The Perfect Storm :: Terrifyingly good memories from Houseboat 2003

I (Brad) used to organise, with help from Phil and the other captains, an annual houseboat trip on the Rideau Lakes in Ontario, Canada. We did houseboat trips for 6 years, from 1998 to 2003, with the smallest trip being one boat with 8 people and the largest being 5 boats with 47 people! An absolutely *wicked* annual event, but it ended with Houseboat 2003 because of rising costs for rentals, lots of friends starting families, and, well, a bit of a scare on our 6th and final trip. Here's the recap I wrote on Aug 5, 2003 -- the day after we returned:

Thanks to everyone for making this year's trip a blast and a success in many ways!

As well as post-houseboat depression, you've probably noticed the drunken feeling of imbalance and waves as you stare at your screen reading this, as you stood in the shower this morning, or as you stood taking your morning pee :) You don't have a concussion... this is normal for the first day or two back on solid ground.

Those who left Sunday afternoon missed the most memorable event in our 6 years of houseboat trips. The Perfect Storm. OK, so maybe it was rather the perfect test by Mother Nature.

On Sunday night, we sat anchored in Hawse Bay (the quiet bay just next to the bay where we had moored for two nights) enjoying a Euchre tournament and some licorice-tobacco-bong-smoking on the deck. The bong-smokers (including me) were staring into the skies mesmerized by the lightning show and noticing the three boats were spinning (for real :) more than usual. Soon we noticed we were dragging our anchors and were quickly being blown toward the shore where the boat closest to shore would have suffered damage by the momentum of three blowing boats crushing it into the rocks. And so a parade of yelling smokers rushes through the cabin telling all boats to immediately disband, pull up anchors, and get the hell away from the rocks! The boat that started first gunned their engine to push all three of us away from shore by a bit. It's dark, the winds were getting fiercer now and rain falling heavier. Chaos ensues as anchors get pulled up (some tangled from the spinning) and Rod and Steve jump ship to Phil's boat during the commotion of untying. Radios are turned on, flashlights lit, and people choose a post to man (radio person, driver, front and rear deck navigators, etc.). For the next half hour or so, from above, it looked like the Hawse Bay bumper-boats were in full swing as all three houseboats fought the winds and rain, getting blown all over the bay, narrowly avoiding crashing into each other, the shores, and the deservingly ass-clenched yachters who were regretfully sharing the bay with us. Yelling over the radios, yelling between houseboats, and yelling from the yachts; our legs were shaking and we could barely see where we were in the bay until each time the lightning lit up the land when we instantly reoriented ourselves. It felt like we were in a movie but none of us knew how it would end.

After what I can only guess was 30-45 min of pandemonium on water, the solid directive was given by Jen Morris over the radio to head to the left shore of the bay and tie up to shore. I believe this order had been given a number of times but THIS time it resonated with decisiveness and credibility. Boy, were we glad! Rod's boat (without Rod and Steve) made it over there first and tied up. Katherine/Geoff's boat made it ashore next about 15 min later, and Phil's boat shortly after that. Dude in his Zodiac (dinghy with a motor) helped the last couple boats get safely ashore by zipping around and pushing/pulling them in. A bubba of beer was deservedly offered to him for his help but he graciously turned it down, speeding away into the dark back to his large fishing boat, probably with a smirk on his face. The winds had finally calmed by this point and the rain eased off. As the adrenaline started to wear off, everybody either had a drink, a smoke, a hug, a snack, or a crap :) After recapping some of the excitement, two boats fell asleep from exhaustion and Phil's boat stayed up playing board games for a while.

In the morning we regrouped in the middle of the bay and re-lived the terror, excitement, and decisions made while BBQing a well-deserved huge-ass breakfast. Phil commented that the houseboat drivers, that night, advanced to the 'next level'. I'd have to agree. Relationships and friendships were also tried and hopefully strengthened. In retrospect, many of us should have made the decision to tie up to land when we saw the storm brewing, NOT DURING THE STORM! For this I am ashamed and disappointed as I was one of those people, but am glad those same people were able to help get us out of that mess unscathed, aside from a few scratches on the boats and our feet. Congratulations to all the crews for getting us safely to shore! As long as we tell our parents we learned from our mistakes.

And so Houseboat 2003 will go down in the books. I'm sure we're also in the diaries of some of those yachters, too. What an entertaining show we must have put on for them that night. We demonstrated EXACTLY why they hate houseboaters so much :)