7 comments/ 19337 views/ 12 favorites Captain's Choice Ch. 01-02 By: coaster2 This story was edited by ErikThread and DaveT with my thanks and appreciation. Any errors are mine alone. It was previously posted on another site. ***** Chapter 1 The Resurrection I'd always imagined a life where I could retire early and do only the things I wanted to do. Maybe I would win the lottery, or maybe someone would recognize my special skills and pay me an insane amount of money to work for them. Or maybe the tooth fairy would leave me a few gold bars to tide me over. So much for fantasy. What did I have to complain about? Nothing ... really. I'm not rich, but I'm secure. I'm not tied to an eight-to-five job. I'm a contractor who decides which jobs to accept and whom to accept them from. I'm not married and I don't expect to be. I live in an apartment in Vancouver on False Creek part time, and on a boat for the balance. All in all, I like my life and I want to keep it that way. My boat is a 1959 50 foot Thornton Shadwell diesel cruiser. I inherited it from my father when he died. He hadn't used it for over ten years and you can imagine the state it was in when I first looked it over. I've spent a lot of money and far more time on restoring it to better than new. Along with the boat, I also inherited a nice house on a big piece of property in Burnaby, and that fetched a handsome price on the exploding Greater Vancouver property market at the time. My name is Patrick Samuel Hamelin. I am the only son of the late Samuel Wyler Hamelin. My mother disappeared long ago when I was a child. I was told she ran off with some guy she was having an affair with and was never heard from again. My father never remarried and while he had a couple of lady friends, he saw no need to risk the pain of marriage a second time. I'll be twenty-nine years old next fall. I'm beginning to feel it, to be honest. Working around the boat is becoming somewhat of a chore now despite how much I love the Captain's Choice. I charter my boat for both cruising and fishing. I have two Zodiacs, one on the transom and one on the foredeck, that are ideal for inshore fishing. It's also a way to get people ashore when they want to go exploring some island or remote location. My retirement fund is more than holding its own these days. I've enough charter work to cover my upkeep, maintenance costs and living expenses in the off season. I can afford to be choosy about who I accept as clients. I've been thinking about hiring a permanent deck hand, although I have no problem finding able-bodied young guys during the summer months. The local universities and colleges are loaded with potential crew who have some experience. What I've been thinking about is someone year-around. I've also been wondering where to find another girl friend. My last one got fed up with my unwillingness to live ashore and get a "real job." I warned her from the start, but I guess she was sure she could change me. Ah well, there are plenty of fish in the sea, as the saying goes. I'd just finished putting up the Christmas lights on the boat. I'd be participating in the "Carol Ships" parade in a week. It was about the only acknowledgement of Christmas I allowed myself. I had no family to get together with. In fact, I was the last of the Hamelins. I was an only child, as was my father. Christmas Eve would be celebrated by a couple of pints and dinner at McGillicuddy's Pub unless I got an invitation from one of my friends. I was fully booked for customers on the Carol Ship nights. My usual catering firm had called me to confirm the menu and the boat was set up for the maximum twelve passengers I would allow. There were a total of twenty-two cruises from December 1st onward, but this year I participated in only six of them, from the middle of the month to Christmas Eve. All my trips were on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. The cruise took from two to three hours, depending on the route, and the cost was $200 a head, catered. My costs were between $100 and $125 per head, depending on the route and the price tag of the cleaning crew the next morning. The closer to Christmas, the more things seemed to cost. I was happy with the profit, however. I probably could have charged more, but there was no need to get greedy. All in all, if things went as normal, I would take about $5,000 to $6,000 profit over the two weekends, a very nice Christmas present. This year, Christmas Eve was a Monday night and it was an easy decision on which six nights to charter. My crew would be two young men I had hired previously. As college students, they needed the cash and were happy for the job and the tips that came with it. Serving drinks and making sure the food was in good supply was more work than it appeared, but I knew I could count on them. I hadn't yet hired anyone to help me with the cleaning between charters. It would take about five to six hours from morning to afternoon for two of us to get everything done and ready for the next charter. Even a dozen people could make quite a mess when they started to party. The bar was run by a professional I hired at the union hall and it was a decent profit center as well. A fellow captain and friend, Tom Thompson, would be with me on the bridge in case I had to go below to fix something that had caused a problem. Usually, it was one of the two toilets. Sea toilets can baffle some people. I'd pretty