All days are golden, although some may have a slight tinge of baby-cack yellow.
Today might just have been one of those days. It was supposed to be a pleasant cruise in the company of mates, for five or six hours if we don’t count the planned stop for lunch, with Max skipping around us like the puppy he will always be beside our ancient Joyeux.
We’d started civilly late, late enough to have had a quick visit to the supermarket, and went quietly into the wild blue yonder onto a windless, greasy sea with a sun that beat mercilessly on the helmsman no matter which direction the boat turned.
While one of us slept on, the other after less than an hour, for reasons inexplicable but may have been due to the events of the past few weeks catching up, or it may he just been the usual melancholia that befalls us on the last few days of the cruising season, had had enough. Nothing he could do could coax another milli-oomph of speed out of the boat. This was just going to be a very long, hot day. Suck it up, buttercup.
After what seemed like a couple of hours, because it was really a couple of hours, we arrived at the Sluice Evergem, the lock that is Dave and Ria’s nemesis, true to its name, we ended up free floating, jammed between Max and another boat in the twenty metres left in the front of the lock after a container ship had joined us for the ride. This is not the most pleasant way of spending half an hour, but we were consoled with the thought that if we did drift back onto the ship, we probably wouldn’t do it any damage.
Half an hour later we discovered there was no space at our luncheon spot, so we had nought to do but press on. The Captain was nudged gently from her slumber and temporarily demoted to helmsman, perhaps her least favourite job in the whole world, while the usual pilot went below, glad of the short break from the sun, to rustle up a couple of sandwiches and a nice cup of tea to reward her for her efforts.
The rest of the afternoon was spent just as unpleasantly bobbling along in the sun, being buzz bombed by wake boats causing far more grief aboard than the Westerschelde ever could.
When all was said and done, we arrived tired, one of us a bit reddish, both of us happy, after yet another glorious day spent boating with a couple of friends.
Life doesn’t get much better than that.
No comments
Post a Comment