danger

We left the cottage early today as the father of my children was in a rather sour mood. 

He sits here next to me watching a horror flick while I carefully keep my eyes on my computer screen editing photos.  I am far too nervous to peek at the TV as I can see in my peripheral vision a scene involving a cat and a hammer and a cardboard box.  No thanks.  I continue editing and recalling the days events as I go.  

As I gather a group of photos for my post, one theme seems to rise to the surface rather quickly.  It may be the creepy sound effects or the bloody screams coming out of the surround sound but the photos themselves seem to be taking on a predictable theme of their own. DANGER DANGER DANGER!!! 

I should have known prior to leaving the dock today…

 

 

that most boating folk research maps prior to taking day trips in unfamiliar areas.  Loading up a boatful of little boys and a bag of Doritos and some sunscreen does not qualify for being well prepared. 

 

 

 

Most folk would also fill up gas at their familiar station rather than hitting the high seas with a half tank assuming that you’ll find gas before you hit E.  We were fortunate enough to find that gas…

 

 

 

but not fortunate enough to avoid parking on the sand bar that guarded the gas station canal.  Possibly a warning should be posted.  “Please enjoy the small brightly colored buildings, but do not be so distracted that you do not read the, SANDBAR AHEAD” sign".”  Is that too much to ask for?  Really?

 

 

A little PSA while were on topic of dangers.  Collection can get out of control quickly if not reined in.  I recall a collection of guinea pigs that multiplied in this fashion.  One is pretty, two are nice, but fifteen might qualify you as a hoarder.

   

The signs were everywhere.  But did we allow that to hamper our high spirits?  I think not. 

 

 

This old dock may scream sliver to some, but not those of us who live on the edge.  Not those of us who still have a sliver in their right foot because they are not smart enough to wear shoes, and not flexible enough to do sit in the required contorsion to dig it out and not trusting enough to let their husbands perform surgery for removal.

 

 

I realized this was dangerous the minute I sat down on the toilet and Finn appeared from the makeshift shower holding the dripping community washcloth.  “Put that down, no hang that up, no wash your hands, no don’t wash your hands, just go outside.”  Go outside he did, exposing by butt to anyone who happened to be driving by.  Predictable?  No. But typical? Yeah, sounds about right.

 

 

Asking the dock master extensive questions about how many people actually put money in the box and then photographing the box extensively now seems like a poor idea.  If perhaps several months someone breaks into the Old Boathouse lock box, I will most likely be the number one suspect. 

 

 

Photographing one child (which was cut off when I realized it was a better photo of the crates than him) while turning my back on another turned out to be not such a hot idea.  I turned around to find one child on fish scale and another sitting atop the fork lift.  Oops. 

Should you enter an establishment that serves a “mullet dog”  you ask.  I live on the wild side I tell you. 

 

Clothes baskets as lighting fixtures is dangerous.  This I know.  That’s obvious.  But I was actually considering having lunch here.  I would have, except that when I walked into the restaurant I was only wearing a swimsuit.  Its a nice on with the courtesy skirt however, it’s a bit short and according to half of my family that was still on the boat I entered walking past a table with on cheek fully exposed.  Hmmmm… This place looked casual enough but maybe not quite that loose.  What’  Vinyl seats are really sticky, not my fault. 

 

The pinnacle event will remain photographed.  To paint a picture it went something like this. 

Lovely family with four rambunctious boys is cruising along enjoying the ocean breeze scanning the water for fins hoping to glimpse a dolphin or two.  Confident in there journey home as they were following the very same path that the GPS confirms they were on hours ago.  Not taking into account that they are a hundred pounds heavier after filling the gas tank to the brim and also not accounting for something called low tide and something even more dangerous called oyster beds…

Yep, cruising along one minute, abrupt stop the next.  Not only stopped, but stopped with an audience of oh so experienced fishermen.  Tense to say the least.  The children, jolted but unscathed, continued to beg the mom to allow them to go tubing or jump off or put out their baited lines.  The mom makes an attempt at to explain the need for silence in emergency situations while simultaneously brainstorming how to launch oneself back into the water.

A bit of shouting is followed by the wife instructing the husband to jump over board and push the boat off the oyster island back into the water which is followed by more shouting including a few profanities (for effect only) as the husband lands on said oysters.  Quickly retreating to the boat the wife produces a pair of fashionable water shoes for him.  Water shoes are donned in record time, as the audience pretends to have found a hot fishing hole not fifty feet beyond the funniest site pine island fishermen have seen in awhile. 

These fishermen probably head out around low tide everyday to people watch much the way I do whenever I am driving through out local Walmart parking lot.  I love to sit right on the border between Walmart and the Dollar Tree because our Walmart carts have locks on the tire.  The minute you get out of the acceptable perimeter, the wheel locks up.  I love to watch the shocked patrons kick and drag their carts much the way the fishermen probably watch unsuspecting boaters push and pull their boats.  But, I digress…

The wife is instructed to run to the front, no the back, no the side of the boat to offset the weight the load.  Slightly upset that here sheer size can actually tip a very heavy boat one way or another, she makes a mental note to not eat anymore of the Doritos this afternoon.  The motor is trimmed up and the husband pushes with super human strength fueled my adrenaline and sheer humiliation. 

And they’re off.  Back in the safety of the 3 foot canal.  Not deep enough to feel safe but far better than the 0.9 foot reading taken atop the oyster pile.

I would have loved a photo, but as you can imagine,   requesting my husband calm down and carefully wade out near the fishermen to snap a quick photo of out latest precarious situation would have been a bit inappropriate.  “Make sure you get my good side.  Say cheese boys.  Wave at Daddy!”

Hence the sulking this evening by one humbled husband.  I’ll be lucky if this makes it past his veto power as he offers his editing suggestions tonight, but an experience such as this may as well serve as a warning for other novice ocean boaters. 

  

Opportunities for adventure are abundant.  Occasionally though one must overlook a warning or two in order to take advantage of these opportunities.  I am amazed sometimes when recalling events, often in the form of editing photos, that all the warnings were there, my vision was just a little off.  What’s that they say about hindsight?