much decided that I would replace the two original units with new vacuum flush units, similar to what you'd find on an aircraft. More expensive and complex, but fewer problems in the long run. Tom was almost a father figure to me. We had first met when I was taking on the task of restoring my father's boat. He had pulled his sailboat out of the water to clean and re-coat the bottom and recognized my boat from the yacht club. We struck up a conversation when I was taking a break from scraping down the hull, and he gave me a couple of tips on how to make the work a little easier. As time went by he visited regularly, even though his sailboat was back in the water and moored at the yacht club marina. He had a storehouse of contacts for some of the work and suggested places I could find parts and pieces for a boat of the age of Captain's Choice. It was he who recommended stainless steel deck fittings and the specific type of polyurethane best suited for the exterior brightwork. As time went on during that year of reconstruction, I became dependent on him if for no other reason than his encouragement and admiration for my efforts. Tom and I could handle the wheel and docking and have plenty of time for pleasant conversation. Tom was sixty now, thirty years older than me. He was a widower for the past five years and lived aboard his 42 foot ketch. He had retired from Air Canada as a senior pilot with a good pension. It was his plan that his wife and he would spend their retirement traveling the world. It would never happen. He seldom chartered, preferring to sail alone since the death of his wife. They used to go everywhere along the B.C. coast together. I'm not sure when Tom will get over her loss ... if ever. Tom's other values included his keen eyesight and an awareness of what was going on around him, even at night ... in the dark. A couple of years earlier, a novice boater decided to take a short cut into the harbour after the parade was past and cut between a tug and its tow. He didn't make it, and neither did two of his passengers. Two dead and one missing and presumed drowned. Tom spotted the problem before it happened but couldn't prevent it. He called the Coast Guard and they responded immediately, but it was too late to save the boat or the three people. Apparently, the boat owner didn't realize that three vertical lights on the tug's mast meant he had something in tow. A few years later, the government mandated that you had to have a proper license to operate any powered boat regardless of size, and you had to have a certificate of competence from a recognized instructor as well. It was about bloody time. Too often in the past you could plunk down a bunch of money and that was good enough. For those of us who knew better, we could usually spot these people from some distance. They were almost always ill prepared to deal with an emergency, either with skill or equipment. My father died when I had just turned twenty-two. He had a massive stroke and didn't survive it. It came right out of the blue. He was fit and trim and didn't smoke or drink to excess. He was just a victim of circumstance. It seemed desperately cruel to me at the time. It was one thing to lose my mother at a young age. It was quite another to lose my dad. He was my mentor and someone I looked up to as a role model. Dad was a half-owner in a very successful specialty wood finishing company. He wasn't a millionaire, but he was very well off and as a result of his death, I was now able to pick and choose a career. I had just graduated from the University of British Columbia with a Bachelor of Arts. As I was quickly reminded, that degree and four dollars would get you a latté at Starbucks. I couldn't live in the house any more. It was like a tomb, empty yet full of memories. Far too big for my simple needs. I listed it within the month. I found an apartment in the west end of Vancouver and set about looking for something worthwhile to do with my life. I was lightly attached to a young woman named Claire Garlock. I didn't view our relationship all that seriously, although she had taken up residence in my apartment. More like a friend with benefits. I think I was still brooding over my father's death. I hired a university colleague, a young lawyer fresh out of law school to be the executor of the estate. Since I was the only beneficiary, it was a very straightforward process. Sam Fowler was interested in what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. He suggested that I find a reputable investment counselor to protect my assets. At that point I hadn't sold our house and since it was mortgage free, it would bring in a sizable amount of cash. It was an enlightening experience, going through probate. After taxes, I had over six hundred thousand dollars to invest from my father's life insurance and his investments. In addition, there was the half share of the business and the house to add to it. I needed someone to advise me and shelter me from the taxes for which I might otherwise be liable. I contacted my father's investment advisor and set up an appointment. Joel Burger had served my father for over twenty years and I was confident that he was completely trustworthy. We met four times over the next two months and he set a path for me that would virtually assure I would have a reasonable income for many years to come. The house sold in five weeks, taking that long simply because