The picture is AI generated this time because I was more concerned with getting it flipped back over than I was trying to remember to turn on the camera lol
I lost three fishing poles, my wallet, and every piece of trolling gear I own to the Gulf of Mexico. On the bright side, I now have material.
Let me walk you through the decision tree, because in hindsight it's less a decision tree and more a series of doors I opened myself.
/ Bad Decision #1: Inviting a Friend
My buddy's jetski was in the shop. So I said the thing you say: "just ride with me."
This meant two grown men, one jetski, and a combined center of gravity that we would later describe to each other as "aspirational."
/ Bad Decision #2: Stopping at 10 Miles
We were headed offshore — 33 miles was the plan. At about 10 miles out, we decided to stop and troll for a bit. This is the part where, if you've been on the water, you already know what's coming.
Here's the sequence:
- I was digging in the front box, which was open.
- He was at the back getting the trolling rods ready.
- We both leaned a little to the left.
- Simultaneously, a wave rocked us a little to the left.
- And, well.
The jetski flipped. (Oops.)
Normally that's a minor thing. You flip it back, you laugh, you go home. But normally you don't have: a guy who has never been that far offshore, fishing gear everywhere, and an open front box full of everything I own.
We got it flipped back over. That part went fine.
The part that didn't: three poles, my wallet, and all the trolling gear are now permanent residents of the Gulf floor at 10 miles out. None of it was cheap. All of it was my fault.
/ Bad Decision #3: The One I'm Still Annoyed About
Here's the lesson that actually stings, because it wasn't the flip — that was physics. It was the tie-downs.
Nothing was secured. Not the box, not the gear, not the loose stuff. I've run this jetski offshore plenty of times and never once lost anything, so I'd quietly filed "tie everything down" under things that matter when things go wrong — and things go wrong about never, right up until they go wrong all at once.
The flip cost me nothing that mattered. The unsecured gear cost me three poles and a wallet.
Those are different failures. One is bad luck. The other is a plan that only worked because I hadn't tested it.
/ What I'd Do Differently
- Tie it down. All of it. Every time. The trip where nothing goes wrong is not evidence that you don't need to.
- One person moves at a time when stopped. Two people leaning the same direction on a jetski is a physics experiment with a predictable result.
- Close the box. Obvious. Wasn't closed. I'm including it because apparently I need to read it.
- Brief your passenger. He'd never been that far out. That's on me, not him — he didn't know what he didn't know, and I didn't tell him.
- The gear matters less than the guy. Everything I lost is replaceable and I've already replaced most of it. The only genuinely bad outcome would have been if he'd panicked out there, 10 miles from shore, and he didn't.
/ The Actual Upside
We're alive. We're fine. We're a little sore and we're laughing about it, which is the correct response and also the only one available.
And if you want the real takeaway: I've spent years talking about margin — about building systems that still work when conditions change. I went out on the water with zero margin, and the water collected.
The tank story is a metaphor. This one's just a bill.
/ Stay Tuned
I may have more pictures to add later today. We're going back with scuba gear in about 45 minutes.
Stay tuned.
Until the next run out — work hard, play hard.