Not the tin fishing boat trailing behind the sailboat, or the Oscar Meyer weiner of a fender, or..
Okay, there was a whole mess of curious sights to spy, but what caught my attention was a) the boat wasn't there when I fell into bed after midnight and b) the fuel dock closed for the season almost two weeks ago. Hmm, looks like you ain't from around here, is ya?
That boat also looks a little familiar...
Curious about the curious sight, I snagged Hilary and we wandered over and hailed the boat. An obviously wrung-out head poked out of the companionway.
"Are you Wally?" I asked.
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"I recognized your boat from pictures on your blog. Want a coffee?"
A cup of Timmy's later we got acquainted.
Since Hilary and I were taking our boats in the same direction, and Wally had never been to Port Dover before, we decided to convoy out and hit the hourly lift bridge opening together, get tied up at the Bridge Yachts yard, get Wally set up with some scrap lumber to build the cribbing to carry his mast on deck, then find some badly need breakfast, er, brunch, at the Dover Dairy Bar.
Wally has more than 30 000 nautical cruising miles under his feet, and 30 000 breakfasts worth of stories to tell. We all had a good time, talking about the weather, the state of Canadian politics, Cuba, the ICW, and just generally shooting the shit while Aduana slumbered under the table. As soon as the weather clears, Wally is off, heading to Buffalo, the Erie Canal and warmer points farther south. Fair winds,Wally-catch you next spring on the return leg.
"Talk the Dock!"