This is a continuation of http://www.scubaboard.com/t88211-.html which was first posted as a time-passer when Scubaboard went down at the beginning of 2005... While not directly Scuba related I hope you find it amusing 
After my first experience boating I spent some extra time in the workshop fixing bugs in the original design . . . added a second leeboard, larger rudder and a sea anchor. After all design changes had been made, whereby allowing me uninhibited access to the world's ocean aboard my 12' converted sailing inflatible I set off to test the design modifications. This time I would play it "smart" (yes I know that is a very relative term . . . as these stories evidence quite aptly) by testing it in the waters of Kaneohe bay by Chinaman's hat on the windward side of the island. This time if the wind pushed me anywhere it would toward that precious thing I called land (along with most other english speaking people.)
Accompanying me on this journey would be my non-swimming father as first mate and I as the ever intrepid, though naive (among other things) skipper. I think perhaps I should have gone by Gilligan as that is the role I am most apt to play in these stories it seems (and yes these are all, unfortunately, true stories) We made our grandiose plans, including an afternoon trolling for mahimahi along the NorthEast coast of Oahu. Fishing poles, tackle, anchors, and life Jackets were all carefully stowed along with a 5gallon plastic bucket to put our eagerly anticipated catch in.
As we confidently sailed away from the beach the decision was made to go counter-clockwise around chinaman's hat and then head north up the coast of Oahu in search of our prey (notice reality had yet failed to sink in). Within 100 yards of shore I noticed something was wrong, while I had enlarged the size of the rudder I had failed to stiffen it adequately. So no matter how hard the rudder was turned it flexed in the water and made little noticable difference. As a solution (I come from a long line of "jerry riggers" and "jack of all trades" types) my father suggested using one of the oars as a temporary rudder. He braced an oar between his legs and side of the boat, while leaning against the mast. His idea worked admirably well, we now had fairly good control over our direction. . . one little setback shouldn't stop our grand adventure thought I, so we pressed on. As we approached the island I informed my Dad that as we turned around the island the boom would swing around, so be careful not to let it hit you. He understood, I understood, but neither of understood that he would have little say in the matter within moments. As my little raft (yet unamed to this day) made it's turn into the wind, the boom predictably swung around toward my father. I ducked my head under it, he ducked his head . . .oops only to realize that his legs were still wedged between the oar (our make-shift rudder) and the boat - he had no choice but to catch the swinging pendulum like pole that was arching toward him. Now the boom was only 8 feet long, and the mast 15 ft. with 110 square feet of sailcloth between the two. But as he caught the boom we had now swung into a position placing us at a right angle to the wind, in a flat bottom boat, over a (soon to be discovered) 12 foot depth of water . . . how you might ask did we ascertain that the water depth was 12 foot? Based up on calculations made at the scene moments after catching the boom. For in much less time than it takes to recount the events the wind had won the battle over our ballast (myself, my father and miscellaneous tackle) placing my precious little raft in a most unbecoming position. Yes when a boat attached to a 15ft mast capsizes in 12 feet of water did you know that the boat will perch itself 3 feet out of the water upon the mast? Quite fascinating I thought, though not the most efficient meathod of taking soundings I must add.
Within moments we had made another valuable discovery. Life Jackets DO NOT work unless they are securely fastened. For my Father was now bobbing in the water safely in his life jacket with his nose approximately 3 inches below the surface of the water. I must give my Father credit for most people who are not swimmers would have panicked at a time like this, yet he very calmly was searching with his hands for some hold he could take on the now instrument of his drowning to cause it to fulfill it's assumed, intended purpose. . . namely flotation. Within moments I placed the 5gal bucket we had designated for our yet uncaught 25lb Mahimahi (While this may seem to be unrealistic, we had other more realistic concerns at the moment that we ignored the simple "illogic" of our assumptions) under his grasping hands allowing him to bobb with his nose out of the liquid environment it had suddenly found itself in. Once satisfied that his safety had been insured I set about the task of righting my precious little raft and salvaging what I could of this venture fraught in chaos and ignorance.
As we sat in the water about 200 yards from shore, boat sticking out of the water 3 feet (thankfully there were no waves that day) I began to realize that my ingenious meathod of propulsion (110square feet of sailcloth) had become our captor as it had intertwined itself in the shallow (12 feet to be exact) reef below us. Working without knife or mask I attempted to remove the sail from mast - or even the boat from the mast so that I could put my father back in the boat (He had only come along to be a good father by spending time with his son, his next father son adventure with my brother landed him in a cast for 6 weeks from trying to ride motorcross, not to mention the time he was being a good father watching his sons light fireworks when one of the arial fireworks came shooting down the back of his shirt, and refused to go out till it's energy had been spent on his unfortunate back)
After those 25 minutes had passed a local diver swam over. "eh you guys need help?" All sarcasm had left my thoughts for once in my life as I replied "I definitely do." After making sure I didn't mind if he cut the sail from the reef (which I had already decided sailing was not intended for my life) he worked to free the sail from the reef. Once done (having been in the water nearly 2 hours now) we attempted to right the boat so we could paddle, like a poor whipped puppy with it's tail tucked between it's legs in shame, toward shore. Yet despite our attempts we were not having any sucess with either righting the boat or removing it from the mast (only held in by friction - the mast was a 2" galvanized pipe held in a 2foot flange just big enough for it to slip into).
