Your Tax Dollars at Work, Part II
FBBB --
I guess I knew it couldn't last. After four straight days of hard NW,
the light scooner Margaret Ellen swamped and then dragged her
home-made mooring until she was hard on the beach, pinned by the
weight of water in her, and unbailable because of the three foot chop
marching down the lake and breaking over the top of her.
I went down this morning on the low tide and bailed her out hoping to
refloat her on the high tide, but when I got back down to the beach
in the early afternoon she was once again completely swamped.
However, unlike earlier she wasn't pinned, she was afloat. The
mooring was holding the her bow into the wind and only the stern was
on the beach. I started to think about how I might be able to either
move her to more sheltered water and bail her, or at least drag her
out to one of the heavy moorings left behind by the Summer boats.
While I tried to formulate a plan I noticed something odd. The 28
foot home built cat "Katmandu" that moors every summer off Stepping
Stones was sailing across the lake. It was the first time I'd ever
seen her underway and she was reaching across the lake. The only
problem was she had no sails up and no one aboard. She looked like
she was going to make a run and the sloop and clam skiff that are
still anchored at South Lake.
Still with no plan for my own boat, I pulled on my wetsuit and
booties and walked out into the water. But by the time I was waist
deep it was clear Katmandu was going to miss the other boats. I
turned back to the LSME and wondered what I should do.
I tried walking her into deeper water then tried to roll her on her
side and then back up. In calm water this gets enough water out of
the boat to allow the rest to be bailed. But with the 20+ plus wind,
the chop had her topped off again before you could say "This won't
work."
I tried to let her fetch up on the beach so I could bail her there,
but with so much water aboard I couldn't get her high enough on the
beach to be clear of the breaking waves. I figured the only think to
do was drag her out to deeper water and let her right out the storm
as a semi-submarine. I didn't dare take her off the mooring lest the
wind pin her on the beach again, so I began the arduous task of "leap
frogging" the boat and the mooring off the beach. It was while I was
doing this I notice that Katmandu was making far better progress
across the wind than I had originally gauged. She was making straight
for the breakwater that had menaced me last February. Those rocks
must have some sort of magnetic pull for boats in distress. I let the
LSME go, slogged ashore and than ran down the beach hoping I could
intercept the catamaran before she plowed into the jetty.
I got to her in about three feet of water. I couldn't spin the bow
into the wind, but I was able lay into her hard enough to push her
away from the rocks and towards a soft beach. While I strained I
notice my friends the USCG in their distinctive bright orange R.I.B.
The R.I.B. had been on scene during in the aftermath of the crash and
burn in a fresh June Sou'Wester. At least this time it wasn't my
mistake or my boat that had called them out!
But wait, something's wrong. I've only got about 20 yards before this
beast is going to be on the beach. If they're going to get to me
before she's hard aground they're going to have to go a lot faster
than their going. They're hardly throwing a wake and two of the three
crewman are leaning over the nose like they're looking for something.
Maybe they down see me. I quit pushing for a minute and wave my arms
over my head in the "Hey! I need help!" motion. They wave back, yet
their approach is painfully slow. But the time they get to me the
nose of the starboard hull is hitting bottom. I ducked between the
pontoons and ran my hand along the keel to see if she had any sort of
fin sticking down that could hang us up or be damaged. When I emerged
at the stern the R.I.B. was nearby and a guardsman was preparing to
through a rope.
He made a nice pitch, but to my amazement, the ball on the end didn't
float, so now I'm head underwater, groping for the lead-line. Finally
I find it and run it back to the cat. She wasn't hard aground yet, so
I figured doing something fast was better than doing it right. I
throw a hitch around a cleat on the aft of the port hull, and got
well clear of whole operation. I figured they make the rope fast on
their towing post and get into deeper water, then worry about a
proper yoke to make the cat track in a line while under tow. I waded
ashore and headed back to my own problem; the still swamped LSME.
