To The Woman Who Ties the Boat To the Dock at Niagara Falls

Waiting in line to purchase tickets for a small boat ride into the mist of Niagara Falls, I watch all the people working. Most are young, high school or college, looking horribly bored until I approach one asking for water or directions. The beauty of the falls has clearly become mundane for them. The size of the crowd and the mix of languages does not faze them. The heat of the day does not concern them.

Still, I'm a little jealous that I did not get to have a summer job at Niagara Falls. I'm sure several of them have rented an apartment together in town, away from the Wax Museum and Hard Rock Niagara, yet still within walking distance. They probably have bunk beds and just a quart of milk and a jar of mayonnaise in the fridge. They skip breakfast but eat a big lunch. One of them probably works at Tim Horton's and sneaks them doughnuts or croissants every now and then. In the beginning of the summer, they fall in love and say, "I never thought I would come to Niagara Falls and meet the love of my life," but by August they avoid each other, don't return texts.

All for the price of boring job at the ice cream cart.

We board the boat and take our tiny, misty trip. The young woman in a "Hornblower" uniform t-shirt does not look prepaed to direct us in case of emergency, as the announcer suggested. She's not watching the crowd or the falls, but she is looking at something far off. I don't think anyone but her can see it.

And when the tour is over, we prepare to dock, and another young woman steps up to the edge of the dock and catches a rope a man on the boat tosses her; it's almost as thick as her arm and immediately she is busy. She lassos the rope around the cleats, first one way to stop the boat, then the other to pull the back of the boat closer. The boat lands parallel to the edge of the dock and it's as though this one woman is pulling all 113 of us and the boat close enough so we can disembark. She tugs and pulls it until it stops moving, like taming a horse. She is serious and focused. I cannot imagine how much her arms must have hurt after her first day on this job. But she came back.

This skill can only be taught by doing. She never read it in a book and doesn't care about the physics of it. Theory, though not irrelevant, isn't useful. Nor is the job intuitive, like handing people ice creams or cotton candy. She must be from Halifax, grew up by the harbor. Her parents have a boat and finally when she was old enough, the would leave her and they would both go out on the boat in the morning. She never told them she worried, but she would wait for them. And when they returned, they would throw her the rope and she would pull them in, tie the boat up and think, "Stay here. Stay put."