Recent boating "adventure"

[Monkeygirl]

I FINALLY got to the island this past weekend. It was great, despite the fact that it rained every single day. This was only my second time there this year.

The trip started off rather inauspiciously. What is normally a six and a half hour drive to the island turned into nearly twelve hours, after some bolts sheared off our boat trailer.

On that note, I have to say, "Ain't technology grand?!" My dog and I sat on a lovely little cliff, overlooking the highway, and an awesome view of the wilderness around us. At some point I started listening to my ipod, while my dog drank the bottled water I'd dropped into my purse before my husband drove off. It seemed like hardly any time at all had passed, when my cellular phone rang, and he announced his arrival at the hardware store. "That amount of time, plus maybe ten minutes, and I'll be back," he reassured me. (It turned out to be about a half hour more than that, but who's counting? I was just happy the whole experience was so innocuous.)

Anyway, getting back to our boating "adventure"...

We were on our way to the mainland, to buy some gas and then head out for dinnner. With maybe a kilometre to go to the port, the warning alarm sounded in our boat. The engine had overheated. My husband had recently re-built the motor, and we were still working out some bugs. This is all just par for the course, for us. So, we worked the problem, and were eventually able to re-start the motor. That put us a bit behind schedule, though. We didn't fully realize how much.

It was now a half hour later than we'd anticipated we'd start our search for dinner. Buying the gas first led to a rather lengthy conversation with a couple of the locals, too. I'd specifically asked my husband if we could leave for dinner earlier than he'd planned, so we wouldn't be coming back to the island in the dark. We've done that a zillion times, but with the motor still a tad unreliable, I thought we'd just be pushing our luck. (I suppose this is where I mention that, many decades ago, my father had engine trouble, fell over board in the dark, and drowned in those very waters. Needless to say, I always wear my lifejacket.)

By the time we headed off for a restaurant somewhere (the closest one being a half hour drive), I thought, 'Boy, it sure is late and it seems kind of misty. We should really just turn back now.' ...But I didn't. I think we're just so self-sufficient, that I figured we'd handle whatever came our way. We always do. So off to dinner we went.

We chose a restaurant that was serving Thanksgiving dinner. I was happy about that because my husband loves turkey, but I never make it (being vegan, and all). Most years, he misses out on the big feast, unless we visit relatives. As we realized on the way up, though, we almost always go to the island on the Thanksgiving long weekend. Sometimes, that's when we close it up for the season. No need for "turkey pants", most years!

We both enjoyed our meals, and were really full. It was dark outside, and I was a bit aprehensive about our return boat trip. As we neared the port, the fog was beginning to roll in.

Most people are aware that shining lights into fog only reflects more fog, and does little to light one's way. I worried about getting lost in the fog, but it still seemed sparse enough that we could manage. So, we headed out into the channel.

We knew the area well, and should have been able to go from harbour marker to harbour marker, without too much difficulty. What we didn't account for was how quickly the really thick fog was moving in.

We were thankful to find that first buoy. We kept the lights from the mainland cottages to our backs, and headed in the general direction of the next harbour marker to guide us.

It was nowhere to be found.

Our "night sun" flashlight was reflecting more and more water particles, and penetrating less and less through the fog. We could see maybe ten to twenty feet of water in front of us. I whipped out my compass, but couldn't get my husband to focus on it long enough to find my bearings. He was still focused on trying to find the way.

Very quickly, I announced that we were lost. As anyone who's ever boated at night knows, it might be the law to have runnning lights on, but you can see much better without them. Without the running lights (especially that pesky all-around light), we could just make out the difference between land and water, and even avoided some boat-wrecking shoals. But it was mostly luck.

I could see cottages with their lights on, not too far away. Surprisingly, my husband didn't want to go there. (He surprised me a lot, during this experience.) I talked him into pulling up to one lighted dock. (Thank goodness for people who light their docks!!! We don't, but I'm thinking of starting.) However, he insisted that I not go up to the cottage. He decided no one was home, and it would be too dangerous for me to go up to some stranger's cottage, anyway. He pulled away, despite my protests. We didn't get far, though.

We made it back to about the same point we'd been, when I put my foot down. It was obvious that if we went far enough to lose the light of these cottages, we'd just be aimlessly moving through the water, with no ability to avoid obstacles, much less find our way home. I pointed out that, at any point (unlike being out in the open ocean), we could hit a rock. And even at slow speed, that could spell real trouble. Right now, we were safe and dry and not too far from where we were supposed to be. Our goal was to get "home" to our dog. But I assured my husband that she was nice and warm inside the cottage, with plenty of water and food I'd left out for her. She was, in fact, much better off than we were.

We puttered back to the dock we'd just left. We tied up and I carefully made my way across the dock and up the walkway to the cottage. I called ahead repeatedly. "Hello." "Hello." It was basically pitch black out, and very foggy by now. I imagined what my reaction would be to someone showing up at my front door, in these conditions.