But when I looked back at the salvage operation the R.I.B. was going
this was that and the cat wasn't going anywhere, in fact the tow line
wasn't even tight. On top of that the boat had turned enough so that
the place I'd tied off the line was now working against them. If they
were going to get Katmandu off the beach, the line was going to have
to be fastened to the stern of the starboard pontoon and they'd have
to drag her diagonally off the beach. I waded out to the R.I.B.
"Call the station!" I figured I must have misheard him. I'm chest
deep in 50 degree water with a 25 knot wind and he's the one with a
radio. He must have asked if I was the one who called the station.
"No!" I called back. The look on his face said he figured he must
have misheard him. Why else would I be refusing to do what he asked.
"Call the station!" he shouted back. Call the station? That doesn't
make any sense. How can I call the station. And if I could, what
would I tell them?
"What?" I peeled the hood back from my ear giving the 'I can't hear
you' pantomime and the 'what you're saying doesn't make any sense'
face. In the absence of aural communication body language came
through and he tried again.
"When you get back home, call the station!" Ah, yes, I get it. My
friend Petty Officer Buddy Hinckle or one of his colleagues is going
to have a report to file (just like last time) and he's going to need
to know who the idiot in the wetsuit was.
"Okay, okay." I had no intention of calling. After all, it wasn't
even my boat. "I'm going to move the line to the port pontoon so you
can get a better angle at it, okay?" I wasn't ready for the skipper's
reply.
"We're going to have to leave her. I don't want to hit anything in
here." This simply wasn't an option. If she refloated overnight she
could blow into the rocks, or if the wind shifted she could wander
the lake and plow into someone's dock or boat.
"It's nothing but mud down here, " I shouted back. "Just stay to the
West, that's the direction you're going to have to pull to get off
the beach anyway." I felt very odd telling the Coast Guard what to
do. Worried he say something to the contrary, I turned and hurried
back to the catamaran to switch anchor points. Once the line was
reattached I went to the starboard boat (now in knee deep water) and
got in my best blocking sled pose.
The R.I.B. turned and began to pull, but their direction was all
wrong. The were bucking the wind and waves on the hull as well as
whatever digging in the bow had done. I quit pushing and waved them
to the West. Finally the R.I.B. pulled more or less in line with the
for and aft of the cat and with very little help from me Katmandu was
off the beach.
As she slid away it occurred to me that if I hopped on board it would
be easier for me to unfasten their line from the stern and fasten a
harness for the bows then for one of them to leave the rib and come
aboard the cat and do it himself. I hauled myself aboard, but as a
soon as the the skipper saw me he came up on the bull horn "Get off
the boat." I jumped back down. I guess I had already caused them
enough trouble.
I went back to the LSME, now laying on beam ends and tried to figure
out what I was going to do about it. Finally an hour later she was
bailed dry and I had dragged a 100# mushroom and added it to her
mooring. If the wind dies down before the forward cockpit get filled
back up from the waves and stray I think she'll be fine. All that
rubbing on the beach did a good job of taking the finish down to bare
epoxy. If I can figure out a way to get her back to my yard, she's
for bottom paint!
The R.I.B. was still struggling with the cat when I left and if
anything the wind had picked up. The crew was young and I don't think
they had ever towed a cat before. With the towline to just one hull,
she was making like a kite in the freshening breeze and giving them a
hell of a time. Once more I decided to do my civic duty and contacted
the Coast Guard station.
"Is it your boat?"
"No."
"A friends?"
"No."
"Did you phone it in."
"No, I was just down at the lake looking after my own daysailor when
I noticed she was loose."
"Well okay then. If I could just have your number in case there's
anything else."
And for the third time in less than a year I gave them my correct
phone number. After all, it wasn't even my boat.
YIBB,
David
C.E.P.
