August 1 2026, Wind Warning

My phone rang, and an emotional voice cracked over the line. “Hello, this is the man you saved on the seadoo yesterday. I wanted to thank you again and let you know you were our guardian angel, our savior. My wife and I wanted to thank you again from the bottom of our hearts.”

My stomach churned and tumbled. I didn’t feel like anyone’s savior, and certainly not any type of angel.

I only did what had to be done.

We chatted for a minute, and Bass and Susan thanked me again and invited me to come visit them in Vancouver. 

My thoughts went back to the day before. A Saturday on the long weekend in August. One of the busiest days of the year for Luxury Lake Tours.

My head spun with how the day began.

I opened my bleary eyes and crawled quietly out of bed. Gabby, our precocious Half-Bengal cat, loudly announced my movements, while I did my best not to disturb my sleeping wife.

She moaned and rolled over. 5:00 am was rather early for her. My first trip of the day was to meet the people doing the “Rattlesnake Island Across-The-Lake Swim”. It would be the fourth year in a row for us to be a transport boat and provide safety for the swimmers. I was to be in Peachland for 6:30, and I wanted to be on time. 

I reached for the coffee pot and ground the beans. My morning ritual began as I flicked the switch and listened for the bubbling sound of coffee brewing.

Then my phone sent me an alert.

The smoke is too thick out there. We are canceling the event.

It was the coordinator for the morning swim. They canceled the swim because the smoke from the forest fires was so thick you couldn’t see across the lake. Part of me breathed a sigh of relief, and I wandered back to bed.

Two hours later, my phone alert rang again.

Wind warning. Winds up to 80 kph forecast for later this afternoon.

I groaned and rolled out of bed. What shitty timing was this? We had a full day of boat tours; now the wind was going to cause it all to be canceled… or worse. The last time we had a forecast like this, we had a boat sink in the slip.

I went down to the kitchen and turned the coffee pot on. I poured myself a cup of joy and sat down with my laptop. I began my first email: Hello, this is Cal with Luxury Lake Tours. There is a high wind forecast for later this afternoon. I would like to move your tour to an earlier time. Please get back to me asap so we can make arrangements.

Two hours later, I’d managed to get almost all the tours booked to leave early enough to beat the wind – I hoped.

I had changed the departure dock to downtown Kelowna for my group, and they agreed to meet at 12:30 instead of 2:00 pm. I drove the truck and trailer to Peachland and retrieved Serendipity 2 so I could launch downtown and avoid a return trip up the lake into the teeth of the storm. 

My timing was good, and I felt confident when I dropped the boat into the crowded launch at Waterstreet in Downtown Kelowna. 

That was when the first sign of trouble for me began.

The motor wouldn’t turn over. I’d left the battery on when I pulled the boat from the water in Peachland. There was no way it should be dead.

But it was.

I asked a few people if they had a booster I could use. No one had one, so my mind raced for a solution. I checked the time – 11:45. I had 45 minutes to go to Dockside Marine and buy a battery, return and replace it.

It was doable. 

I tied off the boat on the dock, leaped into my truck and headed for Dockside. 

At 12:27, the new battery was installed, and I was ready to go. That’s when my guests messaged me that they were running late.

I took a deep breath and relaxed. I had time to spare now. I eased my boat to the dock at the visitor centre and waited. The Tube was filled and ready to go. We departed from the dock as the wind began to blow across the waters of Okanagan Lake. It was a three-hour tour, and I assured my guests there were no islands for us to get stranded on. They were old enough to laugh at my Gilligan’s Island joke.

At 4:00 pm we pulled back into the visitor centre dock, my guests smiling from a wonderful afternoon on the lake. The winds had begun to pick up, and we felt relieved that we went out when we did. 

I spent a few minutes cleaning up and deflating the tube. A group of young people came and sat on the dock. One of the girls looked at me and smiled, “Can we have a boat ride?”

“Sure, take your shoes off, let’s go,” I laughed, only half-serious.

One of their group, a young man probably 18 years old, hopped on the boat.

He grinned at me, “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

As I headed out to the lake, I saw how rough the water was. Waves were smashing on the breakwater, and the lake was churning with a vicious energy. I stared at the calm waterway along the front of the Kelowna Yacht Club and considered taking the slow, calm ride to the Waterstreet boat launch.

That’s when I made the fateful decision. I’d give this kid a bit of a ride. My boat can handle rough water no problem, so I pulled out into the teeth of the storm. 

We cruised the front of the breakwater, watching the waves smash against the log dam that floats there, protecting all the wealthy yachts perched on their docks. 

That’s when I saw the seadoo. It was upside down, and a couple was struggling hard to get the seadoo turned over. I slowed down and pulled up close. 

“Are you okay?”

