The Ferry II

I knew this’d happen too. I’m back in a line up waiting for a ferry again. Why do I do it? Why does anybody do it? Why? There has to be a reason and it can’t just be the understandable desire to wait in a lineup. There has to be more to it. This week’s column seeks to determine why people keep doing this to themselves.

Let’s start with myself. I like it here. I do, strange as it sounds. And the only way to get here is by sea or air. You can take a boat, get really brave and arrive in a canoe or kayak or you can fly. For that you will need an airplane. It would be possible to parachute into the island. I don’t know if it’s ever been done and undoubtedly there would be some legalities attached to an exploit like that.

“Gran, Gran, sky-soldiers are coming down all over Winter Cove Park! The invasion’s on!”

“Sissy phoned and they’re hitting us at East Point too! Jenna, sweetheart, run and tell Gramps the redcoats are coming! Time to saddle up!”

They never made that movie. It would have been great.

Yeah, it’s not bad here, if you can get here. In small or large doses, it depends on your preference. This island earth. We’re swirling in a vast cosmos, little understood.

For the people who live here full time the issue’s usually more about getting out of here when you need to. When’s it going to happen? I need to know so I can get in line. It’s what islands are like. It’s sort of the definition of “island”. A patch of ground, big or small, water all around deep enough to drown in.

Conversation overheard on the ferry:

“The second leg is non-stop to our island. It’s not really ours, but we think of it as ours. And the hours we’ve spent getting here, and getting away from this darn place. I didn’t mean that. I’m just feeling a little emotional this afternoon.”

“What about the first leg?”

I think the other guy was making a joke.

Because to my eternal credit, right? Me, you, I? It’s like therapy. As soon as you get out of this “darn place” as the gentleman put it, it’s almost as if you can’t wait to get back. I’m always torn. When I’m here I want to be there and when I’m there I want to be here. Everybody carries a healthy dose of neuroses.

Don’t lie to me you know it’s true. The session is concluded. You owe me $500. And then after all the fantasizing’s done what am I stuck with? A ferry. Yuck. Same one I came in on this morning. It’s okay though. Of course it’s okay. In fact it’s wonderful.

I, just as you, am a realist. I believe in fairies. It’s the only way to be when you’re waiting for one. But let’s get back to riding the ferry. Do we still “ride” the ferry. I think I sort of remember doing that. I think pretty much these days it’s “take” the ferry.

“We’re taking the ferry. Don’t try to stop us.”

That would be a good one too. A couple of desperadoes hi-jack the “Mayne Queen”. The queen is affrighted.

Taking the ferry, if practiced, can become fairly routine. But that doesn’t mean don’t be ready for surprises. Fortunately a surprise, at least recently, is quite rare. I hope it stays that way. Nobody’s died.

I had the opportunity to sail on the “Queen of Coquitlam” recently. I was curious when just a few days later it got into a dispute with it’s berth at Langdale and there was some inappropriate contact between the two. That sort of thing must be very difficult for the captain.

The “Island Sky” on my own second leg of a nostalgia-drenched excursion to Lund I thought to be a tight, well run ship. These things just happen and things change, as everyone knows.  It was probably the weather.

We do it, we ferry taking public, because we luv it. Does anybody actually think anybody’d get on a ferry if they had no hope? What if all the ferries suddenly disappeared? We’d be crushed.