134 West 26th St. 12th Floor
New York, New York 10001
http://www.crumblingempire.com
(212) 247-0296
I guess I knew it couldn't last. After four straight days of hard NW,
the light scooner Margaret Ellen swamped and then dragged her
home-made mooring until she was hard on the beach, pinned by the
weight of water in her, and unbailable because of the three foot chop
marching down the lake and breaking over the top of her.
I went down this morning on the low tide and bailed her out hoping to
refloat her on the high tide, but when I got back down to the beach
in the early afternoon she was once again completely swamped.
However, unlike earlier she wasn't pinned, she was afloat. The
mooring was holding the her bow into the wind and only the stern was
on the beach. I started to think about how I might be able to either
move her to more sheltered water and bail her, or at least drag her
out to one of the heavy moorings left behind by the Summer boats.
While I tried to formulate a plan I noticed something odd. The 28
foot home built cat "Katmandu" that moors every summer off Stepping
Stones was sailing across the lake. It was the first time I'd ever
seen her underway and she was reaching across the lake. The only
problem was she had no sails up and no one aboard. She looked like
she was going to make a run and the sloop and clam skiff that are
still anchored at South Lake.
Still with no plan for my own boat, I pulled on my wetsuit and
booties and walked out into the water. But by the time I was waist
deep it was clear Katmandu was going to miss the other boats. I
turned back to the LSME and wondered what I should do.
I tried walking her into deeper water then tried to roll her on her
side and then back up. In calm water this gets enough water out of
the boat to allow the rest to be bailed. But with the 20+ plus wind,
the chop had her topped off again before you could say "This won't
work."
I tried to let her fetch up on the beach so I could bail her there,
but with so much water aboard I couldn't get her high enough on the
beach to be clear of the breaking waves. I figured the only think to
do was drag her out to deeper water and let her right out the storm
as a semi-submarine. I didn't dare take her off the mooring lest the
wind pin her on the beach again, so I began the arduous task of "leap
frogging" the boat and the mooring off the beach. It was while I was
doing this I notice that Katmandu was making far better progress
across the wind than I had originally gauged. She was making straight
for the breakwater that had menaced me last February. Those rocks
must have some sort of magnetic pull for boats in distress. I let the
LSME go, slogged ashore and than ran down the beach hoping I could
intercept the catamaran before she plowed into the jetty.
I got to her in about three feet of water. I couldn't spin the bow
into the wind, but I was able lay into her hard enough to push her
away from the rocks and towards a soft beach. While I strained I
notice my friends the USCG in their distinctive bright orange R.I.B.
The R.I.B. had been on scene during in the aftermath of the crash and
burn in a fresh June Sou'Wester. At least this time it wasn't my
mistake or my boat that had called them out!
But wait, something's wrong. I've only got about 20 yards before this
beast is going to be on the beach. If they're going to get to me
before she's hard aground they're going to have to go a lot faster
than their going. They're hardly throwing a wake and two of the three
crewman are leaning over the nose like they're looking for something.
Maybe they down see me. I quit pushing for a minute and wave my arms
over my head in the "Hey! I need help!" motion. They wave back, yet
their approach is painfully slow. But the time they get to me the
nose of the starboard hull is hitting bottom. I ducked between the
pontoons and ran my hand along the keel to see if she had any sort of
fin sticking down that could hang us up or be damaged. When I emerged
at the stern the R.I.B. was nearby and a guardsman was preparing to
through a rope.
He made a nice pitch, but to my amazement, the ball on the end didn't
float, so now I'm head underwater, groping for the lead-line. Finally
I find it and run it back to the cat. She wasn't hard aground yet, so
I figured doing something fast was better than doing it right. I
throw a hitch around a cleat on the aft of the port hull, and got
well clear of whole operation. I figured they make the rope fast on
their towing post and get into deeper water, then worry about a
proper yoke to make the cat track in a line while under tow. I waded
ashore and headed back to my own problem; the still swamped LSME.