every time we got an offer, someone came in and bid a higher number. My real estate agent told me this was more like Toronto than Burnaby as he shook his head in wonder. I'm sure he was counting the dollars on his ever-increasing commission. The business was another situation completely. My father's partner, Kerry Hewland, was unable to raise the cash to buy me out. He had leveraged his share of the business against a new home he was building and the costs were getting out of hand. Together, Sam and Joel worked out a plan for Kerry to buy me out on a long term payment strategy. When we were done, both of us were satisfied that we had struck a reasonable compromise and I had another income stream. The last piece of business was my father's boat. I had forgotten all about it to be truthful. I can remember being out on it when I was young, but between school, summer jobs at Dad's business, along with other interests, it had been something that was just a distant memory. Sam reminded me when he noticed the quarterly moorage payments to the yacht club. Joel and Sam accompanied me down to the yacht club, thinking we would just give the boat a wash, fuel it up, and go for a cruise. One look at it told us that wasn't going to happen. "Good Lord, Pat, this thing is a mess," Joel moaned. "I'm surprised it's still afloat," Sam said, shaking his head at the sorry state of what once was a lovely boat. "Yeah ... looks like I've got my work cut out for me if I want to sell it," I grumbled. "Shouldn't take more than a year or so to get it in respectable shape," chuckled Joel. "Good thing you have nothing else to do with your time." "You need a marine survey before you bother spending dime one on this tub," Sam intoned. "Yeah ... I guess that's right," I sighed. "I'll get in touch with someone this week. Might as well get the bad news right from the horse's mouth." "What a shame," Joel said, looking over the big vessel. "This once was a really fine looking yacht. It would be worth saving if it's possible. They don't build them like this any more." "And you know this how?" Sam asked. "The builder's plate on the cabin bulkhead says so," Joel said, pointing to the cast metal plate. "It's a Thornton Shadwell. Nearly fifty feet I'd guess. Custom built right here in Vancouver." "It is fifty feet," I said. "I remember that now. Come on, guys. I'll buy you a beer. I don't want to hang around here. It might sink on us while we're watching." *** "It will be a great deal of work, Mister Hamelin," Baldur Gerhard said as we stepped back onto the dock. "Considering the length of time it has been neglected, it is remarkable that it is still sound in the hull and superstructure. It is a testimony to the quality of the builder." "Can you give me a report that outlines what needs to be done to bring it back to its former condition?" "Yes ... it will take me some time and it will be an extensive report, but I can do that. I will want to spend more time on the boat to see what other issues need to be addressed. That will include the engines and running gear, electronics and plumbing. It won't be inexpensive, I can promise you. Neither the report nor the restoration." I thought about it for less than a minute. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was something I had to do. Why, I couldn't say. But it needed to be done. "Go ahead, Mister Gerhard. And if you can, I would appreciate the name or names of people who could do the work needed." He nodded, smiled and, I think, understood where my head was. This was an emotional decision, not a financial one. My father once said a boat was a hole in the water regularly filled with money. I began to understand the truth in that aphorism. However, it didn't change anything. I wanted to restore this boat if it was at all feasible. When Joel had laughingly commented that it would take a year to put the Captain's Choice back in shape, he had no idea how accurate he was. In fact, thanks to a rainy, cool summer, I was able to concentrate on the restoration. I had decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. I no longer had other distractions to sway me from my task. No girlfriend, no job, no social obligations other than to see my friends at the local pub for a pint on a Friday afternoon. My only other diversion was my Power Squadron lessons to gain my certificate of competence. I began the restoration with the exterior. Once I had the outside looking less like a derelict, I could at least tell myself that the effort would be worthwhile. It took two months just to clean the hull, repaint and re-treat the below-water areas with the best finishes. It was an arduous task, but when I was finally finished, it looked as good or better than the day it was launched. Next was the deck and superstructure. Here, teak restoration became part of my new skills. I took a course from a Danish craftsman who taught wood restoration at one of the vocational schools. Once again, it was hard work, but when I finished, I was proud of the result. I would be using that skill on the inside woodwork as well. Piece by piece, I gradually returned the once-elegant craft to its original condition. I had a diesel engine firm go over the twin power units and bring them back up to specification. Happily, that didn't turn out to be a major project. The electronics were another matter. They were shot and a complete refitting of almost everything was required. I