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Sometimes I worry that I’ll not have anything to write about. Each morning, when I wake up and start typing, my musings and moanings threaten to sink into a sea of utter dullness. A bit like yesterday. But then something happens to change everything. A bit like today.
We had planned to go out in The Bob today. Mirinda wanted to head out later than normal. She wanted to watch the sun set over the Baltic and return in the almost dark. We thought it wise to wait for the thunder and lightning to stop as well.
Storms had been predicted all day and, in a period of unusual accuracy, it all happened after lunch. The sky burst, crackled and popped and the rain fell.
It had been another warm morning and you’d think that the rain would have cooled things down a bit but rather than a bit of welcome cold, the humidity set in reminding me of the many sweat filled, after rain days I spent visiting my parents in Queensland.
After dinner, with the day still muggy and decidedly unpleasant, it was with great relief that we headed down to the boat. As we slowly headed out of the dock and into the archipelago, the cool breeze created by our movement over the water, felt wonderful; comfort at last.
And the day started leaving.
Putt-putting along, almost alone on the water, we headed down towards Stensund. Mirinda was set on surprising me with a trip as far as Tullgarns slott, a place I’d not yet seen from the water. And a place I have still not seen from the water.
Just before we rounded the last headland before the bay of the grand house, disaster struck.
We were travelling at an almost top speed of 20 knots when the engine gave a loud bang, the screw stopped spinning and clouds of smoke erupted from the outboard motor. We were suddenly stranded between bits of land in a world dominated by 15 metre deep water.
All was quiet as we debated what to do. Eventually, it was decided that I would row towards land. A small boat shed with a dock looked like a good option. I retrieved our single oar and started punting towards it, happy that there were no tides to row against. As it turned out, we never made it to the shed.
Mind you, it was a good work out that made me realise why we only have a single oar. The Bob isn’t the kind of boat that can utilise the benefits of real rowing.
Then, Mirinda managed to contact Stefan, a man with a big boat who was willing to come and rescue us. He asked where she had got his number and, when she said through Roger, he asked which Roger? There was some confusion over this because Mirinda couldn’t remember Roger’s surname. Listening from the bow, I was a tad concerned he was going to ignore our plight and I’d have to keep rowing for hours.
But no. Stefan arrived half an hour later.
After a bit of extra quizzing about which Roger, and Mirinda’s frantic listing of every relative he had, our rescuer finally handed me a twinned rope to attach to our bow and he proceeded to tow us back to Trosa Harbour.
We asked to be dropped at the boat shed where The Bob had spent the winter, for the simple reason that they had serviced the motor and claimed it was all good. And, sure, it was, for three trips. Maybe that’s as far as the warranty on service goes. I don’t know but I sure am glad it didn’t happen when we were out at Kråmö the other day.
Arriving at the boat shed, we tied up. It would be a long walk back to the car and Mirinda had worn crocs rather than proper walk worthy shoes so it was not a happy prospect. Then, while she and Stefan were settling our sizeable rescue bill, I spotted Roger on the opposite bank, waving with a big grin on his face.
I told her she didn’t have to worry about walking now. There was a lot of relief in her return wave.
And so, we managed to get home at around midnight following our sunset tour. And what about the sunset? Was it worth it? Hell, yeah.
Mind you, I could have done without all the rowing.
