Fun With Calamities
Somebody once said, "sailing is hours of boredom interspersed with moments of shear terror." While I don't find that sailing equates with hours of boredom, each departure from the dock does seem to contain moments of terror, or near calamity of one sort or another.
So what happened this time?
We shoved off, not too promptly at 11 AM. The winds were from the northwest between 5 and 10 knots. Decisions: Do we go up the Severn or down the Severn River? Actually, in nautical terms I've forgotten which way is up and which way is down, and while I know that starboard is the right and port the left, I've always had trouble telling my right from my left. But that's another story, involving crashing a hang glider while listening to the instructor hollering, "move to the right, move to the left." I will give you fair warning; If you're ever in the passenger seat of my car, when giving me directions you must point. Do not attempt to deliver your instructions totally with verbal commands, unless you are fond of fiascoes.
We're not in the car; so what happened?
Ah yes, things progressed rather nicely for the most part of Friday. Underway with both the jib and the main sail up, we cut the engine. The wind picked up to 15 knots, and we sailed for several hours towards Round Bay, where we dropped anchor for lunch and a swim. Then we were off to the other side of the river to find a safe harbor for the night. At 6:15 I dropped the anchor from the bow, and we proceeded to have an EOV (end of voyage drink). Around 7 my mother went below to start preparing dinner. My nephew John and I sat talking in the cockpit. I always know when my mother says my father's name three times in row, something is wrong. "Ward, Ward, Ward", and no my mother's name is not June. I peered down into the cabin below and two burners on the alcohol stove, a replacement for the one with the failing burners, were shooting flames a foot high. My father was holding pans over the burners to suppress the flames and telling my mother to shut it off, while my mother was telling my father to be careful. I leapt down into the cabin and took over the pan holding while my father shut the alcohol off. After much fussing and fuming the burners were re lit and my mother and I cooked the meal without trouble.
You said calamities, not calamity.
Yes that's true, the stove was only the first of the three boating terrors we were to encounter. After dinner and playing "Up The River", a card game taught to me by my grandfather, we spent a peaceful night, dreaming of "messing about in boats." The morning was bright and much less humid than the day before, and the wind was gusting to twenty knots. Breakfast was scrambled eggs, fried biscuits, orange juice and coffee. After breakfast my father and John were on deck preparing to explore the surrounding cove by dink, and my mother and I were finishing the dishes down below. When I popped up on deck, I found my father hovering over a navigation chart and pointing out to John various marks. Then my gaze moved to the shoreline, which was fast approaching; we were dragging anchor. "Look dad, start the engine", I cried as I ran to the bow to start hauling in the dislodged anchor. My dad shouted, "turn on the number two battery Bernice", and cranked up the engine. John ran forward to help me haul up the anchor, and we avoided running aground, which BTW, would have most likely have lead to hours of boredom, as we waited for tide or towboat on a Saturday morning. However, the idea of running aground always sparks fear in the hearts of sailors both new and old. Thus we narrowly avoided calamity number 2.
Alright you've got my attention. What was number 3?
We motored out into the river against the current and the wind; leaving the green markers on the right and the red on the left, which can lead to some confusion if you know the quote, "red right returning". Returning meaning from the ocean; the confusing part is markers change at mouths of rivers and inlets. In any case, after entering the river I took over the helm and headed into the wind, while John and my dad hauled up the main. I gradually let the boat fall off, which means heading so that the wind fills the sail. My mother stood on the cabin steps, and peered out from under the open bimini top. My father adjusted the topping lift, which raises the boom. The boomvang which holds the boom down and can keep the boat from jibing unexpectedly, snapped and flew at tremendous speed past my mothers face. Luckily no one was hurt, and my dad fixed the fastening while we were underway. We sailed home without further incident, except for the usual problem of retrieving the lines, left hanging from the rear poles at the dock. All in all it was an enjoyable trip, which if planning a longer voyage would have been considered a relatively uneventful shake-down cruise.
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1.) When was the last time your pet gave you a scare? What happened? If you're not a "pet person", how come?