As we attempted to wrest the tiny craft from it's predicament, from behind me what did I hear, the sound of tiny footsteps from 8 little reindeer . . . sorry I digress - it was actually 8 little horses beneath the hood of an evenrude. A group of fishermen had been sitting on the shore watching our escapade, "eh brah, we thought you was out hea' playing around, but you like some help o' what?" they chorused in their delightful pidgin. Within a few minutes my Dad and I both were sitting inside the relative (very relative at this point) safety of our little boat being towed in by the fisherman's zodiac. We got back to shore with my tackle box, half of my fishing pole, the other half of my Fathers (fortunately they fit together and made one complete pole) but less one rudder and oar. But we were on land - Still I had paid good money for those oars, near $40 for them I was not about to lose it to the sea without a fight and knowing that it floated gave me all the hope I needed. We made our decision, knowing the inherent dangers of boating now My father agreed to to strap my now dinged up dinghy in the van while I swam the mile long journey across the bay following the current and hopefully finding that lost oar. Yes the dangers of a boat for the relative (there's that word again) safety of my own strength motoring my way through the water.
As I swam (all told I spent just under 4 hours in the water that day) across the bay I began to wonder if it was really worth one oar. . . one oar that had caused us to capsize . . . an oar that had failed to get me safely home on my last trip. . . an oar that I was swimming in 24" of water with just as much sludge and muck underneath so that I could not even stand without sinking into the mud, to find . . .was it worth it? Well I found that oar and it has seen many years of service since . . . in the closet with my 12' used to be sailboat (which I did eventually have a successful trip in at lake Wilson in Wahiawa on Oahu fishing for bass)
As I trudged through the last few feet of that muck and up onto the yard of a total stranger (who would have used that word to describe me had he seen me crossing his neatly manicured lawn) toward the highway where I had agreed to meet my father the image of that zodiac that had so effortlessly rescued me on two seperate trips came to mind. . . maybe the answer is power I thought . . .yeah no more sail, gotta get some power. . . what could possibly go wrong then?
Next . . .Part 3 . . . of the "what could possibly go wrong" saga. (as soon as I make the time to write it up that is )
Aloha, Tim
After my first experience boating I spent some extra time in the workshop fixing bugs in the original design . . . added a second leeboard, larger rudder and a sea anchor. After all design changes had been made, whereby allowing me uninhibited access to the world's ocean aboard my 12' converted sailing inflatible I set off to test the design modifications. This time I would play it "smart" (yes I know that is a very relative term . . . as these stories evidence quite aptly) by testing it in the waters of Kaneohe bay by Chinaman's hat on the windward side of the island. This time if the wind pushed me anywhere it would toward that precious thing I called land (along with most other english speaking people.)
Accompanying me on this journey would be my non-swimming father as first mate and I as the ever intrepid, though naive (among other things) skipper. I think perhaps I should have gone by Gilligan as that is the role I am most apt to play in these stories it seems (and yes these are all, unfortunately, true stories) We made our grandiose plans, including an afternoon trolling for mahimahi along the NorthEast coast of Oahu. Fishing poles, tackle, anchors, and life Jackets were all carefully stowed along with a 5gallon plastic bucket to put our eagerly anticipated catch in.
As we confidently sailed away from the beach the decision was made to go counter-clockwise around chinaman's hat and then head north up the coast of Oahu in search of our prey (notice reality had yet failed to sink in). Within 100 yards of shore I noticed something was wrong, while I had enlarged the size of the rudder I had failed to stiffen it adequately. So no matter how hard the rudder was turned it flexed in the water and made little noticable difference. As a solution (I come from a long line of "jerry riggers" and "jack of all trades" types) my father suggested using one of the oars as a temporary rudder. He braced an oar between his legs and side of the boat, while leaning against the mast. His idea worked admirably well, we now had fairly good control over our direction. . . one little setback shouldn't stop our grand adventure thought I, so we pressed on. As we approached the island I informed my Dad that as we turned around the island the boom would swing around, so be careful not to let it hit you. He understood, I understood, but neither of understood that he would have little say in the matter within moments. As my little raft (yet unamed to this day) made it's turn into the wind, the boom predictably swung around toward my father. I ducked my head under it, he ducked his head . . .oops only to realize that his legs were still wedged between the oar (our make-shift rudder) and the boat - he had no choice but to catch the swinging pendulum like pole that was arching toward him. Now the boom was only 8 feet long, and the mast 15 ft. with 110 square feet of sailcloth between the two. But as he caught the boom we had now swung into a position placing us at a right angle to the wind, in a flat bottom boat, over a (soon to be discovered) 12 foot depth of water . . . how you might ask did we ascertain that the water depth was 12 foot? Based up on calculations made at the scene moments after catching the boom. For in much less time than it takes to recount the events the wind had won the battle over our ballast (myself, my father and miscellaneous tackle) placing my precious little raft in a most unbecoming position. Yes when a boat attached to a 15ft mast capsizes in 12 feet of water did you know that the boat will perch itself 3 feet out of the water upon the mast? Quite fascinating I thought, though not the most efficient meathod of taking soundings I must add.
