Valentine's Day Gift

This morning we were speaking with a couple from Quebec who, along with their two kids, are on their way to the Bahamas then back up to Montreal traveling for six months.  They'd previously sailed their boat here last year, put it on the hard, then flew back home.  Recently they returned to finish fixing up the boat and will leave in the morning.  In our conversation, Dave and I spoke of our feeling overwhelmed with all there is to know and do to sail away.  The man, a jolly guy with a fair command of English, was speaking of his early sailing days when he made many "mystic decisions."  I thought, "Ah, trusting your instincts, shooting from the hip, following whims...we can do that!"  But as he spoke, I realized he'd meant to say, "mistake decisions."  Oh, we definitely will do that!

Yesterday we noticed that Wayward Wind was listing to starboard.  It seemed to be worse this morning.  We discovered that the tide was very low and we were aground.  The harbor master, Bill, suggested that we move the boat at high tide to a deeper space on the dock.  By then, it was late afternoon, and the wind had come up and the tide was quite swift.  Bill came to the boat and suggested it was time to move her.  We're on a somewhat narrow creek without a lot of space to maneuver, so between the wind and tide, it wasn't exactly easy.  Bill (a Clint Eastwood type - calm, soft-spoken, wise) is an experienced pilot and, in fact, pilots the large cargo ships that pass through to the nearby port.  He must have sensed our trepidation and offered to come aboard WW with Dave at the helm.  Bill advised Dave, "Don't fight the current."  I untied the lines and stayed on the dock.  As I walked to the new space, Dave turned the boat around in the creek, which involved turning the wheel hard and gunning the engine at the right moments.  Hearing our engine, the French Canadians, whose beautiful boat is now in the water nearby, ran out to watch, probably holding their breath as was I.  It was tricky, but Dave masterfully slipped it up to the dock, working with the current.  Afterward, Dave said that it had been a long time since he'd had to steer a boat like that.  Bill said he saw Dave naturally turn the wheel in the right direction, so he knew that Dave was a sailor.  Big smiles.  Then Bill told me where to tie the lines.  Seeing my poor excuses for knots, Bill politely asked me if I knew how to tie knots.  I sheepishly said, "No."  Bill, in his understated Southern lilt, turned to Dave and said, "Buy her a knot book for Valentine's Day."