Sailing the High Seas

So far, the majority of my anecdotes have in one way or another included my family. I thought I’d give them a little break this time. Relating the Cruising tale made me think of a couple of other boating fiascos. This next yarn relates to just how fun sailing can be. It's also a warning. Before you embark on your next great sailing adventure, you ought to stop and consider just whom you should invite to come along.

One of my friends from college was an avid sailor. Probably still is. When he got married, he had a bright idea. Now right then and there the warning bells should have sounded. If they did, no one was paying attention. The wedding reception was being held at a New York area yacht club. His bright idea was that he and his bride, after the reception, should sail off into the sunset. My friend is a rag man (sail boater). They convinced a friend of the family to allow them to use his 50 foot sailboat for their romantic cruise into wedded bliss. Ohhhhhh, someone should have really been listening to those warning bells.

The wedding is weddingish and the reception is receptiony. The day is proceeding as planned. The weather is good; the day is warm and sunny. JUST MARRIED has been stenciled onto the sail of the boat. All during the reception, everyone was looking at this 50 foot boat, just imagining what it would be like to sail off into the sunset on it. But no, it was only for the bride and groom, they are the lucky ones. They get to start their star filled marriage on a romantic cruise for two (and the crew of the boat of course, you can’t forget him).

The reception has an open bar. Everyone is having a great time. The drinks are flowing, the band is playing and people are dancing. It was really rather fun. Eventually, it’s time for the bride and groom to get changed so they can leave on their honeymoon. About this time, the bride’s father comes over and starts giving us a hard time. The groom has invited five (5) college buddies to the wedding. There was a little party for the couple after the wedding rehearsal the night before. The bride’s father comes over and says to us, “Last night you cleaned me out of every beer I had bought for the weekend. So I bought you guys your own keg of beer for the reception. What happened today? You drank the hard stuff all day and haven’t touched the beer.” To which, we look at each other and say, OK we’ll drink the beer. The Bride’s father at this point makes a comment about having to throw way the beer because, the reception is almost over and the keg is still full. Boy, was he naïve, I bet he wishes now he hadn’t thrown down that gauntlet.

The bride and groom say their goodbyes and head out to the sail boat. As they do, they start inviting friends and family to come along. The cruise into the sunset is only going to be about an hour. Afterall they have to catch a flight later in the day, it can't be much longer. So what the heck, might as well extend the party a little longer. The little group of guys I was with was referred to as the guys from the ghetto. That’s a long story in and of itself, but we were the Ghetto Boys. So they ferry about 30 people out to the boat, and the Ghetto Boys are sitting behind drinking beer and waving goodbye. All of a sudden the bride’s father sees us and asks why we aren’t going too. We make some kind of lame excuse about not being dressed for sailing. To which, the bride’s father says it’s not a party without the guys from the ghetto, we had to go. We make a comment about consuming the beer to which the father says “Take it with you”. At this point, those warning bells should have been a non-stop blaring fog horn of an alarm. But again, no one is paying attention.

We are the last load of people to get ferried to the sail boat. We all squeeze into the pram. The pram is a little row boat type thing with a square front. It's purpose is to bring pople from the dock, to the mooring. It’s made for maybe 3 or four adults max. In this pram we now have five Ghetto Boys, the 1st mate (he’s driving) two kids (about 12-13 years old) and an almost full keg of beer. Four of the five of us are well over 200 lbs. At least one is well over 250 lbs. Needless to say, this little pram is about one inch from being under water. This little boat does have a motor. We cast off and start putting away from the dock. Those of us up front are saying not to go to fast or make a wake because, well, we’ll take on water and sink. Once we are about 25 feet from the dock, the first mate cracks open the throttle. The back of the boat squats down in the water. You’ll never guess what happened next. The boat starts taking on water. The back end starts to sink. Luckily the motor conks out. Now water’s pouring in over the sides. One of my buddies grabs the two kids and throws them overboard. Both are in bathing suits anyway, they’ve been swimming all day. With this reduction in weight, the little pram stops taking on water, at least for the time being. We’re now about an eighth of an inch from being under water. We all start bailing. The mate hands one of the Ghetto Boys a hand pump and asks him to start pumping out the boat. This guy is nervous we are about to sink, so he starts pumping like mad. I’m watching him, and he’s pumping like a mad man. He’s sucking up water from the bottom of the boat. It goes through the pump, out the spigot onto the front of his suit coat then back into the boat. He had the outlet pointed in the wrong direction. He had it pointed at himself and not over the side. He was pumping for about 5 full minutes before he noticed he was getting wet from the nipples on down and no water was leaving the boat.

We correct the flaw in the bailing out process. The water gets pumped over the side and the motor is restarted. Everything is good. We are no longer sinking, the motor is running and we still have the beer. We again warn the mate to keep it slow. The mate snaps that he knows his job and cracks open the throttle. AGAIN the boat squats down at the stern and starts to take on water. Again we need to pump out the boat. This time we have a system, it goes much more smoothly. People at the dock are both yelling and laughing. Half of them want us to sink, the other half want us to come back, but we are troopers. On we go. Only this time, we take special care to explain to the mate that if this little boat starts to sink again, we’re throwing him over the side.

