I remember hiking across the Deception Pass Bridge while I attended church camp back in 1968 and looking down into the swirling, chaotic waters and thinking you would have to be crazy to take a boat through there. Deception Pass is a very narrow channel flanked by dark, towering cliffs. It divides Whidbey Island and Fidalgo Island and every Northwest boater has a story about small boats being tossed helplessly by the current or gripped by her famous whirlpools. Most of the time seas roar through the narrow pass but, if you catch it just right between the tides, you can sail through on slack water. At least, that was our plan.

My oldest friend, Paul Brower, and his wonderful wife, Bernice, are avid Northwest boaters. Paul grew up on boats so when it came time for us to launch Piper (the newest addition to our ever growing flotilla) I asked Paul if he would like to help. We bought Piper from Port Gardner Yachts in Everett. Jan found this 1974, 22-foot cuddy boat on the Internet and when we saw her, we knew this would be our new “car.” While Santa Teresa would be called on to take us to distant ports, Piper (as we started calling her) would be our workboat. She would take us back and forth to the island ferrying groceries and supplies.

We had Piper surveyed stem to stern and had the engine and out-drive thoroughly examined. They told us she was old but with a few small repairs she would meet our needs. The price was right and I got to work replacing the alternator, a couple of old hoses and some wiring. Gregg, the manager at Port Gardner Yachts was a great help and let me make the changes right there in the yard.

On Sunday we brought her to Paul and Bernie’s house. When we stopped in front of their home, the wheels of the trailer on the passenger side were smoking. Liquified grease was dripping out of the bearing buddies and it didn’t look good. Either the brakes were frozen or the bearings were shot. Paul took Monday off to work on his boat and show me what I needed to do on Piper.

When I got the wheels off, it was hard to see anything for all the rust and cobwebs inside the hubs. My heart sank but a wire brush and brake cleaning fluid shined things up. We repacked the bearings, put it all back together and then tackled the lighting system on the trailer. Things just didn’t check out. Everything seemed backwards. Poor Paul’s fingers were fried a couple of times as he shorted out the battery onto the trailer frame as we worked.

Sometimes it pays to be ignorant: “I haven’t got the faintest idea how this works Paul. Can you look at it?” ZAP! “Are you okay? Man that was the biggest spark I’ve ever seen. Can I get you an ice cube or something for your finger?”

As night fell we felt condemned to re-wire the entire rig. Just as we were about to start cutting wires, Paul took a closer look at the trailer light plug as he was attaching it to the Jeep. “That’s not right. We’ve been plugging this thing in upside down!” And when you plug it in upside down, the running lights activate the brakes. No wonder the brakes were frozen when we got home. We swore each other to secrecy so don’t tell anyone.

Not everything goes as smoothly as we would like. Late one afternoon Jan, Holly and I decided to motor around Lopez Island and visit Fisherman’s Bay. Holly has started expressing an interest in learning about boating so I gave her the helm and she did a great job. It’s a good match since she has the best eyes among us and can spot the numerous floating logs (Puget Sound’s equivalent of icebergs) long before either Jan or I do. We rounded Frost Island, passed Leo Reef, Spencer Spit, Humphrey Head and Upright Head (the ferry landing for the island) before we turned south again and ran Upright Channel.

It’s a narrow squeeze between Lopez and Canoe Islands so it can get a bit “snotty” as people around here say. That’s a great description for some of these conditions. It’s nasty, often windy or turbulent and there is generally plenty of debris to watch out for. Today the channel wasn’t too bad and we found ourselves looking for the day marker that shows the hidden entrance to the large bay. The guidebooks warned us to follow the channel into the bay very carefully and the spit guarding it was littered with wrecks although you can’t tell if the hulks got there honestly or were put up to improve the scenery for tourists.

Once inside, Fisherman’s Bay is quite large. Seaplanes regularly take off and land. There are a couple of marinas, lots of moorings and plenty of boats anchored here. We found a place on the dock near the Islander Hotel and the girls decided clam chowder would be just the thing for dinner.

