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Not sure if I'd mentioned this before but last June I voluntarily joined the ranks of the "officially" unemployed after 50 years of slaving for The Man. There have been a few savings and investments along the way and since I'm single, it's been a fairly easy transition. It's been a dream of mine to live-aboard and experience being a boat bum for awhile, so that's what I've done! The Monk has been very accommodating and has all the comforts of home minus a shower. (but hey, I'm the only one who has to smell me, right?)
So, the last couple of months have been relaxed with my time divided between working on boat maintenance and cruising around anchoring here and there. Still haven't dipped my three crab pots, though. Anyway, when tied up, I'm just another marina queen amongst about 10 others here. The live-aboards are quite a motley crew, some wealthy, others not so much (me) - everyone a member of a distinctly unique little village.
One of the fellas here named Marc had been living for 5 years at the marina on his 42ft. Tollycraft when he decided to move his boat closer to his ailing mother in Tacoma. He's not always the best mechanic, sometimes goes off half-cocked - unprepared, but has a big heart and is one of my beer buddies.
The day he left, I noticed a bow line dragging in the water when the boat went by (I didn't know he was leaving just then and he hadn't asked me to help cast off) so I called his cell phone with a friendly warning, wished him good luck on the trip and went about my business. Six hours later, I get a panicked call from Marc asking for help because both his engines (twin 440's) have quit, his batteries are dead and he's drifting with the incoming tide towards a Manette Bridge support on the Port Washington Narrows. Anyone familiar with this area knows that narrow channel connects Sinclair Inlet with Dyes Inlet and moves like a river with the tide. So I ask him how far is he from the bridge support, he says "about 5 minutes"!! Jeez man! I can't get there that fast (about 2 miles from the marina) but I'll unhook and head that way!
I fire up the trusty 305 MercCruiser, unplug and untie from the dock, then go blazing out of the marina at my incredible 7 knot hull speed - pushing a bow-wave the size of Mt. Rainier. Displacement hulls are like that, firewall my 230hp and she ain't goin' no faster - just a bigger wake!
About half-way there, Marc calls to tell me he's managed to get a line on an anchored barge near the bridge support and he's safe for now. Seems there's construction going on with the bridge, hence the work barge. As I come around the Bremerton Yacht Club, I can see him tied up about 20 feet from the concrete wall of doom. Don't ask me why he didn't call the Sheriff or Coast Guard much earlier - he'd been drifting for hours trying to get those big blocks to start.
I called him again to coordinate a tow line toss as I'm not going to be able to manuever very well with tide and I've got to run from inside my cabin (no flying bridge), out the back door to catch the line. All went well without crashing into him, the barge or the concrete though I wasn't able to stop even with engine in full reverse - tide was moving too fast. I pulled him under the bridge, made a wide sweeping 180 degree turn and headed back towards the marina - sweating bullets.
Now, I'm not the world's most experienced sailor! Handling this old 16 ton, single-screw barge has been a never-ending lesson in patience, planning and foresight - only leaving and returning to the marina at slack tide and dead calm. She manuevers like the battleship New Jersey, won't reverse to port; a big lumbering leviathan - if she were to hit any white plastic at the marina, they would fold up like wet newspaper. It's a constant nightmare but hasn't happened yet.
We pulled up outside the marina to discuss how to get him tied up at the dock. There were no open spaces on the outside which meant having to take him down rows of other boats to an empty spot. His original moorage was out of the question - just too difficult. Eventually we picked a long empty space along the main dock (perpendicular to the shore) which would allow a straight shot with little turning, although there were still other boats to pass. After rafting the two boats together securely, gunnel-to-gunnel, with lots of fenders between us - I pulled up my big-girl panties and went for it.
By this time, the dock committee had formed a reception, possibly to view the impending catastrophe but hopefully to catch a line or fend us off from crushing something. To get headed in the right direction took a slow, 500ft. wide turn (helm hard over) out in the bay where I discovered just how crappy was my control over this fiasco. The wind was about 10 knots and tide still moving.
All went well - we crawled into the marina and Marc's stern missed the last boat by about 6 inches with me cranking the wheel back-and-forth and jockeying throttle-transmission. The lady who was washing dishes in that boat freaked out when she saw the wall of fiberglass passing her window so close but she didn't scream or throw anything at us. After untying from Marc, I had to do a 180 turn with about 20 feet between bow, stern and other moored boats - there was just no way to back out of the narrow area. Forward - hard over - reverse - hard over - forward - hardover - reverse; jeeeez, all under the baleful, grinning stares of the dock committee! At least a few of them caught my lines when I got back to my moorage - even earned a few slaps on the back!
