Revolver, my friend Magellan's 12,000 lb Alberg 30, seemed at first to resist the pull like a jetty boulder. The line from his bow to the stern cleat of my 17 ft bay boat was tight as a guitar string, and Tracie, standing over it, seemed to be oblivious to the huge momentary forces developing just a few inches from her feet. I wondered if the stern cleat would fail under the increasing strain and suddenly rocket off my boat, shooting the line back to Tracy like a big limp arrow--with a nice hard, double-pointed cleat on the business end. If that happened, Tracie might find herself decked with a nasty headache or an impressive bruise or a damned fine gash. And Magellan might learn the ultimate meanings of mutiny and "a wife with an agenda".
But Revolver slowly began to float to us--and then the abrupt physics of a 2-knot current and the inertia of Revolver's lumbering 6-ton bulk took command of my 600 lb bay boat. So the barking my Nearly Perfect Wife loves so much began in earnest. Under the concerted forces of Revolver and the current, my little fishing boat began a quick 360 degree spin. The stern line began its inevitable sweep across the deck to the console and I was yelling, "Cast off! Cast off now, ye wogs!"
Annette (The Nearly Perfect Wife) was quick at the stern and saved us a good pinching, but the fun was only starting. That damnable current set us on a fine trip down the channel, toward restaraunt decks, rocks, bidge supports, broken pilings and at least one john boat full of oblivious fishermen who might find themselves with the biggest catch of the day if somebody didn't move soon.
But the channel gods seemed to be dozing. The current carried us between the pilings and the bridge supports and past the restaraunt dock and its lunchtime watchers of our little mid-channel waltz. We had time to get the fenders out so we might raft the boats, and let Magellan steer us as I provided propulsion. The pace got downright leisurely for a minute--when another sailboat, whose skipper was inattentive enough to make his track downwind of our drift, appeared in the cut from the channel--and he was coming fast. He seemed completely at ease with the idea of a heavy disabled sailboat perhaps blowing right down on him. Must have had insurance or beer on board.
At that I said, "I don't mean to be rude, but you people are going to have to move faster--we have a sailboat without a clue coming on, wind and current taking us to him and to those rocks over there and we are running out of room fast." And with that Tracie and Annette tied stern and bow lines between the two boats as quickly as any seasoned boatswain's mate. I barked, "Watch your hands!" and throttled-up.
And with that, Revolver came along quietly, in the way a big friendly drunk allows himself to be maneuvered into his bed to sleep it off.
But for Magellan--ah, his fun is only beginning. Now Tracie has a cause. It's called tow insurance.
posted by The Captain @ 8:53 AM
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