Leaving Quatisno sound, the world seemed like our oyster. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing leaving champagne sparkles on the water ahead of us. As we began to leave the shelter of the sound you could almost imperceptibly feel the boat settle into the Pacific swells again as we skirted a myriad of reefs that separated us from open ocean.
In June, my husband and I celebrated 10 years of marriage. Ten years on, we are closer than ever and have been living the ‘happily ever after’.
That’s not to say that there aren’t times when we want to knock each others block off.
Which is exactly how I felt in the middle of this idyllic scene when my dearest husband announced in a loud voice. “Isn’t it amazing, that nothing has broken on this trip.”
Completely failing to notice my wild ‘mouth zipping’ and ‘shush-ing’ charade he continued on this train of thought for a few minutes before I interrupted and told him bluntly to shut up.
Within 10 minutes we appeared to sail into a vat of molasses. We figured that we had kelp wrapped around the keel and so put the boat into reverse to shake it off.
This caused a lot of shaking and shuddering. Concerned that we had rope round the prop we turned the engine off and J. Went below to find his telescopic mirror leaving me to contemplate the reef that we were being blown onto.
Within a short period of time, I had come to the conclusion that I didn’t want to play ‘chicken’ with the rocks and so began to hoist sail.
We set sail, on a tack putting us on a beautiful layline for Hawaii. The boat accelerating in the wind rendering the mirror useless in the wake and the swell. We resigned ourselves to sailing to the ‘anchorage du jour’.
That’s when the radar post fell off.
There was no big wave, no jolt, no particular reason at all really (except for my husband’s loose mouth). It just decided to fall off. Amazingly I saw it go out of the corner of my eye and caught it before it fell off entirely.
So now, I’m driving the boat with one hand and holding the radar on with the other. Wonder Woman I am not, so I was also simultaneously squealing for assistance.
As J. hung off the back of the boat to investigate the radar post, we discovered that the darn thing is held on by….not nuts or bolts but friction. Apparently not enough of it. He slipped it back on and we crossed our fingers and hoped that no damage was done.
Now all we had to do was to sail into the anchorage avoiding the reefs, the rocks and the uncharted rocks and anchor under sail.
Did I ever say that I didn’t like chart plotters in the cockpit?…well, all is forgiven. Ahead was a rock strewn maze which had to be solved one piece at a time.
On the last zephyrs of dying breeze we ghosted into Klaskino Bay to anchor. We anchored, by dropping a whole bunch of chain in a heap on the seabed and called it done.
Next J. Made a call for volunteers to dive the boat and check the prop….I used my most withering stare that I save for such occasions. He was in the water fast.
He was out of the water, just about as fast too. Prop was clean, what ever was on it, had long since dropped off. All that was left was for him to have a nice, warming shower of the stern of the boat. He turned the tap on and…..
Apparently the old adage is true. Things really do break in threes.