Wednesday and Friday were already booked, so Thursday became the perfect window.

And I took it.

I went fishing alone.

Now let me tell you… It was peaceful. It was quiet. It was relaxing.

It was also expensive.

Not “grabbed breakfast on the way” is expensive. I’m talking, watch your money sink into the river while you sit there helplessly, expensive.

First to go was my measuring board—about a $40 piece of equipment that decided it no longer wanted to live on this earth. One small slip, and it vanished into about 10 feet of murky water like it had been training for this moment its entire life.

I barely had time to process that loss before my brand-new fishing reel—yes, the one I had just received the day before and proudly put on my rod—decided to malfunction.

So there I am, sitting in a kayak, performing what I can only describe as back-alley surgery on a fishing reel, when suddenly the drag knob pops off.

Time slowed down.

It slipped out of my hands…
bounced once on the side of the kayak…
and with perfect aim… dropped straight into the water.

Gone.

Just like that.

I sat there for a second, staring into the water, thinking, “Did that really just happen?” Followed immediately by, “That was expensive.”

At that point, I hadn’t caught a single fish. Not even a bite.

To say I was discouraged would be an understatement. I seriously considered paddling back to the launch and calling it quits. In my mind, catching a fish had become less about enjoyment and more about trying to justify the expense of being out there.

So I stayed.

And eventually, I started catching fish.

I officially brought four bass to the boat. It took from about 6:30 in the morning until 3:45 in the afternoon—but who’s counting? (Me. I was definitely counting.)

Now, unofficially… that number should be higher.

I had several fish on the line that apparently took one look at the kayak and decided, “Yeah, I’m not doing this today.”

One by one, they shook loose like they had somewhere better to be. No goodbye. No apology. Just gone.

Honestly, my total would be a whole lot higher if I could count the ones that “got away.” But as every fisherman knows, those are always the biggest ones anyway. If you ask me tomorrow, I’m pretty sure at least two of them will have been record-breakers.

By the end of the day, I was worn out, a little sore, and slightly poorer than when I started.

Was it worth it?

Financially? Not even close.

Physically? My back has been filing complaints ever since.

But somehow… I still had a good time.

I’ve already ordered a new measuring board, and it should be here before my next trip. The reel? Well, we’ll just say I learned some valuable lessons about fixing things over open water.

I’m not entirely sure there’s a clear moral to this story.

Maybe it’s that sometimes things don’t go your way. Sometimes they go really wrong. And sometimes they cost you more than you planned.

But even then, you can still find a way to enjoy the day.

Or maybe the lesson is this:

If you’re going to lose expensive equipment… at least catch a few fish to make yourself feel better about it.

And maybe—just maybe—next time I’ll tie everything down.

…or bring my buddy so he can watch it happen.

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