When I was 12, my father did something amazing. We were on vacation in Northern Minnesota, enjoying a cabin on a pristine lake. As I was 12, my dad wanted me to have a bit more fun so he rented a Jet Boat. Jet Boats are like jet skis, only in boat form. You can ski behind them a little easier and fit more people.
So we had the boat for a few days. We didn’t have a boat lift though, so we’d beach it at night. “Beach it” means to pull a boat up on to shore so it doesn’t float away. But pulling is a lot of work. Tiring work. Sweaty work. Not vacation work. Instead of all that hassle, we preferred to drive the boat up onto shore. You have to be careful though. Jet boats work by sucking up water from underneath the boat and blasting it out the back. You don’t want to do that in sandy, shallow water. You’ll suck sand into the engine and screw it up. So the trick to beaching a jet boat is to get some decent speed, but not too much, and cut the engines as you get close to shore.
My dad was gonna do it. I was the better driver, but if something went wrong he’d prefer it happen to him.
I stood on shore. I remember I had a towel wrapped around me (at 12 I was quite heavy and my heaving bitch tits were likely jiggling and swaying with each step). He drove out a bit and gunned the engine for shore. He got within about 20 feet of shore and cut the engines. So far so good.
But there’s an added difficulty to beaching a jet boat, which is control. When you cut the engines, you can’t really steer. The jet turns to propel you in various directions. And water doesn’t always do what you want.
He cut the engines and the boat immediately swerved left. Right at my uncle’s dock. My dad, with surprisingly lightning fast reflexes, put the boat back into gear to regain some control. But when you cut the engines you lose speed fast too. So the wake of the boat (the waves the boat creates when it moves) had caught up with the back end and started pushing forward. The boat was carried in toward shore. Lifted upon the wave, which was superbly shaped like a ramp.
And he hit the gas at full power. The boat launched several feet in the air. I remember the day was a bit overcast, so I could see the gray sky reflected off the water beneath the boat.
Dad was flying.
The boat did a little dance on the dock, just barely bouncing and scraping the far end, before coming down on the far side and sliding several feet into shore on the opposite side. Fortunately, the sand there is on a fairly sharp angle and slowed the watercraft before it could fly into the woods and take out some trees, or the trees could take out my dad.
It came to a stop, and for the first time in my life I was impressed by my dad’s agility. He was not a nimble man. He drank. He ate. He used his mind to great advantage, but not his body.
But damn did he do a sweet cartwheel out of that boat. He hurled himself over the edge, landed on the sand with a gymnast’s grace, and immediately started inspecting the boat for scratches or holes.
I stood, amazed, and 18 years later I am still in awe of what he accomplished.
I was the only one who saw it.
So how do dogs flip? Like this.
The video below is not as cool. But I suspect that dog may be my old man, reincarnated but still retaining that old magic. Enjoy.