Stay tuned next week for further adventures with Capt. Dan (hopefully not that soon).
:Bigdriving1:
So, the last couple of months have been relaxed with my time divided between working on boat maintenance and cruising around anchoring here and there. Still haven't dipped my three crab pots, though. Anyway, when tied up, I'm just another marina queen amongst about 10 others here. The live-aboards are quite a motley crew, some wealthy, others not so much (me) - everyone a member of a distinctly unique little village.
One of the fellas here named Marc had been living for 5 years at the marina on his 42ft. Tollycraft when he decided to move his boat closer to his ailing mother in Tacoma. He's not always the best mechanic, sometimes goes off half-cocked - unprepared, but has a big heart and is one of my beer buddies.
The day he left, I noticed a bow line dragging in the water when the boat went by (I didn't know he was leaving just then and he hadn't asked me to help cast off) so I called his cell phone with a friendly warning, wished him good luck on the trip and went about my business. Six hours later, I get a panicked call from Marc asking for help because both his engines (twin 440's) have quit, his batteries are dead and he's drifting with the incoming tide towards a Manette Bridge support on the Port Washington Narrows. Anyone familiar with this area knows that narrow channel connects Sinclair Inlet with Dyes Inlet and moves like a river with the tide. So I ask him how far is he from the bridge support, he says "about 5 minutes"!! Jeez man! I can't get there that fast (about 2 miles from the marina) but I'll unhook and head that way!
I fire up the trusty 305 MercCruiser, unplug and untie from the dock, then go blazing out of the marina at my incredible 7 knot hull speed - pushing a bow-wave the size of Mt. Rainier. Displacement hulls are like that, firewall my 230hp and she ain't goin' no faster - just a bigger wake!
About half-way there, Marc calls to tell me he's managed to get a line on an anchored barge near the bridge support and he's safe for now. Seems there's construction going on with the bridge, hence the work barge. As I come around the Bremerton Yacht Club, I can see him tied up about 20 feet from the concrete wall of doom. Don't ask me why he didn't call the Sheriff or Coast Guard much earlier - he'd been drifting for hours trying to get those big blocks to start.
I called him again to coordinate a tow line toss as I'm not going to be able to manuever very well with tide and I've got to run from inside my cabin (no flying bridge), out the back door to catch the line. All went well without crashing into him, the barge or the concrete though I wasn't able to stop even with engine in full reverse - tide was moving too fast. I pulled him under the bridge, made a wide sweeping 180 degree turn and headed back towards the marina - sweating bullets.
Now, I'm not the world's most experienced sailor! Handling this old 16 ton, single-screw barge has been a never-ending lesson in patience, planning and foresight - only leaving and returning to the marina at slack tide and dead calm. She manuevers like the battleship New Jersey, won't reverse to port; a big lumbering leviathan - if she were to hit any white plastic at the marina, they would fold up like wet newspaper. It's a constant nightmare but hasn't happened yet.
We pulled up outside the marina to discuss how to get him tied up at the dock. There were no open spaces on the outside which meant having to take him down rows of other boats to an empty spot. His original moorage was out of the question - just too difficult. Eventually we picked a long empty space along the main dock (perpendicular to the shore) which would allow a straight shot with little turning, although there were still other boats to pass. After rafting the two boats together securely, gunnel-to-gunnel, with lots of fenders between us - I pulled up my big-girl panties and went for it.
By this time, the dock committee had formed a reception, possibly to view the impending catastrophe but hopefully to catch a line or fend us off from crushing something. To get headed in the right direction took a slow, 500ft. wide turn (helm hard over) out in the bay where I discovered just how crappy was my control over this fiasco. The wind was about 10 knots and tide still moving.
All went well - we crawled into the marina and Marc's stern missed the last boat by about 6 inches with me cranking the wheel back-and-forth and jockeying throttle-transmission. The lady who was washing dishes in that boat freaked out when she saw the wall of fiberglass passing her window so close but she didn't scream or throw anything at us. After untying from Marc, I had to do a 180 turn with about 20 feet between bow, stern and other moored boats - there was just no way to back out of the narrow area. Forward - hard over - reverse - hard over - forward - hardover - reverse; jeeeez, all under the baleful, grinning stares of the dock committee! At least a few of them caught my lines when I got back to my moorage - even earned a few slaps on the back!
Stay tuned next week for further adventures with Capt. Dan (hopefully not that soon).
:Bigdriving1:
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