Aaron stuck his flag in the ground (also known as "marking his territory") of Blakely Rock during our jaunt over to Blakely Harbor on the southeast shore of Bainbridge Island last weekend. It was a minus tide when we all hopped in the dinghy and motored (note the use of the motor here--this will prove relevant later) the 1.5 miles to the craggy rock.
Greta was off exploring all the low-tide scents (she almost rolled on a dead starfish before Aaron stopped her. Ew.), while we checked out the tide pools, watched the seals swimming around, got yelled at by many a seabird and climbed to the tippy top of the rock. Oh, and Greta and Aaron "marked their territory."
Here's where the "motoring" part of the story comes in. Once we'd had our fill of exploring, we got back in the dinghy and pushed off (the water was so clear! No wonder this is a prime diving location.). We'd been going for just enough time to clear the waves breaking on the rock when, yep, you guessed it... putt, putt, putt... nothing. We were out of gas--with a mile and half to go to get back to the boat. We bobbed around for a minute while we confirmed our suspicions (yep, out of gas) and broke out the oars. It's a good thing Aaron used to be a rower! He was such a sport rowing the entire way back (yes, I offered to spell him on numerous occasions) with only minimal under-the-breath utterances. I really thought he should serenade me, but I guess he wasn't in a romantic mood.
We made it back without incident (except for some sore shoulders) and treated ourselves to a delicious dinner and bottle of wine on the foredeck. You just can't beat a day like that. Really, how often do you get to claim an island?