The bad luck boat

Our new boat was larger and more expensive than our station wagon and cost more than our first house. We loved the water and usually had a boat, but this one was special. On weekends, my husband and sons took it down the Inland Waterway or over to the Outer Banks to fish or water ski.

When it was about one month old, we took a family trip to Portsmouth Island. My husband drove like a race driver – smack, smack, smack – jarring our innards. A zillion mosquitoes attacked us at Portsmouth, so we left to cruise slowly off Cedar Island where we had lived eons ago. My son Hervie and I sat on the prow of the boat, our bare feet dangling over the side.

Suddenly, a giant hand grabbed us. We lurched forward. Metal scraped against metal. Hervie and I clutched the rail to avoid being pitched overboard. Miraculously no one was harmed or lost. Under the water, we caught a glimpse of a dark shadow. Later we learned it was the remains of a World War II airplane.

We limped ashore and brought the boat up. It had sustained cracked and punctured fiberglass and a twisted propeller.

After the boat was repaired, our son Dan borrowed it to take out a girlfriend. My husband received a phone call from the Coast Guard: “Your boat is sunk near Harkers Island. Your son and his friend are okay.”

We sold the boat for less than we owed on it. When asked what happened to our new boat, we replied, “Oh, we ran into an airplane, doesn’t everybody?” We figure it cost us about $300 every time it was launched into the water.

Stella Jean Day
Newport
Carteret-Craven EC