Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Alas Poor Yorrick

Possibly the last picture of poor Yorrick
irritant, friend, reliable dross horse

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio,
a fellow of infinite
jest, of most excellent fancy.
He hath bore me on his back a
thousand times,
and now how abhorr'd in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it.
(Hamlet of course)

Meredith is hauled and on the hard in Beaufort, NC. The mechanic looks at the engine this week and will advise as to whether he can fix our ailing diesel in situ or whether the powerplant must be removed for repair. If the latter I fear the costs of repair will be so high that repowering will be a less expensive option.

LESS expensive, not inexpensive.

Crew are sitting at home in London, ON where they distract themselves bycleaning and fixing the family residence. The kids term our activities as "interfer
ence" but we have convinced ourselves that they are overreacting. Of course we are merely reacting.

Enroute to Beaufort we were able to anchor in the Wac
camaw River in South Carolina, an experience recommended to all who traverse the ICW.

You find yourself in a scene from African Queen, riverbanks hidden with lush growth, the air filled with the screams and calls of all manner of unseen bird and animal.

That evening while sitting in the cockpit watching dark fall, Connie and I were surprised by a violent shaking of brush on the nearby riverbank.

The food chain at work we supposed.

The commotion went on for a long time and our admiration and sympathy for the poor victim grew. Something did not want to be food and was resisting with vigour. Unable to see what was going on we made some noise hoping to lend aid to the unfortunate yet heroic menu item.

Imagine our surprise when, after another 15 minutes of
rustling brush and violent shaking of small bushes on the riverbank there emerged from the same brush a small skiff. It entered the river not 50 feet from where we were anchored.

A young couple in the skiff was engaged in the futile exercise of not noticing or being noticed by us: he engaged futilely in an effort to get the outboard to catch, she brushing leaves and soil from the back of her sweater (which is really hard to do while still wearing the sweater).

Both were flustered: the outboard would not catch, the sweater became smeared with dirt and tiny bits of dried leaves.

Apparently it had been human nature we witnessed at work, not mother nature.

So occupied with not noticing Meredith was the crew of the skiff that they failed to notice the skiff was being carried by the current directly into the hull of Meredith where it landed with a thud.

Apoplexy ruled the skiff.

As we started to offer assistance Connie and I broke into giggles. It proved infectious and we had a brief but pleasant discussion. The outboard caught and the flagrant delictors escaped leaving only their youthful pride in their wake.

With that kind of action who needs pride?

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