Trailering To TEXASand TREASURE too

Posted By: Richard L.Poletti
Date: 12/22/00 8:14p.m.

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Trailering to Texas and Treasure Too By Richard L. Poletti Clackety clack klakety. The noise hammered itself home with a corresponding head rocking motion that one gets from riding too loosely in the saddle. But this rhythmic cacophony came neither from horse hooves plodding hard ground nor from the steel rail against steel wheel of freight cars. It was the painful cry of overburdened boat trailer tires slamming against what should be a proving ground for military vehicles. Every state has at least one section of road that has been sworn to take vengeance against those who are foolish enough to flaunt their boat trailering skills by nesting their expensive toy on a moveable cradle. We taunted the highway demons in Arkansas................................................................................................................ True to their code, these road rogues rose to the occasion with indefatigable zeal. To them, oversize tires & axle, American made bearings and rebuilt brake system, items that have withstood Ohio potholes, Michigan ruts and Canadian gravel, hardly raised a sneer of contempt. Before they would be done with us , they would break 1500# tie downs, turn steel springs into limp noodles, pulverize nylon bushings, rip loose and flog our secured hatch, detach the grip of both Polysulfide &3M 5200 bedding / sealing compound to produce leaks in places where there were no previous places AND TEAR UP OUR WHEEL BEARINGS to boot. They would shift our boats hull from side to side as if it were a sewing machine shuttle, forcing it against abrasive surfaces in a persistent attempt to bore holes before we could reach the sanctuary of the Texas border. .......................................................................... That we were able to escape The Dark Side at all was largely because of help from the JEDI of the roadway, Arkansas truckers. One trucker stood out above the others who helped. Who would believe that the same guy that handed me a five foot frozen (headless) rattlesnake, laughing as I cringed a bit, would take several hours of his valuable time to help overcome the road ravages? The Smiths consider themselves just average people, and I guess that I would agree if I could reconcile average with someone who could fire a hand built muzzle-loading cannon two and a quarter miles over a lake; or that the average might include someone that has a sawmill and a dragline in his backyard as toys; or that average could be someone that never having sailed a day in his life, plans to sail a 40 foot boat on an ocean crossing. Average comes in a lot of shapes , but whatever kind of average these folks were will always be special to some road frazzled trailer sailors from Michigan. As a matter of fact , the people that we met along the way were so very nice that we might even be willing to let those Arkansas road devils have a new chance at us. ........................................................................................................ Forewarning of future frailties began to materialize shortly after we left home . With temperatures unseasonably warm for October, The Suburban's water temperature gauge began a climb into zones dangerously high. Our re-cored radiator was one of those attempts at frugality that becomes very expensive so a new four core radiator was installed with the futile hope that my much lighter billfold would substantially increase our gas mileage. . Blind enthusiasm overshadowed the wisdom of our personal Oracle, and we continued on despite the radiator ,a full moon and Friday the thirteenth. ...... We REALLY believed that Fate was being kind by getting all our problems out of the way early-on so that our next few weeks would be trouble free. And why shouldn't they be untroubled? We had rebuilt the engine in our old Suburban , had new transmission ,wheel bearings, brakes, tires, radiator ,water pump, fuel pump , exhaust system and windshield installed. Our trailer had new US made Timkin bearings , new oversized tires ,new brakes and master cylinder. We carried back up parts for just about any trouble and enough tools to do nearly a complete overhaul. Actually we had very little trouble for the next 1000 miles until Arkansas made us whimper and snivel a bit. With increased vigilance we distanced ourselves from Arkadelphia , Arkansas through North Texas ,secretly dreading Houston traffic that lurked ahead. Lured into temporary complacency as we danced along bypass beltway 8 ,our temperature gauge began another ominous upward creep that shouted for us to find an exit. AND FIND IT NOW. Limping into a parking lot Texas would begin to show the first of many reasons why she is a great state; her unending and generous hospitality. A young man, an employee of an engine rebuilding shop across the way , volunteered his services. He quickly discovered