At 8:30 in the morning, after several sputters, our rental boat's motor was completely dead.
On Lake Minnetonka, my dad, Jim, and I sat floating halfway between Casco and Locke Point.
My dad, a mechanic, fumbled with the motor. I kept quiet as the complexity and frequency of his expletives grew with every minute spent stagnant.
The water's surface warmed and glistened with the rising sun. Wake from other fishermen with functioning motors lapped against our hull. I could feel our prime fishing time slipping away, a catastrophe complicated by the fact that this was supposed to be a Father's Day present to my dad visiting from Illinois.
"It appears to be electrical," my dad said, replacing the cover on the powerhead.
I called Howard's Point Marina — where we had rented the boat—and after a few exchanges, manager Bill Olson promised to find us on the water and replace the motor.
"Well," my dad said, "might as well start fishing."
So that's what we agreed to do — stand tall, wet a line and let the wind blow us where it would. Neither of us had ever fished Minnetonka, so instead of surveying shorelines and reading structure like we had hoped to do, we left our morning up to chance.