"Not quite. Almost there, though." Dad would reply.
Spruce Cape was the final rough bend on fishing trips home. It brought with it some final ocean chops and swells. If we made it around Spruce Cape, we were golden. We were then protected on all sides by the channel for the final stretch into St. Paul Harbor. No matter how rough the swells approaching the cape, or around the cape, the channel always brought solace.
"We're around Spruce Cape!" dad would yell below. Then I knew the worst was over. No more rough swells. I could get out and enjoy the approach towards the harbor. By the canneries, under the bridge and slowly into our boat slip.
This week after dinner, I've been piling Tank and Sheba into the car and driving to the Spruce Cape trail. At the end of the trailhead is a gorgeous beach with lots of driftwood and it is often in the lee of the wind on windy days.
This evening a small white fishing boat passed by the entirety of the cape. I sat on a log and watched it pass, and disappear around the corner towards town. Chances are low that there were kids on the boat with a dad reassuring them 'We're around spruce Cape!".
But, nonetheless, I felt their joy of being on the final bend and remembering that sense of being through the worst of it.
|Fishing boat rounding Spruce Cape a few years ago|