Family Camping

We had a great time at the 2009 family camping trip. I spent most of the time on the lake, either surviving disasters or manufacturing them. Saturday morning we did our best to sink a paddle boat. Afterward my cousin Ben and I went to war with my brother and my cousin Kristofor. I lost my first mate in our prolonged sea battle but also managed to feed Jason to the fishes when he attempted to board my vessel. Our craft proved superior and Kristofor was stranded in his sinking vessel among the breakers. I should have let him drift but I went to rescue him and we both ended up almost running into some boats on the shore. All in all, we considered the affair a successful creation of peril.

That afternoon the wind settled down so my dad and I went out in the sailboat. We were bored out of our skulls, it was so calm. After about 15 minutes, though, the wind started to pick up some and we finally had a respectable wake. We cruised down the lake with ever-increasing speed. The boat went up on its side a couple of times, adding that touch of danger that makes the sport fun. Then the wind really started to blow. Rather than holding the mainsail in for maximum speed, Dad started to bleed off air. Our definition of fun stops significantly short of putting the sail under the water! Still, we weren't all that concerned. We've been stupid enough to be out in worse weather. We turned around and started back home. By now the waves were producing white caps and the wind was really whipping. Dad was holding the mainsail almost full out and we were still blowing along at a ferocious clip and hanging over the side of the boat to keep it balanced during the gusts. I was completely soaked from the water blasts coming over the bow, and loving it. Then we attempted to go with the wind, a transition that can be rather tricky. As usual, the jib sail didn't want to switch sides. As I fought with it, dad got distracted for a second from what he was supposed to be doing with the tiller and the mainsail. A wave caught us wrong, or the wind caught us wrong, or both, and next thing I knew dad was overboard. I was left in the boat with both sails flapping wildly in the wind, the lines all tangled up, the tiller floating listlessly back and forth, and the waves hitting me broadside. I managed to grab the tiller and get my nose pointed into the wind. This maneuver is supposed to effectively stop the work of the sails. It didn't. The wind was too strong. It kept grabbing the sails and swinging the boat around again, broadside to the waves. I tried to haul in the mainsail line hand-over-fist, but that didn't help. I quickly saw that I was drifting away from dad much faster than he could swim, especially with a life jacket. So I turned the boat around (or rather, let it turn itself) and did my best to go with the wind. This allowed me to let go of the tiller for a couple of seconds and take down the sails. That done, all I could do was let the wind blow me into shore. I got tangled up in the lines and almost had trouble getting out as I careened for a metal dock, but I jumped out in time and dragged the boat to stop. I had bailed about half the water out of the boat when dad finally swam up. With the lines tangled all the way up the mast and no good beach to get them straightened out, sailing wasn't an attractive option. Plus, we were both now significantly scared of sailing in those conditions. So we each grabbed an end of the boat and started swimming. About 15 minutes later we came to a flat spot where we could set up a boat and we revisited the possibility of sailing home. However, the wind was blowing strongly in to the shore, which was lined with expensive boats. If we made any mistakes we would probably end up smashing into one of them. Also, I was getting really cold. I was not excited about getting out of the warm water to stand in the cold air while we untangled the mess on the mast. So, we just kept swimming. I told dad that my triathlon training had officially begun. Finally, after probably at least a third of a mile of swimming, we got back to the dock and were welcomed onto dry land once more.
That night we engaged in much more unexciting activities like Chinese checkers.
It was time to go to bed but instead we made ghetto s'mores over the stove because it was still too windy for a fire, and then a spontaneous worship service broke out. It was wonderful!