My parents bought our first boat the summer after my fifth grade year in school. It was a cute little boat. It was only 15 feet long--a pretty little yellow Hydroswift. I remember how saucy it looked sitting on the water. We never officially gave it a name, but unofficially my mother had named it “Never on Sunday.”
I can still remember my first attempt at waterskiing. We went out of Saratoga Harbor on Utah Lake. Back then, of course, it was a public boat harbor; not just for members only, as it is now. With all of the enthusiasm of youth, I jumped into the murky water and tried to put on my skis. I’ve taught many skiers to water ski since then, and I’m pretty sure that just like them, my skis wouldn’t cooperate either. When you are first learning, the skis have a tendency to be more in charge than the wanna-be skier is.
Well anyway, back to my first attempt. I remember trying several times to get up out of the water. I was a dismal failure. I swallowed a lot of Utah Lake water that day. Umm, yummy! After several attempts, I got back into the boat really upset.
The next week we went out again….same lake, same harbor and same results. After several futile tries I was getting pretty discouraged. And then it happened! I vividly remember being out in the water, with my skis in position and a 75-foot rope between the boat and me. I also distinctly remember hearing my father say to my mother, “Well it looks like Annette will never be a water skier like her brothers are.”
Humph!!! I heard that, and hearing that comment was all that it took. I was competitive, if nothing else. I yelled “hit it.” The rope tightened, my skis stayed beneath me, where they belonged, and suddenly, I felt for the first time, the total freedom of clearing the water, shaking the moisture off of my face, and sailing across the water with pure joy and abandon.
I was waterskiing! At that moment I fell in love, and it is a love that I’ve cherished for more than 45 years.
That being said, I am now 57 years old. My goal is to water ski up until the year that I die. With ever increasing bad knees and sore joints, I no longer do anything fancy. I don’t slalom, I don’t wake board, and I don’t even jump the wake. I clear the water and enjoy a short pull around the lake; the smoother the water the better. My theory is that I will not truly become old until I can no longer water ski.
I’ve grown up with several boats; two that my parents owned and four of my own…but there will also be a special place in my heart for that little yellow Hydroswift, the special friend who was with me that summer when I first developed my eternal love for
b
oating.
