Chapter 6: Discovery

True to his word, I heard the snarl of Jerry's plane just before seven on Saturday morning. Del and I were on the dock, coffee thermos in hand and ready for a full morning of searching. I watched Jerry drift the sleek float plane near the narrow end of the dock, cut the engine and step onto the pontoon. I caught the line he threw to tether the plane and tied it off to the nearest cleat.

"Mornin' Jerry," I said.

"Mornin," he replied. "Did you hear about the explosion last night?"

"No ... what explosion?"

"One of the salmon farms in Jervis Inlet reported an explosion and what they thought was a fireball somewhere in Hotham Sound about ten-thirty last night. Why don't you call the RCMP and see what they can tell you before we take off."

I had the RCMP number on my saved list and punched it in.

"RCMP Campbell River, Constable Myers speaking."

"Constable, this is Pat Hamelin. I've reported my boat being stolen on Tuesday. I understand there was a report of an explosion and possible fire in Hotham Sound last night. Do you have a report on that?"

"One moment," he said, putting the phone down. I could hear him talking to someone in the background but I couldn't make out the conversation. He was back on the line a couple of minutes later.

"Yes, we have a report of a boat exploding in that location. Can you describe your boat?"

"Fifty foot, wooden hull, wooden superstructure. Restored heritage boat from the fifties. It was stolen from our mooring in Menzies Bay sometime Tuesday night I believe."

"Okay, I've got the report now. It's possible that this might be your boat, but the damage is such that it's going to be difficult to confirm that."

"Constable, I've got a charter float plane standing by that we've been using to search for my boat. We'll fly down to the location and see if there's anything we can identify. It's extremely important to me to know if it is mine."

"I understand Mr. Hamelin. However, you'll either find one of our boats or the coast guard at the scene. There's a report that there were fatalities involved and that will be the site will be cordoned off. You'll have to follow the strict instructions of whoever is in charge."

"Yeah, sure. I just need to know. Thanks, I'll check in down there when we arrive."

I hung up and turned toward Del and Jerry. "They've confirmed the explosion and that it was a boat. Apparently there were fatalities. It's possible it's not the Captain's Choice, but we need to fly down there and check it out. How long, Jerry?"

"Thirty minutes, thereabouts. We can go now."

"Let's go. The sooner I know, the better off I'm going to be, even if it is the worst news.

Jerry got us to Hotham Sound in just over thirty minutes and dropped down to overlook the site. I could see the RCMP patrol boat, an oversized inflatable, and a couple of other boats around what appeared to be the semi-submerged hull of a large boat. He rounded out the pattern and made his landing approach well clear of the site and sat in place a hundred meters off the area, waiting for someone to approach.

It didn't take long before another, smaller Zodiac came racing out to meet us. I opened my door and carefully stepped out on the pontoon. The inflatable slowed and approached from my side of the aircraft. Jerry had killed the engine and we were just drifting at that point.

I could see a uniform on the man in the inflatable and assumed he was RCMP.

"What are you doing here?" he asked politely. "This is a controlled area for now."

"I understand. I had my boat stolen a few days ago from Campbell River and I wanted to find out if this was it."

"Okay, I heard about that. We're wondering the same thing. Why don't you step aboard and I'll take you over there. Maybe there's something you can identify. There isn't much left of it though."

"I'm Pat Hamelin," I said by introduction and we motored carefully back to the scene.

"Corporal Williston, Search and Rescue, Comox. Was your boat all wood?"

"Yes. It was a motor launch built in the 1950's."

He nodded but didn't say anything. I was getting the ominous feeling that this was my boat all right.

"The constable I talked to in Campbell River said there was a fatality."

"Two so far. One on the boat, burned to a crisp, and one in the water."

"Do you have any idea what caused the explosion?"

"Too early. Might have been gas fumes, might have been propane."

"My boat was diesel and had automatic sniffers and fans. The propane tank ran the stove top and oven, refrigerator and heat."

"Large tank?"

"Yes," I answered. "It's possible that they didn't know how to control the propane shut-off valve and flooded the bilge with gas."

