How I Got Here From There

Posted By: P. Lamar McDonald
Date: 1/31/01 6:13p.m.

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Have you ever noticed how early space men and sailors all look like cavemen at the end of their voyages? This should have set off the alarms, but that never stopped me. I also now understand why NASA sent monkeys into space first. And I’m sure, somewhere in antiquity, when cave men or native islanders were first testing their sailing craft, they put the village idiot on board and admonished him to, “hold the boat still, until we return”, walked away and waited to see what would happen. The first time yours truly had ever sailed a boat solo is when, my new friend Ted admonished, “Hold the boat still, until I return”. Then in a wind shift from hell, it left the dock of it’s own volition, like a boat possessed and I happened to be sitting alone in the middle of the trampoline. Well, Ted made a Olympic gold medal style full running to diving leap off the end of the dock and was able to grab the tiller and body surf behind the boat until the tiller broke. All the while yelling nautical terms mixed with what I’m sure were cuss words. It sounded like “unclew the main “glub glub” jib jive oh sheet gawd . He might as well have been speaking French, because none of it was understood. This mind you was a catamaran. A boat known for acceleration and speed. Well, the boat quickly achieved both much to my chagrin. And to really appreciate this, the river we were in is Salt Run in St.Augustine, Florida. A sort of Mall parking lot for anchored sailboats. I managed to snake through the boats and run aground on the uninhabited side of the river the Spanish did not claim or even want. Although my thinking was the two foot deep muck was of exceptional quality. Then getting off the boat I turned it around and ran aground back on the side that is now controlled by Americans. Although a little down wind of my original starting point. I looked like a average white guy when I left. But the mud had turned me into an poor version of an Aborigines, by the time I re-entered civilization only 10 minutes later. Ted thought that was so good, he pulled up one day with his Hobie 16 in tow as I was cleaning up the last of the leaves from winter. What are you doing with the 16’, you never sail that boat? A few months earlier he had moved to St. Augustine from the panhandle of Florida, and bought a Hobie 18 and kept the 16’. “It’s your birthday present”, “Yeah right, like I know how to sail. No really, it’s yours. I don’t need it. Guess everyone gets into sailing one way or the other and this started my way. We had recently met, been out on the 16 and few times, raced with him on the 18 sometimes, and felt like I was a pretty good beer passer, joke teller, even though Ted may not agree about the jokes. What could I say? Thanks, are you sure? Your B.S.- ing me right? “No, it’s yours” Ted replied again. He pointed out some work and parts the boat would need, and he left. Boats always need work and parts. So now Ted gave me my own “demon for hell” boat. A trip to the local hardware store and bought the parts. A couple of “D” shackles and some pins and a piece of PVC pipe to make a tiller. Returned and stepped the mast, raised the sails, ran the sheets, all in the relative safety of the front yard. O.K. I can do this. The next weekend I am at the beach, pushing it through the breaking surf. I was very proud of my little mustard yellow sailboat with the rainbow sails. All went well. A very light air day. We sailed towards Africa, came about and returned with as many crew members as I had left with (one very brave girl, even if she did not know it). So the next two years were spent learning to sail, or more accurately two years of sailing experience were acquired. There is a huge difference. I doubt if you will ever learn to sail. As every time you think you have it, Mother Nature or Physics gives us a cold hard slap in the face. We have a nice river in town, The St. Johns. Three miles wide at parts and 1/4 of a mile wide in others. And many other rivers, creeks, intercoastals off of it. It starts in the marshes of south Florida and meanders north to the Atlantic Ocean at Jacksonville. My sailing took place in the river, at Jacksonville. Reddie Point to be precise. Where the river makes a 90 degree dog leg and a final run for the sea. Huge cargo and tanker ships arrive and round the point. On them, Japanese cars, containers, oil, coal. All the things necessary to make sure we can get to work. And when your on a small sailboat it’s very humbling to be in the area of these monoliths. No fear here but a very healthy dose of respect. I would always kept a lookout for one of these guys. Their very arrival and passing will slowly suck the water 10 ft. and more away from the bank and will send it rushing back, like a movie shown in fast forward. This is very entertaining as you rig your boat. Watching an unsuspecting fisherman arriving and thinking it’s low tide. Then laying all his gear on the shore, rods, bait and beer only to have a rush of water coming at him as the ship passes. Now he must decide what to save because he can’t grab it all. Oh yeah, that’s worth the price of admission. You might not believe this tale, but then again if