handed this job over to the experts as well. I promised myself that I wouldn't start counting the dollars I was spending and I was almost able to keep that promise. I had invested many hours of my own sweat to bring this boat back to life and no dollar value was ever attached to that. But as I went through the fittings and equipment on the craft, I could see where I needed to replace and/or upgrade components. The galley, the command bridge controls and instruments, the fabrics and cushions for the berths, even the glass in the windows. There was no point in doing half or even three-quarters of the job at that point. I had kept my friends away from the job without much trouble. I had moved the boat to a yard where it could be hauled out of the water and I would do my work on dry land. I didn't want them to see it until I felt I was done. I wanted the shock value of the restoration to be maximized. They had seen it at its worst and I wanted them to see it as I had imagined it should be. Near the end of the restoration, I had it re-launched and moved to its previous mooring shed. The only work remaining was inside and most of that was now in the hands of others. I had been taking before-and-after pictures at the suggestion of one of the boatyard workers and I was really pleased that I had. When I looked at the contrast between what I had started with and what I had achieved, I was startled with how far I had come. *** "So guys," I said, lifting my pint of ale, "meet me at the boat shed tomorrow morning at ten and I'll show you what I've been doing for the last year." "It's done?" Joel remarked in surprise. "It's done. I think you'll be impressed. I hope you'll be impressed," I grinned. "Damn, Pat, a whole year ... most of it by yourself," Sam said, shaking his head. "Only you could afford to do that. The rest of us working stiffs could never find the time." "Yeah," I nodded in understanding. "I know. But ... I did this for me ... and for Dad. He'd be proud of it once again." "Are you going to take us out to see what it will do?" Joel asked. "Of course, so come wearing proper shoes and warm clothes. It's only April, so it will be cool." *** "My God!" Joel murmured, wide eyed. "Is this the same boat? I can't believe it." "Amazing, Pat," Sam smiled. "You have done an amazing job on this. Did you really do all this yourself?" "Most of the cosmetic work is all mine," I confirmed. "I had experts to look after the engines and electronics." "This looks very professional. The detail, the woodwork, the fittings. All those corroded chrome pieces are gone. Stainless steel now, huh," Joel noted. "Yeah ... do it once, and do it right was what I learned. Come aboard and I'll show you the interior. It's all redone too." I started the engines as Joel and Sam wandered through the cabin admiring the look of polished teak and bright new fabrics. The galley was now all stainless steel. It felt good to feel the faint vibration of the engines as I stood on the deck. "You want to handle the lines, guys, and we can get under way?" I didn't have to ask them twice, and within a minute, I was backing carefully out of the shed and into the narrow waterway. Another couple of minutes and I was unhurriedly working my way out of Coal Harbour and into Vancouver's inner harbour. We worked slowly past the fuel barge and around Brockton Point, heading toward the Lions Gate Bridge and English Bay. As I opened the throttles and brought the big craft up to half-cruise, I looked at the new engine clock. Twelve hours, it read. A week earlier I had invited Baldur Gerhard, the man who did the original survey on Captain's Choice to join me for the sea trials and give me an opinion on my efforts. Captain's Choice Ch. 01-02 "Excellent, Mister Hamelin. Outstanding work! You can take much pride in this vessel now." "Thank you. It's been a lot of work but I'm glad you approve." The twelve hours on the engine clock had been spent on my getting used to handling the craft by myself with just a deckhand to help with docking. I was reasonably satisfied that between my Power Squadron lessons and my extreme caution not to put a mark on my "masterpiece," I would be okay. "So what now?" Joel asked. "I've been thinking about chartering. Maximum six-to-eight people. I've got a couple of twelve foot Zodiacs on order for fishing. That's what the crane on the foredeck is for. I want to get some more hours under my belt, so I'll probably spend the next two or three months learning everything I can about handling the boat and what I need to have for charter operations." I contacted an agency that booked charters for boats like mine. I was interviewed on my boat as they wanted to make sure it was up to their standards and was fully insured. I made it clear that I had the right of refusal to charter to anyone I did not feel comfortable with. They assured me that they screened their clients as carefully as they screened me. I wasn't convinced, but I decided to go with them for now. The first summer was an eye-opener. The screening the agency did on their customers was purely financial, I guessed. Happily, I had refused day parties of more than twelve people and for overnight trips a maximum of eight, and preferably six. Despite the fact that the boat was fifty feet long, it wasn't designed as a passenger vessel. It was a yacht suitable for six to eight people to sleep in relative comfort. Six was ideal, while eight was