Tink

Habibi has a side-kick, Tinkerbell the dinghy. Tink for short, rhyming with ‘dink’, which is what some folks call their dinghies. She’s a wooden rowboat with oars.

“You need a motor,” said Francisco from the guard shack. I was returning with provisions from the big city (Loreto, about 18 highway miles away, population 20K).

“I am the motor,” I replied, and he laughed.

Before driving for supplies, I have to row into the marina where the truck is parked, about a mile, maybe more. Sometimes the wind is agin’ me, so I have to really want to go. Reasons include food, laundry, garbage disposal, showers, and mail. Now that I’ve figured out the inverter, Habibi charges the devices via sun and wind. And phone reception has improved at the new mooring, so the mobile hotspot helps me access the internet. 

Mainly we row to the snorkel spot every morning. There’s a big rock that Tink likes to tie to, so we usually aim for that, though sometimes she wanders left or right, and I end up rowing more with one arm than the other. The abs help, and I hook my feet under the rear seat (we row backwards) for leverage. 

The last rowboat I owned I bought for Emmett. He was too big for the sea kayak, and howled when I went out without him, thus the boat, found at a yard sale. Abbot and Costello we were at first, but eventually we got the hang of it. Woodard Bay was a firm favorite. Lots of fish, rarely humans. Peaceful.

Maybe that’s why I like Tink, and why I don’t mind (usually) being the motor. She reminds me of unconditional love. And that’s always worth rowing for.