Well, since you asked for it, gather up a comfortable chair. This is a long story. First, the things you need to know: This is a very strong steel boat, as you will see. Then there is me. I grew up on a lake with a grandfather who loved all things boats. I could swim by the age of two because he felt a kid who could swim was less likely to drown. I knew more about operating our outboard motor than my grandmother did. Every spring after the ice melted, my grandfather would row me out into the lake, and when I figured the distance was right, I would dive out of the boat and swim back to shore with him following me. That distance became the radius of my freedom. I could take the rowboat and then the canoe anywhere I wanted within that distance. I became the consummate fisherman and kept my entire extended family in fish for the winter. When I wanted a greater distance, I asked for another test. And so it went. By the age of five, I could swim from the midpoint of the lake to shore (I was more fish than kid), and so the entire lake became my playground. I had a fantastic childhood. At about the age of seven, I fell in love with sailboats and observed them on the lake. We did not have a sailboat. We had a rowboat, a canoe, and an outboard powerboat. My grandfather told me if I wanted a sailboat, I should build one. So, I did.
I used some bamboo to create a mast for the rowboat and an old sheet for a sail my grandmother let me use. I also used some cordage I found lying around to tie it all together. If the wind was blowing hard enough, she sailed fairly well but, unfortunately, was only capable of sailing downwind. My grandmother quickly tired of coming to tow me back from the other side of the lake, and it was a long row. Still, I was not able to trick up a decent upwind rig, so it was a long slog home against the wind. Not fun. At that point, I switched to the canoe because it was much easier to paddle. The rowboat was made of steel and very much tank-like (heavy) but stable enough that my father could stand on the side, and it would not flip over.
This continued until I was ten, and we moved to the Southwest because of my sister's asthma. Not one to give up easily. While working at Lake Havasu one summer, I salvaged an old wooden rowboat that I used on some local rivers until the dry rot became too much, and she sank in a small rapid. My obsession with sailboats continued after my discharge from the Army, and in my third year of college, I scraped together enough money to buy a trailer/sailor, MacGregor 24. The Sea of Cortez, here I come every school break. It was also the first sailboat I did not build myself. I had marvelous adventures down in Mexico and fell in love with the cruising lifestyle. Unfortunately, a deer ran in front of me on the way home from Mexico at the end of spring break in my Senior year. I hit the brakes hard, the trailer jackknifed, the tongue broke, and the boat and trailer went merrily by me on the freeway, going backward. Then, off the road, flying through the air into a ravine south of Tucson. Insurance paid for the extensive repairs to the boat and a new boat trailer, and I sold her. Sad day that.
Life continued, and my career took off and consumed my time, as did grad school. I also learned to fly airplanes and allowed them to distract me from sailing for a few years, but I had a blast doing it. Then, in the early eighties, I purchased my second sailboat, which was not made by me. It was a real beauty, thirty-eight feet long, and I moored in Houston. I went through Hurricane Alicia in 1983 on that boat, which is a great story and learning experience. The boat and I survived unscathed, mostly from dumb luck and the fact all the tornadoes missed us.
Then, in the 2000s, I found my dream boat, a 65-foot steel cutter with twin engines. Gawd, I loved that boat. I was preparing it for a sail around the world when my then-wife decided she liked my money a lot more than me, and I lost it and my boat in a divorce: hard times those. Being stubborn and more obsessed than ever with sailboats, I found another steel cutter and bought her. A project boat, all I could afford, but she was mine paid for in cash. One more data point: I lost my hearing in the Army. I managed to get myself blown up, which was not a fun experience, but I survived it when my hearing did not—severe damage to my cochlea and auditory nerves. I was marching toward deafness, but no VA doctor told me this. They told me to wait and see what would happen. Well, deafness is what happened. Well, on that road, I managed to conjure up a significant state of denial. It was not a good plan on my part, but my denial was strong. C'est la vi.