We celebrated Holly’s birthday at the Islander Hotel’s restaurant last week and the food was great -- especially the clam chowder. So we found a table on the patio overlooking the water. From there we could keep an eye on Piper (our boat) and watch the boats on the bay. Locally Lopez Island is called “Slopez” Island and this restaurant lives up to the name. It seemed to take forever for them to ladle up our chowder and serve a simple salad but it was worth the wait: hot rolls, warm chowder and a crisp salad with fresh blue cheese dressing, topped with cranberries. I still can’t believe this is our home.

The sun was getting awfully low by the time we left the dock and I was concerned about getting back to Center Island while it was still light. Although we have GPS to navigate by, I don’t like to run the risk of hitting a log or “deadhead” (a log that floats vertically under the water). Just before we pulled away I glanced at the fuel dock. My little voice said, “Top off your tanks” but the voice of reason said, “Gas is far too expensive here. Wait until you can refuel at Blakely Island. Besides you still have twenty gallons.”

Piper has two twenty-gallon gas tanks. The gas gauge doesn’t work on the port tank so I run it dry first. When it is empty, I just go to the back, open the engine cover, and turn the valve to the other tank. However, if there is any air in the fuel line, it can take a bit to restart the engine. Jan and I found that out the hard way as we bobbed around one afternoon not far from our home dock.

And so we motored slowly down Fisherman’s Bay. The tide was changing and the current was getting snotty through the little channel. I gave Piper more gas as we rounded red buoy number 8. Then we made a sharp right turn to stay in the narrow channel around green number 7. Here everything narrows sharply. Two docks were on our starboard with beautiful (expensive) boats tied to them and the spit with the derelicts was on our port. I pushed the throttle forward to compensate for the current and suddenly the gas tank was empty. Piper died right there in the worst part of the channel. At best we were being pushed back into the bay and at worst we were going to careen into the yachts beside us. Jan reminded me we still hadn’t heard back from our insurance agent regarding our coverage.

I jumped down and raced to the back, whipped open the engine hatch and flipped the valve over to our full tank. We only had seconds to act. Back at the helm I hit the starter: once, twice, three times but she wouldn’t catch. Stay calm! Stabilize the situation. Fortunately, earlier in the day I had pulled Piper’s original tiny anchor out of the locker. It was secured to the bow with 110 feet of line and 20 feet of chain. It was a tad too small for this size boat but it might hold. With an anchor down we would have time to fiddle with the engine to get her restarted and not bump into anybody or go aground on the sand bar.

Meanwhile Jan had jumped behind the helm and took her shot at getting the engine restarted. Just as I cast the anchor over the side, the engine caught and roared to life. We were an arm’s length from a yacht when I gave the fateful command, “Put it in gear!” She did and Piper immediately wrapped twenty feet of anchor line neatly around the propeller stopping us cold. It was a moment frozen in time. The engine was dead. We had stopped moving but we were firmly anchored (by the prop) three feet away from a yacht full of happy people. They looked at us. We looked at them and handed them a dock line. They proved to be our salvation. She had a filet knife I could use to cut us free and he had a great dinghy to tow us into the dock.

Now it was time to put things back in order. The adrenaline was still pumping and I was doing my best Captain Bligh impersonation. I stripped off my shoes and socks, stuck the knife between my teeth and stepped off the transom into the freezing water. There I stood precariously perched on the out drive, knee deep in freezing water, shouting and splashing and saying things I would later regret, hacking away with numb fingers at the accursed anchor line all because I didn’t listen to my little voice.

The story does have a happy ending. A golden sunset kissed the frosty slopes of Mt. Baker framed in the purples of Thayer Pass. A seal swam by as an eagle soared overhead. The little heater purred in the cockpit warming my frozen feet. I looked at Jan and I looked at Holly. No one said much. I tried to smile and give everyone the “all clear” signal. Captain Blye has left the premises. By the time we touched our dock it was time for hugs and kisses. Jan baked chocolate chip cookies and we talked about what we had learned.

The most important lesson was “Listen!” Listen to that tiny voice that whispers warnings from the back of your head. Call it your conscience, the angel on your shoulder or Jiminy Cricket but pay attention lest you find yourself swimming in icy waters when you least expect it!