But when I looked back at the salvage operation the R.I.B. was going
this was that and the cat wasn't going anywhere, in fact the tow line
wasn't even tight. On top of that the boat had turned enough so that
the place I'd tied off the line was now working against them. If they
were going to get Katmandu off the beach, the line was going to have
to be fastened to the stern of the starboard pontoon and they'd have
to drag her diagonally off the beach. I waded out to the R.I.B.
"Call the station!" I figured I must have misheard him. I'm chest
deep in 50 degree water with a 25 knot wind and he's the one with a
radio. He must have asked if I was the one who called the station.
"No!" I called back. The look on his face said he figured he must
have misheard him. Why else would I be refusing to do what he asked.
"Call the station!" he shouted back. Call the station? That doesn't
make any sense. How can I call the station. And if I could, what
would I tell them?
"What?" I peeled the hood back from my ear giving the 'I can't hear
you' pantomime and the 'what you're saying doesn't make any sense'
face. In the absence of aural communication body language came
through and he tried again.
"When you get back home, call the station!" Ah, yes, I get it. My
friend Petty Officer Buddy Hinckle or one of his colleagues is going
to have a report to file (just like last time) and he's going to need
to know who the idiot in the wetsuit was.
"Okay, okay." I had no intention of calling. After all, it wasn't
even my boat. "I'm going to move the line to the port pontoon so you
can get a better angle at it, okay?" I wasn't ready for the skipper's
reply.
"We're going to have to leave her. I don't want to hit anything in
here." This simply wasn't an option. If she refloated overnight she
could blow into the rocks, or if the wind shifted she could wander
the lake and plow into someone's dock or boat.
"It's nothing but mud down here, " I shouted back. "Just stay to the
West, that's the direction you're going to have to pull to get off
the beach anyway." I felt very odd telling the Coast Guard what to
do. Worried he say something to the contrary, I turned and hurried
back to the catamaran to switch anchor points. Once the line was
reattached I went to the starboard boat (now in knee deep water) and
got in my best blocking sled pose.
The R.I.B. turned and began to pull, but their direction was all
wrong. The were bucking the wind and waves on the hull as well as
whatever digging in the bow had done. I quit pushing and waved them
to the West. Finally the R.I.B. pulled more or less in line with the
for and aft of the cat and with very little help from me Katmandu was
off the beach.
As she slid away it occurred to me that if I hopped on board it would
be easier for me to unfasten their line from the stern and fasten a
harness for the bows then for one of them to leave the rib and come
aboard the cat and do it himself. I hauled myself aboard, but as a
soon as the the skipper saw me he came up on the bull horn "Get off
the boat." I jumped back down. I guess I had already caused them
enough trouble.
I went back to the LSME, now laying on beam ends and tried to figure
out what I was going to do about it. Finally an hour later she was
bailed dry and I had dragged a 100# mushroom and added it to her
mooring. If the wind dies down before the forward cockpit get filled
back up from the waves and stray I think she'll be fine. All that
rubbing on the beach did a good job of taking the finish down to bare
epoxy. If I can figure out a way to get her back to my yard, she's
for bottom paint!
The R.I.B. was still struggling with the cat when I left and if
anything the wind had picked up. The crew was young and I don't think
they had ever towed a cat before. With the towline to just one hull,
she was making like a kite in the freshening breeze and giving them a
hell of a time. Once more I decided to do my civic duty and contacted
the Coast Guard station.
"Is it your boat?"
"No."
"A friends?"
"No."
"Did you phone it in."
"No, I was just down at the lake looking after my own daysailor when
I noticed she was loose."
"Well okay then. If I could just have your number in case there's
anything else."
And for the third time in less than a year I gave them my correct
phone number. After all, it wasn't even my boat.
YIBB,
David
C.E.P.
134 West 26th St. 12th Floor
New York, New York 10001
http://www.crumblingempire.com
(212) 247-0296