My new steel project boat needed some work, so I found a marina that would allow you to do your own work and set off on the fifty-ish or so-mile voyage in my new boat. Irony. A month before, I attended the Metal Boat Society annual convention and won the door prize! Whoopee, the first time I ever won something like that. The prize? A free one-year subscription to a Boat US towing policy. God was looking out for me, you see.
With little wind and nearly full fuel tanks, I was motoring. It was fall and a bit chilly, but I was a happy man. I closed the companionway to keep the cabin warm, and we made good progress. Remember, deafness was circling around me, but I was in complete denial—stupid me. The first sign of trouble came when I noticed we had billowing white smoke spewing out of my exhaust! Yikes, this isn't good. After turning off the engine, I opened the companionway hatch and went below to discover my boat was full of water! We were sinking! The water was nearly up to the top of the companionway. The little wind that was blowing, combined with the current, was blowing me into a rocky area along the shore. So, I dropped the anchor to keep us off the rocks and started bailing out the water. It's amazing how much water a frightened man can move with a bucket when he needs to.
With the engine underwater, my only way to move was by sail, but there was not enough wind for that. So, I texted my brother to call Boat US for me, and I'd have them tow me to the Marina, where I'd sort this mess out. Brother got Boat US headed toward me, and I waited, bailing more water to pass the time. Later that afternoon, a teenager in a BoatUS tow boat arrived, and we rigged a bow tow. He told me he would switch to a side tow once we got to the Marina. Life was much better now, and off we went. It took a couple of hours, but we made it. Unfortunately, the kid entered the marina at nearly six knots. I waved, yelled, and blew my horn, trying to get his attention, but he was listening to music, I guess, and did not respond. Finally, he looked back at me and realized his error, but it was too late. He dropped the towline and got out of the way while I charged into the marina. With no engine, I could not stop, only steer. There were no good choices at this point. I was heading straight for the fuel dock and pumps; veering off, I could opt to hit some very nice and probably very expensive yachts. My other option was to hit the fuel dock down from the pumps near the fuel shack. I chose this option. I hit the dock, making over five knots. My bow cut through nearly half of the dock, and my short bowsprit and anchor made a very nice hole near the roof of the fuel shack, but I had stopped.
I jumped off the boat, mooring lines in hand, got the boat tied up, and then assessed the damage. I cut through the wooden dock like a knife and made a rather admirable hole in the wall of the fuel shack. The good part was my boat was undamaged. Gawd, I love steel boats. The BoatUS kid stayed away, maybe afraid of what I would do to him if he got close enough for me to do what I wanted to do to him. Smart kid. A middle-aged man walked up, surveying the damage, and informed me he was the owner of the Marina and had observed the entire affair. He assigned no liability to me, and I guess BoatUS gave him a nice settlement. My engine was toast. The exhaust hose had failed, and the water intended to be expelled overboard stayed into the boat. Being nearly deaf, I missed all the auditory clues of this, only realizing there was a problem when the engine, now underwater, started ingesting water, which totaled the engine. That is why this boat can't move under her own power. She needs a new engine, an extremely expensive proposition in the communist republic of California.
But it's a sailboat, right? Well, yes, but the standing rigging needs to be replaced, and the quote for that was horrendous in California. The fee to remove the mast was quite high as well, and the marina is not friendly to me now. I need to move the boat to make them happy. How will this end?
I've contacted some engine suppliers about purchasing a good used or rebuilt Ford Lehman 65 hp engine this boat needs. I'm waiting for their quotes. The marina now has rules that make the engine swap not an easy process and very expensive. So, we'll see. The decision on how to solve this dilemma has yet to be made, but I'm working on it.
On a final note. The Veteran's Administration does not like deaf veterans. I get letters from them on a regular basis telling me they will cancel my medical appointments unless I call their toll-free voice phone. Do they require quadriplegic veterans to run up three flights of stairs to get a medical appointment? Nope. Yet they think it's ok to require deaf veterans to make voice phone calls. Hopefully, the new Secretary of the VA will set out to correct the many wrongs in this highly dysfunctional agency.
I hope you enjoyed this long read and learned something from it.
