So, there I was, on a Sunday, recovering from a night out that may have involved a drink or two more than my liver had signed up for. And just when I thought the day would be as uneventful as a sloth on sedatives, I get a call from the ever-enthusiastic Jack Jarvis. He's practically bursting with excitement, asking about our old boat in the Bahamas—the one loaned out to the Bahrainis by the not-so-musical Chris Martin (the rower, not the Coldplay guy).
"Hey, is your old boat still sunning itself in the Bahamas?" Jack inquired, as if he'd just uncovered the next great mystery.
"Yeah, I reckon so, mate. Why? Planning a luxury cruise?" I deadpanned, already suspecting this would be one of those conversations that took an unexpected turn.
And just like that, Jack and I found ourselves up to the proverbials in logistics, concocting a plan that could only be described as the lovechild of brilliance and madness. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill boat recovery operation; this was a hare-brained scheme to retrieve a vessel that had become the Blackbeard of the boating world.
The boat had decided to take a leisurely drift— 2500 nautical miles from the west of the Canary Islands, to be precise. Coincidentally, that's just about the same route Brucey and the Cockleshell Endeavour crew had rowed once upon a less-inebriated time. For over a year, it meandered across the open seas, probably having a good laugh at our expense. I even started fearing it might beat its previous rowing record, doing the trip faster solo than it did with four of us on board.
Dodging cargo vessels, cruise liners, and the occasional existential crisis, the boat narrowly avoided a Haitian detour and eventually decided to rest its weary hull in the Bahamas. A serious facelift was in order, and that's when Jack and I, fuelled by equal parts enthusiasm and questionable decision-making, cooked up a plan. Row the boat to Florida, tow it on a scenic overland tour to New York, and meet it just in time for a summer escapade—a 3000 nautical mile odyssey back to its comfort zone in Hamble Point Marina.
As the boat reluctantly sails toward its destiny, Jack and I can almost hear it grumbling about the detour. But hey, who can resist the allure of a pint of Guinness at the King and Queen Pub? So, brace yourselves for the mission that is the Great Boat Chase—a saga where the Bahamas become a pit stop, New York streets turn into a questionable runway, and a well-deserved pint becomes the ultimate trophy for navigating the high seas of absurdity.
Brucey
