just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale
a tale of a fateful trip
that started from the lake side cliffs
aboard this tiny ship.
The lake is very, very low. This makes all the landmarks appear different. The cliffs are higher, the coves are shallower, the docks are shifted. This is our excuse anyway.
For years we had a cabin in a perfectly secluded cove past Buzzard’s Roost Marina. Before Buzzard’s Roost was a full service marina. We KNOW where Buzzard’s Roost is located on the lake. It’s a familiar spot we can find as easily as driving to Newcomb’s in Osceola.
After a morning of jumping from the cliffs, we boated over to Buzzard’s Roost for gas and ice. Just a short ride around a few coves. The sky was partly sunny. It was hot. Beautiful perfect long-awaited lake day.
Tate was a mighty sailing man,
Nana crazy for sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour, a three hour tour.
Approaching the marina the sign prominently displayed in front said Blue Heaven Resort. WHAT? Suddenly the marina was moved or sold or renamed? Or we were lost? Surely not, but there were no gas pumps to be found. The buzzards circling overhead clearly identified we were in the correct place, or else they too were confused.
Maybe the buzzards follow us due to the condition of our boat and the smell of our skin sizzling?
Slowly trolling while discussing this strange development and scanning the docks for pumps, Ms. Stalya came to a complete abrupt stop, as if we had hit rock bottom jolting the prop. And then she wouldn’t start. No sound. Rude silence. No ice. No water. Buzzards.
A quick inspection of the motor revealed the ski rope harness had somehow become tangled in the motor, wrapping it tightly until choking it off. The harness, made of coated thick wire, would not budge. And then, like a scene manufactured in the unnatural Hunger Games arena, a small black cloud appeared only over us. It instantly burst open pelting us with rain. Driving hard stinging rain, seemingly out of nowhere, drenching everything in the boat.
the weather started getting rough,
the tiny ship was tossed,
if not for the courage of the fearless crew
the Stalya would be lost, the Stalya would be lost.
Just as suddenly, Nana was wearing her purple flowered retro swim cap rendering everyone hysterical but keeping her hair dry. And we knew we would survive.
Surprisingly, we managed to untangle the rope harness from the motor, the boat miraculously started….again, the rain disappeared as quickly as it popped up, and we got the hell out of Blue Heaven cove.
This was day one.
Skipper: Gilligan, why don’t you stop that. You don’t know anything about space.
Gilligan: I know one thing about it. You take up more of it than I do.
|The Ms. Stalya and her namesakes
in MUCH younger days…
Wow. Look how brown you girls were. 🙂 There’d probably be an intervention now if you did that.
Strength in numbers! This sounds like something that would have happened to us back in our boating days! LOL!
Linda Nash Dickinson says
Talya when I read the title I just assumed you had visited Hotel California. After reading your blog I realized you were just on the outskirts of the hotel. I have gone back and read all your blogs. I love what you write and look forward to reading the next one.
Thanks for the laughs.