Grumman Canoe Serial Number
• Tell us some more • Upload in progress • Upload failed. Please upload a file larger than 100 x 100 pixels • We are experiencing some problems, please try again. • You can only upload files of type PNG, JPG or JPEG. • You can only upload files of type 3GP, 3GPP, MP4, MOV, AVI, MPG, MPEG or RM. • You can only upload photos smaller than 5 MB. • You can only upload videos smaller than 600 MB.
• You can only upload a photo (png, jpg, jpeg) or video (3gp, 3gpp, mp4, mov, avi, mpg, mpeg, rm). • You can only upload a photo or video. • Video should be smaller than 600 MB/5 minutes • Photo should be smaller than 5 MB • You can only upload a photo.
I just picked up a Grumman Sport Boat, and I love it! Went in ankle deep water with the long tail before I got stuck. It floated without me in it, and I was able to walk it out to motorable water in my Xtra Tuffs.
There is a lot of history to Grumman boats and Grumman canoes - NIck is making his own. The fisherman’s dictionary defines the word “boat” as a hole in the water into which money is thrown.
Similar to a hunting dog, the price paid for a boat is rarely reflected in the purchase. There’s winterizing, summerizing, trailer repairs, motor tune ups, depth finders, rod racks, lure holders and much more that are added into the final tally of how much a boat really costs.
But, like that favorite hunting dog, a good boat is worth every penny. For my college graduation in 2001 I received the amorphous gift from my parents of finding and selecting a moderately-priced used boat. For a month I examined the classified ads in the newspaper and on the Internet looking for an inexpensive craft that would move me up and down the river with a passenger or two and not break the bank. Assetto corsa tracks download.
Finally, I was alerted by my buddy that just such a boat was for sale. It was listed as a 15-foot Grumman Boat – a Sportsman with a 35 horsepower Johnson motor in good condition with console steering, livewell, depth finder and trailer located in Rugby, ND. A massive cold-front had moved in and stalled out over the area, making a road trip the perfect way to kill some foul-weather fishing days. In the rain and wind, my buddy and I headed up Highway 281 to examine the boat. Upon our arrival, we looked it over and listened to the war stories of the previous owner as he pointed out the new gas cans, rod racks and trailer tires. “I don’t recommend doing it, but I’ve had her out in four-foot rollers on Devils Lake. It took an hour, but I made it back to the launch.
She’s small, but sturdy,” he puffed. After inspection I paid the man and hitched the boat to the family truck for the first time. My buddy and I peeled back down the highways of eastern North Dakota, stopping only in Minnewauken to throw a few casts off the bridges for springtime pike. We returned to Valley City and waited for the massive weather system – which was in day two of its five day visit – to end. On the next sunny day the Grumman boat hit the water under our command.
After that, it was a blur of smallmouth on jigs, white bass on light tackle and wee-hour walleyes coming over the side of the boat to be flashed in front of the camera and released or stringered up as a well-deserved dividend to the investment. In between all the pictures and faded memories are those instances where the Grumman was the core of my frustration and excitement. The situation that stands out most in my mind occurred one summer later. Gradually, a screeching-scraping-grinding sound, as if someone was dragging a steel I-beam down I-94, became louder and louder over a period of thirty seconds. Mind you, I was in the basement, an area of the house surrounded by yards of decibel-dampening dirt. I ran upstairs and burst out the front door to have a look, expecting Armageddon. Coming down the street, I saw the sight that at the time scared me worse than judgment day.
From the driver’s side of the trailer, sparks were shooting out of what used to be a wheel, now just a smoking piece of metal. I started waving my hands and screaming expletives at the top of my lungs to get my brother to park the truck. I pulled my brother out of the vehicle by the collar of his shirt and held him a few feet from the smoldering hub.