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A Princess Visits Shack


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Here is a little story that I wrote about 15 years ago. It was originally published in 'Messing About in Boats' magazine. I've re-submitted it in the hopes that Bob will re-run it.

 

                                                       A PRINCESS VISITS “SHACK”

  Hey y’all. Here’s a little tale from back in the days when Princess and I were still together. I guess I’d better explain that since that time, the original Princess and I parted company. There have been two more Princesses---call them Princess 2 and Princess 3. And now my current love is Summer Breeze, but that’s another story. I wrote this soon during one of our first cruises together. It was previously printed in Messing About in Boats, but I’m sure y’all have forgotten all about it and may want to read it again. I guess if you are still with me, then Bob must agree, so, here we go…

  It is a cool summer evening as I lie in the cockpit of my seventeen foot catboat Princess, watching the masthead scribing fanciful figures across the evening sky. A squadron of pelicans glides overhead like a flight of WWII bombers setting off across the English Channel on a nighttime raid, while nearby a group of seagulls dogfight over some tasty morsel. A short time ago, a loggerhead sea turtle surfaced several times nearby, looking for all the world like some pre-historic creature from the deep. We are anchored for the night behind a wooded section of Shackleford Island, one of three islands on the North Carolina coast that are set aside as a national park.

  On shore is a panorama that must look much like it did before the white man came to inhabit these islands. Even today, with the crowded mainland so near, it is hard to understand why more sailors do not visit here. The only sailboat that I have seen all day is a Seapearl 21 that was about a mile down the beach.

  Not far down the island, a small herd of wild horses graze across the salt marsh, while shore birds wade through the shallows and flap their wings lazily in the salt and wind stunted trees. The ancestors of these horses probably swam ashore from shipwrecks as early as the sixteenth century. They have been here so long that they have developed into their own sub-species. Their bodies have adapted to the salt in the environment, and they can no longer live without it.

  Every now and then, the national park service has a round up to thin out the herd so that the ones that are left will have a better chance for survival. Those that are taken to the mainland are offered for adoption. A large percentage of them are found to be infected with equine infectious anemia and have to be euthanized.

Enough about the horses. Let’s get back to admiring the scenery around us. Far to the west, the sun is about to extinguish himself behind Atlantic Beach. I have read that just as the red face of the sun disappears below the horizon, by some trick of nature a green flash appears for a split second. I will watch carefully and see if it happens

  A lonely runabout goes by on it’s way home from a day spent fishing and swimming a little further down the coast near the dock. My baby sways gently to the rhythm of the wake as it rolls under her belly. It has been many years since I spent an idyllic evening like this in paradise. Princess brought me back to the dream after the doldrums of ten years spent in the mountains of North Carolina. I have to admit that it is beautiful up there, but to an old Florida beach bum like me, with salt water in my veins, nothing can compare with the ocean, or more accurately, with the narrow strip separating land and sea.

and through the cabin. It is going to be a comfortable night for sleeping.

  Mr. Sun is about to do his disappearing act at the end of a sparkling runway stretching all the way from his bedroom to mine. Going…going…gone! Beautiful, but no green flash. God’s host of heavenly lights begin to illuminate the sky. Twinkling points of light begin to appear on the distant shore of Harker’s Island. Funny thing, but the stars appear seem to be closer than the lights nearer by. But now it is time for me and my girl to perform our nightly ablutions, as the voice of Garrison Keillor drones softly out of the radio about a day in Lake Wobegone. What a fitting end to a day spent sailing the pristine water of Core Sound. Princess gently reminds me that it is getting too dark to write any longer, so, goodnight for now. And may God bless.

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It's been a while since I logged on and with the cold winter wind blowing around the house tonight your very well done visualization of an evening at anchor behind the island is just what I needed.  Any more stories you're ready to share?  We are going to have a lot more cold nights to get through up here in Michigan before warm evenings are a reality again.

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