The Golf pro, The Businessman, and The Kid…
My phone rang at 2330.That’s 11:30 pm for normal people. Practically midnight. The new boat Owner (the Businessman) sounded very excited and highly motivated: “The Moon is out and the weather is clear. Let’s go Captain!” This didn’t match his previous behavior. Two days earlier, I had received an e-mail in which he acknowledged the fact that all boat decisions would mine till we secured the big Catamaran behind his house on a canal in Naples, Florida. So, why was he trying to push us off the dock in the middle of the night?
It also didn’t match the current weather conditions. At midnight it was 40 degrees, raining, and the winds were 20-30kts out of the northwest. Moonlight? Clear? I was thinking, ‘is this guy crazy, or just ignorant, or what?’
Next, he tried to instruct me on how to pull away from the dock. I, of course, ignored him and did it my way. On the way out past Restaurant Row he kept yelling, “I LOVE this boat!” After the fifth time he asked about flying the Spinnaker, it finally hit me.
He was totally blasted, shit-faced, cock-eyed drunk!
My first instinct was to “accidentally” push him overboard, into the cold waters of Galveston Bay. That would sober up anyone. But, I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I simply piloted the Cat southeast towards Redfish Island and Mr. Businessman passed out before we reached the Houston Ship Channel.
You know what I should have done?
Turn around!
I should have returned to the dock, re-tied the boat and gone back to sleep. In the morning we would have a little ‘come to Jesus’ talk. But, I didn’t turn around. I decided to just do my job, get the boat delivered and set stricter boundaries in the future. Besides, I figured he would probably jump ship soon enough.
However, I was still forced into an uncomfortable position. If I confront this guy, I’m a mad Captain. If I don’t say anything, I’m a bad Captain. Catch 22 - Lose, lose situation - Fighting with a cripple - whatever cliché you have to use, I’m screwed from the start!
He slept till well after daylight despite the watch schedule showing his shift being 0400-0600. I pulled his hitch and didn’t say a word in front of the other crew. After lunch, we were alone and I said to him, “You missed your watch last night. That won’t happen again, will it?”
He practically cut off my questioning with an embarrassing, “NO!”
“I didn’t think so.” and I went inside to stare at a chart.
The little wind instrument recorded Wednesday’s highest wind at 49 kts. I doubt its accuracy. I would have agreed to 20-25 sustained, with gusts of 30 knots (barely). Since wind direction was generally out of the North, I made sure to stay close to the Louisiana coastline. This kept the waves down to a minimum. No one got motion sick, and we didn’t break anything, screaming along eastbound with a double reefed mainsail and a half rolled up jib. It rained on and off and the now below 40 degree temperature made things quite uncomfortable. In fact, conditions were so bad that a Helicopter Pilot hovered above us and called over the VHF radio.
“Yeah, dis da east bound sailboat.” I answered.
“Ya’ll cool down dere?”
“Sure.” I lied. “We’re just tryin’to stay dry and go really fast!”
“Ya’ll sure picked a bad day for a boat ride.” and he flew away to the mainland.
Thanks for the vote of confidence buddy.
The first time people get out in the Gulf of Mexico (especially off the coast of Louisiana) the reaction is always the same. “What the hell are all those things?” Drilling platforms. Production platforms. Well heads. The sheer number of immovable objects out there is staggering. I slid us near one of the bigger outposts and we could smell food cooking and hear the rumble of the big diesel generators.
“How close do you think we are to that rig?” The Kid asked.
“Oh, about a Nine Iron.” the smart ass Golf Pro answered. Instantly I knew he and I would get along wonderfully for the remainder of the trip.
Thursday morning, I realized my horrible predicament. Four men, confined to a small plastic floating area for an undetermined length of time. All must get along with each other in living spaces, bathroom spaces, cooking and eating spaces. Yikes! These were not sailors. Leaving lights and the TV on, burning battery power, then complaining that it’s the batteries fault for not lasting long enough, shows a lack of responsibility. Of course, ‘it’s not MY fault’ is the common behavior. But that is unacceptable behavior on a boat. The trash bag filled up the first day, Wednesday, and didn’t get replaced till Friday. Dishes and coffee cups piled up in the sink, waiting for the magic Dish Mermaid to swim up and clean them. In the feat of preparing a meal, The Kid opened a package, and spilled a few crumbs. The empty food wrapper and the crumbs remained sprinkled about the galley all day. That’s not all! The Businessman ADDED to it, a dollop of jelly and a used paper towel.
