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A SMALL BUT GLOWING ACT OF HEROISM
By Bob Hale
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July 20, 2004. Around six o'clock in the afternoon of July 13 Marilynn Hale and I returned to the dock at Friday Harbor, foot-weary and mentally worn out. We'd begun and ended the day hoofing around Friday Harbor, calling on customers and gathering information and advertising commitments for the 2005 Waggoner. The middle of the day, from late morning until late afternoon, had been spent bussing across the island to Roche Harbor, meeting with Roche Harbor management, having lunch, hiking out to the Mausoleum for new pictures, and catching the 3:00 p.m. bus to the new (1999) and remarkable Lavender Farm in the middle of the island. Finally, back to Friday Harbor on the 4:30 bus for a last meeting with a customer and some quick shopping at King's Market. Then out to the boat for a welcome drink, some solitude and something simple for supper.
As we walked down to the dock where we were moored, however, we were greeted by a group from the other boats. They were chatting around a glass-topped table on the terrace, sipping cocktails or wine they had brought up, and enjoying potluck hors d'oeuvres. "Get a drink and join us," they shouted. Oh, no, we groaned through our fatigue, but what could we do but accept the invitation. We dug out a bag of Doritos and a jar of japaleno cheese dip and carried them up to the party, along with something with ice in it to combat thirst.
The air was warm even though the sun had dropped behind the hill, the conversation was lively and good, and we decided we were glad we had been dragged up there to socialize. In fact, it was very relaxing and we were having a good time.
One person was not having a good time, however, and that was the skipper of the sailboat circling between our dock and the private marina to the north. A strong current was running, and the skipper had no one else on board to help with a landing. Back and forth he went, probably waiting for the current to slacken.
After about the third pass, one of our group, Julie Riley, stood up and quietly went missing. A few moments later we spotted her at the private marina next door. She had climbed up the hill, walked north along the road, and found her way back down to the sailboat's dock. And now she stood at the end of the finger float where the sailboat wished to land, waving to the skipper, ready to take a line to help him in. He approached, she took the bow line, then the stern line. She horsed the boat against the current up to the dock, and made the lines fast to the dock cleats. A short time later Julie was back at our gathering as if nothing had happened.
But something indeed had happened, something important. Alone among a group of experienced boat people, Julie had seen a situation that needed help and she had done something about it. I should have done something about it, but I rationalized that I was tired from a long day, and did nothing. Now I'm embarrassed for myself. To me, what Julie did, and the way she did it, was heroic, and I told her so at the time. So here's to Julie Riley, who recognized what needed doing, and without fuss or fanfare, went and did it. v
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