So Grandpa hasn’t had a lot of luck with his 17′ boat lately. It’s been in for repairs constantly, and two weeks ago, Dad and Austin were just returning to the cottage from getting it repaired when one of the gears seized while they were in the middle of a rocky channel, and they had to flag down a kind boater to tow them back to the repair marina.

So I joined Dad last weekend for some male bonding, and maybe because the weather seemed a bit changeable. As we waited to settle the account it got a little dark with thunderstorms to the north, but brightness over the horizon suggested that it would clear soon. We headed out through some tight passages to the channel markers near where the Trent-Severn system becomes Georgian Bay, and the water was only a little choppy. As we headed into the open water, we stated noticing a bit of spray. Dad had brought a towel just in case and started to use it to clean his glasses. Then the waves started to get rougher. Water started coming over the bow more and more frequently.

It’s pretty clear now that we had hit a mild version of the kind of sudden weather the Great Lakes are famous for. The storm to the north may have missed us, but it had churned up the bay. We were less than a kilometre and a half from home, but we couldn’t deviate course, because the gradually growing waves were getting too menacing. Dad had found an good angle to hit the waves to reduce the oncoming water, but as the waves got bigger they started to knock it broadside, so he had to hit them straight on. The boat was no longer bouncing on the crests, but starting to ride up and down the growing wave faces. I looked down and noticed that Dad’s towel was drenched: THEN I notice that my running shoes were in about 5 inches of water. I started to spot ahead for the larger waves so that Dad could steer into them. The bilge pump was going for a while, then I guess it shorted out.

I spotted the biggest wave several seconds before it hit us and Dad steered and we braced for impact. It was like a small rollercoaster. We rode it up then plunged into the next wave face, and it was like a Hollywood movie; whitewater pouring into me for a couple of seconds. I remember yelling over to Dad “Are you still there?” as it cleared—and he was, gripping tightly on the steering wheel.

After that, none of the waves were as bad, but the boat had about 16 to 18 inches of water in it, many of the seat sushions were floating at the back. We must have been riding pretty darn low. As we headed for the home stretch, we still weren’t absolutely sure the boat could make it in, but as we got into our little bay we knew the water was probably no deeper than six or seven feet maximum. “We can walk from here” Dad said.

Dad did a great job of bringing it into the dock, though it was really sluggish to steer. It would fit into it’s dock cradle until we did some bailing; I figure bailing alone probably dumped about half a ton of water.

It was an adventure, no one was hurt, and the boat’s no worse for the wear. Fun on a Saturday afternoon. But no one remembered to bring a camera last weekend!