Naming a Boat

We all know that when starting a story, we’re supposed to start at the very beginning; a very good place to start. However, I feel the need to start at the end of the story of our recent vacation to “BC’s tropical paradise”, Savary Island.

You see, since it’s been nearly 4 years since I’ve blogged, I must start back up with a bang. So this is the story of how Colin’s latest boat got it’s name.

It all began the evening before we left the Island….

The day was windy, and the water choppy. Fishing was, unfortunately (for Colin) out of the question for the day. But the crab traps were still set out from the night before, and they need to come in, despite the chop. I had been banged about with bruises up my legs and compressed my vertebra one too many times, and was a tad grumpy about having to go out again. An adult has to go out with Colin every time to be “the weight at the front of the boat to balance out the overpowering motor for the small boat”. As my Dad puts it, it’s like being on a sea saw. Up and down, over and over and over again. Remember when the other person gets off when you’re at the top, sending you plummeting to the hard ground? Yah. So do I.  

A big shout out to my Dad who took my place that evening. Guess he still gets tired of hearing his youngest daughter whining.

Colin, Dad, Max and Nathan return back from pulling up the crab traps for the last time. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I was glad we didn’t catch any crabs big enough to eat this time. We’d had 2 crab feasts already, and it just seemed like more work on the night before we leave.

Colin and I have a conversation something like this after dinner.

C: “I think I want to go check my boat”

N: “Why? Concerned about the choppy water?”

C: “No, the boat is slowly taking on water and I want to see how much has come in”

Um…what?? I ask for clarification that “taking on water” is the non-stressful way of saying “there's-a-hole-in-my-boat”. Yup.

I timidly agree to go with him.

We get to the dock, and there are 3 foot waves. I’m in the water trying to steady the rowboat so Colin can actually get in and row us out to our “larger” boat (which thankfully is still there). It takes a long time and a year off my life, but Colin rows us to the holey boat.

There’s 4 inches of water in it.

Colin shouts over the sound of my screaming the waves “hop in the boat!”.

So…just to clarify…I am supposed to hurl myself from an extremely rocky boat with no hole, to an extremely rocky boat with 4 inches of water and a hole during a storm where there are 3 foot high waves coming over the sides of the boat?? Oh, ok. No problem. Just checking.

I time my epic boat transfer between two waves. I start bailing. I am trying not to cry, mainly because my tears would add to the volume of water to bail.

During the kafuffle, we decide that we have to beach the boat overnight. There’s little chance it could stay afloat. So we tow the little boat behind the holey boat to shore, making sure to lift up the motor before the waves slam us up on the beach. Then I put on my Popeye suit, eat my spinach, and help Colin carry the boat up past the high tide line.

It’s been years since I’ve been so terrified. But it’s over. For now.

Fast-forward to the next morning when it’s time to leave. Now, usually when you leave an awesome vacation, you are kind of teary and down because you don’t want to leave. I, on the other hand, was teary because I was scared to death of crossing the 6 km span of the Pacific Ocean in a boat with a flipping hole in it. I was, however, overjoyed that the 3 kids and my parents got to take a water taxi that does not have a hole.

Before we leave the cabin, Colin takes out his emergency radio and says, “Nance, we’ll be fine. But if we do capsize or sink, flip this to channel 16, shout ‘MAYDAY’ 3 times, and give them your location”.

Dad and Mom try to reassure me that God looks after us. To this I say, “Yes I know He does, but He also doesn’t expect people to go boating in the Ocean on purpose with holey boats. That’s when God says, ‘Dude, you’re on your own’”. I can just see God rolling His eyes and shaking His head saying, “Oh, Colin…”.

At the beach, Colin, Mom and I got the boats to the water at low tide. Mom’s in the Ocean in her runners and jeans simultaneously steadying the boat from the waves, and reaching over the side to jam her finger in the hole on the bottom of the boat. Then she makes a hard decision and lets her baby get into a sinking ship with a crazy pirate to cross the sea. I kiss my kids goodbye and tell them I love them.

As soon as I get into the boat, I jam my toe into the hole, and flatten my foot along the crack. I also have to shift my weight as far forward as possible. This lands my rear on the boat moorage float (like a yoga ball) instead of on a seat. The float acts as a trampoline every time the boat hits a wave (which, I might add, is every 2 seconds). One arm is holding onto a rope, the other onto a bailing/barf bucket, and between my legs are prawn traps and other fishing gear, giving me one new leg bruise per bounce.

As I’m playing this dangerous game of Twister, 4 things are going on in my head.

1. Prayer. I’m praying hard.

2. I’m composing this blog post.

3. I’m wondering, “Now where is that stupid radio? Wait a minute… it doesn’t float. WHAT GOOD IS A STUPID EMERGENCY RADIO IF IT DOESN’T FLOAT????”

4. I’m trying to remember what about I love about Colin that makes up for this experience.

Just when I couldn’t get more stressed, Colin starts singing Great Big Sea songs. Jolly, happy tunes about being on the Ocean. If I had a free hand I would have smacked him upside the head with a paddle.

I return to thinking about #4 above.

Even though I’m bouncing like a rag doll, you think I let my foot off that hole even once? Not. A. Chance. My foot goes numb from the temperature of the Ocean on my foot. I did a darn good job at plugging the hole because Colin only had to bail a bit near the end of the half-hour ride.

As I get out of the boat and onto the mainland, I suppress the urge to hit the deck and kiss the slippery boat launch concrete. No, that would be weird. I do, however, kick the boat and yell “Swiss Cheese!” at it.

Hmm. In hindsight, that might have been a weird thing to do too. Nonetheless, the boat now has a name. And one day soon, while Cap’n Colin is at work, I will be painting it onto the side of the boat.