Squirrel on board
Our forty year old, wooden trawler rested securely in her covered slip at the marina on the Chesapeake Bay. My routine was to stop by on my way home from work every few days to check on her security, tighten lines, and ensure everything was in order. I stepped thru the entryway of our forty two foot classic boat and made my way to the aft cabin. And there it was, resting in the middle of one of the tightly made up twin beds, like a lone boat on a vast flat ocean. It was a single, golf-ball sized nut, left by someone or something, like several others had been in previous weeks. There were no trees over-hanging the boats and birds seldom frequented the shed area, due mainly to plastic owls silently keeping watch over many boats. Whoever or whatever had stopped in made no mess, rather, it appeared they simply left it as if a token or offering of some kind. I went about my business of checking the rest of the boat. While up on the fly bridge looking over the other boats, I paused to enjoy the peace and solitude of what is typical of the weekday quiet around marinas. Friday thru Sunday, there would be a flurry of activity as people race from work and the city to enjoy the weekend activities on the water. But during the week, the docks are eerily quiet, especially the covered shed protecting the older boats, many of which are wooden antiques and classic yachts. As the sun settled behind the trees across the river, you could almost hear a pin drop and a stillness settled over the yard. Suddenly, something caught my eye. Coming down the wooden walkway was the little fellow which had sparked my curiosity. Spritely hopping along, was a squirrel who's fir was black as coal. I had seen them around the town where the marina was located, but typically they did not frequent near the boats. This one hoped down the walkway, took a hard turn and proceeded onto a nearby boat. Several minutes later he reemerged, bounded across to another boat and disappeared for several more minutes. He continued his maneuvers until at last he came to our boat, where he paused looking up at me. As if knowing I meant him no harm, he sat a moment, apparently not wanting to give away his clandestine operations. He slowly turned and carried on his antics throughout the remaining boats. It occurred to me I should close all my hatches before I left, but in my mind the benefit of having good air flow on a wooden boat outweighs the potential danger threatened by my new found friend. Perhaps if he does make a mess or destroy something in one of his personal floating hotels, I will take further precautions. But as for now, I will let him go about his business, and his secret will be safe with me.