a faulty heater hose(did I mention that these too were new before we left Michigan).He produced a length of new hose, two clamps , helped to install same and refused payment for even the hose and clamps .We were quickly on our way once again . I thought back and regretted not having obtained our benefactors name to add to the list of people who did and would continue to do nice things for us. On the wings of a seagull fresh in from the waters of Bay City Texas the unmistakable and unforgettable elixir of sea air came to us . Soon eau d' shrimp from Palacios and essence of iodized kelp from Point Comfort would welcome us. We were nearing Port Lavaca, our new home for the next month and a haven for what Charlie and Laura call winter Texans. We would first meet Charlie Jones and Laura Griffith at the local Walmart parking lot when our Northern inability to adequately translate the hand gestures and y'alls became a Navigation crisis. How do you describe a first meeting with someone you already know from the inter- net ? Charlie made it easy with "why don't you just follow us home for now" . Actually , that simple ,direct ,sincere statement pretty much summarizes both Charlie and Laura. Of course they aren't simple any more that Einstein is simple, they have great depth in knowledge AND the ability to simplify a situation to its basics. Charlie's advice on the Trailer Sailor had already convinced us that this was the case and our first face to face solidified it all. WE LIKED this couple! Parked on her trailer within sight of the shipping channel to Port and Charlie&Laura's "A" frame home to Starboard, Mary's Mate began to fidget first on one foot and then on the other like a child who needed potty time. She could see and smell the sea and couldn't wait ANY longer. Soon ,with our friends to help, she got her wish even though this first outing was only under motor power. . After more than a year on land Mary's Mate was in HER element. And she liked the taste of salt water! Weather watching In Port Lavaca was frustrating. Prevailing wind was consistently from the S.E. and somewhere around 20kts. Temperatures held in the 80's daytime slacking off to 60 at night. The only thing that could have been better was if that wind had shifted in some direction that would allow us to sail S.E. instead of having to motor along the deep channel to an area more sailing suited . Waiting for Charlie and Laura to get a weekend free, the area liveaboards , in an effort to save us foolish Yanks from some ill-begotten fate, embellished on the dangers of the sea, the terrors of a "Norther" and all problems related to shallow water sailing. By the time we actually hoisted sail, we were not sure if any of our 35 years sailing experience would be applicable to an area so fraught with dangers. But sail we would.......................................................................... Eventually. Local knowledge is indispensable when traveling to an unfamiliar area. The trick is to know what to believe and what to put on hold. Locals won't intentionally send you bad information, but sometimes they do become a bit overzealous and overprotective. Residency doesn't guarantee higher sailing skill , but we make it a practice to pay close attention to their admonitions. With all this in mind we were readying to sail a few miles to meet Charlie and Laura with a local forecast of thundershowers , fairly high winds and possibility of small craft warnings . In Michigan NOAA forecasts have a serious credibility problem . Usually an experienced sailor can make the best call for himself. We had already made the call to be unconcerned with the rain ; we would sail . At the same instant I cast off the first dock line, rain arrived ... in BIG buckets. Visibility was reduced to a few feet. We didn't Mind getting wet, but sailing blind was not in the game plan.. In a half hour blue sky winked at us .We motored out of the marina attempting to call Charlie and Laura on the VHF to confirm intentions. . "Necessity, Necessity , Necessity this is Mary's Mate calling", I droned three times before voicing "negative response: Necessity, Mary's Mate standing by on 16" We wondered if their radio was working and tried again with " Necessity, if your are attempting to transmit the radio is not getting out" ...... "Mary's Mate, switch and answer six eight"a voice came back. It was Charlie .He was calling from the marina we had just left . Freed of the Channel 16 restrictions on chit chat, Charlie explained that they were at the marina to tell us that they had decided to sail, weather or no. Arriving they found us already gone. They were to drive back to Magnolia Beach , prep their boat and we would meet them there as originally planned. Magnolia Beach by water, it is a short few miles and it was shorter still with anticipation and an eight horse Evinrude both pushing Mary's Mate along at a fair clip. Yesterday we had to guestimate our boat speed, but today the drive impeller on the