IT happened again. It, being an incredible day of sailing tarnished by a mechanical breakdown. These breakdowns don’t bother me too much, but each one decreases my chances of coaxing the crew back out on the water. The day was Thursday April 3rd, one day before my 39th birthday and impending mid-life crisis. As a show of support, the crew (CannonBall and Wrecked ‘Em) took a day off from earning a days pay to risk life and limb on my 26 foot, 1974 Parker Dawson. As usual, she did her best to remind us that life is short and if you don’t perform regular maintenance, you’ll end up blowing around the Gulf of Mexico in circles.
We started this little daysail around 10:00 a.m., first by putting 3 gallons of $3.98/gallon gas in our 6 gallon outboard motor tank. Wrecked ‘Em paid for the gas in a generous birthday gesture that I’m sure he regretted by the time we made it back to the slip. So gassed up, loaded with food and drink we set out from the marina with the little 8 hp sputtering away, doing its very best. Our jib went up shortly after clearing the last channel marker, the engine was cut and we were off across Boca Ciega with a light breeze at our backs bringing on a feeling of relaxation as the boat rolled along with the waves.
About a half hour later we dropped the jib, fired up the Sputster and waited for our 20 minute opening of Structure C Bascule Bridge. A flawless bridge pass-through accomplished, our spirits (yeah it wasn’t noon yet, but whose stupid rule is that anyhow?) were high and we raised both main and jib to make way for Pass-A-Grille and the Gulf of Mexico. This little stretch of Intracoastal is occupied by some amazing water front homes – the ones that make you think out loud “what the hell am I doing wrong?”. Of course, this just adds more fuel to the mid-life crises.
When we reached the pass and made the final mark into the Gulf it was truly a “sailing moment”. The day couldn’t have been any more perfect. 8-12 knot breeze from the south east, 78 degrees or so and green blue water that was almost Keys-like. The schedule was that there was no schedule. We planned to sail the Gulf for a bit and then maybe stop at Shell Island for some beach walking and get-down-to-business relaxation.
Everybody knows with sailing, plans change. After some picture perfect Gulf sailing with the crew almost asleep from the gentle rocking, we decided to come about and make way for Shell Island. The breeze had freshened to about 12 knots and I bore down on Nola, putting her on a beam reach with a nice heel. Rewind back a few weeks – while sailing in Boca Ciega, I noticed the wheel had been “catching” or locking up for a second, but as soon as it, did it would come free. I figured there was an electrical wire or some debris getting into the heavy duty chain that runs up and down the pedestal to connect to the steering cable. No big deal, I’ll look at it when I get a chance, what could go wrong? Back to beam reaching in a good breeze – the helm started acting up again, but for a longer time with more frequency. When the wheel would freeze I would gently move it back and forth and it would come free. I knew not to force it, and a little coaxing would free it up. I swore on all that was salty that I would investigate the problem at the next opportunity. Suddenly there was no steering. This is always a surreal sensation. I was trying to make the bow go one way, but it just headed off the wind on its own, like a drunk following his nose to some bar over the horizon. The best part is getting to announce the lost steering to the lounging crew; “Steering’s gone! We gotta drop the sails!”, I said in a disbelieving stressed tone.
So everybody jumps to, the sails come down and the outboard comes to life, aiming us into the channel that points toward home. While I leaned over the rail to “steer” the boat with the little outboard I asked CannonBall to go below into the aft cabin and disconnect the rudder from the steering cable to free it up. I figured once we had the rudder moving easily, we could come up with a way to steer the boat with a lot less effort. After some knuckle busting with my bargain boat toolkit, he got the cable off and the rudder swung free. Wrecked’ Em found a piece of cord and the boat hook and lashed it to the aft end of the rudder. The setup worked pretty well. It felt like using a tiller, but the opposite push/pull motion was needed to steer. So it took a few wrong turns to get the feel, which just isn’t something you really want to do in the middle, outside and across the channel.
After an hour of manual boathook steering back to the drawbridge, we stopped and waited anxiously for our turn to pass through. Whenever I “thought about” which way I had to push the rudder I always went the wrong way, so I had to remain relaxed and just steer. CannonBall came up with a good little tip “push it the direction you want the boat to go” and I kept chanting that as we passed an oncoming, larger sailboat under the bridge span. A nerve-wracking waypoint completed, we continued north east across Boca Ciega Bay toward the marina, the last obstacle to conquer. An hour and a half of standing up, rocking back and forth against the railing had really beaten up my legs. They felt bruised from the hip to the ankle. I had wedged myself into a couple different positions on the railing to try and be comfortable and safe while steering, but the only padding to be found was my own flesh. When it came time for docking and all the maneuvers that go with it, I was really feeling it. The crew did their best to look dignified and nonchalant as we entered the marina and since it was Thursday there was nobody around to witness our crippled boat returning home. Nola finally came to rest in her berth at about 3:00 p.m. It was a short day of sailing compared to most, but we had experienced a lot.
I’m always grateful for any day on the water, even if it means a adding a little stress to my life. We had more than our normal ration of stress that day, but were still intact and feeling pretty decent. I walked away with a better understanding of how I need to listen to my boat when it’s trying to tell me something is wrong, and that it should be investigated right away. I can also appreciate that with most slightly bigger and newer boats these problems may be less frequent. This option was discussed immediately after the boat was secured to the dock, over margaritas at O’Maddy’s downtown.
