Draft: “The Boat Docked in a Moonlit Harbour”
When my friends came back from school holidays, having spent time sailing the sparkling seas, mind full of fascinating tales about their experiences, I couldn’t relate to any of it. The truth is, I hadn’t stepped foot on a boat for an entire twelve years of my life, as the most ‘sea sailing’ I’d done was crouching in a kayak beached on the saturated sand of Pegasus Bay. So when I found myself in the passenger seat of my Dad’s truck, as he backed it onto the Bluebridge Ferry docked in Picton Harbour two Sundays ago, I couldn’t but feel uneasy; yet somewhat eager for the events to come, waiting expectantly on the horizon.
The tires squealed to a halt. Dad pulled the key from the ignition, killing the engine off as workers sporting hi-vis vests fastened the truck onto the walls with hooks. I remembered his words prior to this - ‘there are trucks all around us so we’d need to get out fast.’ - and I found his statement to be true. Clambering out of the truck, I observed as the vehicles were packed together like sausages, with even more driving on. The deck was dark and cold, water dripping down the walls and from pipes.
Dad and I squeezed past bumpers and headlights, before finally reaching a door marked ‘Passenger entry’ - and suddenly, I realised I was finally on a proper boat.
“I’m so nervous,” I remarked to Dad, gazing up at the enormous flights of stairs standing before us. “There’s nothing to be worried about,” he muttered, being the ‘experienced sailor’ he’s become, as we began trudging up the stairway, the boat’s engines rumbling and quivering ominously below us.
The bag on my shoulder felt like I was holding a boulder and my legs felt like fire, reaching the top of the stairs breathlessly. In front of us was what I guessed to be the lounge room and cafe; a swanky, dimly-lit area occupied by only a few passengers, truckers, and workers. Beyond enormous glass windows was a breathtaking view of the Marlborough Sounds in front of us, Picton Harbour casting a pale light to illuminate the gentle waves. My father purchased the ticket and meal, before the boat’s safety announcement swept us off onto the top deck, to watch us depart.
“Are you excited?” Dad asked, pushing open the heavy door. “Yeah,” I grinned eagerly, stepping out onto the deck. The floor was slippery underneath us, the wind bitter-cold; sharp against my cheek like a knife. A steep flight of stairs lead us both to the top deck. It was even colder up here, as if it was even possible. The views from the top deck were magnificent; Picton Harbour lit up behind us magically, and all at once, an unusual sensation rippled across the boat, lurching once before beginning to slowly move swiftly through the sounds. I took a deep breath, standing at the icy bars of the railing and gazing out at the night sky; knowing that this was only the fragile beginning of my amazing adventure.
After completing my draft, my writing buddy Nadia read it over and wrote some helpful feedback.
This is my final piece of my writing. I used Nadia's feedback, as well as mistakes I found while proofreading, to write it.
Final: “The Boat Docked in a Moonlit Harbour”
When my friends came back from school holidays, having spent time sailing the sparkling seas, mind full of enchanting tales about their experiences, I couldn’t possibly find myself relating to any of it. The truth is, I hadn’t stepped foot, let alone sailed on a boat for the first twelve years of my life. I was so inexperienced in fact, that the most ‘sea sailing’ I’d done was sitting in an old kayak beached on the saturated sand of Pegasus Bay. So as I found myself in the passenger seat of my Dad’s moving truck, as he backed it onto the Bluebridge Ferry docked in Picton Harbour two Sundays ago, I couldn’t but feel uneasy; yet somewhat eager for the evening’s events to come, waiting expectantly on the horizon.
The tires squealed to a halt. Dad pulled the key from the ignition, killing the engine off as workers sporting bright, hi-vis vests clipped the truck to the walls with hooks, with a large CLANG! I remembered his words from just a few hours ago. “There are trucks all around us,” he’d said. “-so we’ll need to get out fast.” I found his statement to be completely honest. Clumsily clambering down from the truck, I observed as the vehicles were packed together like sausages. Somewhere behind me, the boat jolted, an engine roaring. ‘Another truck,’ I guessed, trying not to let myself become too nervous. The car deck was dark and unusually cold, steady streams of water dripping like blood down the tall concrete walls. This made my stomach churn; I was definitely feeling more afraid now.
Dad and I squeezed past the dark sea of bumpers and headlights, the bitter smell of gasoline thick in the air. Finally approaching a door marked ‘Passenger entry’, the boat swaying slightly, it dawned on me that I was finally on the boat, and I couldn’t possibly be more petrified.
“I’m so nervous,” I remarked to no one in particular. Gazing up at the enormous flights of stairs standing before us, he said: “There’s nothing to be worried about,” being the ‘experienced sailor’ he so obviously is. Rolling my eyes, we began trudging up the stairway, footsteps echoing, the boat’s fiery engines rumbling ominously below us.
The bag slung lazily across my shoulder felt like a ton of bricks and my legs burned as if they had been set alight, as we reached the top of the stairs breathlessly. In front of us was what I guessed to be the lounge room and cafe. It was a swanky, dimly-lit area, occupied by only a few passengers, truckers, and workers, more trickling in as the time ticked on. Beyond enormous glass windows in front of it, was a breathtaking view of the Marlborough Sounds in front of us, Picton Harbour casting a pale light to illuminate the gentle waves. ‘Behold the view,’ - fateful words from a book I’d read only months earlier circulated in my head. I crept towards the magnificent sight in awe. My father purchased the ticket, wolfing down the small meal quickly. It was only the boat’s safety announcement that would sweep us off to the top deck, to observe our departure in full glory.
“Are you excited?” Dad asked, pushing open the heavy metal doors
.
“I guess,” I grinned eagerly, before stepping out onto the deck behind him.
The ground was slippery with water underneath my boots, the Picton wind bitter-cold and sharp; cutting menacingly against my cheek like a knife. A steep flight of stairs lead to the top deck. I quickly discovered it to be even colder up here, as if it that was possible. The views from the top deck were magnificent; Picton Harbour lit up behind us magically, and all at once, an unusual sensation rippled across the boat, lurching once before beginning to slowly move swiftly towards, and through, the Marlborough Sounds. I took a deep breath of relief, exhaling and watching dense swirls of pale mist erupt in front of me.
I stood at the icy bars of the railing, gazing out at the captivating night sky and the stars that twinkled above me... knowing that this was only the fragile beginning of my unbelievably-incredible journey. It was my first experience on a boat, and I was incredible lucky to spend it with my Dad.
I then gave myself an assessment based on a writing rubric. For punctuation I gave myself an R7, for sentence structure I gave myself an R5, and for vocabulary I gave myself an R6. I believe I used a range of different punctuation correctly, and an extensive range of vocab that I wouldn't use in punctuation. I gave myself an R5 for sentence structure because I believe I could have used a bit of a larger range.
I also included many other details including an onomatopoeia.
I was given the same ranks by both my buddy and Mr Mitchell, however I underestimated my rank for sentence structure.
Thank you to Nadia and Mr Mitchell or giving me such lovely feedback! It is appreciated :)