We were drifting slowly closer to the sunken hull of the boat. It looked like the boat had been anchored in fairly shallow water and the hull was visible from above. I scanned it carefully, becoming more and more convinced that this was my boat ... or what was left of it. I could barely make out the registration numbers on the bow, but when I did, I knew.

"Oh, fuck!" I spat, slumping back on the inflatable's seat board.

"You recognize something?" the corporal asked.

"Yeah, I recognize the last four digits of my registration number on the bow. That is the Captain's Choice. I'm sure of it."

"I've got a diver on the patrol vessel. I'll get him over the side to confirm the number."

I nodded, numb now that I knew the worst.

The corporal spoke into a shoulder-mounted mike and a couple of minutes later a scuba diver appeared, putting on his tank and fins and slipping over the side of the big patrol vessel. Less than five minutes later he confirmed what I already knew. The registration number, or what was left of it, corresponded to Captain's Choice.

"Any likelihood anyone got away alive?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I doubt it. There wouldn't be any warning if it was gas accumulation. The guy we found in the water looked like he'd been run over by a train. We're still collecting pieces of debris for the forensics guys, but I doubt we'll find much more than scrap wood. We did find an inflatable on the shore. Would that be yours?"

"Yeah, there were two of them, one racked on the transom, one on the foredeck. We used the boat for charters and the Zodiacs were for fishing."

"Well, only one of them has shown up. I'll have the diver check to see if the other is on the bottom somewhere nearby. Otherwise, maybe someone took it to go somewhere and missed the fireworks."

"I don't think there's anything else I can do here, corporal. Can you take me back to the plane and we'll get out of your way."

"No problem. Actually, you've been a big help identifying the boat and letting us know about the other inflatable. Stay in touch with the RCMP, please. They're just getting started on the investigation."

"Sure. My insurance company is going to want some details, so I'll contact them and let them know who to talk to."

He took me back to the plane and I thanked him before climbing back into the cabin.

"Well, Del, it's our boat all right. What's left of it, that is."

"Oh, Pat. I'm so sorry. I kept hoping that we would find it and it would be all right. I guess I was just kidding myself."

"I think I knew all along that it was never going to be recovered. That we'd sailed our last cruise on it. Damn that hurts."

"That boat was something special to you?" Jerry asked as we continued to sit and drift.

"Yeah. It was my father's. I restored it and turned it into a charter boat. It was the last thing he owned that I still kept. It was a beautiful boat and it's a damn shame it's been destroyed."

Jerry nodded, turned a switch and pushed a button to start the engine. It coughed to life and a minute later we were taxiing out toward the middle of the sound, giving us clearance for a safe take off.

It was a quiet threesome as we flew back to Menzies Bay. Jerry dropped us off at the dock and wished us the best, however things turned out. I thanked him for all his expertise and help. Del and I walked slowly up the ramp toward the motel. We could forget about the boat now. It was gone and never coming back.

It was still early, not yet ten am. I had no idea what I wanted to do.

I turned to Ardele. "Well, that closes the book on that. What now?"

She seemed to be lost in thought and I chose not to interrupt her. I took her hand as we walked along and tried to focus on what I might do now.

"You need another boat, Pat," Ardele said, stopping and looking at me. "As important as your father's boat was, it was the life it created for you that you love. There are a thousand other boats out there that you can get and continue to do what you really want to do."

I didn't respond. I thought about what she said. I wasn't so sure I agreed with her. It was important that it was "that boat." That was my connector to the past, something tangible that linked my late father to me. It was more than just a boat.

"I know what you're thinking," she continued. "It was special and it was personal. But it's gone now. What you have left is the rest of your life. It doesn't mean that you've lost contact with your father. That's in your head and in your heart. The boat was just a reminder. After all, wasn't it he who left it in that shed for ten years and didn't set foot on it. It was an object, Pat. A beautiful one to be sure, but still ... it was an object. Objects can be replaced."

We hadn't moved since she began her comments. Still holding hands, her eyes boring into mine, she was trying to convince me to carry on.

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm asking you if you still want to be in the charter business?" she said quietly.

"Okay, good question. I don't know. I guess that's the first decision to make."