Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We thanked the friendly stranger who had come to our aid and had also been kind enough
to lend us his boathook. “I'm Paul. When you are secured, come by for a drink and meet
my wife Abbey and some friends.” We thanked him again, and when we did as he sug-
gested Déjà vu lay still, meek as a lamb, and I was able to haul up and easily secure her to
her moorings. I cannot tell you how relieved we were to be tied up to our mooring safe and
sound. We were exhausted, hungry, and snippy, and as a final insult to poor Jude, while I
was at the mast tidying up loose, clattering halyards to minimize chafe, I accidentally undid
the boom topping lift and the heavy fourteen foot boom dropped squarely down and struck
poor Jude on her sweet head. I yelled out to warn her, but of course it was too late, and she
fell down in the cockpit clutching her head. I scrambled back to her, apologizing profusely
and lamenting what a fool I was, but Jude kept her cool and fought back the tears, even
managing to smile a little. God, I admired and loved her; she was a strong girl and so pretty.
I was lucky beyond my stars. We had learnt the hard way about working upwind and how
easily situations can get out of control in the blink of an eye. We had also met some new
friends who would end up being our best sailing friends on the Vaal Dam and in years to
come.
The brief year that we had at the Vaal Dam went by quickly and yet, upon reflection,
seemed to last a lifetime. We had some times that were fun to recall, but there was one time
that I almost lost my life and, once again, it was a great lesson to learn here on this placid,
freshwater lake rather than out at sea.
Summer had turned its cool, green leaves to burnt brown and yellow autumn. The August
winds had provided some fabulous sailing days and had cooled things down considerably,
and winter started stealing in, turning the world around us to dry, yellow brush and bare
trees with frost in the morning and breath-robbingly cold nights. It was on such a night that
we were in our car heading down to the boat. It was a Friday evening, and we planned on
spending the weekend aboard Déjà vu. Jude was driving, and I was drinking beers. It was a
boring drive at night and I felt it OK to have a few beers, to keep out the chill so to speak.
We arrived at the dam and noticed there were very few, if any, other boaters out in the cold
night. I went to the dinghy park and wheeled our little tender down to the water's edge
where we loaded up some stuff.
Before long, I was bent over the oars, pulling us towards Déjà vu, about a quarter of a
mile out in the cold winter night. The dinghy gently kissed the back of Déjà vu, and we
climbed aboard with all the provisions we had brought. I was busy opening the companion-
way doors when Judi suddenly sang out, “Oh quick, the dinghy's drifting away; you forgot
to tie it up.” I whirled around to look and sure enough it was moving sideways astern of
us at a healthy clip. I had had a few beers and imagined that I could easily swim out, catch
