A senior’s observations, opinions and rantings
Senior Moments
In the mid-1960s, I was in my teens living in Margate. Before the luxurious bayfront homes existed, there were marshes and at low tide, a beach. My friends and I would explore these beaches for whatever treasures we might find. Usually, it was not more than lost fishing riggings and dipsies. One day, on a beach along Amherst Avenue in lower Margate we came across an abandoned wooden lifeguard boat. It looked perfectly seaworthy except for a fist-sized hole above the water line.
In our best Huckleberry Finn/Tom Sawyer impersonation, we found two pieces of wood that would suffice as paddles and tugged the partially floating boat into the water. We cautiously tested its seaworthiness in the lagoon and when satisfied, we used the “paddles” and pushed out into the Intracoastal Waterway. Our exploration of the back bays began or so we thought.
Being out on the bay on our own we felt adventurous, independent. As powerboats passed us by, their wakes splashed in through the hole in the hull and began collecting at the bottom. As more water collected, the boat got lower in the water. As it got lower in the water, more wake splashed in. Still feeling confident and masters of our own fate, we decided it prudent to begin paddling towards shore.
At this point, we were leaving the bars on Amherst Avenue known as the Barbary Coast, behind us. The outgoing tide had caught us and as hard as we leaned into the planks of wood used as paddles, we were losing ground and more water was splashing into the boat. I knew that these boats were pretty much unsinkable but when I saw we were heading towards the Longport bridge, as they say, stuff began to get real.
Past the bridge was the inlet, then the ocean and I knew that we were really going to be in dire straits unless we could do something to turn these events around. I remember, I thought how angry my mother would be if I perished in such a nonsensical manner in a craft designed for saving lives.
Now, my friend and I started waving our “paddles” at passing boats and yelling “help,” not even realizing we could not be heard over the sound of their engines. We see this all the time in movies and laugh at the stupidity of stranded boaters yelling at passing freighters to be rescued, but that is what one is compelled to do.
Finally, just before passing under the bridge a boater started coming towards us and we waved even more frantically. Water was filling the boat and we were exhausted. The boater pulled alongside and after assessing our dilemma, took the opportunity to admonish us for our recklessness. He threw us a rope and towed us to the nearest marina. We made our way back to our bikes and rode home with very little said between us.
I made it home in time for dinner and sat down at the table. My mother brought in the dinner and curtly asked what had I done that afternoon to come home so sunburned and dirty. I told her that my friend and I were just playing down by the bay. She told me I was not getting a thing to eat until I went into the bathroom and cleaned myself up. It was good to be home.
Charles Eberson has been in the newspaper business for over 25 years. He has worked as a writer, advertising executive, circulation manager and photographer. His photography can be viewed at charles-eberson.fineartamerica.com
