Trailer Sailor Articles & Reviews
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rescueing my boat
Posted By: .Jeffrey Anzevino
Date: 11/16/00 2:32p.m.
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All good things must come to an end Tide Rider, my 15-foot west Wight potter sailboat, contentedly sits on her trailer in the barnyard beside my apartment, in the morning shadow of Illinois Mountain. I like to think she would prefer to bob in the Hudson’s muddy waters. However the events of the past weekend have convinced me to give up the ghost, that summer is over, and the time is nigh to plan next years sailing adventures. Usually I am saddened to retrieve the boat from the River, but experiences on Saturday night and on Sunday afternoon bring a sigh of relief that Tide River is safe and on dry land. here's what happened on Saturday night... Saturday night/Sunday morning November 11-12 11 PM 44 degrees wind (NWS) North 12 mph wind (observed) 20 mph with stronger gusts High Tide 12:20 AM Low Tide 7:30 PM After an evening of helping my friend Rusty paint his house, I decide to retire to the Hudson to sleep aboard Tide Rider. Now with the full Hunter Moon of November pulling the Hudson’s tides and its docks are being removed one by one from the river, I know my time is short on the river. Upon the return of a day’s outing on Wednesday, I found my usual dock removed. As I motored back late in the afternoon with two co-workers the owner of the marina, a most likeable guy named Jimmy, said, “Don’t worry Jeff, take that slip over there. It’s got a nice rubber bumper around it.” I thanked him for being so accommodating and allowing me to keep my boat in for such a long ‘season.” My regular slip protrudes from a long finger dock which just out into the river. Thus, Tide Rider normally berths north to south. This end-of-the-year-spot orients her bow and stern east to west, a factor that would soon cause much concern. The fifteen-footer offers only the most spartan conditions, but nevertheless I have slept aboard many times in the two months I’ve owned her. The shelter she affords is but the size of a pup tent. Though she sports a porta-potty, I prefer as a head a Maxwell House can with tight fitting lid. The morning’s condensation is fast to drip from the inside of her cabin roof if I am not careful and brush against its surface. For entertainment I read of the Hudson’s colorful history by cabin light and wait for news of an approaching tug and barge overt the VHF marine band radio: “This is the Emil Bouchard southbound approaching Crum Elbow with a security check for all northbound vessel concerned.” Once these words are heard I anticipate the sound of the approaching marine diesel, rolling waves and the motion of its wake. The soothing effect of the gentle rocking motion of the Hudson’s waters is broken by the thunderous roar of mile-long freight trains along the CSX ‘s West Shore Line, which makes a bee-line barely 100 feet from our slip. The first hint of such approach is the far away sound of ten thousand steel wheels rolling against rusty rails. Soon the diesel reveals itself in a low din and eventually a brief report of the whistle. Before long, bells on the grade crossing begin to ring and the engineer lays on the horn in earnest urging all to stand clear. By now the tumult echoes righteously against the cliffs threatening to pass right through the tiny cabin in which I lie. The clatter always awakens me from a sound sleep. But soon after the engines pass and its whistle ceases, the rhythmic sound of all those wheels hastens this weary sailor back to dreamland until the next load of timber, scrap iron, and containers hugs the Hudson’s shore on the way to the sea. As I drive down the hill alongside the unnamed brook tumbling through the vale I always scan the river’s surface and flags atop the railroad bridge for an indication of what I’ll find. Tonight the spotlit flags snap to attention, aroused by stiff northers. At our regular dock, she would have rode happily up and down each swell, parallel to the dock and with little stress on her lines. However, tonight I find Tide Rider yanked and jerked by frequent and steep 3-foot swells, a product of an opposing flood tide and north wind. Each wave repels her from the slip only to slam her hull into the rubber bumper edging the dock. I don’t like what I’m seeing and make my way out onto the rocking dock to consider my options. Her cockpit is full of water up clear up to the seats due to last night’s rain. Her boom swings wildly back and forth. I jump into the cockpit with a thin stick, which is used to free the cork from the drain hole. Immediately a torrent streams from the transom. In a flash the cabin lock is keyed and hatch removed. I find inside a life vest, which I promptly don. That boom doesn’t need to be attached to the mast; it is removed and stowed. The daggerboard is lowered in an attempt to provide some stability. I consider motoring to the sheltered harbor at the Brass Anchor, but deem the 1.9-mile journey risky in these conditions. I did not doubt that Tide Rider could have handled the 3-foot chop, but should she strike a piece of driftwood and bust a shear pin or cotter pin and loose way and, thus steerage, who knows what might happen? As I watch helplessly from the dock, the bow line snaps! Fortunately a spare line attached to the cleat on the foredeck is quickly affixed to the bollard on the dock. The bow line, though thick, was intended as a main sheet for a Sunfish and not designed for this type of stress. I must act fast. I remember the docks on the south side of the marina. Since the restaurant is built upon the old ferry landing some protection must be afforded from the north wind and waves. A quick examination of the south side of the restaurant reveals that, yes, an empty spot awaits beside Gringo, my friend Roberto’s boat, just in the lee of the wooden piles upon which the restaurant is built. Remembering that my last trip nearly ran the outboard dry of fuel, I quickly gas up and start the trusty but tiny 3.5 horsepower Nissan, which I affectionately call the “eggbeater.” It has a polymer, read plastic, prop. More than once I am nearly tossed off the dock, which thrusts to and fro in the waves. Each time I board the boat, I must time my leap such that the boat is near the dock. I cannot visualize how I can untie bow and stern lines and hold the boat close enough to board. I need a hand. Inside the bar, two guys leave their bar stools to agree to help me out. They stagger onto the unsteady dock as I hand one the bow line, board the boat, and help the other untie the stern. At my command they throw the lines aboard just before I throttle up into the waves, yelling thanks to them, and likewise am thankful myself that they are off the dock and on the stable parking lot. The eggbeater propels us up and over the waves out into the dark river. We turn to starboard on a course with the waves, just past the floating dock to which Guppy, a 45-foot motor sailor has been tied for the past several weeks. At half-throttle we barely make way against the flooding current, even with the assist of the wind. Impatient to round the dock’s south end and to gain the still water behind the landing, the throttle is opened wide and we ride the following sea a mere 150 feet around the dock. A line trails in the water behind the stern. Apparently one of my helpers was unable to toss the stern line into the cockpit. I must choose between steering and hauling the line in, lest it tangle in the prop and stall the motor. Try as I might, I cannot let go of the tiller for even a second and thus, must simply keep my eyes upon the goal in the lee of the landing. Again I turn to starboard and quickly enter calmer water behind the dock and just seconds later nudge into the slip. In an instant I step off the boat and secure bow ands stern lines securely and kill the eggbeater in a grand sense of relief. This was the longest five-minute boat ride I have ever taken. I recall the great sails I had last Wednesday and the moonlight sail the week before but wonder “are these late autumn sails worth risking my craft and my life to the storms of November?” With Tide Rider wrapped up I retire to the cozy cabin with my book for a good read before dozing off. As usual I awaken several times, but sleep soundly during the last hours before the dawn. Next: Sunday’s experience… |