The little man that should have been sounding the warning bells now gives up. Screw it, we’re not listening. We’re on our own.

We slowly putt up to the sail boat. The mate asks one of us up front to grab the ladder. No one is listening, we’re too busy trying to let everyone on board know that we’ve brought the party with us, we have the beer. After two failed attempts at grabbing the ladder, the mate yells at us in the front to pay attention and grab the damn thing. At this point he backed up the pram, then gave it full throttle and rammed the side of the sail boat. He left a gouge about a half inch wide, two feet long and a quarter of an inch deep in the side of the sail boat. This 50 foot yacht that my friend was borrowing was now damaged. Uh OH, someone’s gonna be in trouble. Oh well it won’t be me.

Eventually, we all get onto the sailboat, set up the keg and everybody starts to party. This nice romantic sunset sail into wedded bliss is now a full on raging boat party with about 30 people. Not so romantic, but what the hey, a party’s a party. Off into the sunset we all sail. YAHOOOOOO!!!!

We’re running on the motor. After a while, the crowd starts asking the groom to raise the sail. At first he is reluctant. But peer pressure being what it is, eventually he gives in. The only thing holding him up is he’s short one sailor. Well, one of the Ghetto Boys is a stinkpotter (motor boater). They decide he can fill in for the missing crewman. He protests all the while saying he doesn’t know anything about sailing. They tell him not to worry and just to do what they say. They put up the sail and shut off the motor. We are now officially sailing the high seas. They put the guy from the Ghetto on the crank. His only job is to turn the crank until someone tells him to stop. The boat goes left, he cranks the right crank. The boat goes right, he cranks the left crank. All is going well until about the fourth turn. On about the fourth turn, somebody forgets to tell him to stop cranking. Now my friend is a faithful fellow and very good at following instruction. They told him to crank until told to stop. Nobody told him to stop. He cranked that crank like his life depended on it. He cranked until he was gasping for breath and his arms ached. He cranked until there was what sounded like a large explosion. He cranked until the strain on the boom was too great and it snapped in half.

For those that don't know, the boom is basically used to control the sail. It holds the sail to the mast. It's that long pole at the bottom. You know, the one that knocks everybody overboard in the movies.

A pall of gloom now descended on the boat. No more sailing. No more singing. No more dancing. We had broken the boat. The first mate was panicking. You see, since he’s in charge of the boat it’s his responsibility.

Only about 45 minutes have elapsed since we left the dock. In this time span we have almost sunk the pram, twice. A big gash has been gouged into the side of the boat, and the boom is now broken. So much for the romantic cruise. But we have beer. Everyone’s now drowning their sorrows.

The motor gets fired back up and we resume our cruise. I’m just sitting there looking around and I notice nothing is moving. I look at the groom and say “Hey, I don’t think we are moving”. I am told to shut up in a rather impolite fashion. I believe there was some derogatory comment about my mother too. I surmise that the groom is in a foul mood. A few minutes go by and I still don’t see anything moving. Again I say “Hey, I don’t think we are moving”. The groom again rather impolitely asks me to refrain from comment. Only this time there is a not so veiled threat to my long term health and my ability to stay on board this fine vessel. After a few more minutes, I still don’t see any movement. Being wiser this time, I look at the groom and ask “hey, what’s the number on the buoy over there?” The groom looks over and says “8” and then threatens my very existence again. I wait a good long time this time, 30 minutes or more. After a good long wait I say to the groom “Hey, what’s the number of that buoy over there? The groom responds “8, I told you that last time, shut the @#$%^ up”. To which I responded “EXACTLY, SEE WE ARE NOT MOVING!” At this point, all hell breaks loose.

The boat’s not moving. The engine is running, but we’re not moving. My friend the stinkpot guy leaps into action. Now he’s in his territory. Their talking motors, not sails. He’s knows all about motors. They take the cover off the motor, they pull up the floor boards, and they disassemble the entire back of the boat to see what’s happening. The motor is running, the transmission is cranking and the drive shaft is spinning. Why aren’t we moving?

The first mate is freaking out. His voice is about 4 octaves higher than it was when we left the dock. He’s panicking because he’s responsible for this 50 foot yacht and all the people on board. He goes down below and comes up with a length of line (at sea, it’s not rope, its line. Don’t ask me why, it just is) He’s going over the side to see what’s happening underneath the boat. He ties one end of the line around his waist and hands the other end to one of the Ghetto Boys. The guy he handed the line to has been hitting on one particular woman all day. And she’s not biting. She wants nothing to do with him. When they started working on the motor they piled everyone into the cockpit to get us out of the way. Now my friend had this woman trapped, there was no where she could run. And he was taking full advantage of this opportunity to work his magic. He’s not paying attention to anything but this woman. He doesn’t have a clue as to what is going on around him. He does not see the mate tie the line around his waist. He does not see the mate jump over the side. He doesn’t realize that it’s getting dark outside or that it’s dark under water. He doesn’t realize that the mate tied himself off so that he doesn’t float away into the darkness never to been seen again. All he knows is, this girl is playing hard to get and this guy is bothering him. So my friend grabs the line, looks at the mate, looks at the line then pitches it over his shoulder and goes back to hitting on this woman. About 10 people see this happen, shout and go diving for the loose end of line. If that line were two feet shorter, we’d a been down one first mate.

