Day 1 - July 26, 2009
It was 6:00 a.m. aboard my dad’s 43’ Westsail ketch, MARANATHA. The warmth of my sleeping bag had quite the grip on me and I wasn’t going to fight it. I could just hear my dad over my brother Josh’s snoring, getting up to go get groceries for the trip. Praying that he wouldn’t come up to the forward v-berth and ask me to go with him, I did my best to look as lifeless as physically possible. Not a sound...
No sooner did he leave than was I readjusting to find that comfy spot in my bag only to be reminded, yet again, that my brother was still trying to wake up the Harbor Master with his ever-so obstructed nasal passage, vibrating away!
Come noon, we were well on our way. With my dad as Captain, and a crew of 4 (Josh—the little brother, Tami—our bubbly new sister, Lani—the skipper’s wife, and myself) you couldn’t ask for a better bunch.
We planned to head north out of Oak Harbor and sail to Spencer Spit on Lopez Island. Of course, we had absolutely no intention of actually accomplishing anything along the way, except for pretending like we would never have to go back. That would be the life. Spinning your 12-inch globe around, putting your finger down on it someplace blue, and sailing to wherever it happened to land—hopefully, a story for another time.
We had made our way around the weather side of the island to Deception Pass, a place where the currents are so unpredictable, it can seem to reach right up to the tip of your mast and spin your boat around like a top. Picture an entire bay of water being sucked through a gap less than 900 feet across and 20 feet deep every time the tide changes direction. (Over 2 1/2 billion gallons every hour.) It basically all adds up to an uncountable amount of whirlpools, deadly currents, standing waves, and class 3 rapid conditions. Not something to be taken lightly.
As we passed under the bridge 180’ overhead, I could feel the current pushing our bow in a different direction every couple of seconds. With my dad at the helm, fighting to keep the boat on course, spinning the helm back and forth adjusting to every change in current, I imagined what it would be like…
To own a vessel.
To live aboard.
It was like my dad was attuned to every little thing on that boat, from the creaks of the varnished wood to the stretching sound of the mainsheet. He understood her language in a way that I did not, yet. The whole ordeal reminded me of Captain Sheldon from the film White Squall (1996) saying, “Nothing happens on this ship that I don’t know about. She speaks to me in the night. So don’t test me, not even a little.”
As we pulled into Bowman Bay, on the south side of Fidalgo Island, Josh and I tied her off on a floating dock just offshore. It was the perfect time of day. The July heat had just died down for the evening and the sun seemed to be sitting right on the waterline casting a glow on the waves as if they were made of blue and orange flame.
My dad fired up the BBQ mounted on the stern rail and called me over saying, “Hey! Uh… You got a late birthday present under your pillow.”
I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of what it could be. Doing my best not to act overly excited, I walked to my bunk and reached under my pillow. I knew what it was the moment my fingertips touched it. The warm feel of the glass, the shape of the bottle, and the texture of the paper label gave it away before I could even get a solid grip.
It was a small bottle of Montego Bay Gold Rum!
Now, that is something no sailor should ever leave port without.
I went back out on deck with a prideful grin on my face, like when you find a $5 bill in your pocket that you forgot about last week. My dad just looked at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled.
We spent the rest of the evening stuffing our faces with BBQ chicken and watching Kung-fu Panda. A must-see if I do say so.
Everybody soon passed out so Josh and I figured we would head topside. Standing on the dock we noticed there was this bright neon-colored light at the waterline around the entire boat. Curiosity got the best of us and we hopped down onto the dock to investigate. A couple of landlubbers like us had no idea what could be causing such an odd and distinct discoloration in the water. Was it an oil sheen on the surface? Is this what happens when you BBQ chicken on a boat and the grease drips down into the water?
Reaching a hand down and quickly swishing the cold surface of the water, I was a bit startled when the lights seemed to instantly appear in the wake of my fingertips. My curiosity was officially peaked. I grabbed an oar from the dinghy and firmly paddled through the water between the rubber fenders as if to row the floating dock. The display of lights lit up the entire port side of the hull. Then, as if by some miracle, I remembered a small portion of high school biology.
It was the phosphorescence, or bioluminescence. Basically, a bluish-green light that certain types of bacteria in the water emit when they are disturbed.
So of course I couldn’t help but pass the oar to Josh, grab the other oar out of the dinghy, and start disturbing to my heart’s content. It was like the 4th of July just below the surface. Every stroke of the oar seemed to be followed by a hundred sparklers of blue, green, and hints of gold swirling about in whirlpools of inexplicable color. It was beautiful.
Perhaps it was the thought of sparklers and 4th of July BBQs that spurred my memory, but whatever it was I remembered we still had a crab pot soaking off the other side of the dock. I pulled it up and as it broke the surface, I have to admit, I got a little giddy. We got 4 keepers out of the lot — which if you ask me: everyone else is sleeping, so that’s 4 crabs, 2 people, 2 each! Josh was happy with my math skills, as was I. With a full stomach, the smell of seasoned cooked crab and hot melted butter filling the cabin, Josh and I crawled into our bunks and called it a day.
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