Our boat speed began to tick upwards as we slid between the colossal corps of engineered breakwaters. The water swirled and hard-boiled around us. Caprica’s bow lifted and dashed through standing waves that had suddenly appeared. I clutched the wheel as the rudder was yanked hard over by an eddy then looked at the breakwater to judge course.
I stood in the back of the Express looking for a path through the jumble of boulders. Above us a gaggle of families snapping pictures watched intently, trying to catch that special moment when we run the dinghy aground on rocks. They were disappointed. The current from the old harbor pushed against the inflatable hull, and we pumped up the jam. “Faster Dad!” Eleanor yelled as I goosed the throttle and we slid into the quiet confines of the old harbor.