Editor's Note: Here's a little holiday ho, ho. Hope you enjoy it.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through waterways,

Boaters were dreaming of cruising routes and getaways.

The dock lines were fastened, and we know that it’s rare,

But narry a hurricane, nor foul wind blew there.

The cruisers were snuggled all safe in their bunks,

Gifts were hidden away in lockers behind the bilge pumps.

The First Mate in his slumbers and I in watch cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the dock there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bunk to see what was the matter.

Banging my head on the bulkhead and making a crash,

I peered out of the porthole at a red and green flash.

The moon on the marina where we’d spent all our dough,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to the water below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, a bearded pirate in red,

I knew in a moment, I shoulda stayed in bed.

More rapid than seagulls his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now, Splasher! Now, Wave Dancer! Now, Port and Starboard!

On, Channel! On, Charter! On, Dinghy and Whipchord!

To the top of the dock! To the top of the mast!

Now splash away! Splash away! Splash away fast!"

As day sailors who before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the club house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of gear, and that old pirate too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the deck

hooves that were going to scuff it an play merry heck.

As I cursed and headed up towards the sound,

Down the galley ladder St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed for frostbiting, from his head to his foot,

Under Armor, Gill Three-season gloves and other loot.

A bundle of Gadgets he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

Back off you marauder, you better move quick!

Ahoy there, chill out, it’s just me, St Nick.

I must have hit my head pretty hard, I thought,

As the pirate in red laid out gifts he had brought.

The stump of a Cuban cigar he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face all tan and lined like a map,

He handed me a crab pot, an EPIRB and tipped his cap.

He was chubby and plump, quite a handful of ballast,

And I laughed when I saw, his hands too are calloused!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled the fuel tanks, then turned with a jerk.

“These diesel rates are outrageous!” Cried the old Cringle.

Then gave me a gift that folds, ‘stead of jingles.

He sprang to his sleigh, gave a three-minute whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim to the deer, ‘ere he drove out of sight,

"Now remember on the way home, keep the red on the right!"