Speaking of… the paper towel roll was a constant source of amusement for me. Every time I looked in the galley, the roll was on top of the bananas. If you yanked on the paper towel at a certain angle, the roll would fall out of the cheap plastic ‘snap’ holder, and land on the bananas. All you gotta do is lift it back up and “snap” it back into the holder right? Never happened. I lost count of how many times a day I would reinstall the shrinking roll.
Aboard, there is a place for everything - and everything should be in its place. I knew exactly where my watch cap was because I put it in the same place every time. But I was not among like minded people. These guys would take off foul weather gear and drop it on the table, settee, floor, wherever. Next time someone needed a pair of gloves, it was a mad search through half of the boat to find the missing items.
Clearly, these were NOT boat people. They glanced at my posted watch schedule like it was written in Greek. Not only do they not understand how boat life works, they were not interested in learning it either. It’s the same story every time. People have this dream: Jimmy Buffett music and Margaritas at sunset. But all boat life is not like that. Boats require a great deal of work. Bouncing around in the dark water, dodging platforms at night, repairing whatever breaks, reefing sails with freezing cold fingers… that’s what it takes to GET the boat to the Margarita at sunset.
By the way… 12 hours before departure, I was installing a completely useless, totally luxurious, satellite TV system. The Businessman decided that it was necessary to view weather reports underway - in the middle of the Gulf. (Yeah, right!) The first time we powered on the little box, it took 20 minutes to find a weather program. The Weather Channel showed snow in the Rockies and rain in Orlando. Not exactly helpful for weather forecasting off the coast of Louisiana. I stuck to my GRIB files - which were accurate for the entire trip.
Not only were those strong North winds predicted to keep blowing, but, another front was forecasted to rip through the area Friday night bringing even higher winds and record cold temperatures to Houston. Stout Northeast winds would settle in for Saturday and Sunday, then, after that, a calm Monday for the west coast of Florida from the Tampa to Key West area. Perfect! We could sail two days across from the Mississippi River Delta towards Ft. Myres, and then motor the last day into Naples. With any luck, I’d be home Tuesday before lunch. I decided to put us inland at Venice, Louisiana Friday for an overnight rest… oh yeah, and to wait out that bad ass cold front. (It actually snowed in Houston that Friday night.)
After the boat was tied up, everybody dashed to the restaurant for a beer and a burger… except me. I was too busy adding oil, tightening belts, checking the engines and repairing the few things we had broken thus far. The furler on the jib was sticking, and I didn’t know why. No one else was interested in the unimportant little things that sustain life afloat. The fuel gage showed only a quarter of a tank remained and it required 17 gallons to top off. I recorded the engine hours and quickly calculated that each engine burned just over 0.3 gallons of fuel per hour. But 17 gallons? That bothered me. Could this boat really have only a 20 gallon fuel tank? Surely the gauge was incorrect.
I finally finished my chores, took a quick shower aboard and walked the stairs to the Restaurant. Scanning the Bar, I immediately spotted my target. Fishing cap, sunburned face, windbreaker and flip-flops. He was a local fishing guide for the past 19 years. Pete gave me some good information about navigating the Mississippi River South Pass and I thanked him for his time, adding jokingly, “it’s my first day.”
He didn’t buy it. “Naw it ain‘t!” He took a pull from his bottle and added, “If it was yo first day, you wouldn’t axed bout that pass. I’d be ott dere tomorrow, pulling yo ass outta tha mud.” Then he chuckled, “It’s tha Rookies dat neva ax.”
The crew was finished eating, but I did manage to secure a basket of Sweet Potato fries. They looked at my freshly shaved face with a hint of amusement. “You showered on the boat?” The question finally came.
“Sure. There‘s plenty of hot water and that little black pedal next to the sink is the shower drain pump.” I tried to educate.
“Well, we rented a cabin for the night, just so we could use the bathroom and take a shower.” The Kid dangled a key in front of me like an ancient artifact that actually had magical values I clearly couldn’t acknowledge nor appreciate.
The “Cabin” they rented had only a tiny 6 gallon water heater and The Golf Pro used all the hot water up in seconds. I told ya I liked that guy! The others took cold showers and didn’t even shave. Whatever.
Saturday morning found us fighting a four knot current, north bound in Tiger Pass, heading for Old Man River. That’s when the port engine alarm started screaming. No one moved, but all eyes turned to me, the savior. I immediately idled the unhappy diesel and turned us into Cypress Cove Marina. The crew stood there like deck statues. “Guys, don’t cha think we might need fenders and lines?” Once tied up, I replaced the water pump belt (it was just a ‘Smoke break’ for everyone else) and we were underway again in 15 minutes.
