Port Starbird (Storm Ketchum Adventures) Read Free Page B

Rodanthe than Hatteras was to Avon.
    Ocracoke Island, farther south down the Banks across Hatteras Inlet, and its historic namesake fishing village seemed to have settled into a tolerable if uneasy truce between the old and the new, and the fact that Hatteras Island had the Cape Hatteras National Seashore along its Atlantic coast and the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge at the north end of the island would thankfully limit some excesses; but probably not all. Ketch knew that the people who cared here had increasingly had to fight to preserve their free and open spaces, despite their supposedly protected status.
    In spite of everything, Ketch believed that at this late stage of his life he was finally where his soul or essence or whatever needed to be, and he'd thought he'd be able to pretty much settle in for the duration when he'd taken the leap and moved here almost three years ago - but now he felt like maybe the lingering ambience of this place, still able to charm despite its imperfections, had lulled him into a false sense of security. Maybe he should have paid more attention and gotten more involved in local affairs, even though such activities ordinarily bored him. But what could just one man have accomplished anyway, especially a less-than-wealthy one these days?
    Regardless, that was over his shoulder now; and here he was, reduced to ineffectually complaining about some of the undesirable aspects of the tourism that like it or not was now undeniably the lifeblood of th e town, while admittedly offering no viable alternatives. There were no longer any lifesaving stations here, the Hatterasman was long gone, and the modern residents no longer salvaged shipwrecks or hauled lumber or built boats or milled anything or sold yaupon tea for a living. Though it galled him to stand by and watch the future steamroll what little was left of the town's invaluable past, the fact was without tourism this town would quickly fade into oblivion and wither away; and yet, like many of the locals he knew, he'd bite the hand that fed them all if he could. Ketch guessed that attitude might make him, too, a local now despite his short full-time tenure here, a thought he found perversely satisfying.
    But that changed nothing, including the fact that, through no fault of his own, this issue had now become painfully personal to him. He didn't know exactly how it would all unfold; all he knew for sure was, things were going all to hell for him once again - pretty much the way they always had sooner or later, pretty much wherever the hell he'd been, pretty much all along the way.
    ~  ~  ~
     
     
     

2. But real men are not built for defeat.
     
    And it was a hell of a fine morning for cruising, and cruising invariably put Ketch in a mystic frame of mind even after all these years, so his disposition had markedly improved by the time they reached Oden's Dock in Hatteras. You should only worry about things you can change, he told himself, and he couldn't change anything at this particular moment.
    As they made their approach , Ketch was pleased to see there was a dockside helper today. Sometimes there was none, which made his job harder. He hung the fenders on the stern and each side of the boat and went to the bow. When they'd backed in close enough, he tossed the bow line to the helper. As soon as the helper's end was secure, he snubbed his own end to a cleat, made sure it was set into the chock, and quickly moved to the stern via the starboard side deck to repeat the process, which they completed today without the boat bumping the dock or the neighboring charter. The dog remained in the cabin as he'd learned was expected of him. Ketch did one quick, loose spring line before sparing a wave for the helper.
    "Thanks, Ronn ie Wayne, I appreciate it."
    "No problem , Ketch, have a good trip!"
    Ketch resumed tying up the boat, tightening the initial lines as he went. The Captain killed the engines and descended from the flying bridge. "Classic