I love adventure. Really.
I long for it in my life.
But apparently I haven’t been clear enough about what I mean by adventure.
I’m looking for nice, quiet adventures. Sailing to Saltspring Island and exploring the market. Paddling through the still waters of the Broken Islands. Travelling to a city I haven’t visited before. Those kinds of adventures.
But motoring into a submerged reef? No thank you. Getting thrown around when the sailboat slams to a complete stop? Not so much. Hanging on as the boat tips perilously before righting itself? Um, no thanks.
And really, Universe, since we’re on the topic, I could have done without taking on water while out on the high seas. If I’m honest about it, I could live quite happily without ever having to learn how a bilge pump works. Ever.
I like the idea of floating. Not sinking.
So last weekend’s adventure, Universe? That was a bit extreme for me.
But if you were sending me that kind of adventure anyway, thank you for sending along such an able and calm sailing companion. I don’t think he even swore when we hit the rocks. Or when he realized that there was an inch of water on the cabin floor.
He just calmly talked me through what he needed me to do, and steered the boat toward the safety of a sheltered harbour.
And thank you for sending us to Ford Cove on Hornby Island, to the peace of its lovely, sheltered harbour, and to the amazing people living on the boats there. Really this story isn’t so much about a sailing misadventure. It’s about the kindness of strangers.
And I’ll tell that story soon.