By Andrew Evans
There are strange things done ‘neath the moon and sun
By the men who ply the waves.
Leaving wives at home they face the foam
That will blow them to their graves.
Lac Deschene has seen keen men
But the keenest it ever did see
Was the stalwart Captain of Foolish Laughter.
I know him, for that man is me.
It was the ninth month of ought one,
the day the fateful race started.
I said to the wife “Oh, it'll be fun”
As I kissed her and happily parted.
With a promise of rain I raised genny and main
And headed out of the harbour.
But the wind came up fast and struck hard at the mast
As I moved from port tack to the starboard.
“Shorten sail!” yelled the Captain, “Aye Aye!” said the Mate
“We will do whatever we can!”
But the die had been cast when the crew rushed the mast.
For the entire crew was only one man.
The genny was doused and a reef in the main
When I first grounded on that lee shore.
The impact was that of a slow moving train,
And who knew that I'd do it twice more.
I raised centre board up and the boat spun around
When I hit hard rock like a shot.
With the meter destroyed how fast could I go?
I could no longer measure a knot.
A long beat up river, under storm jib and main
I settled down to my course
I had just poured black coffee, when it started to rain.
Oh Lord, could it get any worse.
I raised number one on the down river run.
At surfing the T doesn't fail.
The sky grew quite dark when I rounded S Mark
And then came the crack of the hail.
The wind gusted up to 48 knots
And my heel reached 60 degrees.
The jib came down fast, main sheet out to the last
As I waited for much calmer seas.
Beating up the North shore, could I take any more
Of the wind and the cold and the hail?
I poured my next cup, taking time to look up
And my gaff hook slipped over the rail.
Many men have faced grief upon Blueberry Reef
And I was to join that fine crowd.
It was more like a shudder, kicking c-board and rudder
The boat moaned, but not really out loud.
Up river again as the darkness it came.
I passed boats loaded with crew.
“A great adventure!” I shouted, they laughed in return.
I still had so much left to do.
Should I have chosen to stop when the genny went “POP”
And parted two feet from the head?
I touched ground once more as I neared the South shore
Seeking shelter from the gusts that I dread.
Pure joy made me shiver racing back down that river
And the moon and the stars did appear.
It was 10:59 when I crossed the end line,
And put away all of my fear.
So what's to become of this brave, naive man.
Will my days be happy ever after?
If you come near the lake bend an ear to the West.
On a clear night in a 10 knot breeze,
You can just make out the sound,
Of Foolish Laughter.
If you'd like to contribute to Our Reader's Write section, please send your submissions to submit@sailnet.com. Thanks.
Linear Mode
