May 19, 2007 Log

The morale is high as we set out on the voyage across Round Lake. The vessel is crewed today by twice the recommended capacity, making it perilous - a risk of life and limb. A passerby mutters that there are far too many passengers aboard, and we can only hope that his evaluation is proven false.

As we set sail, the lack of wind necessitates the use of the emergency back-up paddle. We lash down the boom and hope for any slight breeze to fill the sails. Spirits sink as Zach gets typhoid fever and we begin rationing our supplies. We choose to increase his fluid intake, and continue our journey.

As we approach the far edge of the lake, we realize the need to tack is imminent; all hands are on deck and prepared to come about. Ellie pulls the tiller to starboard as Sara looses the jib. As fate would have it, a sizely gale tears across the water, filling the main, which, may I remind you, is still lashed down. This causes the vessel to severely list, forcing the transom under water, and allowing a deluge of sea water into our craft. Zach and Dave scream and panic. Sara and Ellie calmly move to the bow, hoping the increased forward ballast will right the stern. Rapidly taking on water and with no one at the helm, we are at the mercy of Poseidon.

After what seems like hours on end, we manage to right the ship. All hands resume their positions and Sara and Ellie heroically remove their footwear, and begin to skillfully and efficiently use it to bail the excess water from the hull. Meanwhile, Zach, in a panic, is lamenting that he had given orders to leave the manual bailer on shore. Despite our tireless bailing efforts, our boat continues to fill, and we begin to suspect that we have sprung a leak. Upon further investigation, it comes to our attention that the plug on the bilge drain has been disloged in the scuffle, resulting in a blow-hole like geyser, and rendering our sacrificial bailing services in vain.

As we trim the sheets and regain composure, the aforementioned passerby approaches in his warship full of tiny, red-haired, midget-like warriors, eagerly waving what appears to be a child's sippy cup at us. We assume he is mocking our misfortunes, and attempt to avoid eye contact. He begins to holler for us to weigh 'nough, and issues a full-speed-ahead order to his crew. We realize that we will soon be overtaken, and reluctantly decide to cooperate. As he draws near, we realize that we are gravely mistaken. The passerby is simply Ellie's boss, and his midget-like warriors are his 6 small red-headed children. The Hopkins. They've seen our distress and come to our rescue, offering a plastic bailing tool, far more effective than the holey crocs off our feet.

The remainder of the voyage is uneventful, relative to the account I have just offered, and therefore will not be recorded. Our crew suffered no casualties today. For those concerned, Zach had a full recovery from his typhoid, although he still vehemently denies any responsibility for ordering the bailer to be left behind.