10am and I'm hungry already. This is highly likely to be the result of knowing I have tofurkey, scalloped potatoes, snow-peas and carrots for lunch, and my stomach is already growling at me to dive in.
SPEAKING of diving... we were supposed to celebrate the weekend by heading up to the Muskokas and having the island all to ourselves. Come Saturday we packed up the E, bought groceries, and headed North for a sunny weekend of stick-throwing, paddling, and the usual cottage pursuits. We were surprised Saturday morning to see the sky so overcast, but a quick look at the weather suggested all would clear and be beautiful. Up we went- 3+ hours later, we were loading up the all-enduring taxi-boat that would take us the 40 minutes to the island.
The water was a little rough at the marina, but our usual driver told us not to worry, and we headed out, being sure to drop down the wind flaps on the back of the boat, and keep Dallas leashed and in hand. It was suddenly cool as we set out, and we huddled together, making jokes and assuring buddy that we were well enough stocked not to have to have another beer-run done. At the 20 minute mark, we were leaving the enclave of islands, and just heading out into more open space. The wind was really whipping up the water, and Linda and Dallas were both showing signs of unease, but I didn't think it was all that bad, and was actually enjoying the boat's lurching and heaving. It was kind of like a roller-coaster ride, but without the really scary parts...
A minute later, we hit a really big wave, and Linda went from holding me tight to clutching me, and saying "Oh God!" The driver and I kind of went "whoa," but hey, we got through it. Next came some similar waves, and I found myself being clung to, Linda's head buried in my armpit, with a string of "Oh Gods" coming at increasing frequency and volume, and the dog whimpering, her head buried in my leg, fighting to stay put. Taxi-boat dude and I exchanged looks, and he focussed on steering us through, and I focussed on comforting woman and dog with assurances about the size of the boat and buddy's obvious experience in these waves.
That was all fine and good for another minute, until the waves re-doubled again. Now the driver was gasping and swearing, I was feeling the first fingers fear reach deep in my gut, and Linda was beginning to hyperventilate. I was shocked at the depth of her fear, shocked when I looked in front and had to look up, way up, the windshield to see sky, and I was stunned to see the driver's fear and obvious indecision on how to steer the boat through the waves. I was telling Linda 'breath slow... deep breaths,' and was realizing that if she didn't calm down, she wouldn't be able to stay afloat.
What was that thought?? Were we actually going to dump? I held her, held the dog, listened to the crack of the boat as we'd crest a wave and then slam down in the withdrawing swell... We were getting air-time! he engine sounds kept changing as we were powering over a wave and then sucking air as we were thrown. The life-jackets were in the bow, and I realized in a sickening moment that the dog would die- she'd have zero chance of surviving those waves, and what with Linda hyper-ventilating, she'd better have a jacket on or she'd be in huge danger too. This was to say nothing of how I'd do once the boat either capsized or got swamped. I started to imagine getting thrown to the hard wooden ceiling, objects and bodies crashing around, and how just getting free of the boat might be impossible. The bow kept crashing down into the water, with waves surging over us, and the cross-current of waves meant we'd have to keep being lucky in only facing one big wave at a time... we were having really close calls with waves coming close on an angle at us after we'd crest a big wave. The only problem with grabbing those life-jackets was that we were holding on for dear-life just to avoid being sucked out of the back of the boat. So we weren't going to have life-jackets.
So there we were, under-prepared, out much farther than we ever should have been, and there was no going forward, no going back. But we had to do something. All I could do was watch and give encouragement and remain calm... If the boat tipped, it was going to be a huge struggle for survival, and even I wasn't sure I'd make shore, now really far in any direction. In my mind's eye, I knew we must be terrifying just to watch getting tossed around. To my amazement, the driver finally asked if we'd mind turning around. Excuse me?? Mind?? How had he been thinking anything else? He was gasping in fear and swearing, obviously overwhelmed and just shy of outright panic. I think the real issue on his shoulders was that as impossible as going forward was, trying to turn that boat around was going to be even more dangerous. He started right, but then brought us back. He started left, corrected as another wave threatened from the right, and we being launched and landing with smash after smash of water, loud cracks scaring us absolutely shitless each time. Linda looked out the back of the boat for the merest moment and reports seeing a massive wave cresting just beyond the back of the boat with its pitiful struggling engine. Head went back into armpit, whimpering continued.
Finally, buddy made a split-second decision, and whipped us left just as we crested a wave, and it seemed but a moment before that second wave would tumble us. I held Linda, the fear in my gut now fear that wanted to scream, and I felt the boat turn, engines gunning, and somehow we were turned around. Driver dude let out a yell, my heart surged, and we were suddenly much more stable, and churning like mad to get beyond the rough stuff. In only moments, we were out of it, and relief now surged through us. Linda was pure white, and was shaking out her hands in wonder to return circulation. We were all in shock for the next 4 hours, as we limped back to the marina and then home, tails tucked firmly between our legs. The driver said that in 20 years, he'd never seen waves like that, and Linda swore she'd have never believed the waves could get that bad there. I was overcome with a sense of surreality. It was like Joshua Tree in that very suddenly, a few slight changes in circumstance had me feeling that death was very possible and nearby, and that I was now at the mercy of one part luck, one part ability. Safety seemed impossibly far away.
The ride home- Debrief: How had we suddenly gone from yippee, fun little waves into something I'd expect at sea, but never in a bay? How had I not realized we'd better get those life-jackets on until it was already too late? How had that driver, who did this for years and for a living not been able to see what was ahead, and get us turned around in time? How did Linda, feeling so much fear, not speak up and demand to be turned around? How will we ever get in a boat in rough water again?
The rest of our weekend was spent doing nothing more dangerous than having me help with dinner. We didn't get back in the vehicle again, we relaxed, went for walks, watched movies... So much for a big wrap-up to the cottage season, but man- here's to life. For lunch, I'm going to walk outside in the woods, and just keep breathing this gorgeous fall air into my lungs.
