"Most Lubberly" championship

[Judith]

I love you guys. Do you realize how reassuring these tales are (albeit in a twisted way) to novice sailors?

Then there's the entertainment value, somewhat along the lines of the Mel Brooks definitions: "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall down an open manhole."

I don't have enough counterbalancing experience/history to feel comfortable sharing my lubberly moments, so I hereby withdraw from the the competition However, if I ever work up the ambition to write up a lengthy saga, I may enter my dog. I inquired on the board about taking a dog, got lots of support, so we took him. ONCE. He managed to cram an impressive string of mishaps into just a couple days. I feel confident that he'd be in the running for the Other Species Lubberly Award

Keep it those stories coming!
Judith

[wingreen]

(Of course, if this were true, it would be lubberly, perhaps the lubberliest of all. But I always think it could have happened. And maybe it did sometime, somewhere. It was Steinbeck, I think, who said that just because a thing didn't necessarily happen, it didn't necessarily mean it wasn't true.)

John Vigor

Until I read this, I thought we had a winner.

Steinbeck was surely a sailing man.

[RIKanaka]

(Of course, if this were true, it would be lubberly, perhaps the lubberliest of all. But I always think it could have happened. And maybe it did sometime, somewhere. It was Steinbeck, I think, who said that just because a thing didn't necessarily happen, it didn't necessarily mean it wasn't true.)

John Vigor

I'll have to look through the book, which is on my shelf, but I'm thinking "Cannery Row"?

[Dick Barthel]

(Of course, if this were true, it would be lubberly, perhaps the lubberliest of all. But I always think it could have happened. And maybe it did sometime, somewhere. It was Steinbeck, I think, who said that just because a thing didn't necessarily happen, it didn't necessarily mean it wasn't true.)

John Vigor

I'll have to look through the book, which is on my shelf, but I'm thinking "Cannery Row"?

"There are people who will say that this whole account is a lie, but a thing isn't necessarily a lie even if it didn't necessarily happen." John Steinbeck, Sweet Thursday, Chapter 8, closing sentence (Sweet Thursday was a sequel to Cannery Row).

John's tale has me wondering if the mechanics at least hold together. But I'm still tired from thinking about the falling helicopter. Such an imagination!

[John Vigor]

This story is true.

A few years ago I was singlehanding in my 25D through Canada’s Gulf Islands where tight anchorages often make it necessary to take a line ashore.

I found myself in a narrow inlet in Wallace Island and watched with smug amusement while the six crewmembers of a 30-footer struggled to get a line ashore to the steep bank lining the inlet. With two women aboard the boat, and four men in the rubber dinghy, they roared back and forth in total confusion, slipping and sliding and tugging and cursing until finally, finally, they found a large rock to tie their line around and fumbled their way back to the cockpit where they flopped back in apparent exhaustion.

Right. Now it’s my turn. Here comes the experienced old salt. I’m gonna show them how Cape Dory people do it.

I motored in slowly alongside them, dropped my stern anchor, and payed out the line until I judged I was close enough to get a line ashore. I cleated the line, put the engine in neutral, dropped neatly into my dinghy, and wended my way to the foredeck where, with commendable foresight, I had prepared a shore line stowed in the anchor locker.

I took one end of the line in my left hand and with my right hand I sculled ashore. From the looks on their faces, I don’t think they’d ever seen anyone scull a dinghy with one oar over the transom before. So I sculled neat and fast and powerful to impress them even more, especially the tall blonde lady.

I rammed the dinghy up onto the rocky ledge, sprinted up the bank, passed my line around the trunk of a small tree, and leaped back down to the dinghy.

With the line in my left hand again, I sculled back to the boat in my most manly fashion. Speed was of the essence because the 25D was secured only by the stern anchor, and was free to drift at the mercy of any puff of wind that might come along.

Just before I reached the bow of the 25D, with the crew of the boat next door watching intently, the bitter end of the line I was tugging on flipped out of the anchor locker and dived overboard.

I had forgotten to secure the stupid bow line to the boat.

By reflex I dropped my sculling oar, and, with a wonderful stroke of luck, managed to grab the sinking line in the water. But even so, things had taken a nasty turn.