Knotmeter spun freely and we could check our speed with Loran, GPS and the old Signet. We were motoring at a little over a half throttle and making about 5knots. Hey I'm happy at even two knots sailing so five under power is just fine. Charliecame on the VHF telling us that he had us in sight. We could't see them , so we just headed in the general direction of the beach until Charlie advised us to bear Starboard. When we raised Necessity she was on the trailer and about to get wet . Those two made quick work of the launch and in no time they were leading us on a short tacking beat to Sand Point where we would spend the night at anchor. The wind seemed to be building and clocking a bit so when we found a suitable anchorage they set two anchors Bahamian style and we chose a fore and aft anchoring configuration. All four anchors were Danforth which , we were told , were ideal ground tackle in the soft Texas mud. Charlie and Laura paddled over to Mary's Mate for a little socializing and when Neptune invited a million phosphorescent plankton to the soiree we were treated to a magnificent underwater fireworks display. The thousand points of light made famous politically were there ; so were all the planets, stars and nebulae, held captive in Neptune's domain. Our anchor rode became a rocket ship trailing fire into the far reaches of space, the dinghy paddles stirred a milky way of new solar systems. Texas had given us a great welcome our first night at anchor! As the wind freshened and clocked even more we were glad we had set two anchors. I was up many times taking bearings and assuring myself that our position was constant but despite those few disturbances I rested very well. Mary as usual, slept like a baby. At daylight I saw Charlie emerge from Necessity's cabin, coffee cup in hand. I think that we share the notion that nothing is better than a freshly brewed coffee on dawn's water. On land, Mary and I putter and ponder for about an hour before becoming fully awake. Afloat, that first cup of coffee is all we need to get going. Washing the mud from our anchors, we were soon ready to beat to windward to Port Oconner and Matagorda Island . Necessity led the way ,first sailing then motor-sailing as a light stealing storm threatened to envelop us. Near night had overtaken us by noon but we had managed to stay just out of the storm's grasp when Charlie signaled that their motor had died. The wind was also building to the point where it was prudent to drop the jib . This left us with only a single reefed mainsail to drive the boat to windward for what was beginning to become arduous exercise. Charlie appraised the situation with ,"sailing supposed to be fun Isn't it?"as Laurabrought Necessity about for the downwind run back to Magnolia beach. Swapping main for jib , we signaled our agreement . Matagorda Island could wait for better conditions. We didn't know it then, but this would be the last opportunity for Necessity and Mary'sMate to sail side by side during our Texas stay. Three feet of snow await me outside as I review notes from the Texas trip . I mentally congratulate the good judgement of the many birds who head South in search of warmer weather. Actually, I pat myself on the back a little for having chosen a part of their migratory path. Port Lavaca, Magnolia Beach , Indianola Rockport and Corpus Christi are all waypoints for thousands of migratory birds of North America. While the rest of the USA press was hung up with who would be president, a typical headline from a local newspaper might announce "Whooping Cranes spotted at Indianola." or " Scissortail migration in full swing". A feature article might enthuse "36 varieties of Hummingbirds visit Magnolia Beach". Charlie and Laura built their very nice "A"frame home at a seaside location in Magnolia Beach where sandhill cranes , egrets, white pelicans, loons, geese and ducks are regular visitors . They say they built here because of sailing's proximity; the birds were just a big interesting addition. When Charlie wasn't honing our birdwatching skills , he was resident historian and tour guide. South Texas made the last two hats easy to wear. History is rich and well known dating from LaSalle's founding of an early colony through the Mexican American war and on to the present day. Archeological revelations include excellent artifacts recently excavated from LaSalle's own ship the BELLE and from an ongoing dig near there. Many of these are on display in a Victoria museum. Even more recent history held our interest. Indianola , a ghost of a town that today is little more than a shrimp boat dock , once was a major seaport which , but for a couple of untimely hurricanes could have been the Galveston we know in the twenty-first century. Now even it's courthouse of a hundred years ago lies submerged just offshore. The area's maritime heritage is displayed very well in The Rockport Maritime Museum which also has an excellent sea related library. All of south Texas was once part of