Daddy, LOOK!

To start off, It's important to note that Quinn has been an exceptionally well behaved little boy on Mirasol. Of course we've had all the usual three and four year old antics, but when it comes to being a little sailor, I couldn't ask for more. He's fearless, smart, doesn't complain and always makes me proud when it counts.

But as for the 4 year old antics... well... Yesterday he decided it was time to ignore the DON'T PLAY WITH THE DINGY LINE edict, with unpleasant repercussions for Daddy.

Yesterday afternoon Jen "suggested" that I replenish our water supply. Hauling water wasn't way up there on my list of things to do that afternoon (loafing was a strong contender), but as the water tanks were both reading empty and we all needed a shower, I decided she had a good point. As noted in a previous post, we can't use our watermaker as the water here in the lagoon is a little gross. Or maybe a lot gross...

So, I loaded the four 5-gallon water jugs into the dingy and headed for shore. Mirasol holds 80 gallons of water so I had a few trips ahead of me. It's a fun process. Motor to shore in the dingy, unload the water jugs, walk up to the gas station office, pay for the water (20 cents/gallon) and retrieve the key to the water faucet lock. Fill the jugs and haul them back to the dock. Return the key to the office. Load the jugs into the dingy, cursing the engineer responsible for two of the jugs as he designed the caps to pop off and bounce out of the dingy at the slightest touch. Motor back to the boat. Haul the jugs up on deck and fill the tanks, jug by jug. Repeat, usually with a beer mixed in there somewhere. Tedious, but not too tough. Especially if the beer is cold and the harbor isn't too choppy.

After the second trip, Quinn was in the "help Daddy" mode and wanted to help with the filling of the tanks, the handling of the empty jugs, etc. What I didn't know was that he had also been helping with the dingy line while I was busy filling the tanks. As I was walking back to grab another jug off the dingy, Quinn ran up to me, grabbed my hand, pointed astern and cried DADDY, LOOK!

Much to my dismay, I saw our dingy floating about 100' behind Mirasol, and drifting quickly away in a brisk breeze. "How are we going to get it back?" cried Quinn in a panicky voice. "Were you playing with the dingy line?" I asked. "yes" he whispered, looking ashamed. I sighed, looked warily at the green nasty water we were anchored in (see last post), stripped off my shirt, dove in and chased down the errant dingy to the amusement of the other boats anchored in the vicinity.

Jen supplied me with a few shots of Tequila - one to gargle with and spit out and the other two to pickle whatever might have made it into my stomach during the swim through the choppy water. Feeling fortified, but gross, I used up some of the hard-earned water in the form of a very soapy shower. Grumbling a little, I came back on deck where Quinn gave me a big hug with a sincere "sorry Daddy". All was well.