Saturday, July 26, 2014

Friday Afternoon Sailing

Paul, John, Jeffrey and Karen were the all for escaping Vancouver and enjoying English Bay.  In the end Karen and Gilbert made it out on the bay for the few hours.  Winds were even lighter than the Friday before and without the Jeffrey, Tom and Carter to manage the sales I just motored to the glorious sound of my new Volvo Penta iron jenny. We anchored off Kits beach. Karen wanted  a photo to send to her maritime family.  Being maritimers they get concerned  when the mermaids are too long on shore.  “I grew up down the street from the yacht club. Everyone owns a boat where I come from.  We were always out on the water.”
She arrived wearing white, not realizing my ‘yacht’ is more of a working boat and a perpetual beloved scow in process.  After busting the mass on the way back from Hawaii, I’ve had  welding, the cabin torn out and put back in, new autopilot and major electrical improvements and just recently the new motor.
“When my wife I were first on this boat I had visions of blue blazers and white trousers.  I think she fancied a white pleated skirt and maybe a little white parasol to keep the sun off her face.   The closest we came to that was one day we accidently joined a line of yachts leaving the harbour, only to find ourselves in a sail by being  saluted by the Commodore and Wife of the Royal Yacht Club. My wife  had a streak of oil on her face and hair, oil stained t shirt and torn shorts.   I came up filthy with soot from damaged exhaust.. There were this immaculate elderly  couple on a pristine yacht saluting at us.  I just waved back with my wrench.  It’s always been more Captain Ron than James Bond on this boat. ”
“The last boat I was on, ‘  Karen said, “the Captain hovered about ready to wipe up anything anyone might spill on  his teak."
“Gilbert and I aren’t that particular”, I responded.
“I can see, I should have worn the shorts I paint in.”  Karen is a painter and jazz singer.  I found clean cushions though she didn’t really care.   She was all for helping me  with lines and any other task on the boat.  A real mariner.   She had wild tales of  all manner of friends boats off the eastern coast.
When we returned to dock my neighbour, another maritimer, was enchanted to talk to her. I couldn’t understand a word they said.  “My accent comes out when I”m close to the water, “ she said later. I could almost hear Stan Rogers  singing from the grave aand fiddles coming down from the heavenly spheres. Canadians wouldn’t need to get Navajo to speak in war, we just have to get a  couple of maritimers to talk over the radio and no one would know what they were saying.
It was another great Friday afternoon on the water.  Fun to be out of the city. The clouds had looked ominous in the morning but the afternoon was sunshine and blue sky. Great to partake of the spirituality of nature.
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