Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
ted that monster bass fish, with heads the size of gasoline drums, patrolled about along the
base of the walls menacing and attacking the brave divers that periodically inspected for
pressure cracks.
It was unfortunately the wet season, and it was going to be touch and go in Déjà vu's case.
The night dragged on forever; neither of us slept very well, and the buzzing mosquitoes
weren't helping one little bit. But, as it always does, the sun arose and the glorious sight
of the lake turning from mackerel grey to pink and orange and yellow to gold made the
instant coffee taste so much sweeter than the condensed milk did. Jude and I were smiling
in excited anticipation again. I kissed her fondly on the cheek and made some yoke about
Dick Manten and his yumping catfish.
Soon Al, our beaming, larger-than-life truck driver, appeared in view, grinning widely with
good morning bonhomie, and Jude handed him a cup of coffee as well. Minutes later, the
big truck's diesel engine sprang loudly to life, and with the assistance of Dick Manten, who
had dropped by earlier, and a few of the members of the Aeolian yacht club, Déjà vu was
lined up for a second attempt at launching. The curious crowd formed again, eager for some
action. Out came the bottle of champagne and Judi deftly smashed it against the hull, her
voice barely audible above the din of the diesel, “God bless Déjà vu and all who sail in
her!”
Down the little slip the truck went down to the water. Past the edge the truck leveled off,
and still Déjà vu remained on the truck bed. Al backed a little farther, until the clutch plates
were underwater, causing great circles of water to shoot out in the morning sun. He stopped
the truck and looked back at us, “What now?” he yelled. I didn't know what to say. I did
not want him to get into trouble and damage the truck, yet I was beside myself with the
grim option.
He could see my quandary, and to this day I will always admire and salute his snap decision
to step on the accelerator and throw caution to the wind as he lurched backwards into the
water and slammed on his brakes. With a loud bang that could surely be heard all the way
around the world, Déjà vu shot clumsily into the water, rocking violently from side to side
in a bubbling ring of foam ripples and waves.
The crowd joined us in a loud “Yay!” as Jude brandished the broken neck of the bottle.
Déjà vu was afloat, and she looked pretty level from where I was standing. I swam out
to her and climbed up her bow, going below deck to search for any signs of water coming
through the hull. I examined all the through-hull fittings and was about to start the engine
when I suddenly noticed the clean silver jet of water shooting through the hull. Upon closer
inspection I found that the jolt of the launching had somehow knocked the cap off the depth
sounder. I found it lying against a frame and quickly replaced it. All was fine and dandy,