During the long motoring ride downriver to the Gulf, I took advantage of the flat water and cooked some fantastic ham and cheese omelets and toast then immediately cleaned my cooking utensils. Leading by example, right? They didn’t notice. The others dishes still continued to pile up.
Offshore Saturday night, the wind shifted a few more degrees southeasterly. My watch ended at 0200 and I turned the helm over to The Golf Pro. When I woke Sunday for my 0800-1000 shift I heard the engines running… and the Generator. Out on deck, I asked what changed. Someone determined that we were not EXACTLY on the rumb line, so he started the engines to motor us closer to the wind. He also started the generator, to charge the batteries.
So, now we have three engines, over 0.3 gallons per hour each, consuming over one gallon of fuel per hour. Fine. I ain’t paying for gas. After lunch I checked the fuel gage and couldn’t believe it. Only half a tank! That cannot be right. Oh No! This 40 foot Catamaran’s capacity was a scant 20 gallons of fuel. That’s absurd. I recorded the engine hours - 10 hours. With three hundred miles to go, (about 50 hours) we now carried (with our reserve) maybe twelve to fifteen hours worth of fuel. We were supposed to sail Saturday and Sunday, and motor through the calm of Monday. Now we will be stuck in at least three days (Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday) of light and variable winds off the coast of Florida with NO fuel. That’s bad. Did I mention it was also 40 degrees and still raining?
The only option I had left was to fire up the chart plotter and look for the nearest port (gas station). Apalachicola, on the Florida panhandle, sticks its butt out about 50 miles into the Gulf of Mexico. That was the closest point of land, and I tacked us that direction. It was almost 90 miles away, but at least we could sail the northeasterly course without burning fuel. For a few hours...
Sunday - just as my GRIB files had predicted - the southeast wind shift (the one that scared everyone into burning half of the fuel supply) shifted back a bit more east. Damn! Now we couldn’t even make Apalachicola and had to divert more northward to Panama City, Florida. Son-of-a-Nut Cracker! If I would have been a more strict Captain and “laid down the law”, we could have continued to sail a bit south of our rumb line Saturday night and then, this Sunday wind shift would have slowly pulled us back into a position where we could have motored the last 10 hours home on Monday morning in calm weather. I felt as though I had failed.
If this would have been a passage with Elizabeth and me on our beloved SOEL, we would have waited for a good frontal system and made this jump in five days. On this bigger, faster Catamaran, four days! If it would have been E and I on this boat, at this time, we would have stuck it out, sailed for Key West, fought the good fight and pinched our fuel supply to motor into Naples Monday night. But it was not me and my lovely wife, was it? It was a crew of busy, important people, with schedules to keep and family back on land worried about them.
During the diversion to Panama City, the crew wanted to fish. I love to eat fresh fish. Sounds like a match maid in heaven, right? Well, obviously I didn’t ask the right question, because when The Golf Pro hooked a beautiful 3 foot Wahoo, I jumped on it with the fillet knife and quickly filled two Ziploc bags with fresh meat. That’s about the time he admitted “I don’t eat seafood.”
“Then why tha hell are you fishing?” I was shaking my head laughing.
Monday morning we made the approach to the fuel dock at the Panama City Marina. I suggested we procure some extra fuel containers as a safety margin to hedge against the short fuel capacity. All three guys simultaneously lifted cell phones to their ears and packed bags materialized on the cockpit table. I overheard The Golf Pro explaining to his wife that he could have walked here from Texas faster… which was almost true. “Imagine driving from Texas to Florida at eight miles per hour!” he practically shouted into the phone. Before I was even finished docking the big Cat in an overnight slip, a rental car was waiting. Yep, The Golf Pro and The Businessman were flying home, leaving The Kid with me to “bring it back alive.” It was Monday afternoon, and I fully expected to be finished this delivery by now.
The Kid returned from the airport and exited the rental car with two empty yellow five gallon fuel containers. He rattled the ice in a paper cup and sucked air loudly through a straw, then tossed it and an empty, crushed bag from McDonalds into the trash barrel. I couldn’t believe it. He stopped for a stinkin cheeseburger, but, suddenly, diesel fuel was not so important anymore. I said a silent prayer I wouldn’t choke the crap out of him before we made it to Naples. He dropped the empty jerry jugs into the cockpit and there they bounced around for the rest of the journey. I wasn’t about to stow them! If they were empty, they were useless to me.
Tuesday morning at 0400 I made my coffee (cleaned my cup) and started the motors. The Kid slept till after 0900. By then, we were 40 miles due south of Panama City on a heading of about 190 degrees waiting for the expected wind shift. He mentioned something about sailing “his boat” home and then, in this strange little power play, ripped down my posted watch schedule stating that “it never worked anyway.” I prayed again for strength.