The position was this: I was standing in my dinghy with a line that reached from my right hand to the shore, around a tree, and back to my left hand. The 25D was now out of reach and drifting slowly astern. I couldn’t drop the line because I’d no way to recover it. I couldn’t scull the dinghy because I couldn’t drop the line. My mind had gone blank and my muscles were frozen. The blonde was regarding me quizzically.

Just then a large powerboat came past, dragging the usual wake. It hit the 25D's transom and pushed the boat toward the shore, just enough for me to reach the bow. I transferred both ends of the line to one hand and gripped the forestay with the other. The line wasn’t long enough to reach the bow, but a sudden spurt of adrenaline allowed me to exert the Samson-like power needed to bring my arms together across my chest, and, mirabile dictu, I managed to tie the two ends of the line together behind the forestay. It was a granny knot, but the blonde couldn’t see that.

I got my breath back, and sculled expertly to the cockpit. I hopped aboard nimbly and smiled in friendly fashion at the slack-jawed crew next door. Then I went below and helped myself to a large tumbler of rum. I tried not to think what would have happened if that powerboat hadn’t come along at exactly the right moment. I didn’t appear on deck again until it was dark.

I guess the moral of the story is that we’re all lubbers sometimes, but if you have a few points in the black box you can get away with it occasionally.

Cheers,

John Vigor

[Sea Hunt]

Hello Wingreen and all:

Please allow me a few weeks of trying to practice raising and lowering sails single handed and dropping and picking up a mooring ball single handed and I am supremely confident I will take home the "Lubbers Championship Trophy"

Was not able to get out yesterday. A/C repairs lasted much longer than anticipated and cost much more than budgeted. Soooo, what else is new Weather/winds were not bad yesterday either - at least according to sailflow.

I am leaving in a few minutes for the sailing club. Unfortunately, sailflow predicts today winds will be NE 15-18 kts. If that is what I experience, I will probably not try hoisting sails.

[Cathy Monaghan]

(Of course, if this were true, it would be lubberly, perhaps the lubberliest of all. But I always think it could have happened. And maybe it did sometime, somewhere. It was Steinbeck, I think, who said that just because a thing didn't necessarily happen, it didn't necessarily mean it wasn't true.)

John Vigor

........John's tale has me wondering if the mechanics at least hold together. But I'm still tired from thinking about the falling helicopter. Such an imagination!

Let's see now.....I believe that a gallon of water is about 8.3 lbs. Most buckets hold about 2 gallons, so two buckets make about 4 gallons. If John only weighs a llittle less than 33.2 gallons it could work. I supplose he would have had to have been about 3 years old at the time! At age 3 he wouldn't have needed the buckets. 3-Year-olds can climb like monkeys.


Cathy
CD32 Realization, #3
Rahway, NJ
Raritan Bay

PS: I have twice been fooled by what appeared to be a ship's mast light on the horizon only to discover it was a rising Venus. And a rising full moon in October can be pretty scary sometimes too.

[Dean Abramson]

I know I've already got a dog in this hunt.

But does running aground with your mother-in-law on board count for anything? Try making small talk with the relatives while you are high, dry, and heeled over. Fortunately, it was just sand, and as it was right at the end of the ebb, we weren't there too long before the tide came in and freed us.

That was about twenty years ago. But I still remember, my in-laws still remember, and my wife still remembers.

I can't believe I sailed the Maine coast for a couple of years without any Loran or GPS. That was my first real fog experience. Right at the mouth of the Royal River in Yarmouth.

Dean

[mgphl52]

Bryce, You reminded of a time I'd rather not remember:

A) My (now ex-) mother-in-law was on-board; actually, just the two of us.

B) There was NO fog.

C) OK, it was between dusk and twilight...

D) I missed spotting the #1 & 2 marks and turned for #3 & 4...

E) THUMP!!! goes the the fin keel against the sand bar!

F) Did I mention yet that I was helming her boat?

"Life is what happens while you're making other plans." -Scott Peck (I think)
"It ain't what happens that matters, it's how you deal with it..." -me.