stretching the resources, forcing us to find places for the crew. With only two heads (small washrooms) on board, facilities had to be rationed and carefully maintained. I didn't set the rates, the agency did. I received the fees, less the agency's commission, which was substantial. I don't think I'd ever worked as hard as I did from May through September of that first year. Even all the hard work I put in restoring the boat didn't produce the fatigue that trying to please the clients did. Twelve hour days were the exception. Sixteen hours more often, trying to keep the food, liquor, bedding, fishing gear and working toilets at the ready. I was astounded at the behaviour of some people. It was as if they had no responsibilities other than to party. They were rude, obnoxious, reckless with the equipment, pigs when it came to personal hygiene and generally disagreeable. They were a minority, of course. I was lucky enough to meet some delightful people and they were the perfect guests. It was the exceptions that coloured my thinking, though. Halfway through the summer, I made a decision. I would do my own chartering and I would be a good deal more careful about whom I chose to welcome aboard. That was when Tom Thompson pointed me in the right direction toward controlling my own destiny. If it hadn't been for Tom, I might have given up the idea of chartering right then and there. He put me on to corporate charter groups. Generally sales people taking key clients whom they wanted to entertain or thank for their business. While it wasn't the perfect solution, it was far better than I had experienced that first summer. The principal ambition of most of the corporate charters was to catch salmon. My two deckhands became my guides and my charter business began to thrive on its own merit. These charters were decidedly more upscale and we had to cater to them in that fashion. The food had to be top quality and the service and accommodations had to match what we were charging. I found I was a good deal more relaxed and interested in interacting with the clients. For the most part, they were well behaved and often pitched in to help around the boat when the occasion arose. I began to enjoy my new career for the first time. I also made some new friends and valuable contacts for the future. I know we gained some new clients from the way we handled ourselves, so things were going in the right direction. Most of my summer crew were repeaters. Students who needed a summer job, or more often now, young guys who wanted to do what they enjoyed in the summer, take some time off to travel, work at the ski resorts in the winter, and generally just move from location to location. I was amazed at how well-traveled these young people were. When we had overnight guests, the crew would often take one of the inflatables ashore and set up a tent to sleep in. They would be back in time to get breakfast ready the next morning. It's a good thing they were young. They got very little sleep compared to the guests, but none of them complained. It was a life they enjoyed and were happy with their circumstances. If we only had six or seven people for an overnight trip, I would sleep on the drop-down galley bunk. If it was eight, I would sleep up on the bridge on a fold-up cot I stowed for the purpose. The customer's comfort was first and foremost, so the captain's cabin was available to them first. This past summer had been the third charter summer for me and I was satisfied I had found the life I could be happy with. However, I did want to add a permanent crew person this winter or spring. I needed someone to whom I could hand over command of the boat and be confident that it was in good hands. There were times when I needed to leave the bridge to effect repairs or check on supplies. It was a constant monitoring of the boat that I found the most demanding. I had composed a help wanted ad for the newspaper. I was seeking an experienced person and hopefully a responsible one as well. Shortly after December first, I placed the ad. Chapter 2 The Deckhand The response to my advertisement for a deckhand brought a very sparse return. I had six letters containing what you might call a résumé, but that was stretching the definition for most. Only one of them caught my eye. A. R. (Del) Quinton provided a carefully and cleanly written application stating age, physical size, experience, and references. Mr. Quinton had spent three years with Inlet Towing and listed the general manager as a reference. He also had a certificate of marine emergency duties from the British Columbia Institute of Technology. I didn't even know such a course existed. He was a graduate of B.C.I.T. in marine engineering. I looked up the courses on the website and I was impressed. At five-foot-ten and a hundred-sixty pounds, he wouldn't be the biggest deckhand I'd ever hired, but the experience and education was the clincher. This man was overqualified for the job, but if that's what he wanted, I'd be a fool not to interview him. There was no phone number on the application, however there was an e-mail address. I typed a response and requested he contact me for an interview, preferably at the boat. I got a reply within a few minutes. Good! I arranged for him to meet me at the security gate at the yacht club at three that afternoon. "Mister Hamelin?" a woman asked as I waited at the gate. "Yes?" "I'm Del Quinton," she smiled. "Sorry