Only the guy who isn't rowing has time to rock the boat.
-Jean-Paul Sartre --French existentialist philosopher and writer, 1905-1980

Back to the Story of the Binnacles

Hi all! Sorry I missed you all yesterday. Busy busy day yesterday. But today's a new day! Lots of little fishies swimming around the marina. But dark clouds overhead. I think we are in for a big splash of water here really soon. Happy Opening Boating Season Day! Many people here cleaning and fixing and heading out for the log boom in Lake Washington and many other destinations. Boating season is upon us. YIPPEEEEEEEE

Let sget down to the nitty gritty of the day, on with the Binnacles. If you need a refresher from where we left off, just peek at the last post and get caught up. Here we go!

It was a fine, clear day, a perfect day for buying a boat, thought Chester Binnacle. If only would show a bit of enthusiasm. He drove very slowly down Fisherman's Lane where hundreds of wonderful boats lay snug intheir moorings. He pointed out the gulls, wheeling and soaring in the fresh breeze blowing  in from the bay. He paused to observe the dozens of happy owners in the boatyards, polishing and scraping,all of them looking happy and content.
"A hobby like this could add years to a mans life," Chester said, inhaling deeply. "It must be fun painting a boat."
"Remeber your bursitis," Emma said. "There's the place you're looking for, straight ahead."
There was a very big sign on a shack that read:
           Boats of all kinds
          Time Payments
  You name it- We've go it!
ALSO All Kinds Of Sandwiches

Smiling Sam himself greeted them with a firm handshake and a hearty Hello. He was dressed in mariner's garb,complete with brass buttons and a rakish peaked cap. He made a point of taking Mrs. Binnacles elbow in a courtly gesture to help her to the dock.He was at once courteous and enthusiastic, radiating an air of salty good nature as he listened to Chester's explanation of their visit.
"About the boat in your ad," Chester said. "The one for four thousand six hundred and thirty-two dollars and ninety-nine cents," Emma added.
"Don't tell me," Smiling Sam said, aghast. "Don't tell me you are interested in the Flying Fratricide, Mr. Barnacle?"
"Binnacle," said Chester. "Is that the old lady's boat?"
"You are referring, of course, to poor old Mrs. Chickamiddy," said Smiling Sam reverently, removing his hat and placing it over his heart and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry to say the poor soul slipped her moorings and sailed away to her maker only last week."
"About the Flying Fratricide," Chester suggested.
"Wonderful woman that Mrs. Chickamiddy," Smiling Sam went on dreamily. "Direct descendant of Rear Admiral Gregory Q. Chickamiddy of the Third Baltic Fleet. You know the name, of course. Admiral Greg, or "Old Pork Rind", they used to call him, because he defeated the Spanish in Higgle's Cove while eating a pork sandwich. Great name in the history of our glorious navy, he was. Mrs. Chickamiddy built the Flying Fratricide in honor of her famous ancestor. A custom job, from stem to stern, engineered in the Red Clam Yards over in Dismal Bay, up near Boston, under the personal supervision of  J. Festermole Ebbtide, greatest hull expert since Arthur Woolstone Craft. Every item on the Flying Fratricide was custom built, including chocks, coamings, skegs and garboard strakes. Labor of love, as the saying goes. Think you're the skipper of a boat like her, Mr. Pinochle?"
"Binnacle," said Chester nervously, struggling to contain his excitement. It all sounded so positively wonderful. But it would be foolhardly to show a salesman too much interest. It was a rule of buying and selling to retain an outward calm in the face of such a sensational bargain. "Let's have a look at her," Chester said noncomittally.
"A man's craft," murmured Smiling Sam, just loud enough for Chester to hear. "A real peachy vessel for a deepwater man. A dandy item for a rough, tough sailor man. A man's boat for a man's man."
This whispered soliloquy had the expected effect on Chester Binnacle, who seemed to swagger a bit now as he walked, his hands thrust deep in his pants, his mouth pursed as he whistled a sea chanty. Already he saw himself at the wheel of the Flying Fratricide, the prow knifing the stormy sea, the rain beating against his eyes as he held the craft steady on her course.

That's all for now....more tomorrow.
Have a great day! Wishing you calm seas on opening boating day here in the Puget Sound!