“I want to go whaling for my half-birthday,” I told my wife.
She glanced up from her new book, but she didn’t need to speak. The doubt in her eyes said it all.
“Honey,” I continued, “we’re not going to kill a whale- besides there are no freshwater cetaceans in Portland.”
“Uh-hun,” she grunted, “go on.”
I explained how I had the idea to get a few guys in small boats, where everyone agrees to some boundaries; someplace with varied features such as deep water, shoals, submerged logs, and perhaps a small island. I imagined the cove near channel marker 1, right next to Toe Island.
“Each guy gets three harpoons,” I noted. “Further, sailors can row or sail- no motors.”
“Of course,” she agreed while trying not smirk, “this is a historical reenactment.”
Ignoring her, I continued, “As long as everyone is motorless, the whale may actually have a fighting chance.”
“And what pray tell, serves as a whale?” she asked.
I knew I had her now.
“Well, of course a person with flippers is the whale.”
I paused and smiled before continuing.
“And the whale is pissed off, like In the Heart of the Sea. So he tries to hide until he can seek vengeance by knocking on the bottom of boats, causing fear in the fleet.”
“Fear of what, my dear?”
“Capsize of course. The whale will do everything he can to dump those whalers and haul them into his watery realm.”
Dear readers, my half birthday is upon us. Who’s in?