Our Destiny

My brother Dick came down from Oregon during his break from the university.  It was during the cold war years when Russia was building the Soviet empire, and he was studying Russian and history.  He wanted to learn to sail, too.

            “Its boring just sailing back and forth.  Lets take a day to sail across to Monterey,” Claude  suggested.

            Early the next day we started out.  The ocean swells were so big we couldn't see the mast of another small boat sailing nearby.  For us new sailors that was a little scary.  We didn’t take time to go ashore in Monterey but turned back to return to Capitola. 

            Dick, who was always looking for fun, wrote a note in Russian, saying he was a captive in distress, put it in a bottle, capped it, and threw it overboard.

            We arrived in Capitola after dark.  The boat taxi had left for

the day.  The only way to get from our mooring to the beach was to swim.  We blew up air mattresses, rolled up our clothes,  put them in front of us, and started paddling.

            “Hey, wait for me,” Dick yelled, “I’m tangled up in the seaweed!”

            He got free and kept paddling towards the beach when we saw the glare of a policeman’s flashlight on shore.          Dick, now playing the part of a spy, said something in Russian.

             Of course the officer didn’t understand him, but just called out, “Are you the Kerr boys?”

            It turned out that Millie had gotten worried when we didn’t return by dark and phoned the Coast Guard. They told her to call the local police department.

            Our pleasant sailing that summer ended in an unfortunate mishap.  We received a phone call from the harbor master.  There was an unusual early storm in September before the boats were hauled out for the winter.  The waves washed over the wharf and all the boats were driven ashore and wrecked. 

            I went to Capitola and walked along the beach.  I found  the boat.  It was beyond repair, but fortunately Mr. Massey was not upset. 

            “These things happen,” he said.

            Wanting to learn more about sailing, I went out with Dr. G.I. Smith, to crew on a Thistle, a fast racing boat. To buy a boat like his was out of the question. It cost more than we could afford and we couldn’t tow it with our little VW. He advised me to get a smaller,  racing class boat.

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