Within moments we had made another valuable discovery. Life Jackets DO NOT work unless they are securely fastened. For my Father was now bobbing in the water safely in his life jacket with his nose approximately 3 inches below the surface of the water. I must give my Father credit for most people who are not swimmers would have panicked at a time like this, yet he very calmly was searching with his hands for some hold he could take on the now instrument of his drowning to cause it to fulfill it's assumed, intended purpose. . . namely flotation. Within moments I placed the 5gal bucket we had designated for our yet uncaught 25lb Mahimahi (While this may seem to be unrealistic, we had other more realistic concerns at the moment that we ignored the simple "illogic" of our assumptions) under his grasping hands allowing him to bobb with his nose out of the liquid environment it had suddenly found itself in. Once satisfied that his safety had been insured I set about the task of righting my precious little raft and salvaging what I could of this venture fraught in chaos and ignorance.
As we sat in the water about 200 yards from shore, boat sticking out of the water 3 feet (thankfully there were no waves that day) I began to realize that my ingenious meathod of propulsion (110square feet of sailcloth) had become our captor as it had intertwined itself in the shallow (12 feet to be exact) reef below us. Working without knife or mask I attempted to remove the sail from mast - or even the boat from the mast so that I could put my father back in the boat (He had only come along to be a good father by spending time with his son, his next father son adventure with my brother landed him in a cast for 6 weeks from trying to ride motorcross, not to mention the time he was being a good father watching his sons light fireworks when one of the arial fireworks came shooting down the back of his shirt, and refused to go out till it's energy had been spent on his unfortunate back)
After those 25 minutes had passed a local diver swam over. "eh you guys need help?" All sarcasm had left my thoughts for once in my life as I replied "I definitely do." After making sure I didn't mind if he cut the sail from the reef (which I had already decided sailing was not intended for my life) he worked to free the sail from the reef. Once done (having been in the water nearly 2 hours now) we attempted to right the boat so we could paddle, like a poor whipped puppy with it's tail tucked between it's legs in shame, toward shore. Yet despite our attempts we were not having any sucess with either righting the boat or removing it from the mast (only held in by friction - the mast was a 2" galvanized pipe held in a 2foot flange just big enough for it to slip into).
As we attempted to wrest the tiny craft from it's predicament, from behind me what did I hear, the sound of tiny footsteps from 8 little reindeer . . . sorry I digress - it was actually 8 little horses beneath the hood of an evenrude. A group of fishermen had been sitting on the shore watching our escapade, "eh brah, we thought you was out hea' playing around, but you like some help o' what?" they chorused in their delightful pidgin. Within a few minutes my Dad and I both were sitting inside the relative (very relative at this point) safety of our little boat being towed in by the fisherman's zodiac. We got back to shore with my tackle box, half of my fishing pole, the other half of my Fathers (fortunately they fit together and made one complete pole) but less one rudder and oar. But we were on land - Still I had paid good money for those oars, near $40 for them I was not about to lose it to the sea without a fight and knowing that it floated gave me all the hope I needed. We made our decision, knowing the inherent dangers of boating now My father agreed to to strap my now dinged up dinghy in the van while I swam the mile long journey across the bay following the current and hopefully finding that lost oar. Yes the dangers of a boat for the relative (there's that word again) safety of my own strength motoring my way through the water.
As I swam (all told I spent just under 4 hours in the water that day) across the bay I began to wonder if it was really worth one oar. . . one oar that had caused us to capsize . . . an oar that had failed to get me safely home on my last trip. . . an oar that I was swimming in 24" of water with just as much sludge and muck underneath so that I could not even stand without sinking into the mud, to find . . .was it worth it? Well I found that oar and it has seen many years of service since . . . in the closet with my 12' used to be sailboat (which I did eventually have a successful trip in at lake Wilson in Wahiawa on Oahu fishing for bass)
As I trudged through the last few feet of that muck and up onto the yard of a total stranger (who would have used that word to describe me had he seen me crossing his neatly manicured lawn) toward the highway where I had agreed to meet my father the image of that zodiac that had so effortlessly rescued me on two seperate trips came to mind. . . maybe the answer is power I thought . . .yeah no more sail, gotta get some power. . . what could possibly go wrong then?
Next . . .Part 3 . . . of the "what could possibly go wrong" saga. (as soon as I make the time to write it up that is
)Aloha, Tim
