Mission Project

We pulled onto the Homer Spit early afternoon and quickly put our boat out into the water, certain not to waste another minute of daylight. I donned my raincoat and ever faithful Winter Wander Pants hoping that they would do the job that a pair of rain pants usually would. My sister-in-law lent me an old pair of her rain pants, and I accepted even though they were ten times too big and had a couple of holes.

The water was smooth as glass and the sun just warm enough to counter-act the slight breeze. We headed out to the middle of the inlet; there were hardly any waves, such a perfect fishing day. We stopped at Papa's favorite spot, lining ourselves up with the land to get a rough estimate of our whereabouts. We pulled out our fishing poles, baited them with a good size chunk of herring, and dropped the line nice and deep. I watched my pole sway up and down with the rocking of the boat. Here a nibble there a nibble, but otherwise not too much going on down there. Suddenly my sister-in-law jumped up, her pole tip yanked down touching the surface of the water. "Hold onto him girl, hold on!", I yelled at her. She pulled and pulled, squealing with the rush of adrenaline and the power she felt on the other side of her line. But just as soon as he'd come, he was gone and swimming free again. We all groaned with disappointment. He would have made a nice meal. A low fog began to roll in, and soon we couldn't see more than 200 feet around us.

We decided to take a break and head over to a cute little seaside town across the way. We putted around looking at all the houses way up on stilts and hanging over the edge of the water. A sea otter floated by on his back clutching a clam between his paws. Papa mentioned going back to Homer and waiting the fog out before trying any more fishing. So we spotted out the direction of the Spit across the bay and keeping the sun to our left started back through the fog.

We sucked on Jolly Ranchers and poked fun at each other as we went along with the now rougher seas spraying us with salty water. Each bump of the boat against the water was starting to cause a little more discomfort to my knees. We kept riding farther and farther into the fog. We should be there any minute now. Where was the Spit? We were all starting to question how well we did on judging direction.

Land!! Finally! But this didn't look like familiar bluff. Did we drift back down to the left or did we completely pass the Spit? It seemed very unlikely that we could miss such a large piece of land sticking out into the bay. We hugged the bank and prayed that following this land to the right was going to get us to some civilization. I noticed something up ahead in the distance, houses? We had a spark of hope, maybe we did pick the right direction. I sure hoped so. By now, we were the definite landing pad for each wave that crashed over the side of this little boat. We neared the houses, and pulled up to what looked like a make shift docking zone. The boat beat against the gravelly bottom with each wave; we just needed to find someone who knew where we were. We two girls stayed to man the boat while papa walked up the dirt road to search for someone with directions and more boat gas. Yep, we were almost out of gas, lost, cold, hungry, and exhausted.

Papa finally came strolling back with a full can of gas and news that we were 10 MILES OFF COURSE!!! We had passed the Spit and found a small Russian community who graciously sold us some gasoline. TEN MILES!!! Good thing we got more gas or we would be what you would call stranded. Full of dismay we jumped back into the boat and headed back the way we had just come. The water was much rougher now, which meant bigger waves and more splashes. My face was freezing from the wind but I didnt feel wet yet even though everyone else was claiming to be. Wave after wave, bone jarring slam after slam against the water. There was so much spray it felt like it was raining.

The land started to look more familiar. Could it be? Had we finally made it? We rounded a bend and there was the dock. Yes!! Land sweet land! We docked and unloaded as quickly as we could with our cold little fingers. We were planning on pitching our tent on the beach to sleep for the night, but after quiet pleadings from his daughter and a quick agreement out of me, Papa rented us all a room at the Driftwood Inn. After day dreaming about the hot shower I was going to take I realized that I wasn't even wet. The rain pants were soaked through and through, but underneath, my Winter Wander Pants had stood up to the test again. They must have been beading off water like there was no tomorrow. I had actually stayed dry and warm through that whole mini excursion, while the other two had to peal off their wet clothing and hang it to dry. We may not have caught any halibut but I didn't catch a cold either. I couldn't have felt more proud about my choice in clothing brand than at that moment. And hot shower, here I come.