The warm weather continued and when we reached Thursday, we decided to sail to the Tuborg Harbor, take a taxi for the birthday party from there and sail home during Sunday.
We packed the car and drove down to the harbor. Here I and the backyard were set off. Pia drove home to complete the gift for Christina.
- Should I pack the shoes in the sports bag or can you have them in the handbag? she had asked before driving. With a slightly indulgent look, she had been told that they could just stay in the handbag.
I carried the luggage to the end of the wooden bridge where the boat lay.
The luggage included two sports bags with clothes for 3 days, including party clothes for Saturday's party, one bag with food, another with bedding, a six pack with beer, the top for the cockpit tent and Pia's handbag.
Six times I had to get to and from the boat to get everything on board - heavy and deadly difficult.
Fortunately, I could reach the bow from the end of the bridge and from there gently long the back yard onto the front deck.
The two bags of clothes came over without any problems, as did the bags of food, bedding, the six-pack, the cockpit tent, and even the handbag with the shoes, although it landed a little too close to the railing.
As I boarded, the bag overturned and the shoes rolled out onto the deck. One ended safely in the middle of the front deck. The other continued towards the railing, rolled over it and hit with a plump sound the water surface.
Satan
Covered float with luggage. Only when I had carried everything down into the cockpit was there room to fish the shoe out of the water.
The shoe was still flowing in the surface, but as I wanted to pick it up with the boat shed, it almost tore towards the bottom.
Satan
I could see it on the muddy bottom and picked up a longer boat garden at the boat yard.
I lay on my stomach on the wooden bridge, gently led the end of the boat shed under the shoe and slowly pulled it up to the surface.
When it reached the surface, it fell off the chin and swirled for the second time down to the bottom - this time a little faster. Now almost like a little triumphant.
Now the bottom had become muddy. So much so that the shoe could not be seen.
Satan
I went down in the boat, unpacked my luggage and put things in place.
When I got up on the front deck again, the muddy sky had settled and I could see the shoe again.
I put myself back on the stomach on the bridge, got hold of the shoe with the boat garden. This time I only got it a little over the bottom before it fell off and hid under a new mudderky.
Satan Satan
I picked up another boat hook at the port office, but now I could not put the hook in the shoe.
Then I tied a net at the end of the short boat garden, waited for the water to clear and led the optimistic net down over the shoe. But now the shoe had drilled so much down into the soft bottom that I could not get the net down over it and after a short while it disappeared again under a muddeck.
Satan
After a few hours, Pia got on the boat. She got very little excited when I told her that one part of her favorite shoe was a bit down in the muddy bottom and was clearly unimpressed by my two hours of creative attempts to salvage the damn shoe.
The time had come many and after another unsuccessful attempt, we went to Tuborg Harbor.
On Friday we took the bus to Copenhagen, bought a map of Europe's rivers and canals at Weilbach, went to Nyhavn, and returned to the boat in the late afternoon.
On Saturday we cut the deck and the mirror, visited Niklas, went to birthday party and back on the boat late in the evening.
During the morning we were out of the harbor and reached Humlebæk a few hours later.
It was hot, really hot. We set out for anchor off the beach south of the harbor, bathed, slept and relaxed for a couple of hours in the amazing weather.
Late in the afternoon we sailed into the harbor and docked at the boatyard's bridge so the next day the boat could be taken ashore for the annual preparation.
When we had moored, I went over to the bridge where we had left the shoe 3 days before. The water was quite clear and I could clearly see the shoe still lying drilled halfway down the muddy bottom.
I picked up a fishing tackle on the boat, tied a wink with a trek on, laid my stomach on the bridge and lowered the hook down over the shoe.
The hook got hold of the laces.
Slowly I pulled the string up and held my breath as it reached the water surface. In breathless excitement, I gently pulled the shoe out of the weightlessness and the unbearably long meter up to the bridge.
What a triumph.
- And once it has been cleaned, you can definitely not see it has been on the bottom for 3 days, I said when I happily handed over the catch to Pia.