Alas, there was no one home. 'Strange,' I thought, 'to have so many interior lights on, and not be home.'

I cautiously made my way back to the boat, when we heard people at a nearby cottage. We could see their lights, but not the location of their dock. So we didn't immediately venture out. (These aren't sandy beaches, you know. The closer you get to shore in this area, the more likely it is you'll hit a rock.)

After discussing the situation with my husband, I came to the point where I said, "What could they do? They could tell us where we are, but that's not going to help us get home. It's not like we're having boat trouble. If we can't see, no one can see. That's it. We're here until the fog lifts. And even if they offered, I'm not really interested in hanging out with complete strangers, 'til then."

What was surprising to me was my husband's unwillingness to accept this fact. We don't fight, but we sure came close then. He actually wanted to head out again, despite the blinding fog. I had to make him shine the flashlight over and over again, to prove he couldn't see a thing. I reminded him how safe we were, tied up to a dock, and out of immediate danger, and not too far off course. I summarily told him we weren't going anywhere, and did my best to settle-in for a nap.

This is just a little runabout, we're talking about. So there is no berth. We'd always wondered what it would be like to sleep on this little boat, one day. This isn't how we'd imagined it, though. I lowered my seat so it was flat, like a bench. I kept my life vest on, and blanketed myself with several of the extra life vests. We didn't have the rear part of the canopy with us because a small tear had developed, and it was in the cottage waiting to be repaired. That meant the ever-cooling night air plus fog was settling on surfaces and making them cold and wet. I tucked in as close to the front of the boat as possible, and tried to fall asleep. All the while my husband was demonstrating his frustration.

The "night sun" was now almost completely out of juice. We keep a basic set of tools, etc., in our waterproof box, so he spent his time trying to hard wire it into the boat's electricals. That wasn't working very well, and he decided to check that we could still start the motor, if we needed to.

No go.

The irony is, the day before, he'd purchased one of those Nautilus recharger things (with all the bells and whistles) to keep in the boat - just in case! We had it with us, under the bow. He hooked it up, and the boat started. What a relief.

Still, we weren't going anywhere. I encouraged my husband to either join me, and try to stay warm together, or to find his own spot and settle-in for the night. "In the morning, we'll head out," I said. Eventually he did. We slept.

I awoke after what I imagined was only a short nap, and thought I saw stars in the sky. But as so often happens when one tries to look for dimly-lit objects in the sky, they were elusive, and seemed to disappear. I was growing increasingly cold. But I went back to sleep, hoping clear morning air would arrive soon.

A short time later, I awoke again. This time it was inmistakable. I called to my husband, "I can see the stars!" He popped up and we tried to use the "night sun" to see where we were. Even though the fog had pretty much disappeared, we could see the area wasn't familiar to us. Nonetheless, we figured we could navigate well enough to find the errant harbour marker that would lead us to our little bay. We could see land and shoals well enough to navigate relatively safely. We both agreed it was a good bet.

We started the boat, pushed off from the dock that had kept us safe, and headed out into what we thought was the main channel. With my heart pounding and my eyes straining to capture every bit of light, we eeked around some land masses and saw the beacon for the main port, in the distance. We knew where we were!!!!!!

We headed in the direction of the inlet we were looking for, and eventually found the harbour marker, which confirmed it. From there on, we knew those waters like the backs of our hands. We trolled from buoy to bouy, knowing where they were supposed to be, and then finding their reflection with our dimming flashlight. It was still a very black night, and difficult for us to see, but we made it to the home stretch without too much difficulty. We'd left the kitchen light on in the cottage (for the dog, just in case we didn't make it home 'til after dark). It's surprising how much light one little bulb can emit. It helped us navigate our way to the dock. Relief and a sense of almost giddiness washed over me, as I hopped out of the boat and tied up. We'd made it!

Even though it seemed like we spent half the night finding our way home, the detour only lasted maybe four extra hours. Still, our over-confidence could easily have led to very serious consequences. I usually listen to my instincts, especially when it comes to boating. This whole ordeal could have been averted if, six hours eariler, I'd listened to my gut, and headed back for the island, like I was thinking. But we did eventually do the right thing, and made it home, safe and sound, as a result of those choices. Lesson learned. Oh, and I'm buying a couple of emergency blankets for the boat, too. ;-)

[enjoythesilence]

Hi Monkeygirl,

That's quite a story, wow. Actually, I think being marooned on a boat sounds kind of romantic...
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[Monkeygirl]

I agree. If it hadn't been rather cold and damp, it might have been. But I guess I still would've had to calm down my husband, who (apparently) just can't tolerate any obstacle that can't be fixed with cash or ingenuity. The fog doesn't respond to either. ;-)

[Maine Islander]

good story and glad everything worked out fine......always follow your gut instinct.
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If You Are Lucky To Be On An Island, Then You Are Lucky Enough!