I queried my wife and Abby on what I should write about tonight. It didn’t take long for this quick-witted kid to blurt out ‘boats’, with a sly but adorable smile.
I proceeded to go into a long story about when we almost sunk the ship. The first time anyway. There were multiple occasions, but this one wins the award for Darwin Runner-Ups. The prize of living through otherwise Darwinian ends.
My friend used to drive us in his aluminum boat around the shorelines of Lake Erie from their cottage past the Nanticoke plants and around to Hoover’s Marina. We drove there sometimes too. Actually, I think we mostly drove there. Maybe we only boated once?
The main building looked like an old barn with a restaurant, but there were cute waitresses our age. The food was typical greasy spoon fish, chips, and burgers. I’m sure the fries were good.
Fast forward 35 years and I have my first boat now. I wanted to share a bit of my memorable youth with my family, and Hoover’s was a spot I will always remember fondly – minus fears of being killed by my first boat as I swam beside it in choppy waters.
. . .
We have a little 17ft ski boat. It goes faster than it should and is a bit back heavy with a boat anchor of a motor. We have had a lot of fun with it – mainly at the cottage we rent yearly where I laugh uncontrollably as the girls whip around in a tube screaming at the top of their lungs.
When we started to unload our boat into the water – after my usual 5 takes to get just the right angle to drive the trailer into the water and not onto the dock, a few locals warned us that the weather wasn’t ideal for such a dingy.
“We are just going to stay close to shore and won’t be going far”, I responded. Thinking back now, this wasn’t a Redneck Yacht Club. It was now a fancy marina where people had nice boats they parked for the day because well, weather.
They probably all laughed and had the coastguard on on standby watching as we comically loaded us and a 110lb dog into the ‘seats 5 uncomfortably’ boat. I am sure the onlookers – for their level of stupidity toleration – were at least grateful the dog had a life jacket on to give the unwilling furrball – a sucker for the words walk, ride, or food, a fighting chance.
Once everyone made it into their seats without somehow landing in the water from the Tom-fvckery of trying to load the craft in some sort of order of overboard prevention, we smoothly set sail through the protected stone wall path of the inner marina.
While my wife white-knuckles most of our boating adventures, she was clearing hearing the words of warning from the kind folks 50 feet from safety repeating in her mind, with every gush of water spilling onto the ill-impressed heads of our rear passengers – aka our three kids.
I probably should have led with the fact that the motor has been known to cut out when idling slow – which is what we were going to do through these waters.
We might have been about 200 yards from the marina limits when old typical shut off. I already had a portable booster after a fellow boater back home boasted about the need for one while in the act of boosting our boat the first time my wife and I took it out.
Boat people are nice folk we’ve learned, and have wise words of advice for the mid-life crisis crew.
The other problem with this boat was that the battery and wiring is under the back seats so we have to shift 5 people and a 110-pound dog around so I can boost us. This never happens just because of course. It’s always in a moment of panic or frustration. A cocktail of comical disaster.
I tried multiple times to get us started, which included waiting between attempts for the charger to be ready to give it another go.
It really didn’t take long for the waves to push us into shore because when I finally looked up in frustrated-realization that we were stuck, we were only 50 feet from shore. Only a few moments later, I felt the bow drive into the sandy shore, while the water poured in – seaweed, mud, pride, and all.
We were all drenched, the family is all now walking a couple of feet to solid ground, and I am standing in the boat wondering how the heck we are going to retrieve this lagoon raft on the other side of the breaking wall separating the marina from what we quickly learned, was private land.
Some guy was pissed that our boat was on his beach. I ignored him because I might have punched his yappy little face, but my family relayed the message. “What the fvck does he want me to do? I didn’t say ‘Hey, let’s fill the boat with seaweed and mud and have a little picnic on shore.’”
I eventually had enough of this guys rant from 20 yards away so I said fvck it, grabbed a hold of the rope on the front of the boat, and started walking. I was actually able to tip-toe it to the end of the breaking wall but as soon as I stepped out of reach, I was now no longer able to touch. This is when fear overcame laughter and wanting to punch someone in their stupid face for the first time.
It suddenly dawned on me as my families melons disappeared over the edge of the boat bouncing around my empty head, that if one of these gigantic waves got a good hold of the boat and it walloped me in the cranium, there was going to be a different reason for calling me Bob.
Then I suddenly had an apostrophe. ‘Why are you swimming beside the boat? Use the damn ladder and get inside, dumbass,’ I say to myself in my best Red impression.
I am sure there were a few ‘I told you so’s’ from the small crowd of onlookers, as I stood inside the boat in a drenched sweater, trying to paddle back to the loading docks.
Emma said later that she told her teacher that she thought I had died when I disappeared behind the boat-on-a-string.
My Blackberry didn’t make it, but we all lived to nervously chuckle at the experience.
. . .
Great idea! I’ll write about the boat.
They both just looked at me like, ‘Yah, we all lived it too, Dad/Larry.’
I can picture this song playing calmly in the background in the movie about my life, with clips of our boat mishaps in the background. Maybe in the near distance, we see Jimmy Buffett strolling by in his yacht like an experienced exhale of a Gurka Royal Courtesan. A Happy Madison Production of course.
Just swap out the guitar with harmonicas.
There is a reason my cousin pronounced us Mr. and Mrs. Bumblefvck at our wedding.