The fish just weren’t biting. John had been out for three days, and he hadn’t even caught enough to cover the cost of the fuel to come out here, but there was nothing he could do, a storm was coming in, it was time to head home.
As it turned out, John cut it a bit close. As he chugged across the angry Bay in his rusty white boat he just caught sight of the Tomales Bay Inlet before the low storm clouds swooped in and swallowed it up. For the next two hours he battled through the grey green sea as it bashed into his hull and rolled over his deck, soaking him to the core. The sky grew dark, but still the boat plowed forward through the waves. John wasn’t sure if night was falling or the storm was getting worse.
John was beginning to think the boat might break up in the waves, and he was wondering if he would make it, when suddenly the water grew still and calm. The wind was still howling, and the rain was still pouring, but he was in the Tomales Bay, he was safe.
John was soaked through, covered in salt, and smelled of fish. What he really wanted to do was go home to his wife Laura and his daughter Lucy, but the storm was still raging, and he couldn't leave the boat for fear something would happen. The boat was his livelihood, it was how he supported his little family. If it broke its moorings and was set adrift in the storm, who knew what would happen. So he settled in for an uncomfortable night.
The next morning John was awoken by a knocking on the hull. He opened his eyes to the blinding sunlight streaming in through the port hole. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but the sound of laughter brought him back to reality. It sounded like a little girl.
“Lucy?” he called.
A small face appeared in the companionway. “Hi mister” she chirped.
“Hello,” John replied, he was sad to see it wasn’t Lucy after all.
“Watchu doin’ here?” the little girl asked.
“This is my boat, what are you doing here? Little girls shouldn’t be playing alone around the marina, it might be dangerous.”
Just then a man’s voice called from outside, “Get away from there Olivia, it’s dangerous.”
“But dad,” the little girl yelled, turning away from the cabin, “I’m talking to the man.”
“What man?” Olivia’s father answered.
“The man who owns the boat.”
Olivia’s father climbed up on the deck, scooped up his daughter, and peered down into the murky darkness below. “Honey, there is no owner of this boat, it's been wrecked on this shore for 100 years.”
Olivia turned and looked back into the cabin, sure enough it was empty, with a sigh she wrapped her arms around her fathers’ neck and together they clambered over the splintering wood and off derelict old fishing boat.
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