My Kinda' Angel

A Reflection
By Alex Morton

To the old adage, "God protects fools and drunks", there should be added "and novice sailors." If we ever got hit with what we really deserve, our shores would be littered with the wrecks of Catalina 27's and Bayliner 24's and they'd probably have outlawed pleasure boating by now.

But, somehow, through whatever protects us, we survive by the skin of our teeth, and maybe along the line, if we're lucky enough, we learn a few lessons. Like pay attention, and stay awake, and the cruising guide might be out of date! If you can keep that much in mind, then with the help of the angel that protects novice boaters, you'll probably keep yourself and crew on the right side of the drink.

I was lucky enough, once, to get to see the angel who saved my hide. I was following the advice of an out-of-date cruising guide, that suggested a marina where we could overnight on our way up to Princess Louisa. It was our first voyage outside of our home waters of Howe Sound, and I was relieved to be away from the big scary Strait of Georgia, past the confusion of Pender Harbor, and moving along gently on a broad reach through the relatively narrow Jervis Inlet and on up into Hotham Sound. Our twenty-seven foot Ericson sloop was packed to the gills with enough food, water, fuel and wine for a crossing to Hawaii, but it wouldn't have hurt if I'd packed a few more brain cells, as well. (They told me I'd regret the sixties!)
The crew, an exceptionally beautiful, intelligent and patient woman, had only one flaw, she believed that I could really have learned sailing by reading magazines. Now, to be fair, I had pulled this trick off once before, by learning about computers through the high tech rags and using the knowledge to launch myself into a successful career in the software industry. But, of course, the big difference between boating and high tech is that no one really gets hurt when a computer crashes.

On that fateful first trip to Princess Louisa, our out-of-date cruising guide turned into the cursing guide as we discovered that the marina that it suggested had been acquired by a private company that was now using it exclusively for its own purposes and vessels. There was nothing else around in the immediate neighborhood and no place that I could scope out, with my limited experience, as a good place to anchor. I didn't want to anchor anyway. What I desired most was a well-equipped marina where I could tie up and not have to concern myself with what the article on anchoring suggested I look for when seeking a place to dangle a rope into the water and bet my life and that of my crew on it. I wanted security!

According to the cruising guide there was another marina, one which promised a store, showers and the feeling of having arrived somewhere. I wasn't all that comfortable putting my trust in the guide, but it was still my best source of information. It didn't look too bad. All I had to do was go round the bend to get there. Literally. It would mean entering the Skookumchuck, where the current can get up to fourteen knots.

I knew the dangers of the body of water I would have to enter. The cruising guide, the Aid to Navigation, the warning on the chart, and a whole variety of articles informed me of its dangers. But I was desperate for security and I guessed I'd just have to pass through the fire to get there. Besides, I had a tide chart to consult and all kinds of entrails to stir through for navigation. I might even throw the I Ching for good measure.

The cruising guide said that the channel was reasonable to attempt at the right time of the tide, the I Ching advised me that the universe was in my favor, and the tide chart told me I wasn't much more than an hour past slack. Now, let's see, I thought, the tide chart's an hour early, or is it late, because of daylight savings time? So that meant .... right ... something like an hour one way or the other away from slack. Sounded good enough to me at the time.

I explained the plan to my trusting crew, who assured me that she believed that I knew what I was doing, but that was only because she didn't understand that if I were wrong, I couldn't just reboot and try again. With the full, if misplaced, confidence of the crew, I turned into the dangerous stretch of water and immediately noticed a definite acceleration. Funny, the engine was still in neutral.

The helm was acting very weird, as well. "Current", I said to myself, paraphrasing an article I'd read, "must be taken into account because, among other things, a small sailboat won't be able to make way. In other words, steering may become difficult." Ah, yes, I thought, that was certainly true. Steering was becoming difficult. STEERING WAS BECOMING DIFFICULT!!!! Unfortunately, the article hadn't made any suggestions on what to do about it. Therefore, I suppose, panic was as good a strategy as any.

Luckily, I'd had the foresight to drop the sails prior to turning into the channel of death, and the engine was running nicely. I threw it into reverse, in lieu of brakes, but of course, my twenty year old Atomic four engine with a prop the size of a child's toy eggbeater wasn't any kind of match for the current. Even without a current, if truth be known, the engine could barely stir the boat into reverse from a standstill.

While I was fumbling with the engine, the marina, in all its glory, suddenly came within sight. The cruising guide hadn't let me down, this time. The marina lay a hundred meters away, announcing itself with a long dock full of slips that jutted way out into the channel. The Haiku's helm responded just barely enough to allow me to nudge her closer to the shore so that I could manage to head straight into a slip. I would certainly get there quickly enough, my estimate of the speed was ... well, let's see, the approximate speed of the current was ... well .. just how do you figure that one out when you're about to run into a slip and straight on through the dock? Only when it was too late did I realize I should have swung away and aimed for tying up on the very outside, so that there'd be a chance to leap off, tie up and halt the boat's progress without having it first go through the dock.

Just when I thought all was lost and I'd have to subscribe to a new hobby and a whole different realm of magazines, a man and a young boy came racing down the dock as if they were running the fifty yard dash. By the time we reached the slip, they were in place to grab lines and, with a jolt, halt the Haiku's progress just short of her opening her own new channel through the dock.

Before I could say a word, the man on the dock caught his breath and quickly said, "I was in the RCMP catching crooks for years. Now I have this marina and I spend my time catching boats. No need to be embarrassed, you're far from the first one." I got a clear view of my angel as he continued, "Showers are up above, store's open till nine. Come up to register later, after you've had a cup of coffee or something a little stronger. You look like you need it." As I remember, he was wearing a plaid shirt and an old pair of shorts.

Looked like an angel to me.