Blog

WHAT’S UP, DOCK?

Friday Harbor Waterfront Views

By Cap’n Crabby

 

I’ll tell you what’s up…slip reservations at the Port of Friday Harbor marina.  Lots of group reservations for yacht club cruises, rendezvouseses, and get-togethers, as well individual boats.  The biggest group coming is the Latitudes and Attitudes Rum-A-Thon, coming to Friday Harbor in August 20, with over 100 boats registered.  Be afraid.

 

Making sure everyone has a fun, safe time takes a lot of work by Port staff, and one of the critical functions is Port Security.  In Friday Harbor,  Port Security is embodied in a man – I won’t say a hee-ro, ’cause what’s a hee-ro? –but sometimes there’s a man. And I’m talking about Steve Percer here– sometimes there’s a man who, waaall.., he’s the man for his time’n place.., he fits right in there– and that’s Steve Percer.., in Friday Harbor.., right now.  I was out on the docks last night, tossing some saltwater bullfrogs, and I ran into Steve, patrolling the docks and keeping things mellow.  It was a beautiful night, and me and Steve set down and looked out over the harbor, and this paean just wrote itself.

 

The marina sleeps, the waters are still,

The summer moon stands over the hill.

A few boats party on G and H docks,

And silently, the watchman walks.

 

He hears the laughs, the shouts and songs,

And listens for sounds of something gone wrong.

A voice raised in anger, in fear or in pain,

And he will go there to ascertain

If someone is drunk and stupid, or mean,

And bringing trouble to his peaceful scene.

 

He approaches the boat, and watches a bit,

And figures out who is being a twit,

He calls in for backup, but doesn’t stand by,

But approaches the boat and calls to the guy.

 

“Excuse me,” he says, in a school teacher voice,

“I’m giving you an honest choice.

You quiet down and start being nice,

And don’t think I’m going to tell you twice,

Or me and the Sheriff will throw you in jail,

And maybe your friends here won’t put up your bail.”

 

He shakes his finger and walks down the dock,

Checks his watch, its one o’clock.

The town has closed up, even the bars

And Popeye floats lazily, watching the stars.

 

The marina sleeps, the waters are still,

The summer moon stands over the hill.

A few boats party on G and H docks,

And silently, the watchman walks.

 

Oh my, now that’s pure sweetness.  Yuk, ptooey.  Don’t even know where that comes from, probably from my inner wench.  I think I’ll submit that and win the one of them Puyallupitzer Prizes.  I’ll let you know.