Row, Row, Row Your Boat

We have a new dinghy. If you read about my misadventures last year, you know that I view dinghies in much the same way that Mark Twain viewed horses; they are an invention of the devil bent on the destruction of man one at a time. If the water weren’t so cold, I think I’d rather swim ashore, but it’s hard to swim back with a load of groceries.

Now being on the water, I frequently see Mainers in their boats. They hop about on them like they’re moving about in the bed of a parked pickup truck. I’m convinced that every one of them has sold his soul to Satan in exchange for the ability to do this. It’s just not natural.

Once, in Burnt Coat Harbor, I saw six adults in a tiny skiff with an outboard motor going along. The poor thing was so heavily laden that it didn’t have two inches of freeboard, AND THE BLOODY DRIVER WAS STANDING UP AS THEY WENT. I should point out that almost all Maine boatmen stand up to steer. They claim they can see better this way. I still think that when their seven years of being able to do this is up, Old Nick will show up and take each and every one of them away.

Meanwhile, back to our dinghy.

We’re trying to get comfortable with it, but it isn’t easy. It keeps moving about in unexpected ways like and unbroken horse. I know it’s plotting some outrage.

Today, Kathy climbed in and went rowing about. She didn’t feel very comfortable doing this. Of course, it’s partly due to the oars. Every small inflatable boat comes with two oars. It’s also true that every new Chevy comes with a functional jack with which to change the tire. Sure it does. Like that jack, these oars are not intended to be really used. They’re just for show. Zodiac expects the owner to have an outboard motor. Chevy expects you to join AAA.

After she’d had a bit of fun, she had me climb on too so she could see if it was better off with two people in it. Well, it wasn’t. It just made our mistakes happen more slowly.

Part of the problem is me. I know that everyone who has one of these things has the passengers sit on the sides, but I just KNOW that if I do, sure as hell, my ass in going to be in the water. We have to work on this - preferably in quiet harbors where nobody we know can see us.

Meantime, we take it along with us and I keep finding notes taped to it offering to fix it so that I too can be graceful in my dinghy for the next seven years in exchange for only a very minor consideration.