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The lake is entered from the Intracoastal Waterway by a very narrow canal. On one side of the canal are old apartments, probably scheduled to be turned into condos by now. The other side displays a row of woods behind which are newer taller condos. When you sail across the lake you enter an old marina with concrete docks, some of which have electricity and some do not. The lake is surrounded by homes which have access to short side canals that are connected to the lake.

Steve is in his late 40’s and sometimes we refer to him as Captain Steve because he reminds us ever so slightly of Captain Ron (as in the movie). He has long gray and blond hair that he wears in a ponytail. His t-shirts are stretched out at the neck and he glues his boat shoes together when they have come apart. Captain Steve has a very subtle sense of humor that makes me laugh sometimes so uncontrollably that my son gets embarrassed of me and tells me to stop. When going out on either of his two sailboats, things are always very calm because Captain Steve has things totally under control. It seems to my nervous sense that they are not, but then I see him just grinning and I know there is absolutely nothing to worry about.

After having weaved around the anchored boats in the lake, Steve and my husband finally settled upon a place to drop the anchor and the boat slowly came to a halt. No, they started up again to come to a halt about 100 feet further. Captain Steve did not want to be too close to other boats, so he chose to be close to the entrance to the marina. That would allow him to paddle without a lot of effort to his anchored boat with his canoe against the mostly east winds.

At last I saw Captain Steve throw his anchor over the bow during my next long slow figure eight. We heard the familiar clank of chain and anchor as it broke the water’s surface and Brittain and I knew that our adventure of pulling Steve’s boat away from the entrance of one of the side canals was coming to an end. It had ended up in this entrance after being dragged by the winds of Hurricane Katrina. His anchor looked sufficient for his size boat although a little rusty. The anchor chain and rode were caked with the usual sea grime. It had been pretty hard to get that anchor and chain up and even though it had dragged across the two mile wide lake, at least it was still attached to the boat and neither had come to any harm. A renegade two-story houseboat was not that lucky as it had rearranged someone’s dock a few feet away.

Finally my husband, along with Captain Steve, returned to Windglider in his trusty red aluminum canoe as I slowed to a halt.

Two months later, along came Hurricane Wilma. We received a call from Captain Steve that he heard that all the boats in the lake had disappeared and that his was nowhere to be found.

Our boat had survived very nicely hanging from 15 lines practically in the middle of the marina where we had left her. This dock is closest to US1 and protected from the fetch in the lake by six rows of docked boats. The boats closest to the lake did not fare as well. Two had sunk and quite a few concrete pilings had broken in two where large boats had been knocked into them. Something like 18 boats in total had holes in them. Luckily the holes were all above the waterline.

After making sure that everything was fine with Windglider, we took a speedy walk to the end of the dock that overlooks the lake where about 20 boats had been anchored. There were 6 left afloat and swinging on their anchors. The unlucky ones had either dragged to some nearby land, in this case, mostly concrete embankments, or they had sunk. We could not pinpoint where Steve’s boat was but it was certainly not one of the anchored boats.

A few days later Captain Steve called. His first words were, "She’s safe. I couldn’t have put her there more perfectly myself. Wait till you see her!"

The next weekend we met up with Manny. He is a friend and owns a powerboat which is docked near our boat. He makes it his business to watch out for everyone on our dock. Before hurricane Wilma, he watched us put our lines out and gave us a hand. Manny stayed late to make sure one of the absentee boaters had enough lines attached to the concrete dock. Besides being always ready to help his fellow boaters, he also has a way of making everyone laugh. He begins his own boisterous laugh that is so infectious you cannot help but join in and just feel good about whatever he’s talking about. Living close by, along the north side of Maule Lake, he has a view of the entire lake and he heartily suggested that we follow him to walk behind his condo building and look at Steve’s boat.

We parked our cars behind Manny’s condo and walked to a long sloped concrete seawall. We soon saw three sailboats smashed together against the wall with their masts entwined. Then we looked towards the west side and saw what we had hoped to see: a perfectly positioned white sailboat nestled in between about six PVC pipes and one tree stump. The PVC pipes were standing about three feet out of the water and seemed to be holding Steve’s boat upright, but of course they couldn’t be. The keel must be dug in the mud. His forestay was driven between two high branches. It was as if two large hands had put her there. Whoever did that so perfectly must be thanked.

It might take a crane to lift her out but on the other hand, Manny has offered to try to pull her out with his powerboat with all of us on board. However, that is another story.