AUGUST 16 // GEORGIAN BAY
Minutes have a way of warping themselves into hours when in an uncomfortable situation. Like silly putty, minutes are malleable. Time stretch is mental, but it can be so incredibly real that we can not fix it, leaving you to believe that yes in fact – the nipple hardening, and terrifying 20 miles through an angry woman eating lake took days – if not months. (It took 4 hours)
Waves crashed over the bow when they got bored trying to knock us sideways. Strong westerly winds had us horizontal in the small craft channel winding through rocks with teeth. The depth sounder was chucking random and inconsistent numbers at me. You know what they say about pods of dolphins? For every one that comes up, there are ten underneath. I believed this theory to be true with every exposed rock we flew by. And I’m serious when I say “flew”. Louise was flying at boeing 747 speeds (6 knots) through the most inappropriate and shallow, rock maze (Georgian Bay small craft channel). It was a disastrous scene, but Katie and I were so cold and wet, we just kept on flying.
Surrounded by white water, the waves crashed on nearby rocks when they weren’t crashing over us. The rain fell sideways – which doesn’t actually make any sense if you ask me. How does rain fall sideways anyways? Oh yes, wind. Catastrophic scenes played in my head – The king sheet (genoa) ripping in half. The engine quitting and not starting. The rudder snapping. The tiller cracking. The keel bashing. You name it, I was thinking it. This was when minutes began warping themselves into hours. I knew it was a mind game, and I wanted to win. I wiggled my toes in my boots to stay warm. I did “high-knees” in-between waves to keep my blood flowing. We turned the music up louder, and watched the birds ride the gusts.
I swear we were in Alaska. My bones rattled. My eyeballs frozen still in their sockets. My hands purple. Soaking wet and over it… one thing stayed on the top of our priority list… “Henrys Fish Camp” A famous fish and chip restaurant in the Georgian Bay only accessible by boat or plane. Turns out we happen to live on a boat. A tank in fact, that was charging towards fried fish on this glorious Canadian summer day. We arrived at Henrys’ to find out that most people don’t choose to go flying or boating in minor squalls and that we would be drinking a well deserved cocktail – alone.
Like two old men – We drank. We ate. We sat on the pot. We fell asleep. And thats what life’s all about.