The expected wind shift arrived as predicted and we tacked eastward, toward Tampa, FL before dark. That’s when I realized that I had had only about 10 hours of sleep in the last 3 days. I started one engine to top off the batteries and handed over the wheel. I napped only about 15 minutes, (out in the cockpit) when The Kid woke me to announce that the port side engine alarm was sounding, AGAIN. What next!
Opening the engine room to find six inches of water around the engine shook the cobwebs out of my head pretty fast. A quick survey detected the problem. The raw water pump leak actually calmed my nerves. I remembered seeing a spare on board and after I pumped all the water out of the engine compartment, it was an easy replacement. Yet, upon turning the key, the alarm still screeched. Why? By now it was approaching midnight and The Kid was tired and hungry. He made a wreck of the galley, didn‘t clean any of his dishes (as usual) and then slept till after dawn. I just laughed more. At this point what else could I do? The remote controls for the TV, DVD, and Stereo, were sliding around on the floor along with his empty beer cans, gloves, shoes and food wrappers. I am a delivery skipper. I am not a damn babysitter.
This presented me with the greatest conflict of the whole ordeal. Whenever I deliver a boat, it arrives in better condition then when I first stepped aboard. Except this one. I could not clean up the boat the way I really wanted to, because I could not get past the babysitter label I had tagged myself with. That really bothered me. I truly hated the idea that a new owner would see a salt crusted exterior and an interior that looked like the morning after a frat party. Gloves on top of the open corn chip bags. Empty fuel cans still sliding around the cockpit. Cameras and TV remotes thrown in with open cookie packages. Shoes on the floor with empty beer cans rolling around. Egg yolks from three days ago still on the countertop and both sinks full of dishes. That goes against my standards, but, being a maid to The Kid went against my beliefs even more. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Another belief of mine is to never be the one to kill a persons dream. Everyone has a dream. It became apparent that the Kid needed to complete this trip for some deeper reason. Maybe he had something to prove? I wasn’t about to be an obstacle. I decided to give him as much time at the helm as he could stand, work on his self esteem, and try to document his experience.
By sundown Wednesday night we were near Anclote Key and Tarpon Springs, FL with repair yards in sight. I weighed the options of dropping this boat off in Tampa with one bad engine and no fuel, or stopping to have the motor looked at and getting some rest. The Kid was incapable of pulling his weight around the boat and I was getting weary from the lack of sleep. Rest won. I docked us at a repair yard around 2200 and enjoyed the sleep of death.
The next morning, the Yanmar mechanics and I collaborated on cause and effect to determine that the sensor itself was faulty and in fact there was nothing at all wrong with the little motor. What a relief. I was anticipating a $10,000 repair bill. Another weather check confirmed that the breeze near the coast would cooperate with us today and tomorrow. So, by noon Thursday, we were again “underway” south bound, down the west coast of Florida.
I commented on the wind direction, adding “the chute would help” and asked Junior to get it. The Kid pulled the Spinnaker out of storage and dropped it in the cockpit. Now, I must explain… this is a guy who has been boasting about sailing on 12 meters. He bragged about Americas Cup boats he has sailed on. He proudly tells racing stories. He even has pictures! But he can’t figure out which side of this triangle goes up, left, or right. (Don’t even try port and starboard!) Pray, pray, pray I don’t use him for bait.
By the time I rigged blocks, sheets, and guys, The Kid managed to dig the video camera out of his pile of carnage in the Galley. When the big round sail filled with horsepower, I turned to see The Kid filming this glorious event and narrating about how he is “flying” home in his boat. I stroked his ego and took photos of him on the bow. Laughing again, I pulled down the Kite, quit praying and began planning. Planning how to get off this boat without landing myself in police custody.
We sped into the foggy night under a full main and jib, dodging crab trap floats. Again, I logged only about 15 minutes of nap time before The Kid woke me. “Oscar?” he shouted, “we are going really fast, Dude. I’ve seen 15 knots on the GPS a couple of times. We probably should take some sail down.”
So… that’s your plan? Your vessel is in potential danger. Steps to ensure safety need to be taken. Your very life may depend on proper action. What will you do? Reef the main? Furl the jib? Both? Drop all sail and trust the unreliable motors? No. He simply conceded to the Darwinian fact that, he would be forever removed from the Gene Pool if it were not for a constant chaperone. His very existence on this planet was totally out of his hands. His plan of action was… to wake me up. Fine. I politely thanked him for rousing me, adding “it was the right thing to do” and took over for the remainder of the night. I quickly reefed the jib and then started on the big sail.
