Halifax: On the way there and back Pt 5

Day 7

After supper, and before I made my merry way to Maxwell's Plum English Pub (yup, it's a peach of a place), I received a message from my wife.

She'd been contacted by a man from down the way a bit from Pennant Pt., the place from which I'd given my dad's wee boatan unceremonious heave.

"He found your boat," she said, and that I should call him.

She gave me the number for Randy H.

I called as soon as I could.

Randy and I only spoke for a minute or two, but here is the jist.

Dad's wee boat stayed out on the water for 24 hours, then was heaved ashore, and Rany found it while walking his dog.

"It was on the rocks," he said.

I asked if the steel bolts were still attached to the bottom. His reply was affirmative.

Then Randy, bless his heart, shared his plan for the boat with me.

"My brother goes fishing out 40 miles, so I'll pass the boat along to him so he can take it out. It will catch a current out there," he said.

Okay. Do you hear that trip hammer noise?

That's my heart. 40 miles. A good current. Dad's boat could get to Scotland after all, a place he loved and (according to my oldest sister Lannie) a place he wanted to retire to when the time came.

Maybe the time has come.

I tip my hat to Randy. And I'm as happy as a plum.

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