Outboard motors are terrific tools, and before I malign mine, I want you to pay particular attention those first five words, and the fact that I really, truly appreciate everything my motor has ever done for me.

Like stranding me on Beech Hill Pond, forcing me to paddle a 14-foot boat to shore.

Oops. Wrong list.

But I think you get the point.

We anglers (at least those of us who aren’t what you’d generally call “handy”) have a love-hate relationship with our motors.

When they work, we love them. Or, at the very least, we ignore them, and forget that they exist.

And when they don’t … well … we write about them.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably point out that as far as I know, my four-horsepower Evinrude no longer hates me.

But last summer, it did. Twice.

And the year before that, it did.

And a few years before that, it certainly did.

My own haphazard maintenance habits might have something to do with my motor’s surly attitude, I would suppose (if I took the time to make suppositions, which I won’t, for obvious reasons).

Instead, I’ll just tell you this: At some point this summer, when I least expect it, my motor will hate me. Again.

Perhaps it will hate me because I ask it to push a 14-foot boat in the first place, knowing full well that I’d have a better chance of getting the old pork-barrel up on plane if I strapped on a pair of flippers and commenced to flipper-ing like a crazed loon.

Perhaps it will hate me because I don’t catch enough fish … or because I ask it to troll long hours in the summer heat.

I guess I’ll never know the answer.

But I do know this: The starter cord is getting frayed, as we speak (even though it’s brand new).

The gas is certainly going bad, and fouling my plugs.

The gas can is probably rusting, and the gas hose is probably cracking.

And at some point this summer (most likely when I’ve got two fishing buddies lined up for a glorious weekend of trolling), it will somehow show me who’s the boss.

Not that there’s ever been any doubt.

More than likely, my motor won’t act up until I’m well out on the lake (a brief five-minute trip for a normal outboard, but a laborious half-hour belch-and-chug for mine).

Then, it will burp once more … and stop.

If I try to restart it, the motor will gladly regurgitate its suddenly frayed starter cord into my lap.

Fix that, chummy, my motor will seem to say.

Since I’m a veteran of these outboard motor wars, I’ll know exactly what to do, of course: Reach for the paddle, and hope a kindly jet-skier throws me a rope before I get too tuckered out.

And I won’t be alone. One fishing buddy has an outboard that has started molting, and is losing important parts (though he can’t figure out why).

Another pal is a bit tougher on the rigging, and tends to run his outboard aground on shoals, deadheads, and other assorted debris.

As you might expect, his outboard has taken to coming up with all kinds of assorted ills, none of which have anything to do with abuse he heaps upon it.

Not directly, at least.

Despite all that, sometime this weekend, I’ll be out there in my oversized boat, with my undersized motor.

(Note to motor: Sorry. You’re not undersized. I just bought too large a boat for you).

I’ll pile all my gear aboard, and maybe a friend or two. I’ll cross my fingers, pull the cord, and hope for the best.

And maybe (motor willing) I’ll go fishing. If I’m lucky.

I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

Wildlife watching spices up trip

One of the most enjoyable benefits of spending a lot of time in the Maine woods is the trips that get us there.

Many times, those trips are made on gravel logging roads that many choose to ignore.

At other times, even the most mundane state route can be a special place, as wildlife abounds.

That was the case a week ago, as I headed to Greenville for an annual drift boat trip with guide Dan Legere.

I’ve driven up Route 15 countless times over the past several years, and have spied a few critters along the way.

On this day, however, the animals were especially active, in unusual ways.

I’m sure leaving Bangor at 5 a.m. had something to do with the activity, which began in earnest when I pulled into downtown Dover-Foxcroft.

There, crossing the main drag near the Bangor Savings Bank, was a young deer.

The deer stopped in a paved parking lot to watch me pass, and as I slowed, it quickly galloped away, its hooves comically clip-clopping across the pavement.

Not five minutes later, just past the Dover McDonald’s, another early riser greeted me.

This critter, a hefty wild turkey, sleepily (or so it seemed to me) walked on a well-kept lawn, not five feet from the street.

And 15 minutes after that, while driving through Abbot, I got to watch the double-feature.

While taking a quick glance toward a roadside swamp, I spied the telltale flag of a deer’s tail as it ran away. Then I noticed the deer’s neighbor.

Not 50 feet from the fleeing deer, a feeding moose looked up, apparently unconcerned by the early morning traffic.

Several miles later I slowed to watch the “chamber of commerce” moose as it grazed in at the Department of Transportation swamp, and later in the day we heard a hawk and saw a bald eagle while fishing the East Outlet.

All in all, it was a pretty productive day of wildlife watching, I figure.

If I could only learn to fish as productively, I’d be all set.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.