to mislead you, but I didn't want to prejudice my interview before it began." I looked her over, a bit upset that I had been slightly deceived. "That wasn't necessary. I've hired women deckhands before," I said abruptly. "Good, then you can see from my application that I have the experience and some additional assets that can be of use to you." I'll give her this. She was cool and unruffled by my somewhat chilly reception. "So, what is your proper name?" I asked as I guided her through the security gate and down onto the floating dock. "Ardele Roberta Quinton, but most of my friends and relatives call me 'Del.'" "Three years on the tow boats at Inlet, I see." "Yes. My father had a friend who was a senior manager at Inlet. I pretty much begged to get a chance. I'm glad I did, but I wouldn't go back there." "Too hard?" "It isn't the best environment for a woman. Booze and drugs among a lot of the hands. I loved the work, but after a while I decided there must be something better. Something that would keep me on the water and not have to put up with the shi... uh ... crap that was a steady diet after a while." I nodded. She had a weathered look to her face and didn't bother to "dress up" for the interview. There were no skin-tight jeans, but rather baggy cotton cargo pants and a flannel snap-button shirt with a clean white t-shirt underneath. The boots were well worn soft-soled safety boots, obviously from her time on the tugs. "What did you do before Inlet?" "I worked for Burrard Marine at their chandlery. That's where I met my husband, to my regret." "How long have you been married?" "Six years. He figured out he didn't really have to work since I could support both of us on my income. That should have been the end right there, but I let it go on for a couple of years before I'd had enough." "Why don't you come aboard and we can discuss what the job is all about?" She followed me as we stepped onto the afterdeck of my boat and I saw her appraising it immediately. I let her look around and was pretty sure she was getting a good first impression. For that matter, I was getting a pretty good first impression of Del Quinton. She was no raving beauty, but she was attractive in a rough-hewn sort of way. Her face told you that she lived an outdoor life and her body, although fairly well hidden by her clothes, implied she was fit and probably strong. Her blonde hair was short, cut just above the nape of her neck. When she finished her preliminary survey, she smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "Well, what do you think?" I asked. "I like it. I like it a lot. How old?" "Fifty-two years. Built by Shadwell in 1959. Re-engined in 1970, restored in 2007 with new electronics and galley, along with a lot of the fittings and hardware." "Diesel?" "Twin Perkins plus a Yanmar generator." "GPS?" "Yeah, Garmin for that and the radar." "You've got the whole package, then." "That was the plan. I can show you some pictures of what she looked like before I restored it four years ago. I know a lot of people were thinking I was wasting my time." "No ... you didn't. It's beautiful. It's perfect. Who do I have to bribe to get this job?" "Let's go into the cabin and talk. You need to know what I'm looking for and I need to know you can do the job." I don't know why I spent the next half-hour with her. I knew she could do the job and I knew I was going to hire her. It was just a matter of settling the details. But first I wanted to know more about her. "Were do you live?" "Right this moment, nowhere. I've bailed out of my apartment. My soon-to-be ex-husband made life untenable for me." "Where are your things? Clothes and stuff?" "In my truck. I'll find a place." "Are you working right now?" She shook her head. "No ... but I've got a few bucks the lazy SOB couldn't get his hands on." "Did he get physical with you?" I asked, wondering if some hulk wasn't going to try and track her down. "He wouldn't dare. He'd be in emergency before he got a second chance." I snorted. She didn't sound like someone who would stand being messed with. "Anything else I should be aware of or worried about?" She laughed. "Well, I'm not wanted by the police ... or my 'old man' as it turns out. I'm available for work right away. I can afford to buy a uniform if I need one. I have my own outerwear including a survival suit. I can rig fishing tackle, repair most engines, prepare food, clean toilets ... you know ... the usual female stuff." "Okay, okay," I interrupted, holding my hand up. "You know what I'm paying. Any tips are your own. I'm insured and you will be covered by my health insurance after sixty days. Any questions?" "Yeah ... what happened to the last deckhand?" "Everyone I've hired has been a temp for the spring and summer season. Most of them are college kids. I want someone year-around. I don't have to depend on the charter business in the off-season, but there is some business if I want to take it. My corporate customer base is growing and they like to entertain clients in style. We provide that style." "Yeah, I can see that. This is one very nice boat. You've done a hell of a job bringing it back to new." "Thanks. It was a lot of work, but everyone who knows something about boats tells me it was worth it." "I agree," she nodded. "Where are you staying tonight?" I asked, remembering she had left her apartment and husband behind. "I'll get a motel room for a few days until I