your a sailor you will have no trouble. I swear it is true and have witnesses, even if some of them don’t call or come around anymore. They were the weak ones anyway. I quickly learned the basics. When and where to sit. When and how to trim the sails. Put the drain plugs in the hulls before you put hulls in the water. Never give a sucker an even break. You must run down pass all sailboats in sight. Sail boaters dislike motor boaters. Motor boaters dislike sail boaters and everybody hates jet skiers. There was no reason not to sail, short of lightning bolts or hurricanes. Fear was not a word in my sailing list of nautical terms. What that mean is, if you don’t know your in danger, why would you be afraid. This is where one tale starts. Arriving at the river on a cool spring morning making sure to arrive before the non-serious motor boaters. This gives you time to rig the boat and no hurries at the ramp. The wind was already 10-15 mph out of the west. A broad reach up and down the river and flying a hull. Bringing the hull out of the water while hiking or trapped out on it was the call for the day. Tipping the scales at 145lb. it wasn’t hard to do. And it is a blast. Not only do you have enough wind power to drive the boat but you can also lift your weight plus the boat and, like you need to, increase speed. This went on for a couple of hours all the while the wind was increasing. At about 20 mph plus it was time to take it in. Sailing single handed on an overpowered boat was getting to be too much like work. There was one small problem. It is called a jive, turn the sterns through the eye of the wind to get to shore. And then it was going to be one hell of a ride to shore. Remember, I’m new at this. So I checked for ships, none good. For boats. None. Hmm. too windy for these guys. Ok, where’s the beach. Right where I left it. Plan #1 was to jive hope she didn’t pitchpole, (sink the bows and flip the stern over the top) and if I was lucky, run aground on shore next to the ramp. The timing had be perfect. Jiving! The main slammed to the other side, even as I tried to slow it down by holding and slowing the mainsheet. Now reset the jib. The sterns start rising up. Crap we’re going over. She speeds up as I move back as far as I dare and frees the bows and starts hauling ass for shore. The sterns settle back down. The little boat was now definitely on a mission. The water is making a hissing noise it went by at speed. The beach is coming up fast. Time for part 2 of plan #1. This one would be easy. All that needed to be done is unlock the rudders so I don’t tear them and the back of the boat off when we hit the smooth sand on shore. The sails couldn’t be released, being down wind, so the boat would have to be turned into the wind after she stopped. At 10 seconds before impact the tiller crossbar is jerked up and as planned the rudders unlock, turn up and come almost out of the water. You now have weather helm because you are trying to fight the sails as they steer the boat also. It takes all your strength to keep her on coarse. No worries. The beach is almost here. Quickly we start sliding up to the sand. Then unplanned plan #1. The boat although on sand, doesn’t lose much if any speed. And you can’t steer. Oh s**t. Having read lots of catamaran sailing books, this is not covered. At this point I’m a mere passenger. Looking up the beach I see a grass covered hill. Good, that will stop us. Nope. Didn’t even slow us down. Now we’re sailing a boat on land, up hill, with no brakes or steering. And what’s at the top of the hill? Funny you should ask. A nice flat, wet golf fairway. Complete with a foursome. As we careen up hill I’m looking at golfers putting on a green. Do I scream four? Room at the mark? If we make it to the fairway, that thing must be 300 yards long! Then out of the blue, BA-LAMO! The boat sterns rise then settle back down as the Hobie spins around. She’s come to a stop. A good old big and fat Southern Pine. Center punched by my bow tangs. And it wasn’t on shore. Never saw it. After sliding off the tramp. I grab Her spun her into the wind and all my thoughts were on the golfers. They never saw it. They were so into their game they never saw a sail boat not more than 75 ft. away. And if nothing have been learned to this point, I knew from my childhood you act as you meant to do this. Just drop the sails, roll them up and pull the boat back to the beach. So this is the humble start of my sailing adventures. They weren’t always this exciting. Sometimes they were very normal. Like the time I took the kids out for their first sail, hit a buoy and pushed it over until it righted between the bow tangs and the front cross bar. And later that day we ran aground in the tall grass of a savanna. I taught them when I yell, prepare to come about!, they were to lay down on the trampoline to avoid getting hit by the boom. On the way home I asked them, “what does prepare to come about mean?’ They said, “we’re going in the weeds! Or the time I dumped the boat, and the wind was blowing so hard it blew both of us to shore 1/2 a mile away. Or the time I broke a hull in 1/2 sailed back with one hull sunk to the waterline. And....well you get the idea. That folks is how I got, Here From There. And it isn’t The End. It was The Beginning.