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Uncommon Swells
We had been sailing for a few days, in company with another boat. He
was a single hander, Dave, on a little aluminum 1/4 tonner. We had been
having a grand old time, sharing anchorages, and racing each other in
the almost calm conditions of the Canadian Gulf Islands in the early
summer. In the evenings, Dave would come aboard Moya for cocktails and
supper. We would usually swap yarns or play cards till late. Dave would
then row back to his boat to sleep. This particular evening, it was
absolutely flat calm - not a breath to disturb the mirror smooth
surface of the water. We were securely tucked into a snug anchorage,
along with several other boats. We had a fine supper, and talked late
into the night of our sailing plans, over several glasses of wine. At
about midnight, Dave said his farewells, climbed quietly into his
dinghy, avoiding banging the oars in the rowlocks so as not to wake the
other boats in the anchorage. That is how still the evening was. One of
those truly beautiful nights - just made for sleeping aboard. We
whispered our goodnights, and off he went. Looking thru the port
lights, we saw his cabin light go on once he was aboard, and knew he
was safely home. Sleep eluded us both that night and at about 2 am, we
dreamed up a prank that still puts a smile on my face when I recall it
now.
I quietly climbed into my dinghy with a fishing rod, and gently rowed
over to Daves' boat - about 50 yards from us. Quietly, I tied the
fishing line to one of his shrouds, as high as I could reach. I paddled
back to Moya, letting out line all the way. Once aboard, I passed a
bight of the line thru the port light to Sharon below.
Then in complete darkness below, we gently started tugging on the line,
slowly causing Daves’ boat to start rolling. It took a while, but
pretty soon we had that boat rolling almost gunwale-to-gunwale. We had
a devil of a job suppressing our laughter as we heard things start to
crash about down below on his boat. Suddenly - the hatch flew back and
out came a confused Dave, battling with his spectacles. He looked up at
his mast, now describing wild arcs in the sky, looked at the other
boats in the anchorage - dead still, not a movement - back up at his
mast. He leapt out into the cockpit in a wild panic and scoured the
water around the boat. By then, we were scarcely able to stand, to
watch his antics further, thru the port light. Surprisingly he didn't
hear us. I guess the pots and pans were rattling so loudly as to drown
our mirth.
I let up on it at just then, his boat settled down, and after a while
on deck, he disappeared below. The lights went out shortly after that.
Later that night, I retrieved the line.The next morning, we waited for
him to mention the incident, but to no avail. I still wonder what he
decided happened that night.
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