Beyond Cherry Point there were only of the corner of his eye but John looked
three possible directions in which to positively alarmed. “Are you alright?”
point the bow; towards Cape Keppel he asked. multihulls
on a starboard tack, towards Arbutus “Never better,” I replied confidently.
Ridge on a port tack and my favorite, “Business as usual.”
one design
homeward on the Genny with the “Not funny,” Paul ventured.
motor off and our bellies full of lemon “You’re right, Paul,” I said. “More
offshore spec
loaf. spiders that size and we won’t have
Ah, sailing. Before we’d left, John enough lemon loaf for everybody.”
classic sails
and I had taken the sail covers off “Let’s unfurl the Genny,” John said.
together. Usually the captain gets to John steered, I pulled the line steadily
steer and it’s the job of the mate to and the Genny snapped to. There was
mess with the sails; I am an expert at only a slight breeze, but it swept into
unfastening those rotten elastic sail- all three sails and swelled them gently.
holders that criss-cross the length of The boat tipped to starboard and slid
the mizzen and the main. Actually, I’m lightly across the bay; I turned the
not expert at all, but I am easily talked wheel to starboard and as we dug in
into doing the chore on the theory that more deeply, the sails snapped taut and
if John falls in the water I’m in more we sped up. The wind brushed past my
trouble than if I fall in the water. So, I face and chilled my fingers as the sun
balanced on the deck on tiptoe, flung warmed us in the lulls. With each snap
my arms around the mizzen boom and of the sails my heart lifted. With each
groped for the fasteners, fiddly plastic clack of a halyard and slap of a wave,
clasps that they are. When I finished I was happier yet. As soon as John
I knelt to adjust a fender I’d fastened whipped the genoa halyard through
onto a grab rail, and a spider the size of the whining winch and snubbed it tight,
Gargantua galloped across my fingers our great vessel slid through the tacks
and disappeared down the side of the smoothly. The ocean had a restless
hull. Eeowww! Spitefully, I swiped the surface; our boat shifted impatiently
nearest spider-web into oblivion and a but she dug in and we sailed smoothly
second spider popped up from behind toward Fulford Harbour.
a stanchion, glared at me and lumbered “The iron jib, I think,” John said.
across the deck. For a moment I was When I nodded he lit the glow plugs
unsure if the vibration of the boat was and the starter worked on the first try.
from the engine or the reverberation Paul looked at the sails, at the water,
from the spider’s size seven feet, but I at the boats that passed and then he
am a substitute teacher and I know no sighed a sigh replete of fulfillment.
fear. Grasping a mooring line, I began This day had filled his heart with good
to beat the deck with the short end of things. “Funny,” he said.
it and roared threateningly, “Come out We shouted when we docked –
and fight,” I yelled. we always shout when we dock – and
“I can’t. I’m steering the boat,” My our stern swung wildly with a blur of
husband said. mooring lines and pike poles. Then
“Not you, Darling,” I yelled back. we rested and looked at the sky and
“I’m killing a spider.” I wasn’t really – the view and the Skeena Queen, whose
Rush Sails
the spider squeezed into a dorade and raging engines were shooting backwash Your Northwest
escaped into the boat, but I slashed the in our direction. We didn’t care because
Neil Pryde Sails Agent
mooring line across the dorade one below was still with warm lemon loaf
last time and gave up. Sulkily, I raised and swaying lanterns and quiet. Later
the mizzen, squatting low to the deck I put Paul to bed and kissed him good
after each pull on the halyard and then night. “Bon nuit, mon cher,” I said to
206-719-8436
pulling myself painfully upright with him.
the mast. Then I rested and looked “Mom,” he said, and rolled
rushsails@aol.com
sweepingly in an arc for more spiders. toward the wall. I hadn’t killed or even
I saw no cousins of the arachnids I’d inconvenienced one of our boat spiders.
already engaged, so I raised the main Perhaps that’s why it didn’t rain a drop
Local Service
and high-stepped back to the cockpit that night.
over cleats and lines, quite pleased But when it was dark I could hear
Global Reputation
with myself. them breathing.
Paul glanced nervously at me out 48° N
48° No r t h , Se p t e m b e r 2009 pa g e 73
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