The salty, fishy smell of the ocean was all around. The loud but persistent roar of my 750SXI Jet Ski was the only thing to be heard. The slalom course was all but new to me. Leaning into the first curve I passed the first marker buoy with only inches to spare, a precision that was needed in racing. The buoy was submerged by the frothing wake following the craft. Next was the straight away dotted with randomly bobbing buoys... left, right, left, right. I can taste the sweet flavor of victory. Then I see something out the corner of my eye, I turn my head and...no, it can't be, the looming form of the Titanic was within an unpleasant distance from me. Although this was New Jersey and the Titanic went down 70 years ago, it was gaining on me all the same. I could now hear the massive displacement of water caused by the mighty vessel, a sound like standing in the bottom of the Niagara falls. The sharp craggy jetty was yards ahead though, so I decided to make a last ditch effort and leap on to the approaching stone structure, but.........
I awoke to the annoying but indisputable calling of a boat horn. Only just seconds ago I was dreaming serene thoughts in my own personal Nirvana. Even though I detest waking up early it was imperative to finding an auspicious spot at the sandbar to play volley ball, which was one of the few activities still allowed or possible at the beach. Jet skiing, once a major activity, was now hardly a thrill to most of the riders because of the constantly increasing amount of restrictions in regard to the sport. Some of the more strange rules included being required to have a flare gun while skiing in the ocean, and having to always possess a whistle. What a whistle is going to do while your jet ski is on fire? I have no idea.
I still enjoyed jet skiing as much as ever though, and was looking forward to riding the Jet Ski to the sandbar. Another reason I was looking forward to riding out was because the short, but exhilarating voyage would be enough to jump start my day. I figured this day would be like any other in this seemingly perfect never ending summer. I was out the door with my morning waffle in unbelievable time. Although it was an Eggo, it still had the lightly crispy edge and smelt like any other breakfast pastry.
I slipped on my flip flops, which had been worn so much this summer that there was a visible footprint in the shoes. Stumbling out the door and onto the rocks in my backyard I found my wet suit and began to put it on.
"You're going to drive the boat today David, okay?" my Uncle Buck demanded more than asked.
"Of course," I responded with hesitation. Even though I loved driving the boat it was strange that I would be asked to drive on a weekend. Controlling the forty foot motor yacht that he owned was no easy task, but I was even practiced enough to the navigate the ship through my lagoon. On a weekend you're competing with city boaters and local fishermen alike, so one always has to be prepared when you are traveling through the bay.
There were no problems exiting the lagoon, but once I had reached the channel everyone else on the boat decided to sit on the bow of the boat. Normally this would have been all fine and dandy, but there was always at least one other boat on either side at all times. I was approaching a rather tricky stretch when all of a sudden my uncle on the bow of the boat begins to point right. Making sure to do what he ordered I slid the boat over so far I only missed the next buoy by a few feet. He continued to point right so I continued to hug the right side of the channel. The depth finder was still reading six feet so I assumed it was safe.
The next set of buoys was straight ahead and it looked like all my worries were without warrant. Then I noticed a green buoy to the left, in-between the set I was currently passing through and the ones I had my eyes on, straight ahead. I spun the wheel hard to the left but it was too late. I saw the green line on the depth finder rise to the top of the screen abruptly, then the high pitched buzzing alarm went off. The boat pitched forward and I saw a few people fall of the seat on the bow of the boat. I could feel propellers digging into the sandy bottom, making a sort of grunting, snorting sound.
"Put it in neutral!" my uncle was yelling at me through the glass. The usual summer happiness had escaped his face. I knew what to do but I was paralyzed with the fact that I run my uncle's boat aground. Finally, after what seemed like hours, my Dad came out of the cabin to take the engine out of gear. Then, with my mouth agape, I realized that Buck threw something small off the boat, He hadn't been pointing at all. Now my uncle was walking around the side of the boat. I had some serious explaining to do.