“No!” It was clear they were having difficulty getting the seadoo turned back over. Then it flipped upright, and they struggled to get on. 

My mind raced. Should I leave them and get some help? But they were being swept closer to the breakwater. My instincts cut in and I grabbed the rope from the tube and tossed it to them.

The young man on my boat sat there, eyes wide. I could see the fear flowing from him, but we needed to help these people. Right now.

I maneuvered my vessel closer, thinking the kid was holding the rope. They grabbed the line, but he was sitting there staring at everything, uncertain what to do. Before all fifty feet of rope slid from the boat, I hollered to him, “Grab the rope and hold on!”

Almost all the rope had slid off the boat when he grabbed the end. The lady from the Sea-Doo was being battered against the back of their machine and swallowing more water than air. I told her to hold the rope and get in the boat. I dropped the ladder out of the side door and told the kid to help her in while I reversed my boat to stay away from the approaching breakwater.

The kid helped the lady on the boat, and then it was the guy’s turn. I yelled for him to let go of the Sea-Doo. 

“We’re responsible for the Sea-Doo. What will we do?”

I reached over the edge and told the man to let go of his Sea-Doo. “Get in the boat I yelled. Then tried to tie the seadoo to the rope.

Big mistake

He scrambled to the ladder and climbed on board. I rushed to the helm and slammed my boat in reverse.

The motor died.

We were being washed toward the breakwater; the relentless waves were rushing us to our doom.

Why did the motor die? I fired it up again and tried to reverse. 

Nothing.

I rushed to the back of the boat and stared into the water. The rope was wrapped around the prop.

“Fuck!” My scream echoed across the lake. I jumped into the raging water and tried to remove the twisted mess from the prop.

Just then, the seadoo smashed into the breakwater. Followed rapidly by Serendipity2.

I went under the pounding waves, frantically trying to loosen the rope.

It was stuck fast, and we were bashing off the logs.

I felt myself going further under. I pulled myself around the motor and used the logs to leap back on the boat. I tried to raise the motor, but it was stuck fast. No chance there.

I glanced at the boats rushing by on the water and screamed for help.

No help came.

I stood on the breakwater and tried again to keep the boat from smashing the logs. The power of the water was too great. More waves smashed, and I tried to reach the prop to remove the rope. Down I went again. The man from the Sea-Doo came to the back and helped me back in the boat.

Fear coursed through me. I had to get off the breakwater before we were bashed to pieces.

A small boat with two guys came to help, but when they tried to pull us off the breakwater, their rope broke. I heard someone in the background yelling at me to put on a life jacket.

Life jacket? No time for that.

I reached into the water again to remove the rope from the prop. It was too tight. My blood raced; I had to do something.

“Life jacket,” the voice from the dock again. Fuck off, man, I thought. But then I reached under the seat and grabbed the first life jacket I could find. It was too small.

But it was enough.

Back into the water, behind the boat I went. The life jacket was just under my arms.

I reached under the prop; my whole body was being slammed by the raging water.

Get the rope off. Was the only thought I had.

I methodically pulled the rope, my body smashing off the logs, my head barely above the water.

Success.

We were free. I leaped back on the boat and fired up the engine.

Reverse, and turn. We escaped the cold grasp of the breakwater and churned into the open lake. I glanced at the stranded seadooers. “Where did you rent this from?” 

“Waterstreet. But you can take us wherever. We just want to get to shore.”

The woman was shaking, and her eyes were wide. I could tell she was in shock from everything.

Through tattered teeth and tears in her eyes, she managed to say one thing to me, “Thank you.”

All I could think of was how badly I’d screwed up that rescue and how much damage my boat must have taken being smashed against the breakwater. I certainly didn’t feel like a hero. When we pulled up to the dock, the only thing I felt was relief.

The pain would come later.

The man shook my hand, and the lady gave me a brief hug. “You are our guardian angel.” 

The kid staggered off the dock, his whole body shaking. I grabbed his hand and shook it. “Now you have a story to tell.”

He grinned at me. “Thanks for the ride.” He wandered off towards the visitor centre. 

I went to get my truck and trailer. Cursing myself for what I’d done wrong.

That night the pain sank in, and I could barely sleep. The whole scene ran through my head. I kept thinking of what I’d done wrong: too much rope, trying to save the seadoo, taking the outside passage. Sleep escaped me, and I went through the next day like a zombie in a state of bewilderment.

Then came the phone call.

“You saved our lives, thank you so much. If you are ever in Vancouver, we would love to see you again and buy you dinner.” I felt the genuine gratitude from Bass and Susane over the phone line.

It gave me pause for a second.

Yes, I bashed my boat on the breakwater. Yes, I have bruised ribs and a sore body. But I did what needed to be done. I’m glad I was there to help a stranger in their greatest need. 

In the end, we all made it back to shore, with a story to tell.