My last summer at the lake (Part 2 of 4)

Jack Benjamin | Aug 19, 2010

Summer fiction by Jack Benjamin
Summer of '67: The Boat Ride (Part 2 of 4)

There was some sort of party going on at the cottage. I think it was just a small one, some neighbours from across the lake were over and both my parents were up so it must have been a Saturday afternoon. Everyone was over at our cottage for a change, drinking.

The women were gathered in the kitchen around the dips, and the men were on the dock, talking politics and fishing.

“C'mon, Danny boy, let's go now,” Phil whispered.

He was 11, I was 10, and although we were sometimes allowed to go out in the boat alone, we wouldn't be allowed to leave during a party, even though it was a hot afternoon and the lake was still.

The boat was nestled in the reeds, a distance from the dock, where we had pushed it earlier in the day, hoping for just this kind of opportunity.

We quietly slid it into the water. Phil was on the oars and I was on lookout. One of the men, I think it was Bob Pilkington, turned and stared right at us.

“Watch out,” I said to Phil, “I think Mr. Pilk sees us.”

“Quiet,” Phil said, “watch what he does.”

Pilk was staring right at us as if we weren't there. I kept my eyes fixed on his face, waiting for him to react, but after a minute he turned for the rest of his gin and tonic, and stared out into the middle of the lake.

Now, all we had to do was pick up Gracie and head off.

Gracie was 12, but she was only my size. Phil, although only a year older than me, was a lot taller, almost 5 inches taller.

He played the captain and I played the secret agent. I was responsible for transporting Gracie, the heir to the throne, across the sea and around the rebel fortress, to the secret hideout where her own army was waiting to attack the rebels and release the prisoners. Only then would Gracie reveal herself as the rightful queen.

We had been developing this adventure all summer. It involved hugging the shoreline at times, avoiding being seen by anyone, so avoiding all docks and cottages where possible and having Gracie duck out of sight whenever someone could see us from shore, stopping at a few strategic spots and gathering sticks and rocks as weapons, and finally slipping through the passage to Crow Lake and traversing the shoreline on the north side of Crow Lake to a farmer's field. We would then tie the boat to an overhanging tree limb in a hidden bay, and make our way through the shallow water to the shoreline at the edge of same pasture land. At the hideout we would get into position, and on my mark (as the agent I had a certain amount of authority on land while the captain ruled the seas) we would charge across the field back towards the lake.

Maybe it was because we had snuck off, because nobody knew where we were, or because the summer was almost over, but the adventure had a magical quality on this day. We lay in a row on the shore afterwards, eating sour early Macs and soaking up the sun.

The sky started to darken to the west, covering the sun.

“We'd better get right back,” Phil said.

Phil and I jumped into the boat

“Why, you scared of getting caught?” said Gracie, teasing us as she lazily climbed in.

“Let's go,” Phil and I said, in unison. “It looks like rain.”

I took one oar and Phil the other. We made pretty good time until we had to leave the shoreline and cross the open water to reach the channel quickly. Following the shore was slow and meant avoiding rocks. If we could make the channel before the weather hit we would be home free.

“Can't you row harder,” Phil said, as he kept having to miss strokes so I could right the boat.

“I can't help it,” I grunted, as I pushed harder and harder, “the wind”.

The wind was pushing the boat in my direction towards the middle of Crow Lake. Although I was better coordinated, Phil was stronger.

“Let's switch sides,” he said, with a glance towards Gracie.

“I'll be ok,” I said, straining to keep up.

But I couldn't keep up. The wind was getting even stronger and Phil had also picked up his pace a bit.

I nodded to him and he slid over to my side as I ducked out of my seat and crawled around to the other side.

We knew how to do this, or else the wind would have blown the boat over for sure.

With both of us rowing hard we began to head in the right direction. We had to get closer to shore, but soon the boat started drifting towards the open water again.

Gracie grabbed the spare paddle and she started paddling on Phil's side at the bow, but we were now moving as much to the centre of the lake as we were towards the channel.

“Stop rowing,” Phil yelled at me. “Get to the stern and use the oar as a paddle on my side.”

“But our weight,” I yelled back.

“Be careful about it,” he yelled, “don't tip us.”

I pulled the oar out of its mooring, and slowly crossed over to the other side.

There had been thunder in the distance for a while, and the lightning started up. Ten, eight, six seconds before the thunder – I couldn't help counting. The rain had started but it was very light.

Then the rain hit in earnest, and with it a gust lifted the empty side of the boat into the air.

I lost my paddle oar as we all leapt over to the other side of the boat to keep it from capsizing.

We were straddling the boat to keep it upright, soaking wet now, not even trying to row or paddle as it rocked further and further away from the channel.

“My oar is gone,” I said.

We all turned to see where it had gone, and at that moment the whitecaps smashed into the side of the boat and it was in the air, sweeping us upside down as it flipped over.

I could see the boat twisting over my head, and just as I felt the water, wham, the gunnel hit my jaw.

I blacked out.

I don't know how long I was out for, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. When I came to, I was under water. Pain in my jaw was the first thing I felt. I had to get to the surface to get air but I didn't know which way was up. I felt something at my back. It was a hand grabbing my shirt. Phil pulled me up towards the surface. I started kicking and he pulled. I hit the surface and sucked in a breath. He looked at me. I still remember that look.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Gracie? Ow,” I said, feeling a sharp pain in my jaw as I opened my mouth. I put my hand to it and didn't feel any blood, but it was very sore.

We turned and saw the boat behind us.

“Gracie,” Phil yelled as we both looked all around us.

“Maybe she's on the other side,” he shouted. “Can you swim?”

I took in a few breaths, and found I could breathe without hurting my jaw. I nodded, not wanting to feel the pain from trying to speak.

We swam over to the boat, and around to the other side. One oar was there but no Gracie.

I looked over to Phil. There was panic in his eyes. The rain was pelting down.

“Gracie,” I yelled as loud as I could, and the pain hit my jaw.

A head popped up next to the boat.

“Come on under the boat,” Gracie called out.

I don't know what I looked like at that moment, but the tears were streaming down Phil's face. My eyes were stinging as well.

We swam over to the boat, and hung on for a minute before swimming underneath.

It was calm there.

We looked at each other and at the floor of the boat overhead. I still remember that moment. It was then that I knew how beautiful Gracie was.

Although we were still in danger, I felt calm.

Sure enough, within minutes, a boat approached.

“I saw your boat flip over. Are you all ok?”

It was Scott Beechamp, the hired man from the farm. None of us had ever heard him talk.

“Ya,” we all said.

“You shouldn't be out in this,” he said.

We all sprung into action, pushing the boat up over his boat. He flipped it over, and slipped it back into the water. He tied it to the back of his boat and helped us into the motor boat.

We retrieved one of the oars. The rain started to let up.

We told him we were coming from Bobs Lake, and he said he would take us back. We asked him to take us to Gracie's dock, and he said ok.

We figured that we were in for it when we got back, that everybody had been looking for us. But we were wrong. We got to the house just as the rain stopped and the sun poked through the clouds.

“There you are,” my mother said, her face flushed with alcohol. “Did you bring the ice from the marina?”

“No,” Phil said, puzzled, “but … we'll go back and get it.”

“Can we have some money for candy?” I asked.

My dad stumbled up from his stool, and some of the men laughed, which might have made him angry but on this day it made him laugh. He handed me a dollar bill.

“Have yourselves a party,” he said.

We bought 200 pieces of ½ penny candy, and shared them equally, 66 and two thirds for each of us.

(Next week – Leaving the lake)