[Dick Barthel]

Cathy's post and Dean's post reminds me that I did both of those things. While on Rit's LaVida on my first offshore experience I too got very excited thinking that we were being run down by an ascending Venus. I was on watch with another offshore newbie and together we finally figured it out when the light was higher on the horizon then our mast that it couldn't possibly be a ship unless it would be running over us at any second. Mike got a good chuckle out of it.

Then a few summers later on Dream Weaver with Clay Stalker we arrived late at Fairfield Beach one evening and having been spending time there since I was a child, I was pretty sure I had us anchored out far enough not to have to worry about exposed sand bars. We learned differently about 3 am when Clay fell out of his port berth. After investigating we quickly discovered why we were listing at 30 degrees. I checked the tide tables and spent the rest of the night praying that she would float free before my neighbors awoke. My prayers went unanswered. Later that day while safely on shore one of my life long friends suggested that local knowledge is very useful when anchoring off the beach.

I think the level of humiliation endured should also be considered when awarding the ultimate prize.

Dick

[Steve Laume]

Okay after a few years of Ty ownership and a couple of years with Raven I was feeling pretty cocky. This was the year before last so now I have learned some more humility. I sailed out of our mooring field on a blustery 20 MPH with higher gusts sort of day. I was single handing and had a great day. Now I don't know how drunk the guys were when they set out our moorings but mine is very close to my neighbors brand new Hunter. I give those folks credit cause they use their boat alot. They also hang out on her tied to the mooring on windy days. I hadn't started the engine all day and figured I could sail onto the mooring for my finalle. The way the wind was blowing, our boats would lie very close abreast but there was plenty of room to head up and shoot up to the buoy. I rolled up the jib and dropped the staysail, leaving only the reefed main. I made my approach, rounded up, released the main and moved forward to pick up the pennant. I knew those Hunter People were watching closely as I easily moved to the bow, picked up the boat hook, snagged my pennant loop and tossed it over the bow bow cleat. I was feeling pretty smug until the main filled and the sheet refused to run free! The boat tacked onto a course that would plant her heavy bow sprint squarely amidships into the Hunter with her horror struck crew standing ready to witness the carnage. It was one of those slow motion events that you can't believe is happening and there is nothing you can do about it. Raven picked up speed quickly and left me no time to get to the helm or any possibility of fending her off. She was going for that Hunter like an agitated Pit Bull wanting to shake a tow Poodle to death! I can still remember the saucer like eyes of my neighbors which must have mirrored my own. With imminent doom only a few feet away the mooring line fetched up and tacked Raven smartly away from her mission. That set me in action and gave me time to make it back to the helm and to get the main sheet free. I after lots of apiologies and promises not to do that again I needed a good blast of brandy and possibly some clean underwear, Steve.

[John Vigor]

. . . if I ever work up the ambition to write up a lengthy saga, I may enter my dog. I inquired on the board about taking a dog, got lots of support, so we took him. ONCE. He managed to cram an impressive string of mishaps into just a couple days. I feel confident that he'd be in the running for the Other Species Lubberly Award

Keep it those stories coming!
Judith

Judith on behalf of dog lubbers everywhere I urge you to regale us with with the story of your pestiferous pet, your hapless hound, your canine catastrophe.

It doesn't have to be a lengthy saga. Just the facts ma'am, just the facts.

Is he a lubberly Labrador, by any chance?

John Vigor

[Judith]

He is, in fact, a Lab--good call!

I've meant to write this up for ages, so this is a good push.

At the moment, we're gearing up for a short sail this weekend to the Estuarium in Washington with Warren's youngest. But I'll try to get to the Landlubber Lab story shortly. If it gets too long, I'll link to our website. Even "just the facts" are, honestly, something of a lengthy saga.

Judith

[Sea Hunt]

OK, this may not be the "hands down winner" I think it is, but I am sure it is in the top 5.

The other day I was on Tadpole with a good friend of mine from the sailing club who owns a Cape Dory 27. My friend shall remain nameless because I am confident he would be embarrassed to be associated with me on this particular day and this "issue".

Our plan was to motor around Biscayne Bay in Tadpole, look for some "hurricane holes" and possibly raise sails, depending upon wind conditions. A very experienced sailor, he offered to act as back up only and let me do everything alone so I could learn but with the confidence of having him to bail me out. It was not meant to be.