I gotta admit, the number of crab pots were unbelievable! There was absolutely no way to avoid them all. So, when one got snagged one on the starboard side running gear while I was reefing the main, I can’t say I was the least bit surprised. Our boat speed was cut in half from 10kts to 5kts from dragging the trap through the water. Facing east, Sanibel Island was just shaded in enough darkness for me to question just how far away the shore may have been. I dreamed about swimming to the beach to escape my predicament, then I came back to reality and contemplated diving under the boat to free the trap. Although the fillet knife may have worked, there was not a single dive mask onboard. Being a BOATUS member, I called from my cell phone at sunrise to inquire about the possibility of having a diver meet us to untangle the propeller. I was told that I would still have to pay $150 - $200! Even with the BOATUS insurance! I laughed some more.
As the sky lightened that Friday morning, the winds began decreasing. I attempted to unfurl the jib completely to increase our speed but noticed something wasn’t right. Before I let it fully unroll, I could see its shape was all wrong. The luff was wrinkled. I glanced upwards. Aww crap. At some point during the night, the halyard had parted! If this sail comes out all the way, it will slide down the foil and cause me even more work. No choice now, but to roll it completely back in and see the boat speed drop to 4kts. I didn’t really want to start an engine and get another trap tangled in BOTH propellers, but I was running out of options. So, now… the port engine has a disconnected alarm. The starboard engine has a prop wrapped in a crab trap. The jib is useless. Good thing the main sail is still up or we would be really moving slow! Did I mention that the anchor windlass did not work? I would have had a hard time deploying or retrieving an anchor. And I was so close to the end of my ordeal.
I asked The Kid if he could handle things for an hour. I desperately needed to sleep and clear my head before attempting a docking maneuver with one engine. He punched buttons on the autopilot long enough for me to grab a nap. When I woke, I knew how to free up the starboard propeller. It came to me in my sleep and now my rested brain was back functioning at about 17% of capacity. The propeller probably rotated clockwise while being dragged through the water. So if it could be spun the opposite direction, it is possible it would untangle. A long shot, I admit, but worth a try.
However, it wasn’t that easy. If the engine is running when shifted into reverse, the prop will spin literally a hundred revolutions in a few seconds. That will just ‘wind-up’ the line even worse. But, I had a plan. First, the stop cable was pulled, preventing the engine from starting. Second, The gear lever was shifted into reverse. Third, I momentarily pressed the start button and listened for the starter to engage. This action caused the propeller to spin counterclockwise, but at a slower more controllable speed of maybe one revolution at a time, or less. Repeatedly, I ‘bumped’ the starter and kept a weather eye aft.
It freakin’ worked!
As soon as I saw floating pieces of Styrofoam, I felt the boat accelerate. Then TWO MORE floats bobbed up in the stern wake. We had been towing three crab traps beneath the boat! All on the same side! What are the odds? The speedometer climbed back up to 8kts in seconds despite the fact that we had only the main sail and no jib. Once again, we were streaking towards our self imposed Finish Line.
At the entrance to Gordon Pass, The Kid was instructed to hold the bow into the wind while I went up to drop the main sail. Hold on. What’s this? A 3/8” diameter, four inch pin? Where did this fall out of? A three second survey of possibilities revealed that it was the gooseneck that holds the boom to the mast. Because the Main was still under pressure and the boom was a tad twisted, it hadn’t fallen out of the fitting, yet, but it was close. The last thing I needed was an 20 foot long, 100 pound aluminum baseball bat swinging around in the breeze, bashing everything into oblivion. I grabbed a short piece of line and secured the boom as best as I could, then lowered the huge sail.
Good Gravy! What could possibly be next? Can’t use the jib. Can’t use the main. One engine with the safety alarms disconnected. Now, The Kid has the cell phone to his ear again, calling his best friend to take pictures of the him driving the boat as we pass by the point. I let out another laugh and succumbed to the obvious. The boat was delivered safely. Everyone aboard was still alive. Just let it go and keep feeding that personality. An hour later I would be in a hot shower. Three hours after that I’d be back in Kemah - with a good tip. Ten percent of two weeks worth of prep work, plus the ten day delivery added up to a much needed bonus.
After 10 days of hard sailing, we approached the newly constructed dock behind the big house. I decided to play my trump card on The Kid. “You wanna dock this thing at the house the first time?”
“Uuhhh…” he hesitated.
“Come on. It’ll be all right. I could talk you through it.”
I instructed, The Kid operated the levers, and it was executed without a bump. Actually it was a tremendous bump - to his ego. He crossed the oceans and brought his boat home all by himself.
Or something like that…
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