can find another apartment." "You can stay on the boat if you like. You'll have to get some food for yourself, but the power, water and sanitary system are all hooked up." "Thanks, but you don't know me. Aren't you taking a risk?" "I guess I am, but I'm taking a risk hiring you before I check your references. You need a place to stay temporarily and I have one. You might as well take advantage of the opportunity to get to know your workplace better." "Okay, thanks. I'll take you up on your offer. I appreciate it." "Can I help you with your things?" "No need. I've just got one bag. There's nothing left at the apartment that I want." "Okay, go ahead then," I said, passing her my card for the security gate. "I've got a couple of phone calls to make." I waited until she was on the dock before I keyed in Joel's number. "Hey, Joel, it's Pat Hamelin. Got a minute?" "Sure, Pat. What can I do for you?" "Do you know a family named Quinton?" "Yeah ... Cam Quinton. If I remember, he has three daughters. Joan, Wendy and the youngest. Odd first name if I remember correctly." "Would it be Ardele?" "Yeah ... I think that's it all right. Why do you ask?" "She applied for the deckhand job. She looks good on paper, but I wondered if you knew anything?" "Not much, Pat. She was a serious student at BCIT and then, against her parents' wishes, married some guy. Pleko or Pleshko ... something like that." "Okay. What was your impression of her?" I could almost see him shaking his head. "Nothing special. Good student ... studying engineering or something like that. Not a problem, other than marrying this guy I mentioned." "You know anyone at Inlet Towing?" "Nope. Sorry, can't help you there." "Okay. She gave the GM as a reference. I guess that should be good enough." "Give him a call, Pat. You can usually tell if someone doesn't want to tell you everything." "I'll do that. Thanks, Joel." I waited for Del to return with her bag. It was almost the size of a hockey bag, so she wasn't leaving much behind in her former digs. It looked heavy but she didn't seem to be having any trouble with it slung over her shoulder. There was little doubt she was fit and strong. "We'll just head up to the office and get you your own security card. Do you go by your married name?" "No. I never took his family name. I like my independence too much, I guess." "Okay then, the pass will be made out to Ardele Quinton." She smiled and nodded. "That's what it says on my passport." "You'll need to come with me and sign the register and the card. Leave your bag here and we can get this done now before the office closes." "Let's go," she grinned. "You know this job entails dealing with the public, right?" I asked. "I know. Don't worry. I'm not a bitch and I don't get moody at certain times of the month," she smirked. "I promise not to punch out any wise-asses that might be among the clients." "That's good to know," I chuckled. "My insurance carrier will be most grateful." I had already sent out some feelers for "off season" cruises and fishing trips. Winter Chinook salmon fishing had been good the last couple of years and I knew there might be some opportunities for some whale watching further north in the Straits. But first, a good test of Ardele would be the Carol Ship Parade. She would be aboard for the last three days and that should give me a good idea of how she handled the public. I checked with Hector Taylor at Inlet Towing and got a good, believable report on Ardele. If she lacked anything, it was the ambition to use her education to move further up the ladder at his company. She was a reliable, hard worker and didn't mess with either drugs or alcohol. When she was done with her shift, she went home to her husband and wasn't heard from until she reported for her next shift. He had no idea she had split up with Kurt Plekas, the man she had married. Her initial test would be this coming Friday with our first parade. A dozen guests, three crew and a bartender. I intended for Del to split her time with me on the bridge and mingling with the crew to see what was going on and how they handled themselves. My crew were experienced, having previously worked with me on Captain's Choice, so I had no concerns about their ability to do the job. Typical dress for the Carol Ships was black trousers, black shoes, and a white open-neck dress shirt. It made it easy for the guests to find a crew member when they needed one and I wanted them to look professional, despite the young average age. The bartender wore the same by request. It could get pretty warm in the cabin with that many people and I wanted our staff to be comfortable. Del wore black slacks and a white short-sleeved dress shirt and with black deck shoes I was satisfied with the way she looked. I couldn't help but notice her muscular arms. My first impression of her was right. She was fit and strong if her biceps were any indication. The slacks were a good deal snugger than her cargo pants and I was impressed with her physique. Everything about her spelled fitness and yet it didn't deter from her feminine qualities. When the crew arrived, I saw the guys checking her out carefully. By the time we embarked on our first parade cruise of the season, the organizers had pretty well got things under control, with only a few stragglers and misfits. The parade began around seven in the evening and we were usually back at our berth between 9:30 and 10:00 PM. Del mingled