Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
and I went out on deck to help Jude up on-board. The engine was fired up and checked over
for any problems, and we waved our thanks and goodbyes to Al and all the helpers. Next,
we motored over to Dick Manten's Marina where he had a mooring ready for Déjà vu.
I remember the day as though it were yesterday although thirty years have come and gone
since then. I cannot really say that I have ever felt such a feeling of satisfaction, content-
ment, and well-being. The morning sun warmed the clear, crisp air and made the water
sparkle and come alive. Other boaters were beginning to appear on the great dam, motoring
or whispering by with butterfly wing sails. Déjà vu's engine performed flawlessly, putter-
ing sweetly in the bilges, her exhaust water gurgling reassuringly from astern, even the
smell of diesel fumes was like perfume to me. The helm was easy in the hand, and she was
making good progress towards the Manten's Marina. Jude busied herself in the galley, and
soon the homey smell of frying bacon came wafting out the cabin. I can't ever remember
bacon smelling so good, and before long we were wolfing down a hearty breakfast in the
cabin at our new saloon table. I had turned off the engine, and as there was no immediate
need to be on deck, left Déjà vu to drift on the glassy surface. The stereo cassette player
was playing a favorite Supertramp album, “Breakfast in America” I think, and it was to be-
come our signature tape, played over and over again, as we gathered some of the happiest
memories on Déjà vu. I believe it was the most fun-filled year Judi and I ever had. The
adventures, the near disasters, the hysterical laughter, and always the wonderful friends we
made on the Vaal are memories we will always cherish. I am so glad we learned to sail on
this peaceful expanse of water rather than out at sea where we could well have died. The
Vaal Dam was very forgiving, and the people were not too afraid to help out or offer advice
either.
That first afternoon, as we were approaching our bright, red mooring buoy and noticing for
the first time how the wind had increased, I began to wonder how the devil we were to pick
it up. The first thought that came to mind was obviously the boathook, which was securely
tied to the handrail on the coach house. I barked out an order to Jude to untie it and get it
ready. She gave me a withering look and said, “Yessir masser.” I hadn't inspired any con-
fidence or skipperly respect yet but was working on it. By the time she had figured out my
seaworthy knot, we had shot past the buoy and had to turn about for a second approach. It
was apparent from this move to everyone on the dam that we were novices, and all eyes
were now on Déjà vu and her crew. “I'll show them just who has salt in their veins,” I
muttered as we rounded up and gathered speed. Jude was standing gamely on the bow, her
micro shorts gathering more attention than the Déjà vu, boathook at the ready, when I gave
her the command to “Grab the buoy!”
I saw her thrashing the boathook about, and then heard an irate, “You were going too fast!”
“Oh, let me do it Jude; you come back here to the cockpit,” I said.
