| CANADA'S SOURCE FOR HUMOUR, PARODY, AND SATIRE
 Sea Tales from Old Pete
The winter of '32 was the worst we'd seen in years. We were nine days
out of Jamaica and we were already low on ship yarn and salt chuck. The
captain of our ship, a twin-seamed sea cutter named Poseidon's Daisy,
opened a crate of dried Flemish poppy bread and swore he'd write it off
as spoilage when we made port.
We were destined for
Siam, and that meant a fizzbreaker around the Cape. Only Gabby O'Grady
the tiller's mate had been through it before. But our crew was as ready
as a coal knot on a Hampton's wheel.
There was some worry
from the passengers--we had taken on a party of rum sisters in Kingston,
and they were none too thrilled at the idea of whipsnaking through St.
Einias's Passage in January. (nor any month for sure).
I wasn't so keen on
having to play cruise director for a boatload of jollybaggers, so I set
them to the task of retwining the ropes for the costard arm. They weren't
pleased much at the chore, but it kept their minds off of the swelling
waves.
The tides
and currents turned out to be tamer than a Tibetian snow kitten, and we
skated through the strait like hot butter on alabaster.
Still, it
was like a first date with the Devil's daughter, and none of us will forget
that too soon.
Old
Pete's Story Archive
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