Cinnamon Buns in the Fog

[waterdog]

I posted this on my website after we got back from the Broughtons.   People seemed to like it.   I'm sorry it's devoid of technical content, but every now and then we need a reminder as to why it is we do boat maintainance...

"We're home now. I'm supposed to give an update, but I'm not quite sure I'm ready to do that yet.

I don't even know how to describe what it's like emerging from the fog on Johnstone Straight after narrowly missing another sailboat and having fresh hot, home made cinnamon buns and coffee in brilliant sunshine while dolphins swim in the bow wave. I can tell you about it, but I can't explain what it feels like in your chest. How alive you can be.

There is something magical about watching Tracey and Scupper row ashore in early dawn and pull a crab trap. And hear the screams as the door falls open and the crabs spill into the dingy while both Tracey and Scupper try to occupy the little seat in the bow and the stern lifts up out of the water. What it's like to pull the anchor and steam in as the hero to rescue...

the crabs before they are lost in an endo dingy capsize.

I can't explain what it's like to pull into Campbell River after 3 weeks in the Broughtons and drop off laundry and go to the Superstore to buy groceries. And stop in the medical clinic above the Superstore to have the pain in Foster's leg checked out. And to hear the doctor say they want us to go to the hospital for an X-ray. Just to make sure it's not a tumor. How alive that makes you feel.

To hang at anchor with friends while a gale blows. And throw apples and pears to wild sheep descended from those left by Spaniards hundreds of years ago. And have all the kids in the anchorage go to a party on the upper deck of East Wind complete with a disco ball and strobe lights pulled off the life vests. While Pocket Pepper the rat dog huddles in his basket below. Safe from eagles and eight year olds.

And Spencer came with us. Every day. In one way or another. And of course his cremated remains, as the dead people folks call the ashes, were tucked up behind the microwave waiting to be scattered. And they never were. Because it doesn't feel right. Yet.

New memories mixed with old memories. New friends mixed with old friends. And all was good.

And we watched as Devin reeled for ages with bent rod. Dragging the monster Chinook from the deep. As we dodged cruise ships coming down from Seymour Narrows. Making plans to dive overboard and wrestle the oversized brute into our undersized net. Only to see Devin's soul destroyed as the dogfish hooked in the dorsal fin is finally dragged to the surface. A miserable little shark.

To watch waterfalls come down granite from thousands of feet up. To feel 40 knots of wind that kills your wind meter. To punch into eight foot seas. To have coffee in bed. To fold the table down and have family movie nights on Fridays. To hike into the woods and see 20 foot cedar trees - in diameter.

It's not really possible to describe these things yet.

At least once in your life, you must find an excuse, a reason, to check out for an entire month. You don't even remember what work is.

It was especially nice. And nobody asked us, "How are you doing?" with that look that is full of pity. And we were just doing. Fine. With an emptiness and fullness that combine together to something well north of average."

[Joe Kern]

Beautiful Steve...and much better than reading about wiring upgrades and exhaust elbows.  You should get lots of positive karma for that one.

Joe

[Ray & Sandy Erps]

Sounds great.  Each summer after we get back from Canadian waters we start counting down, only 49 more weeks to go until we can do it again!