Rumor has it that Mark is getting out on parole and will be back at the helm of Anchor Marina by the 20th. So I decided to be out of there well before that.
Discretion is the better part of valor.
Late last week, I took the decorations from the Lighted Boat Parade off of Olivia. As I worked, Dock Boy, tall boy beer can in hand, felt it necessary to catch me up on everything, especially his struggles with the Port Isabel petit bourgeois, his ongoing feud with Don. He remarked that Dons wife had put a sign up on the communal dumpster at Anchor Marina which read:
“ATTENTION DOCK BOY! NO DUMPSTER DIVING FOR
FOOD OR EMPTY CANS. GET A JOB! GO TO WORK LIKE
THE REST OF US! MOVE UP, MOVE OUT!”
“Yea, that’s what they call me, they call me Dock Boy” Dock Boy mused. “Well screw ‘em. That’s how people get pissed off and just break into a house, kick ass and then leave. They’ll find me on the dock, naked, I’ll be laying down with my hands behind my back, just to cooperate”…..his voice trailed off…..
I certainly don't want to find Olivia in the crossfire, things there are just too confrontational for my taste, and besides, Anchor Marina is crumbling into the harbor, much like Poe’s Fall of the House of Usher.
Dock Boy continued: “I was standing on the dock over there (nodding to the other side of the Marina, around the point), when Bob came up to me and when he did, the whole dock just broke off……I jumped just in time” he said motioning towards his new white tennis shoes, now sliced to ribbons.
“Jumped before I got torn up on those mussels on the piling. They’re BAD.”
I just nodded in agreement.
“Those mussels are real bad…..I got all cut up on them”. He showed me his hands which had also been shredded by the razor sharp oysters encrusting the pilings along the Marina.
I made mention of the fact that they were oysters, Crassostrea virginicus not mussels, Mytilus edulis, or even Perna perna, and that they are in fact, good eating if collected in areas like South Bay, or out in the open bay where pollution is minimal. He seemed fascinated by this fact, launching into a long diatribe concerning his culinary expertise.
“Yep, there’s only two things in life that really matter.”
“What’s that?” I inquired.
“Comfortable shoes and a varied diet.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that?
Friday I moved Olivia from her current location at Anchor Marina to a much quieter slip next to Wind Fit. I wrote about Wind Fit last summer. During that time though, Night Magic was moored alongside. When the channel silted in so much that Rocky couldn’t force his four and a half foot draft past the treacherous bar, he moved to Southpoint. When Doug offered me the slip, I decided to take him up on it.
The property is beautifully landscaped, lush and tropical. It is also located quite near the outlet to the fingers, so the current is pretty strong on the ebb and flow, and there isn’t a great deal of protection from the severe north winds that howl during this time of the year with the passage of cold fronts, or during the summer when tropical weather shifts the prevailing wind to the northeast. Then it comes in off of the bay like a freight train, roaring past the McAfee house bearing right down on this corner.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever get this docking stuff down like Captain Ron does.
I hand not checked the tide chart when I came charging west Friday after work, past Dock Boy and his floating turd world condominium, past derelict vessels on both sides of the channel, past Jupiter, finally cutting the throttle east of the Towboats R’ Us chingaso next door to Wind Fit.
Nosing ‘Div to the south, the current caught her stern as we just kept gliding towards the outlet.
No problem, I came around again from upcurrent.
Again, the same results. When will I learn? If ever. My faithful crew informed me that maybe it would be best to make the approach against the current (and, of course, I knew this….), and on the third try I rammed it into the comfortably wide slip and we tied off.
Saturday afternoon as predicted, we were treated to another gale force cold front, this one slamming us from the northwest. The twins danced Folklorico at the Island Christmas Parade, and afterward I figured it would be prudent to check on Olivia, see how she was riding in the blow. Driving up Yturria street, so that I could glance at her across the channel, I was shocked to see her bucking violently in the forty plus mile an hour winds, riding about a three foot storm swell right there in the supposed protection of the fingers. I headed over to her new mooring, and added two more dock lines to the bow and another on the stern, before convincing myself that all would be well.
Sunday the blow had diminished, and I met Doug over at the boats to get a check ride on the property, locks and particulars. ‘Div had weathered the storm well. I am however going to add snubbers to the lines in anticipation of the next violent storm, due later this week.
The dredge is finally here. The diminutive barge began work on Friday before the cold front arrived, but apparently the operators neglected to bring it into the shelter of the fingers when the gale hit, and yesterday it appeared rather low on the starboard stern, as if ahhhhem, sinking.
It hasn’t moved today either. It's sitting right on top of the treacherous bar, and if it sinks there....nobody is gonna get in or out.....
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