The mate comes up after a minute or so. The short story is the propeller is missing. The bottom line is, we have no sails and we have no motor. A decision is made to call the Coast Guard for a tow. Unfortunately, it’s at this time that we find out the radio doesn’t work. Great, a perfect ending to the perfect day. Oh no no no, not yet.

It’s getting dark, there’s no sail, no motor and no radio. The groom now announces that we are drifting out into the shipping channel. This is New York remember, they have really big ocean going cargo ships in this channel. And we have what comparitively is a tiny little sail boat with no way of getting out of the way. While they are debating what to do next the owners two kids (the ones that had been thrown off the pram earlier) start jumping up and down on the back of the boat. The groom looks at them and asks ever so politely, what the hell they are doing. Apparently, there was a short in the electrical system and there were no running lights. The kids said that sometimes, if they jump up and down on the back of the boat, the lights will come on. So, here we are, a drift in the shipping channel, no radio, no lights, no sails and no motor. And more importantly, no bathrooms. Did I mention the beer? There was a keg of beer and 30 people drinking. Eventually, you have to return the excess beer. I won’t go into detail but, there were two bathrooms on board this 50 foot yacht. Both of them full to overflowing (if you get my drift)

And it ain’t over yet.

They put up the mainsail (the smaller of the two sails, maybe I have the name wrong) and we basically drift in to the harbor on the tide. We were about 4 hours late. What should have been a 1 hour cruise, took closer to 6.

We get to the mooring only to discover that no one has the key to the tender. The tender is bigger than the pram. It will take about 6 or 7 people. It has a center console. But there is no key. A decision is made for a couple of guys to row this thing to the Harbor Master’s office. After all, the Harbor Master keeps a spare key. So my friend the stinkpotter and the mate row off into the darkness. When they get to the Harbor Master’s office, it’s locked and he’s gone. They break into his office only to find out, he doesn’t have a key. My friend decides, to hell with this he’s going to hot wire the boat. He has a Swiss army knife. Just like MacGyver he starts to work on the console. He gets it all pulled apart and the wires all stripped, when someone comes running up with the key. Too late, now the key is no good.

They get the boat running and start ferrying people to the dock. No one is having fun anymore. The bride and groom are the first ones off. They’ve missed their flight to their honeymoon. They now have to hope they can get on one in the morning. Their marriage is less than 12 hours old and already they’ve had a big blow out. Well, it’s good to get the first one out of the way early I guess. The mate makes a couple of runs getting people off the yacht when he announces that he thinks the motor on the tender is quitting. He says he will keep going until it dies and if it does, he’ll call the harbor police to finish the unload process. Sure enough, as the end of unloading the yacht draws near, the tender stops working. There are only 4 people left on board the yacht, yours truly, my stinkpot friend and a couple of other people. After what seems like an eternity, we can see the blue light of the harbor police coming in. The Police get there and we all pile into his boat. This cop is not smiling. He seems pissed. I mean, it is 2:00 AM, but what’s he got to be mad about. At least his boat works. But he isn’t smiling; he’s actually kind of surly. He’s barking orders and doesn’t want to hear anything from any of us.

As we get to the dock, we see a crowd. The crowd is gathered around the burnt out shell of what looks like the tender. Apparently, the hot wire job had resulted in a short circuit somewhere in the console. That short circuit led to a pretty nice fire. And that fire resulted in the burnt out hull we were now looking at. As we get off the boat, there’s a guy on the dock just spitting nails. Apparently, this is the guy that owns all the boats we’ve been destroying. He’s mad and he wants to know who’s done what to his boats.

My buddy and I slipped to the back of the crowd where we met up with the rest of the Ghetto Boys, together we jumped in our cars and left. We didn’t wait around to try to explain all that had happened.

So in the final tally, we almost sank the pram, twice. Two of the owners childern have been thrown overboard without any regard to how close (or far, take your pick) they are to the dock or the boat. We've put a 2 foot gouge in the side of a yacht. We broke the boom, dropped the prop and totally wiped out the electrical system resulting in no radio or running lights. Came within inches of losing the mate. We destroyed both bathrooms, filled up everything that would hold fluid with our beer returns and tore out the floor boards. Broke into the harbor master’s office, pulled apart the console of the tender and in a parting gesture, burnt it right down to the water line. Oh yeah, and the bride and groom, they had their first really big fight as a married couple and missed half their honey moon. I'm pretty sure this was the grooms' first night sleeping on the couch as a married man. No wonder the cop, groom and the guy that owned the boats were all mad. None of them have any sense of humor. But on a positive note, we didn’t waste any of the beer.

Hey, it's not our fault. They invited us, insisted really. It's not a party without the guys from the ghetto.