among the guests, answering questions about the boat and where we were in the harbour. It was a cool, moonless night, but thankfully not raining or windy, so many of the guests were outside enjoying the sights, trying to take pictures as we slowly motored along. I went below, leaving Tom at the wheel, checking with the bartender to make sure no one was getting drunk and that all was well. He assured me we were fine and said the crew were keeping a watch for anyone who might not behave. I found Del outside, short sleeves and all, talking to a couple of our guests. "Do you want a sweat shirt, Del?" I asked. "No, I'm fine. I'll come in soon. I just wanted to check on our passengers and make sure everyone was safe." "Thanks. We can see some of them from the bridge, but it's good to keep an eye out." I went back inside, said hello to a few people and then returned to the bridge. "I think I made a good choice for my new deckhand, Tom." "Glad to hear it. From what you've told me, she has the credentials to be really useful on board." "Yes ... that and the fact that she's an interesting person to talk to. She's very knowledgeable and well read." "She's also an attractive woman, in case you haven't noticed," he kidded. "Yes ... not a classic beauty, but nice just the same." "I think she's interested in you," he said, continuing to scan the darkness for whatever he could see. "What makes you think that?" "I dunno ... just the way she looks at you sometimes. I could be wrong." "I think you are. Anyway, it's a bad idea to get involved with your employees, I've always been told." Captain's Choice Ch. 01-02 "Probably good advice," Tom said. *** Our first four parade nights went as planned and we had no problems at all. Del fitted in well with our people and she got along particularly well with Tom. They seemed to have lots to talk about, generally marine subjects but not exclusively. "What did your father do?" Tom asked her as the three of us stood on the bridge late one evening. "He was a newspaperman. He was editor in chief at the News Herald." "He's retired now I suppose," Tom said. "No ... I wish. He passed away a couple of years ago. He had cancer and it had been in remission for many years. It came back on him when he was in his fifties and there was no stopping it this time." "I'm sorry to hear that. Your mother is still alive?" "Yes ... she lives in Osoyoos. She likes the dry climate and has some friends who live there as well. I don't get to see her as often as I'd like. My sisters live in Kelowna and Calgary and both of them visit her fairly regularly." "Two sisters?" Tom asked. "Yes ... Wendy and Joan. Daddy's two princesses." "And you?" "I was supposed to be boy, someone to carry on the family name. It didn't work out that way. I was the tomboy of the family. Wendy and Joan were my older sisters and I was the runt of the litter," she grinned self-consciously. "You didn't turn out to be much of a runt," I suggested, butting in on the conversation for the first time. "No ... not after I was about fifteen. But I always felt I was supposed to be something I wasn't. Anyway, that's all in the past. Nearly twenty years in the past in fact." "Will you be getting together for Christmas?" I asked, knowing we would be out of operation through the New Year after the last parade. "Yeah, I'm driving up Sunday, weather permitting." "That's nice," I smiled. "It's good to be around family this time of the year." "What about you?" Del asked. "No family left. I'm having dinner on Christmas Eve with Joel Burger and his family. They are old friends of my father and that will be nice." "What about you, Tom?" "I'm off to see my son and daughter and their teenagers. They live out in the Fraser Valley and I'll spend a couple of days with them until they get sick of the sight of me," he chuckled. I knew for a fact that Tom was close to his only son and his family. He would probably spend most of the week through the New Year holiday with them. I was glad he had that connection still strongly intact. "Just one more parade after tonight and it will be all over for the year," I mused. "I'm glad I don't do any more than six of these cruises. It isn't the cruise that wears you out, it's the clean up for the next cruise." "You can afford to hire some professional cleaners to come in and do that for you, Pat," Tom said. "I know, but you know what a fuss-ass I am about this boat. If it's going to be done, it's going to be done right. If I do it myself with Del's help, I know it's going to be the way I want it." "So, Del, it appears that you meet Pat's exacting standards. Congratulations," he grinned. "Gee, thanks ... I think," she shot back with a raised eyebrow. "You know better than that, Del," I said quickly. "You're a hell of a lot more important than just a clean up person." "Relax, Pat," she chuckled. "No offense taken. I know what you meant." It wasn't any great revelation that Ardele Quinton was becoming a very valuable crew member in a very short period of time. She had chosen to live aboard with my blessing. It was good to have a full-time guardian on board. Del had a sense of discipline about her that was impressive and she quickly found a routine that allowed her to keep an eye on what was needed on the boat at all times. It meant I could relax, knowing that a second set of keen eyes was ever watchful of what was happening on or about the Captain's Choice. To Be Continued.