Mexico . The carryover from this culture decorates nearly every restaurant marquee assuring that no tourist can escape an onslaught of Mexican food. Fortunately the scuttlebut that liveaboards exchange eventually centers on eating, eating and eating. With Charlie and Laura in the role of tour guides we were able to ferret out two highly recommended non Mexican restaurants: The Big Fisherman in Rockport which, as it's name implies serves absolutely fresh , delicious and reasonably priced seafood . And Whites Barbeque , a Friday night home for fantastic steaks served drilled with peppercorns. We were also to be introduced to two great native beers . One is Mexican called Corona that is unfailingly served with a slice of lime. The other is a Texas style German bock called Shiner. If there is anything that Mary and I enjoy on the same level as sailing, it is walking the beach. It was the second half of our pair of friends that was mostly responsible for our walk on Matagorda Island . Laura seen to it that her parents Power boat was available so that we could take advantage of the tiny weather windows we were offered to make the 11 mile run to The State Park. We were able to trailer the power boat 20+ miles to Port Oconner and then zoom across to the Park docks all on a Monday foray. From the docks it is a long walk to the ocean side of this barrier island. Normally the park staff will provide transportation across , but today was THEIR day off as well as Charlie's. After the two mile walk across the island we eagerly devoured the lemon/pepper chicken that Laura backpacked , collected sand dollars, driftwood and other oddities from the sea . A rain storm that had been brewing seemed to be coming straight for us, then at the last minute, divided down the middle and passed us to the North and South. We had walked another few miles along the litter strewn beach, stopping periodically to save some goodie or to admire the international flavor of the trash when a pickup truck came rolling toward us. Thinking about the long walk back we hitched a ride back to the powerboat. Luckily the driver bent the rules a bit and permitted us a ride in the truck bed. Matagorda Island has known many identities including that of an Air base , a hunting arena by various groups and most recently as a haven for many endangered wildlife species and a State Park. It is only accessible by boat or plane , so the wildlife can be somewhat comfortable there without too much violation by us humans. On the way over to the island we passed a trio of kayakers which Charlie gingerly passed without a wake. Now, as we prepared to leave for the Mainland , we had an opportunity to talk with one of them. She was currently from Colorado Springs CO where she knew my oldest son and she recently moved there from her home in SAGINAW MICHIGAN about thirty miles North of where I live. We had trailed sailed walked and rode 1500miles to meet a next door neighbor! We had a pretty good idea about ,many of Charlie's good points before we met him in person. Laura had not had the opportunity to shown her stuff until we had our face to face in Texas. To form opinions some people go by appearance , others go by what is said. I like to watch how they approach a task. Laura was just plain "at home" on a sailboat. Helping us sort stays and shrouds prerequisite to stepping our mast, there was no doubt in my mind that she was a competent sailor. Of course Charlie had sung her praises as a Dolphin competitor, and as catamaran crew, but seeing this lady in action was much more than any description. If JUST being a good sailor isn't enough , she is an artist, a sculptress, a creator of objects d'art and like Charlie, a professional photographer. Sandwiched among all these other talents she managed to be mother to a college aged son with all the joys and heartaches that are part of that position. For about a week we would watch from the sidelines as Laura had to weather the storms of that motherhood when her son was involved in a car wreck, unhurt, but un-locate-able also. That story had a happy ending but what was happening to us meanwhile was not so good. We lost the brand new transmission in our Suburban and were temporarily at the mercy of local mechanics who could smell the blood of a Yankee Tourist. After several bouts with yellow pages garages , one of whom told me with a straight face that Suburbans were never intended for towing, Charlie helped us locate Transmission Bob as he has become known locally . Bob Thompson had an open air garage a couple of miles from the Jones/Griffith home and he was an old time mechanic who actually cared if my car ran well. He pointed out that the last guy to rebuild that transmission had used the heaviest duty parts and had installed all the upgrades available . The problem lay with the torque converter which came from a different source. Bob said that several manufacturers of these were doing it incorrectly and one rebuilder used paint that actually