Gordon's Choice
Our destination: the small island with its boulder jump-off.
We shove off from the beach. The start is rocky, we tack between waves. They slap against the red canoe. “Mush!” You laugh and steer our vessel, push starboard, and it rights our course.
I am in front like an Olympian – mushing. Soon, we slice through currents heading due west, our haven comes into view. We move into the cove, drag our vessel over rocks.
“Any motorboats?” You scale up, hands cupped over eyebrows, and peer about.
“All clear!” We climb higher, shed our clothes, hold hands, and plunge.
We shove off from the beach. The start is rocky, we tack between waves. They slap against the red canoe. “Mush!” You laugh and steer our vessel, push starboard, and it rights our course.
I am in front like an Olympian – mushing. Soon, we slice through currents heading due west, our haven comes into view. We move into the cove, drag our vessel over rocks.
“Any motorboats?” You scale up, hands cupped over eyebrows, and peer about.
“All clear!” We climb higher, shed our clothes, hold hands, and plunge.
