I beat wind all day. A strong wind seemed to pivot around to stay in front of me, and the superstitious nature of sailing makes me ask the wind in my mind if it wants me not to go to Ganges Harbor. It is cold again, and I am overpowered, leaning steeply, and the sails making a snare drum snapping roll every time I come up from the lean. My mind rolls behind my eyes: women I have loved are having fun without me, and will have babies with men I don't know. I remember a past lover with new eyes, and see more clearly how absurdly callous I was. I would have laughed at me if I was her. I am lost. Not in space, I know that I am south of Thetis Island, about to pass the north end of Saltspring Island. Sailing is me being lost, and masturbating to myself.
A boat sails out from between two islets. I didn't think that boats that size could pass there. I'll try it. I could turn from the wind and run for a bit, and save about a half hour. Check the chart. Rocks. Rocks that are less than a foot underwater, but never above water, even in low tide. They will have no markers. What is the tide? It's about noon, and the tide should be high. I only draw four and half feet. I could pass at high tide.
I turn, and keep my hand on the tiller. I am not committed. I am waiting until I have to turn back. I can turn back whenever I need to. Until I can't. And now I can't. I am between them. My hand hurts, and I think at it, and I am gripping the tiller too hard. I look over the side. Derk told that you see the shells first. You see the white of the shells, and you know the water is about ten feet, and it's time to turn back. My eyes make images in the reflections of the waters, and then the water is pale with rocks. They roll like still waves under the waves. They are so close. I pay attention to my feet, anticipating the moment, the tear and grkdgkg as the boat wails and grinds. My eyes are fixed into the water, as if staring at the stones will keep them at bay. They don't want to hurt me. They just want my fear. The want respect in the form of my fear. I can't hit them; that other boat got through! There are crab traps. Does that mean that it's deep enough? Is it really high tide? Maybe the charts are outdated. Why did I go this way? This was risk for no reason. Dumb, David. This is dumb. Then they are gone, and the water is brown and dirty again.
Slow dread as it gets dark. Passing the rocks was four hours ago, and now I am out in a straight. The point I need to round, the last turn, is smudged with fog. I disbelieve it, but I know that it is far. It is at least two hours into the dark. I sailed in the dark near Vancouver, but there were so many lights that "dark" is only a comparative term. Here it will be ghostly, and it is. The land disappears into the sky, into the water. and now there is only the horizontal constellation of buoys, lighthouses, and ferries that are grids of lights, like skyscrapers, chunks of cities on the water.
I round the point in good time, and decide not to go into the first harbor. People are in Ganges, not Long Harbor. I'll got to Ganges. I fix my sites on a green light that flashes GREEN-GREEN...GREEN. I pass Long Harbor faster than I expected, and I don't notice that I pass it on little wind. I am struggling with the sails and the wind is dead. This was supposed to be the easiest leg of the trip. The southerly wind that I had fought the whole day would blaze me into the harbor and I'd be ashore in time to get a beer. No. I am going backwards and sideways. There is no wind. I go below deck to check the currents. They are flowing out, towards GREEN GREEN...GREEN. Check the chart. The green is Hoarda Shoals. I point the boat against the current and hope, rather calmly. The GPS has a little battery, and it says I am not moving. Check the charts again, and see that the currents are not with me for five hours. I stand behind the hunchback of the boat before I decide I am really not moving, and I go below and make a sandwich. I stand for another forty five minutes, then another sandwich. Hours pass, and I have beers, hot tea, and a fire about fifty yards from the shoals. Then I drift forward. I drop anchor and sleep.
The battery is kicked. I used the running lights all night, and it is kicked. Why didn't I bring the generator? I get dressed and see I am out of socks. Derk offered me socks and a generator, and I took neither. I have no clue why. I need to charge the battery. If you leave it dead for a while, it will be useless when you get back. I could sneak onto a dock, but how can I sneak a boat? I could take the battery out, but that's idiotic. Where would I charge it? I open the battery box and lift it. Hell, that's heavy. I don't wanna carry this. And I don't really know how this whole system works. I'm gonna mess it up. No. No this is gonna be fun. Today is a sailing day, and this is my job for the day: charge this battery. I take my rusty wrench and bang it on the seat to loosen the rust. I pry it open with a screwdriver, and fit it around the nuts on the battery. The battery is loose, and I feel like a surgeon. The precious, volatile heart of the boat is on the seat with me. I empty my luggage bag, and carefully slip the battery and charger into it. I almost drop it in the ocean. I row to shore with my laundry and my bag, and in the bag, a battery, and the battery is somehow mischievous.
Charging things in public places has an etiquette. Charging a laptop in a coffee shop is nothing extraordinary. People look when I set up my computer, phone, and radio in a long line of wires. This will be my best, and definitely outside of etiquette. I get to the laundromat and start my laundry. Without fully opening the bag, I connect the clamps. Black to negative, red to positive. The charger lights up, and I press a few buttons. A woman complains about the music. I am quiet, but I try not to be too quiet. "It IS Christmas."
"This isn't christmas music. Christmas isn't even what most people think it is. I don't celebrate it." Says the woman.
She tells me that every religion is a lie. I tell her I don't think anyone got it right yet, but that each religion seems to have some good and bad. She says that she stopped being religious, and now she is free. She asks me how long I've been here.
"I just dropped anchor last night."
She is impressed, and I indulge in the pride as she says it is very dangerous to be sailing in winter. I say that I sailed the Straight if Georgia.
"Oh, well! Let me ask you: You sailed the straight in a motorless CAL 25, do you believe in god?"
"Well, hmmm...There was....I found myself calling out to something. I don' think I thought it was there, but it felt good to call up to it. There is something unspeakable out there, and all around us." A safe answer, I thought, by all accounts.
We talk more about christmas. She says that it was always a let down,and now she doesn't celebrate. I say I am Jewish, and that christmas meant chinese food and movies.
"Oh my! You're half? Like on your mother's side?"
"No, both sides."
"OH! And you think you just survived the Straight? God is gonna tell you something. God is trying to show you something. It's just to wild for me to see you here, because, you'know, you're- God chose the jews. God did all kinds of things for them. They are his chosen people. In egypt? He hasn't done things like that for any other people. Not the Scottish, not the French. He loves them. That's why everyone hates them. I hope you are terrorized the whole time. So that God can show you. He loves and is kind. He's gonna terrorize and show you. Wait til I tell my husband. What's your name?"
"David."
The woman almost drops her laundry. "Ha! Well! God is-David...That's quite the name! God is gonna show you. He's gonna say, "David, you're one of the chosen! Go on! God needs you to do what he chose you people for! You're in trouble now. You're gonna be in my prayers. What a name. They call him the God of Israel, you know?"
"Yeah."
"He's gonna take you out there and show you something. He wants you to see it. You can ask him for it. Ask god to prove himself to you. I'm gonna pray for that, that god shows himself to you."
In my mind, I don't want to be terrorized, and I don't really want to be driven to religion, but I'd not pass up the chance to have god reveal himself to me.
I look down into my back and a red light is blinking on the charger. The battery is full. I thank the woman, whose name is "Dee". She laughs about my name and the spectacle of my blood and the building of the third temple in Jerusalem as she leaves the laundromat.
I bundle up the battery, and sneak off the land with it. I replace it, and check it. I am proud, and I have tended well to this boat, this beast. I work slow, though, and try to remember when it was first for me that being Jewish was even worth noting.
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