Shipwrecks make good stories about bad things. And they don’t just happen to others. They can happen to any of us. With most shipwrecks there’s a lesson to be learned. In some, the only lesson is that the sea is master or that stuff happens no matter how hard you try to keep it from happening. With others, it’s that there are too many people on the water that shouldn’t be there. And then there are plenty in between.
The day Mel got 3M 5200 in her hair wasn’t a good day. Bad hair day, yes, but I’m not talking about bad hair days. I’m talking about bad boating days, the kind that have nothing to do with the weather or even paying the boat bills. They’re what almost always happens when you take on any boat job to make things “better.”
I have always loved living on a boat because my “castle” is surrounded by a “moat.” But rats can swim.
It’s not unusual to be talking with someone at a social gathering and have them ask, with wide eyes, “But aren’t you afraid of pirates?”
Usually this happens after someone has pointed to me, whispering something like “that’s that weird guy who’s lived on his boat most of his life.”
Seven people were aboard. Five made it out with injuries. Two were trapped in their stateroom. Luxurious by most of our standards, the stateroom had no escape hatch.
If you’re familiar with the various East Coast intracoastal waterways, you’re familiar with the magenta line. It’s been snaking around for many years on charts of various areas to (hopefully) show us where to go. And it’s been very helpful to many of us, although less so recently.
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