dissolved in hydraulic oil, causing the valves to become hopelessly bound in the valve body. He noted also noted that there was not a drop of grease in the differential which didn't leak and that a U-joint was worn out. Before we had left Michigan we had : the vehicle greased and oil changed, both rear axle bearings and seals replaced. ( The axle must be removed and to do so requires removal of the differential inspection plate)NOBODY HAD NOTICED THAT THERE WAS NO GREASE including the people who were paid to specifically grease the vehicle. According to Bob , who by now had my complete trust , even a sizeable leak would have taken between months and years to leak out the two and one half pounds of grease needed. We had tried to sail to several destinations while all this was going on, but each time we were driven back by nasty wet weather. The main Channel that the big boats must use is dredged to about 30' .This runs on a course of 120 degrees and is maybe !/8 of a mile wide. On either side of this dredge cut are shoal areas that are bottomed erratically from one to seven feet in depth . So any sailing is prefaced by long term motoring until the channel widens; usually about seven or eight miles. There are openings in the spoils areas, but I think that the only way to find them is with a side /forward scanning depth sounder or a snails-pace movement with a bow watch and a lead line. Since the wind is almost always SE or at roughly 120 to 150 degrees the paradigm is: motor out at 120 sail back at 300 more or less . We were in Port Lavaca for a month. With the exception of Necessity and One catamaran, whenever we were out for a sail we were sailing alone. Since Necessity could only come out and play on Charlie's days off, that meant that the rest of the time we had the water all to ourselves; with exception of the shrimpers that is. These are a different breed of watermen. They won't communicate with a male voice on the VHF , but will completely trip over their tongue at the sound of a feminine caller. Unless someone warns them as they did me, sailors are in for a surprise concerning shrimp boats and the rules of the road. When these fishermen are bringing in nets The helm is put over and tied allowing all hands to help with nets. THERE IS NO LOOKOUT and the boat is not under command or control . In other words they own the water , STAY CLEAR. During our four weeks in Port Lavaca only the first week afforded good sailing weather and THAT was punctuated with winds that were above limit for comfortable sailing . Inside the next three weeks we got more than nine inches of rain dumped on us and for the last week that rain was accompanied with cold winds by even Michigan standards. We really wanted to sail to Palacios, to Martagorda and up the Colorado river; to travel the ICW along the barrier islands; to sail Aransas Pass and to play in the Gulf. Instead we drove to all those places . We didn't enjoy it quite as much, but the experience will always be in memory. On 19 November2000 the nasty weather slackened just enough to provide an escape to the ramp several miles away . I called Magnolia Beach with "hey Charlie , I got a window and the motor is warming up . Wanna give me a hand?" He arrived minutes later, watch hat, cold weather jacket, gloves and a hot cup of coffee as his tools. Mary was already warming up the Suburban and would meet us at the ramp. We cast off , wave goodby to anyone that might be watching and headed out into the choppy channel . Goodby Port Lavaca it has been fun. Once on the trailer, the mast was dropped in a big hurry and things were lashed for a quick trip to Magnolia beach where we could get out of the biting cold wind and prep her for the road . Boat and trailer made ready, we had coffee with Charlie and Laura for one last time and with a little tear in our eye we headed for home. We had little trouble an the return trip with the exception of having to replace a tire on the boat trailer, a ball of ice forming in the hydraulic brake lines acting as a check valve and thereby not releasing the brakes properly and having to stop every 50 miles to grease the bearings due to the lack of correct seal availability. All the way home we pondered the question, "where is our treasure"? On separate occasions and not having confided in one another , Mary and I had shared a dream wherein we had run aground and in going overboard to free Mary's Mate we had discovered a treasure laden chest which we had secreted out of Texas. Not usually putting much stock in dreams , we were certain that this trip was to be a source of unending riches. It wasn't until we had returned and let the whole adventure sink in a bit that we knew the answer. We had indeed found our treasure in all the wonderful people we had met along the way and especially in our new friends Charlie Jones and Laura Griffith. The crown jewel of this treasure was given to us on the day we returned home . A new grandson , John Rishi, born on Thanksgiving day.