The Magic Pearl Fiddles

The Magic Pearl - Secret Gunkhole

 Fiddling about with a Magic Pearl

 In the years before being possessed by a large, deep draft keel sloop named the HideAway, we sailed the skinny waters north of Ft Desoto in a 21 foot cat-ketch Sea Pearl known as the Magic Pearl.   Magic could sail downwind, on her own, in less than 12 inches of water.  Sailing the shallows of Mullet Key, a small dolphin made circles around us, gently nudging the rudder as if to beckon us to change course and follow. Naturally, we did.   

It was a Zen Experience sans the Effort  

 Silently under a reefed mizzen, we weaved through the narrow passages between mangrove balds, occasionally using a long wooden pole to push us along. Alone in this remote, uncharted place, Magic might well have sailed into centuries past.  Our favorite destination was an unnamed barrier island covered with large, shady Australian pine trees. The island had a small hook of an anchorage known only to members of the Secret Shallow Drafter Sailing Society.  (SSDSS- rhymes with ssdss). On a hot summer day a Free Range Human could relax in the soft white sand, listen to the sea breeze whistle through the eight Aussie pines and enjoy a full view of the Gulf of Mexico in their abundant shade. Under deep blue skies and calm seas, dolphins jumped. Sea birds hunted.  Souls soothed. 

 Arriving late, we left Magic in ankle deep water about 50 feet from the landside shore, threw out a small anchor, and ran bare foot in the sand across the island towards a Gulf Of Mexico sunset.  Our flat bottomed Magic Pearl would be aground before our return, thus, it had no need of an anchor light.  This is worth mentioning because its occupants, intent on racing towards the setting sun, had left their artificial light generating device stored safely onboard. 

  A Sailor Knows the Sun Does Not Set

 The earth rises.  Indeed, the rising and spinning of the very earth you are standing on will require even the above average trailer sailor to question their place in the universe. The effect, according to extensive study by an unknown science research foundation funded by a beach bar & grille, self-published the Earthrise Theory as a fine explanation as to why sailors are known to walk in an irregular manner, especially after the earth has risen. 

 Reluctantly, the crew turned to leave this special place, made larger by the retreating tide, to return to the Magic Pearl.  Sharp as they are, the crew was quick to notice that without a moon, the darkness was complete. We walked hand in hand for a good long while before realizing that our Magic Pearl had vanished.

 There are two accounts of what happened after we stopped, barefooted, to get our bearings. One version alleges screams and running bare feet were involved. The other, not so much. Either way, the conversation centered on the strange sounds emanating from the blackness in the sand near our feet.  Did I mention we were of bare foot?  

The sound, that grew louder as the possibilities of the cause evolved, was of silverware clinking together.  After listening awhile, Linda mentioned her feet were covered with creepy crawlies of the unidentified variety, and that she would be departing soon.  As she too vanished into the darkness, I asked her to bring back a flash light.  I could not understand her reply.

 

Eventually I found our Magic Pearl fully aground with one lee board down, the mizzen sail partially set and the anchor rode streaked artfully across the beach. On board, Linda handed over a flashlight with which I scanned the shore.  The skinny light beam revealed only wet sand and sea grass.  Alone, I walked towards the gulf bravely, some would say foolishly, as Linda declared.  Finding nothing remarkable, I turned off the light and stood silently to fully appreciate the dark of the night, the sounds of the Gulf of Mexico, the vastness of interstellar space and the sweet olfactory sensations of my low tide surroundings.   I began to hear the silverware clinking about the time I remembered my feet were still unclothed.  

 

Fiddler Crabs Holding Claws - How Sweet

 

I Flashed the Light On

 In the dimming light powered by batteries long past their use by dates, the entire beach had turned from white to brown in color and was moving away from me at a good pace over the nearby undulating sand dunes. Tens of thousands of small crabs carrying what looked like large fiddles, scrambled sideways across the sand as one being.   It looked like entire beach was leaving without taking me along for the ride.  I stumbled - almost fell, as I lost contact with what a typical Free Range Human would construe as reality.   I shut the light off.  In the night, the earth stood still. Reality returned along with the infernal clinking.  

 

Before long, I identified the Fiddler Crabs as they lounged on my bare feet looking up at me with their beady eyes - All of them snapping their one large claw.  Do you know any blue grass? I inquired to no response. They meant me no harm. I apologized for disturbing them and took my leave with their song in my heart, my feet intact.     Our Pearl had performed her Magic once again.

 

 

The Magic Pearl - Three Rooker Bar

 

SMALL BOATS ROCK!

 

Sailboat Custom Wine Bottle Gift Box
by SailingHideAway