Monday, June 9, 2014


   Hmmm... welllll... it would appear that there was a slight miscalculation on the way to the grid iron the other night. Houston, we have a problem. When I see something like this, I think, there, by the grace of God go I. Anyone who has spent any time on a boat is bound to have an unfortunate incident of some kind or another. A few years ago the guy on the Antares was doing something or other- covering the ice with ice blankets or grabbing coffee or whatever, but in any event, he grounded his boat on Graveyard Island. Fortunately the Antares is a  big fiberglass boat, and it didn't hit all that hard, so the most damage done was to his ego, as every boat going to or from the harbor passed by it, plus all the boats docked at the cold storage. I think I would have gone up forward and to the aft where the name is displayed and covered it with a tarp to try and save a little face. I distinctly recall one morning some years ago when I was charging out of Flynn Cove on my way over to Homeshore when I heard the guy on the Williwaw calling a seine boat that was steaming towards the rocks on Spasski Island. He tried to raise the captain multiple times, with no response. Finally after about five minutes, you heard the captain of the seine boat calling the coast guard declaring that he had run aground on Spasski Island. Unfortunately he fell asleep at the wheel. The boat was able to be salvaged, but I'm not sure about the captains job. I fondly remember using my fourteen foot fiberglass skiff as an icebreaker one February day. I was trying to make way into the logging camp via the bay which was frozen over with what I thought was skim ice. However, as I got further into the bay the ice kept getting thicker. I remember thinking how tough my boat was and was filled with an uncommon sense of good will until I looked down at the front of the boat and saw water pouring into the bow. Needless to say, the prospect of having your boat sink in water that is literally freezing cold can be unnerving at best. I was glad that I had visited the outhouse that morning or there may have been additional issues to deal with. Obviously I made it out OK, and so did the boat, and after a little fiberglass repair job it was almost good as new. However, any thoughts I may have entertained about naming the boat The Invincible quickly became replaced with The Not So Tough- kind of like me.  Nothing like some real life situations to give you a better perspective on your place in the universe. I'm glad to report that the boat in the above pictures was able to be yarded off the bar with the help of the high tide and a rather large loader. Although the boat is spelled differently, Webster's defines the word mirth as gaiety or jollity, especially when accompanied by laughter. I would imagine when the captain felt the boat ground to a halt on that bar, there wasn't much laughter going on. At times like those, Pucker Factor might be a more appropriate boat name.

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