[Paddlewise] another old man in the sea story

I was out paddling the other day and slowly closed in on this old guy in a 
dory.  Luckily I was wearing my rose coloured glasses and the dory stood 
out clearly against the harsh and dark reality of the surrounding sea.

The old guy was wearing a black souwester, slickers, rubber boots, and an 
old ratty and well worn wool sweater that had obviously seen many and 
better days.  His or'locks squeaked out a steady cadence as he pulled on 
two trunk like appendages that might at one time been matching oars.

Coming up on him from down wind I was well aware of a different aspect of 
his character long before I could see the obvious charm of his gear and 
apparel.  The competing and distinct smell of fish and sweat wafted dream 
like down upon me.  For a moment I started to swoon. But, I gave my head a 
shake and brought my concentration back to the tasks at hand.

Judging from the discarded junk, laying about the bottom of the boat, I 
could see regular and preventative maintenance was as foreign to the boat 
as regular ablutions were to the old gentleman.

The paint was pealing from the dory.  In places I could see where the rot 
had taken hold and was slowly marching onward eating up the healthy 
wood.  In many ways the boat mirrored the old guy.  Both were grizzled by 
time and the elements.  Both were suffering from neglect.

As I reached for his gunnel I gave him a cheery, "hello what a fine day for 
a paddle."  Looking him firmly in his one good eye it dawned on me that I'd 
seen this man before.  It was Captain Kangaroo.

He broke wind!  And followed up with swift and direct response, "Bugger off 
you twit.  If'n you'rn anothern of those sentimental romantics - get 
stuffed."  Then he rapped my knuckles with a belaying pin that he pulled 
from beneath the folds of the slicker.

Taken aback, I let out a yelp and quickly apologized for intruding on his 
solace and started to back paddle.

He reached down amongst the flotsam floating in the water by his feet and 
pulled up a dirty bottle.  Pulling the cork from the neck he spat it toward me.

"Say, you'n not happen ta have a four stroke Honda on that over grown cigar 
would you?" Then he took a long hard pull on the bottle.

"Sorry", was all I managed to stumble out.

He belched for an inestimable amount of time then without taking a breath 
launched into the following.

"Just as I thought, your'n just like that Ralph and Doug always waxin 
poetic like.  When all an honest man wants i'ns a top of rum and ta git out 
of this soup.

Ya  make me sick with all ya high flalutin stuff.  Why we never had any of 
that crap in my day.  Where you goin ya punk?  I'm not done yit...."

As the melodic tones of his bass voice boomed out across the water I 
serenely paddled on wondering; what in the hell did Ralph and Doug say to 
this old fart.

Gordin Warner
I tried to resist but the devil sitting on my shoulder made me do it.


  

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