Chapter 52:

SIR SALT

After sampling some of the local talent, I wanted an adventure. I decided to take my boat exploring some of the local waters. I notified the office that I would be gone for a couple of days, secured my dinghy to my assigned mooring ball, and cast off. I navigated to the “ditch” and relaxed in my comfortable cockpit as I watched the scenery drift past in slow motion.

I had no destination, just a desire to escape for a day. I wanted time to be alone, to think, to assess my journey so far and where I was going. I was hankering for a cold beer but denied myself that luxury. No booze or pot for the helmsman while underway. Captain’s law. With a big sigh and the sun sinking lower in the sky, I searched ahead for somewhere to drop hook, somewhere out of the way where I could be alone. My charts weren’t helping, offering no suitable bights or bayous. The sun was fading fast, and my charts only showed a complicated series of twists and turns ahead. Following the channel markers in the dark would test my skills as a seasoned boater.

As I chugged along, now in the pitch dark, I realized that I must have made a wrong turn. None of the channel markers were where they should be as shown on my charts. I was lost and it was night. Not a good situation. Then, my chart plotter went dead, my internet collapsed, and I had no idea where I was. Suddenly, a microcell storm descended upon me and consumed me and my boat. I couldn’t see anything but darkness and the storm circling around me. The waves were crashing over the hull, spraying the deck. I knew I was in trouble, so I strapped on a life vest and hooked onto the Jackline. I struggled forward in the whirling wind and driving rain to drop anchor when through the storm I could make out the hazy image of some docks ahead. I got back to the wheel and steered that way. The storm was raging violently all around making it a challenge to get secured to that fucking dock.

When I woke up, I poured a cup of coffee from my newfangled, programmable coffee machine. For years I’ve been using a standard Farberware stainless 12 cup pot percolator, the kind with the basket for the grounds. This one turned itself on and created my morning necessity before I was even awake. Great invention.

With fresh coffee, I went topside to inspect the marina I had landed in. Through a wicked turn of events, I had gone way off course last night and a severe storm had made matters worse. When I looked around, the place was foreign to me, although in a déjà vu sense, I felt I belonged here. I inspected my Love Boat. I vaguely remembered banging into the dock when I approached in the storm. Sure enough, there was a fist sized chunk missing from the port side gunwale and a bit of dock rash. Good thing I carry a fiberglass repair kit.

I sipped my coffee and looked around. I saw some boats with names I recalled from years ago. My mind was racing, trying to fit this all together. I said to myself, “Hmm… wonder if that’s the same Wandering Spirit? It sure looks like the same boat. But last time I saw Gypsy she was headed to the Pacific. Why would she be here? And there’s Q. Holy Shit!” Q was a unique looking boat and the logo was unmistakable: a black raven. With a big Q and logo on the transom, the boat was one of a kind. “I thought Phoenix sold that boat. Last I heard she had hit some rocks or a reef. Did some serious damage to her boat. But Q’s looking good and she’s still afloat. What’s going on here?”

I studied the boats, and they all looked vaguely familiar, all with names I recognized. Even the buildings and the scenery brought on major déjà vu. I felt comfortable as if I knew this place, yet I had never been here before. I decided to see how far this déjà vu went. I got street ready and ventured off the boat.