By the time we finished, herring covered the bottom of the boat as deep as my calves . For the first time in days, my father seemed happy as a herring choker . Then he looked at the western sky, and his smile faded. The storms were sweeping out of Canada hard and fast. No one could predict their arrival. All fishermen feared them. "We're going back," my father said. He pulled the cord and started the motor. We were only two miles out, but the shoreline looked to me as far away as the moon. Over the distant hills, black clouds ran toward us like wild horses. We made it only halfway home before we met the storm. The wind came first. It lifted the lake in whitecaps. The weight of the herring made us ride low in the water, and the waves broke over our bow. My father struggled to hold us on course. I'd put on my raincoat, but I had no life jacket. Then the rain fell so hard we couldn't see the land. The boat was filling with water. I was scared, but I saw my father sitting straight, holding the boat steady into the wind, and I felt hopeful. He didn't look hurt at all. I was starting to think we were going to make it. That's when the motor died. My father pulled the cord hard, but the motor wouldn't catch. We would go down in no time. "Grab an oar ," he cried above the wind. He always carried two oars for just such a moment. We began to pull hard. My father grunted, from pain or effort I couldn't tell. He dug his oar into the violent lake and bowed into the wind again. With all my strength, I pulled on my own oar.  _ I was tired. My arms felt heavy and on fire. I didn't know how much longer I could push that oar through the water. As if he heard my thinking, my father called to me, "I need you, Karl. Only a little longer." So I kept rowing. Just when I thought I had no more strength, I heard it. The sound of waves breaking against the shore. We moved into the shelter of our small cove and rode the swells toward the landing. My mother rushed through the rain to greet us. "I've been so worried," she said. She hugged me and then my father. "Nothing to worry about," he assured her. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You did well, son. How do you feel?" Tired as I was, I managed a smile. "I feel like a herring choker." The author's father decided to go back because  _  .
the motor didn't work well they couldn't catch more herrings the storm would arrive at any time it was too cold for them to stay any longer
Question: By the time we finished, herring covered the bottom of the boat as deep as my calves . For the first time in days, my father seemed happy as a herring choker . Then he looked at the western sky, and his smile faded. The storms were sweeping out of Canada hard and fast. No one could predict their arrival. All fishermen feared them. "We're going back," my father said. He pulled the cord and started the motor. We were only two miles out, but the shoreline looked to me as far away as the moon. Over the distant hills, black clouds ran toward us like wild horses. We made it only halfway home before we met the storm. The wind came first. It lifted the lake in whitecaps. The weight of the herring made us ride low in the water, and the waves broke over our bow. My father struggled to hold us on course. I'd put on my raincoat, but I had no life jacket. Then the rain fell so hard we couldn't see the land. The boat was filling with water. I was scared, but I saw my father sitting straight, holding the boat steady into the wind, and I felt hopeful. He didn't look hurt at all. I was starting to think we were going to make it. That's when the motor died. My father pulled the cord hard, but the motor wouldn't catch. We would go down in no time. "Grab an oar ," he cried above the wind. He always carried two oars for just such a moment. We began to pull hard. My father grunted, from pain or effort I couldn't tell. He dug his oar into the violent lake and bowed into the wind again. With all my strength, I pulled on my own oar.  _ I was tired. My arms felt heavy and on fire. I didn't know how much longer I could push that oar through the water. As if he heard my thinking, my father called to me, "I need you, Karl. Only a little longer." So I kept rowing. Just when I thought I had no more strength, I heard it. The sound of waves breaking against the shore. We moved into the shelter of our small cove and rode the swells toward the landing. My mother rushed through the rain to greet us. "I've been so worried," she said. She hugged me and then my father. "Nothing to worry about," he assured her. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You did well, son. How do you feel?" Tired as I was, I managed a smile. "I feel like a herring choker." The author's father decided to go back because  _  .
A. the motor didn't work well
B. they couldn't catch more herrings
C. the storm would arrive at any time
D. it was too cold for them to stay any longer
Answer: