Bugged

There's no such thing as a bad sailing day.
    My Mom and Dad, young sons and I set out from the port of Pascagoula, Miss., on our Columbia 26, a keel ballasted sloop, headed for Ship Island. We kept the boat, "Gulf Trio," moored in the Inner Harbor, just off the Pascagoula River. My grandfather, Leonard Matson ("Pawp"), my Dad and I were the "Trio."
    The goal was to visit Civil War era Fort Massachusetts on Ship Island. The voyage began with a light southeasterly breeze that became fitful and finally died. We fired up the old 6 hp Johnson, which soon followed suit. As I sweated in the September heat trying to keep gas flowing through the possibly blocked fuel filter, the first fly made its presence known.
    It bit me! I swatted it. It looked like a normal housefly. I had never known a housefly to bite. I turned back to the sluggish motor. Another bite. Swat. Another. And another. They were coming fast now. Dad and I were in the cockpit swatting flies with anything we could get our hands on. Mom and the kids were down below, where thankfully the flies did not go.
    Soon, the cockpit was black and red with the bodies and blood of flies and men. The battle went on for at least an hour; it seemed like days. Finally, the flies were gone.
    I coaxed the motor to give us a few more minutes. Stop. Start. Stop. Start. Every time I would pump the valve to send more gas to the carburetor. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. Ship Island slowly, ever so slowly, grew larger.
   We limped on to the pier at Ship Island, glad to be ashore and out of the flies. The pier was tall, but we managed to get everyone ashore. We followed the sandy trail to Fort Massachusetts.
   We had just started to explore the fort, when I felt something unusual -- a breeze! After battling doldrums, a balky motor and biting flies all day, now we had a wind! And what a wind -- it was strong and getting stronger -- out of the north -- banging our boat against the pier.
    We had to cut our visit of the fort short.
    I hurried back to the pier, where the waves were already building, battering our boat against the pier. We clambered aboard. Dad was the last to make the jump while I held the boat as steady as I could. Thankfully, the balky motor fired up. We motored out into deeper water, giving a wide berth to the end of Ship Island. Then we turned south, and rounded up in the lee of Ship Island, where we got a little relief from the waves.
   Everybody turned in, exhausted. I don't know if anyone slept well.
   In the morning, the wind had not abated. It was blowing hard, steady, and straight out of the east -- the direction we had to go to return to Pascagoula.
   After battling doldrums and flies the day before, we battled strong winds and choppy seas the next. One tack took us in toward Biloxi. The next back out toward Ship Island. We were all getting weary beating our heads against the relentless elements. I was mulling over our options. When we came abreast of the Biloxi channel, I announced we would head in to rest. Mom said, "Whatever you want, hon." She gave me a grateful smile.
   We turned south and sailed on up the channel, turning into the Ocean Springs harbor. We tied up the boat and called my wife for a lift. She picked us up and brought us back to Pascagoula.
   The voyage was over for Mom and the boys.
   After a much-needed sleep in real beds. Dad and I got up the next morning to continue the last leg back to Pascagoula. The wind, still out of the east, had at least slackened and was no longer a half gale. We returned to port and celebrated.
    They say any sailing cruise is successful, if all the crew return home in more or less the same condition they set out.
   There is no such thing as a bad sailing day.