Drifting Through Paradise

The Almighty Webmaster came back out last night, and true to his word, I could not get him back in the “Dinghy of Death”. The tide was out so he was going to have to jump aboard Emmanuelle to get on, until The French Canadian pulled up in and gave him a ride in his power dinghy.

We met up at in town and had dinner at Café Mojo’s, Brooklyn Brown on tap and more Fried Plantains. We enjoyed a conversation with John, the engineer of a big fishing boat out of Reedville. Learned a bit about commercial fishing, did you know they can get in trouble for eating fish aboard? I didn’t, I also didn’t know any one still had Mohawks anymore. After dinner we headed to the dock, and I walked around to see where I could pick him up. No luck, the long docks had big boats in them, then the Canadian pulled up and carried The Webmaster to Emmanuelle. We enjoyed way too many Tom Collins’ and a lot of laughs. Despite his urging, I refused to weigh the anchor and go take over the other boats in the harbor.

At one point he came up with the idea of taking the kayak to another boat, stealing their rowboat and taking that over to steal the power dinghy from another, and from there going over and commandeering a sailboat that was anchored on the other side.  I asked “wouldn’t it just be easier to take the kayak over to the sailboat?” He looked at me like I was from another planet “whats the fun in that? You have to do it in a progressing order.”

We woke up without hangovers but the feeling of being stuffed from the bag of chips we killed last night was proof we are not as young as we used to be. We can no longer gorge on munchies all night like we used to, as I told My Lady the other day my metabolism is pleasantly stuck. I pulled the dinghy and kayak on deck, tied them off and went to start the engine. Opened the valve to vent the tank, primed the line and turned the key. The engine turned and turned but refused to start. I choked it and tried again, like before no dice. After a few minutes the battery started to slow and I knew it wasn’t going to start. After a few more minutes I decided I would take the kayak over and get Rabbits dinghy from the dock to bring the Webmaster ashore. A man at the dock said he would get him and bring him over.

We went to get a cup of coffee and saw the French Canadian at the coffee shop. We sat and talked for awhile with him before heading outside for a smoke. The Canadians sense of humor had us laughing about baseball and hockey for a few hours before the Webmaster had to go. We said our goodbyes and he took off, the Canadian headed back to his boat, and I called the Decorus Infernos Campana.

A few years ago, I might have been more willing to entertain the idea of pirating a rowboat for fun, but recently I have felt myself settling down. Getting closer everyday to hanging up the Jolly Roger, replacing the black and white colors with blue and white ones with a Palmetto instead of a skull and crossbones. A friend asked if that meant I would give up sailing. The answer, never! The tradition remains, salt will always run through my veins. I will always sail, until my hands can no longer hold the sheets, but a day is coming, coming sooner than I realized it would, a day that I will no longer sail alone….