Rough Waters - Part II
Continued from Part I…
A flip of the cover.
An inspection of everything visible from that vantage point.
“Did you check the spark plug wires?” I offered. (Because that’s the only mechanical thing I know to say.)
A few more cranks.
Then it became official: We had just towed that boat (the one that runs flawlessly every time) 300-miles, to become those people: The ones blocking the entire launch with a boat that will not start.
In over 20-years of boating, I only remember that happening to us one other time. A mile from our house. Nothing that battery jump couldn’t fix. Clearly not the case this time.
Acutely recognizing the need to get out of the way, we reversed the process we had just executed. Then we climbed into the truck and drove away.
We pulled in to a nearby marina. No mechanics on duty that day.
Made a few phone calls. Turned up no suggestions.
“We’ll go back to the house. I’ll look at it out of the water…” my husband planned aloud.
“I’ll change and go for a run while you do,” I decided. Remember: I had skipped my morning routine, including any form of exercise. Never the best move for my brain health. Especially not on a day shaping up to look like this one…
The rest of the ride back passed mostly in silence. Except for a shared, possibly slightly maniacal, “Can you even believe this?” chuckle.
I had rallied how many times in the past 24-hours of this “adventure”?
I felt dangerously near the end of my rally.
Why, when we finally got a chance to get away, would things go this way?
I didn’t voice that question out loud.
A person of faith doesn’t ask “Why,” right?
Wrong.
I wondered WHY in my head.
Was God protecting us from something bad that might have happened had we been on the water that morning? Maybe.
Was He using this as a chance for us to lead by example? We have always, always taught our kids, when something doesn’t go as planned, never to force it. To instead trust that things always happen for a reason.
Was this a test to see if we practice what we preach? Maybe.
Was it a reminder that we still overestimate the amount of “control” we have over our lives and our “plans”? Maybe.
Was it a stripping away of activity? Encouraging us to remember the contentment we once felt just by being together? Have we allowed life to become so full of distractions that we have drifted too far away from that? Maybe.
Was it a recalibration toward remembering that life is good at home, with what we have every day? That we falsely idealize the idea of escapism? Maybe
Was it leading us to something better than what we had planned? I had no choice but to try to believe so.
Back at the house…
We found a van in the driveway and two men inside, working on the air conditioning.
I hadn’t even tied my running shoes yet when I got a text from my husband, “Two loose wires. It’s fixed!” (Thank you, bouncy ride, we feel sure…)
A simpler outcome than we had even dared hope for. Yet, given this trip’s track record so far, I know we both still wondered…
I decided to go ahead and take my run anyway, then change clothes so we could try again.
I didn’t realize how much I really needed that run at that point: Just a quick two miles out and back. Along the semi-private country road. The historical brick mansion at the river’s bend as my destination for a turn-around point. Flanked by oak trees, thriving corn fields, and even a couple of peacefully grazing deer who, sensing I posed no threat, just watched me pass, I ran just to enjoy it – and my beautiful surroundings.
It had become abundantly clear that I’d better enjoy all the parts of this “adventure”, because it had come with no guarantees.
Looking back now, I recognize this as almost a turning point in the trip.
I arrived back where I’d started. I hit my watch to end the run. It completely surprised me to see a number representing my fastest mile ever. My husband would later say, “I guess you’re fast when you’re mad.” Truthfully, though, I really had never been mad. Potentially disappointed, yes. But also determined to make the best of whatever opportunity still remained for us.
Back at the house to change clothes, I found at least one of the two HVAC units repaired and operating. The temperature difference was already noticeable.
20-minutes later, we were back on the boat launch, laughing at how familiar the process felt since we had just done it an hour before.
We had no more gotten underway when brilliant sunshine broke through the overcast sky. That storm on the afternoon forecast? It never did come.
We enjoyed the rest of that day exploring the Choptank River, treating it every bit like a bonus, remembering how we almost never had it at all. We also made our plans to take the “real adventure” the following day, on Father’s Day.
What a Real Adventure it would be!
We had chosen as our destination the Chesapeake Bay. By far the “biggest” water we have ever taken on.
The cruise out from the river into the bay brought sights I had never seen before, along with up-close views of so many iconic representations of the Eastern Shore: Gracefully swooping herons and egrets. A pair of dorsal fins that caught our attention just in time to reveal a dolphin jumping completely out of the water just off our starboard side.
Not only sights, but sounds, too: The distant clanging of the fog bells on the buoys marking the channel. The cry of gulls overheard. More Coast Guard radio activity than we had ever been in a position to experience.
Somewhere along the way, we decided to aim for the Bay Bridge, trying to imagine how it would feel to see it from the water.
When it finally came into view, I couldn’t believe that two-and-a-half hours had passed!
We cut the engine and drifted for a while, taking in the sight of it.
“Never in my life did I imagine I’d boat up to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge,” my husband commented.
Bumper to bumper traffic crawled across both spans of the bridge. Realizing how tiny all the vehicles looked shed all new perspective on how high above the water it really is!
We took a few photos and videos, the last of which ended just as a Coast Guard radio comment mentioned how rough the water had become.
We visually estimated the waves at just somewhere between 1-2 feet as we drifted, but my husband also commented that we’d face a head wind on the return trip.
We set off, and with each mile we covered, the chop grew.
Several times, spray large enough to clear the windshield and reach the helm came over the bow.
Waves we had estimated at 1-2 feet a short time ago, we now estimated at 3-4 feet.
It grew too rough to stand, or even to take a drink without ending up with a face full of it.
I never felt scared at all, though. In fact, I loved every minute of it.
When we crossed back into the calmer waters of the river and finally idled back to the launch, more than 6-hours after we had shoved off, I really didn’t want the day to end.
Looking back now I certainly wonder: Had everything gone smoothly and according to “plan”, would I have appreciated everything about the experience as deeply?
I proclaimed it one of the best days I have ever had – and I meant it.
Chatting later that evening with some locals, the details of how we had spent our day left them noticeably incredulous. They said most people just don’t really do what we did that day, and that even they would have considered that water “too rough”.
I guess we not only had a wonderful time that day, but without even realizing it, we apparently also accomplished something kind of rare.
That last evening, I sat on the dock with a glass of wine and watched the sunset paint the sky red.
I inhaled as deeply as I could, trying to take in every last bit of the feeling, wanting to carry it home with me. I felt incredibly thankful for the unforgettable experience we’d ended up having.
I wondered to God about the rough start, content to accept that we’ll likely never know the exact reason for it. Also, that we’d do well to remember all the possible reasons for it.
Franklin D. Roosevelt said, “A smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.”
The longer I live Real Life - the more I believe it.