Today is the main day of the festival and we have a lot to do. We begin the day with a visit to the marine
centre, which has a big used book sale happening on the main floor, several
commercial galleries on the second floor, and a nautical museum on the
third. It is a lovely building and an
outside deck offers an outstanding view over the bay. At 10 we walk over to the registration area
for daredevils wanting to try out the “rocket boots” that are available for the
day. They are allowing a maximum of 8
people to each have a 30 minute run with these nifty boots that are connected
via a giant hose to the exhaust port of a Sea-doo and basically allow you to
fly.
Of course, I put my name down, fill out the waiver, pay my ten bucks and
the organizer tells me to suit up and get in line as there are only two people
in front of me! So I return to the boat
to get my swimsuit and then line up on the dock to watch amateur hour while I
await my chance to make a fool of myself.
The system works like this. You
first become David Lee Roth by jamming your fleshy body into a tight wetsuit
that is three sizes too small and hugs your body bulges most intimately. After I sing the chorus of “Panama” I strut
to the end of the dock where the rocket boot coach presents said rocket boots
and asks me to step into them. Now this
is where you become Gene Simmons because these boots are about 24 inches high
and look decidedly dangerous. I strap
them on and now with the Van Halen jumpsuit and the Kiss sex boots, I really do
feel like a rock star and I am ready to rock and roll every night and party
every day. Except that right around then
I lose my balance, flop down onto the dock and collapse like a clubbed seal
into the lake. The frigid waters causes
my body parts to shrink so now the wetsuit fits much better, and the rocket boots
have ignited and are producing positive thrust, pushing me through the water
like I’m riding a dolphin. I’m directed
by the guy on the Sea-doo to move out into the wider part of the bay and then
he tells me to hold on and hits the gas which controls the amount of thrust
delivered to the boots. The first couple
times it pushes me up but I’m so damn wobbly that I flop over and can’t get up. He tells me to slow down and use exaggerated
movements. I soon get the hang of it
and, just like that, I am transformed into Tony Stark in his Ironman suit. After experimenting a bit I’m able to move
left and right, forward, and backwards a bit, but that usually causes me to
somersault into the water. As my
confidence grows, the operator offers a bit more thrust, and now I’m hovering
six feet above the water and it’s not just amazing; it is one of the most
incredible things I’ve ever experienced.
I start to get cocky and do a dive down into the water, get pushed underwater
by the rocket boots, and then arch my back and shoot straight back up into the
air and manage to hold it! I repeat this
a few more times but soon the operator sees where it’s headed (likely a triple
back flip, knee to the face, twisted back and finished with a face plant into
the deck of the nearby sailboat) and shuts me down. By the time I return to the dock I have
decided that our family needs to buy a Sea-doo and rocket boots and will do so
at the first available opportunity.
While I was queued up on the dock the kids had gone down to the bouncy
castles and had a good jump, so next on the schedule was the cardboard boat
race. Until now I had never considered
the feasibility of building an actual, floating vessel out of just cardboard
and duct tape, but now I know that is it certainly possible. Before us was a large collection of cardboat
boats and lifejacketted sailors of all ages.
There didn’t seem to be any rules or design principles, other than the one
strict rule that the only allowable building materials are cardboard and duct
tape. The starting gun goes off and the
boats are launched! Some sink
immediately. Other are half filled with
water by the time the participants get themselves into the boat. Others are floating well and being propelled
across the water in a foamy frenzy by exited paddlers. The participants have to paddle out into the
bay about 100 meters, round a buoy, and then paddle back. Along the way at least half of the boats
either capsize, break apart, or simply absorb so much water they sink to the
bottom. In an incredible act of
persistence, one team consisting of an older lady and a child are upright and
paddling hard, but their boat is completely underwater so you can only see
their heads, shoulders and paddles. I
hope their boat was named “Never Give Up”.
We spot David, Jacque and Parker in the crowd and walk over to say hi,
just as the race concludes and the triumphant team drags their waterlogged
cardboard schooner from the water and does a victory wave to the sizeable
crowd. We ask them if we are still on
for a visit at their boat this afternoon and they are. But before that we walk downtown to visit the
town museum, which is located inside an old jailhouse. They have a large collection of items of
local interest including Indian artifacts, newspaper clippings, household
antiques, stuffed animal heads, old childrens toys and even a full sized horse
carriage. There is also an art gallery
in one section of the museum, except for one corner of the room which has a
mock up of an old fashioned dentist office complete with the metal chair and foot
operated drill. Ouch.
We have a few groceries to get so we let the kids go back to the boat on
their own to play some games. It is so
nice having kids at this age who are able to take care of themselves. Then they don’t always have to get dragged
along to the boring things we need to do.
We return to the boat and lounge in the cockpit for a while, enjoying
the hot sun, cold drinks, and a terrible band playing in the beer garden, each
player strumming away in a different key.
I spark up a beautiful Partagas Cuban cigar, then after one puff
mishandle it and drop it into the water.
It takes off like a torpedo somehow, and disappears beneath the dock,
never to be seen again. As punishment
for wasting such a magnificent smoke I did not light up another one and instead
had to relish the memory of the two puffs I did suck out of the lost, rolled
soldier.
Here’s the beauty of being a guest in a foreign marina. A lady walks up the dock with two drinks in
her hand, stops at our boat, hands us the drinks, and tells us they are having
a drink mixing competition and that we should try out her entry, called the “Creamsicle”. Of course it is delicious, and she stays for
a quick chat then disappears down the dock.
People in marinas are so nice – everybody is on holidays so are in a
good mood, nobody is in a rush, everyone is helpful and there is a friendly,
jovial atmosphere, especially when it’s thirty degrees and sunny outside.
Around 3pm we walk over to David and Jacque’s boat and David gives us
the rundown on a few of their favourite anchorages. He has owned his boat for 27 years, and
before that had a sailboat, so they have cruised these waters many times over during
that period. Stella and Magnus fall in
love with their dog Parker and they take him down for a swim at the boat
launch. We spend a few hours with them
and have such a great time. They are from
Toronto and their boat is a magnificent 42’ trawler - a real beauty. David gives us the full tour, including
crawling right into the engine room and seeing all the systems in action. It makes our sailboat interior feel like a
broom closet. The only thing missing is
a hot tub, but when I mention it I’m pretty sure it started David
thinking. I learn Jacque has a taste for
gin and tonics, and I also learn that I have been using the wrong tonic. When she asks me what tonic I use I say, “I
dunno. That Canada Dry stuff in the
yellow can.”
She says, “I used to use that crap but not anymore. Ever heard of Fever Tree tonic?”
I said no. And I knew what was
going to happen next.
“Would you like me to make you one?” she asked.
“Yes please,” came the predictable answer.
“Do you want a single, or double and do you want the regular tonic or
the diet?”
“Just make it good.”
That made Jacque laugh. And she
did make it good. Damn good.
We put a plan in place to meet up the next day at either John Island or
Beardrop Harbour, both about 20 miles or so north-west of Gore Bay. We try our best to convince them to join us
at our boat for Sheppard’s pie but they have their hearts set on the fish
fry. But as we return to our boat we
realize we are practically having dinner together anyway, because the fish fry
is in the pavilion directly behind our boat – we just have to talk a bit louder
to hear each other.
There is a big dance tonight at the hall in town but we opt out and
instead enjoy a nice, quiet evening in the marina.
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