My mother, bless her soul, introduced me to beer, one fine, hot summer day on the banks of the Fraser River, near a place called Woodpecker, BC. We were visiting my grandfolks who had traveled, via foot and stagecoach, from North Carolina and had carved out a homestead in the wildnerness of north central BC. When I was a boy and a teenager, I often stayed there during my summer holidays - oh how I loved their place - it's quite similar to where I live now - moose, deer and black bear often seen crossing the meadow in front of our house. Another homestead adjacent to my grandfolk's farm was owned by a man by the name of Len Lutz, a recluse, a returning soldier from the horrors of WWII and that's where my mother took me on that fine, hot summer day.
When we arrived at Len Lutz's place, he was down at the edge of the Fraser River about to climb into a small aluminum skiff. He asked my mom if we would like to accompany him across the river just for something to do. The Fraser is a powerful river; not a slow meandering river by any means and as soon as we left the bank, the little gas outboard motor really had to work hard to keep the boat from being swept away by the current. As we were crossing the river, Len Lutz, perhaps to keep our minds off the danger surrounding us, told us about a game warden who caught him poaching salmon. It seems that while he was pulling his fish net in, a ranger arrived from upstream in a boat and was talking about having him arrested for poaching. I can still see Len Lutz's twinkly eyes and big grin when he told us, (apparently he had a rifle during this encounter) "You should have seen that game warden hightail it out of here when I said there aint nobody here but you and me and if I fill your boat full of holes, then there will only be me."
After nudging the skiff ashore and tying it securely to a large tree that was lodged high and dry on a sandy beach after it had drifted down the river with the melting snow and ice, Len Lutz, carrying a six pack of cold bears, led us to a shady spot, where we stretched out on the cool sand. After he offered my mom a beer, he asked, since I was underage, if it was alright for me to have one. If I shut my eyes, I can almost see my mother, lying on the sand with her back propped up against a log, hear the cap being popped off and feel the cold bottle of beer in my hand - it was a joyous occasion. Almost every time since then, when I pop the cap, tilt the bottle back and feel the beer bite into my throat and taste its wonderful flavor, it take me back to that sandy beach where I first shared a bottle of beer with my mom and Len Lutz.
Now I'm thinking, since I never saw Len Lutz pour a little beer into the river and toast Neptune for safe passage that he must have done so because three people sitting in that tiny skiff, the Fraser River, almost to the top of the gunnels, roaring by, we made it across the river and back without so much as a drop of water dribbling over the sides. And that's what Toasting King Neptune is all about - safe passage.
TOASTING KING NEPTUNE
Toasting King Neptune, is based on a sailing tradition more than actual fact. One would think that a killer whale, a hammerhead shark or some other powerful sea denizen like a giant squid would have been more appropriate for the prow of the ship instead of a horse; a purple horse to boot; who's ever heard of or seen a purple horse? However, as Roman mythology decrees, Neptune (god of the sea) and brother of Jupiter (originally god of springs and streams) became identified with the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon, another name which he goes by, probably an a.k.a. so his creditors have a hard time finding him. He diligently squabbled and fought Thor for control of the Earth. And, as it turned out, they both won, which is very unusual, since one side or the other usually wins a war. However, in this case, since neither lost, they decided to split the Earth into two categories; Poseidon became the ruler of the water and Thor, the ruler of the land.
However, unbeknownst to Thor, Neptune camouflaged himself with mud and often snuck ashore at night and it was during one of those times, he created the horse – now a sea horse is somewhat believable - but a horse! Legend doesn't state how he created the horse and it might be better if we never know; sometimes too much information isn't good; especially with the visions I have running rampant through my mind. So, instead of a sea creature gracing the front of his ship, one of his horses volunteered.
And who’s the happy guy guzzling bottles of grog in the dinghy, which is attached to King Neptune’s ship Poseidon? What can I say? Ships need crew and he volunteered. As it so happens, there’s a ritual that sailors enjoy, really enjoy; toasting King Neptune to keep the seas from raging! Whenever a ship crosses the equator or other latitudes of note, such as the Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn, Arctic Circle and Antarctic Circle, sailors not only knock back a dram of grog themselves, but also pour one into the sea to ask King Neptune for safe passage. So, as you can imagine, the little fellow in the dinghy is delightfully smashed since King Neptune is continually circling the Earth, crossing all the necessary latitudes.
Besides the empty bottles of booze drifting behind the dinghy, a clown fish can be seen. Not sure if it's sipping the last dregs remaining in the bottles of grog or if like us; just another clown, wondering what the hell is going on.
I've personally, having been a sailor for part of my life, toasted King Neptune on several occasions for safe passage across his domain. I'm not superstitious by any means but thanking God or other gods can't hurt - why take the chance on pissing something off that's greater than myself. When I felt the oceans breathing under me and the movement they create - what's one less dram of rum? Here's to King Neptune!
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