We took the club launch out to Tadpole and climbed aboard. Cockpit bone dry - good news. Opened cabin - bone dry, more good news. Got all our gear settled. I lowered the O/B, set the choke and fired up the Suzuki. Started on second pull - more good news. Water coming out the "P hole" - good.

While I was in the cabin arranging some gear, etc., the O/B conked out. Hmm. Strange. Has not done that before. I went back to the O/B and started her up again. She ran for about 5-6 seconds and then died again. Hmm. This is not good. However, having worked on automobile engines with my Dad when I was a kid and many times tuned up the 1964 Chevy Belair, I was confident I would diagnose the problem quickly. Having worked on lawn mower motors was also a big plus in my mind. When one is really stupid, one can be overly confident.

Removed the cowling. My first thought was she died out because she was not getting any gas. Everything seemed to be in its place. As we will see in a few minutes, if only I had a brain. No gas leaks that I could detect. All the hose lines seemed to be in place. There was one line that I was not familiar with but did not pay it any attention since it was connected OK.

We tried several times to start her making various choke adjustments, etc. Then we stared at her for a while and tried to start her again, making more adjustments. I thought she might be flooded but I could not smell any gas at all so this did not seem reasonable. I then thought of my checklist for this O/B. I have checklists for just about everything. Even after 30+ years of diving, I have a checklist routine for dive gear, etc. I quickly ran through in my mind (or at least thought I did) the checklist and dismissed it. The motor had started. I had done everything correctly or it would not have started.

We stared at the motor some more and finally decided it was not meant to be. We called for the club launch and with much effort we were able to get the 65 lb. motor and bracket off Tadpole and into the launch without dropping into the Atlantic Ocean. I put it in my truck thinking I would probably try to work on it at home and, if not successful, bring it to a Suzuki dealer. Dollar signs danced through my head at this thought.

My friend graciously offered to explore some hurricane holes in his CD 27. It was a great outing. However, during the entire excursion I kept pondering the O/B motor. What could it be I had done everything correctly. She started right up and then just died out after a few minutes. Was it bad fuel I had put into her tank No, it was the same fuel I use in my truck. Truck runs great. Near the end of the trip, as we were motoring back into the mooring field I had my "Eureka" moment. "Bad fuel" was not the problem. "No fuel" was the problem

I am sure most of you have already figured out what I did wrong, probably beginning at paragraph 5 above. What an embarrassing moment for me. Should I tell my friend what I had done Or should I not say anything and pretend like it was some complicated new onboard electronic "gizmo" that went haywire

Honestly prevailed. I told my friend that I was confident I had solved the problem. This particular Suzuki O/B has an onboard fuel tank (about 1.5 liters) as well as the standard hose fittings for an external tank. There is a small lever on the left side of the O/B that allows you switch from the onboard tank fuel line to the external tank fuel line. This unfamiliar onboard line is the line I had looked at earlier and dismissed as "unimportant" since it was connected and no fuel leaking. The owner’s manual recommends that you move the lever to the external fuel line position when storing the O/B on the motor bracket so as to prevent any fuel leaking from the onboard tank. I had faithfully done this when I had last shut down the motor and stored it in its "upright and locked" position.

In failing to get out my checklist and follow it religiously (Checklist Item 1 - "Switch lever to onboard fuel tank line"), I had broken a cardinal rule of mine. ALWAYS FOLLOW THE $#@^&* CHECKLIST

At home, I easily set up the saw horse for the motor, filled a garbage can with water, set the lever to on board fuel tank line, set the choke, and started her up on the first pull. Ran her for 10-12 minutes. No problem.

Now, my only problem is figuring out how I am going to reinstall this 65 lb. O/B onto Tadpole while she is on her mooring. I originally installed it while she was on the hard. That was easy. The overhang of the motor bracket is significant. The last thing I want to do is best my own stupidity level by falling face forward overboard while holding onto the O/B

Any suggestions

[Dean Abramson]

Don't feel bad. Last year, Rich and Melissa had to tow us in our dinghy back to our boat because our dinghy outboard "did not work."

Which they won't, if the gas tank vent is closed...