Magique eye swivels

Magique eye swivels.

we were scared. Water sloshed across the floorboards and some of the fish were beginning to move about. I tried to remember the tide phase, figuring it to be near the middle of the ebb. “This tide’s gonna run against us for three more hours. It’ll be dark by the time it lets up,” I said glumly. We had to stay as far forward on the bow as possible because moving anywhere near the windshield brought water aboard. Stretching my arm, I reached over the windshield and flicked the switch for the bilge pump. Its whirring sounded like sweet music. Within 20 minutes we noticed progress as the level of water receded into the bilge. After another halfhour I cautiously ventured past the windshield and nearly made it to the stern before water spilled over the notch again. Back to the bow! Another hour passed and the rip had eased considerably. Now I could stand at the motor and water would only occasionally spill over the notch. I carefully tilted up the motor and, while unleashing a few choice words, removed the anchor line from the prop and skeg. The skiff eased around, bow facing into the slackening tide. I turned the key to start the engine. Nothing. The bilge pump had killed the battery. The Evinrude had a manual start, but I’d never used it. Strengthened by anger and frustration, I gave the starting rope a mighty pull and the motor’s reaction almost yanked my arm out of its socket. That old Evinrude had some kind of compression! Ritchie and I double-teamed the starter rope and finally brought the engine to life on our 10th try. We waited a few minutes for the pump to drain the bilge, and then headed in. We took it slowly and carefully in the darkness. The old man was waiting on the dock when we got back. “Good trip?” he asked, a puff of smoke rising from his pipe. Ritchie and I exchanged a sheepish look.