Dad's dinghy

A memory - triggered by this image supplied by Tess for Magpie Tales.


We - Husband, our two young children and I - were holidaying on Waiheke Island, an island in the Hauraki Gulf, a forty minute ferry ride away, and back then also a life-style away, from downtown Auckland. We left our car at home, bused to Auckland then took the ferry over to the island. Leaving the car at home was an adventure, it meant a holiday where we would walk everywhere apart from the occasional island bus ride. We had been there for a few days when my parents sailed over in their catamaran to visit us.

Mum and Dad moored at Blackpool and we had spent an afternoon with them when they invited the children to stay the night; this was very exciting for our kids as they liked nothing more than to snuggle up on the narrow berths, with Nana and Grandad sleeping nearby, feeling the rise and fall of the boat as it moved with the sea, and to hear the creaks and groans of the yacht and the clanking of the ropes and metal fittings on the masts. For Husband and I the kids staying the night with Nana and Grandad meant we had to go back to our cottage to get overnight things for them.

As we climbed into the dinghy to row ashore Dad told us that we would need to leave the dinghy high up on the beach as the tide was turning and, being a very shallow beach, the sea would come a long way in. We were dragging the old heavy wooden dinghy up the beach when Husband decided that we had pulled it far enough. I tried to explain to him that Dad wanted us to take it further up the beach than that, but no, Husband said that the sea would never come up that far and the dinghy could be quite safely left there. So off we set to get the children's things. It took us quite a while to walk up and over the hill to our cottage in Oneroa on the other side of the island, gather a few things together, then back to Blackpool.

Unknown to us, about half an hour after we had left, Mum and Dad were enjoying a cup of tea and our children were exploring the tiny cabin and deciding which bunk they would sleep in when Dad noticed his dinghy floating past them, seemingly on it's way out to sea. There was a mad scramble as Mum and Dad had to up anchor and chase after the dinghy; when they caught up with it Dad had to jump overboard and swim to the dinghy (luckily the oars were still in it) get in and row to shore then pull the dinghy way up the beach to where we should have left it. This left Mum and the children on the yacht; Mum had to maneuver the yacht around and take it as close to shore as she could, being very careful not to become grounded in the shallow waters, so Dad could swim out and climb back on board. They then took the catamaran out to deeper water where it was safe to moor. Dad, not being a strong swimmer, was quite exhausted after this and collapsed on his bunk to try and get his breath back.

The whole time Husband and I were away I worried out loud about the dinghy only to be told by Husband that all would be well. When we got back to Blackpool we found the dinghy safe and sound, high above the waterline, and Husband shot me the most exaggerated I-told-you-so look.