Adventures on a Boat

BOATS (sailboats, I mean)!  There’s just nothing like smoothly gliding through the water, a slight breeze filling snow-white sails, the sun creating sparkling diamonds in the water.  Ahhh!  What a lovely way to spend an afternoon, lying on the bow of a sailboat, being gently rocked like a baby with the sun shining on your back – that is, if the sea is in a “good mood”.  There are times when the sea is angry, its waves being whipped by frenetic, wild winds, tossing a sailboat like a ping pong ball in its churning tantrum.  There are also times when the sea is smothered in a thick blanket of fog so heavy that not a breath of breeze can penetrate it, leaving a sailboat floundering in soundless waters, its sails flapping uselessly in the tide, going nowhere.

That’s what life is like: the sea.

My dad loved sailboats and his enthusiasm was contagious.  I was just a young girl when he decided to build his own sailboat.  He was an engineer and meticulously drew plans for his creation.  As he drew the plans he told me all about sailboats.  We spent weeks together in the garage building it, and he told me all about nautical terminology and navigation and about the rigging and how to sail.  Finally the day arrived when our completed boat was to be christened and we were to take her on her maiden voyage.

Our intrepid family loaded our little homemade 14 foot, flat-hulled sailboat onto our camping trailer and we drove an hour to Alamitos Bay.  We unloaded the boat and carried it to the water’s edge, poured a bottle of 7-Up over her bow and christened her the “High C” (her name written with piano keys painted on her stern).  And so her maiden voyage began.

Dad was commissioned as Captain.  Mom was First Mate and my sister and I were the crew.  We were all set.  However, no matter how much Dad had tried to instruct us in the art of sailing at home, the real test came when we were actually faced with real wind and sails and rigging and a center board.  We must have made quite a sight trying to figure it all out, especially when it was time to “come about” and the boom came crashing into my head.  I learned my lesson the hard way.  When the captain shouts “stand by to come about”, that should translate “duck your head”!!!

We did figure it out and after a while, our family became quite an efficient sailing team.  We spent many lovely summer days on that little boat.  Then the much-anticipated day came when the Captain declared that I was ready to do my first solo voyage.  I was so excited and felt so grown up and responsible.  With only a few mistakes my test was a resounding success!  I was now a real sailor!

After several years when I was 14 years old, my parents decided it was time to buy a bigger boat – one that would stay in a marina – one that was big enough to sleep in and sail to Catalina.  We searched for several weeks and saw many different kinds of boats.  One unforgettable boat was appropriately named “Cecil”.  It had a cute sea serpent’s head and tail for the bow and stern.  As tempting as that unique vessel was, we decided against it.  It really didn’t look very seaworthy.  Eventually, we decided on a sleek 30 foot, 6 meter wooden racing sloop that was built in Yugoslavia, named the “Spray”.

We kept her at the Terminal Island Marina in the Los Angeles Harbor, right next to two drawbridges.  Every time we went sailing we had to blow our horn 3 times to have the drawbridges raised so we could sail underneath them.  The drawbridge operator would acknowledge our request by blowing his horn 3 times.  Dad, the captain, had our approach perfectly timed so that he would head toward the bridges well before they even started going up and arrive barely in time for the mast to clear the bridges.  Mom, the first mate, tended to panic easily and the drawbridge stress would often send her over the edge, putting her at risk for demotion to crew status.  Halfway through our voyage, however, the Captain would relent and the First Mate would regain her status.

There were days when small craft warnings were out.  Despite the fierce winds and crashing waves, we would still take the boat out, although we would usually stay within the confines of the relatively safe harbor.  One of those days Bill and I were below deck in the cabin, escaping the wild wind.  The boat was heeling over so far that the portholes were under the water.  While enjoying the view, suddenly there was an ear-splitting, thunderous, heart-stopping bang.  The mainsail had ripped in the fierce wind.  The panicked First Mate screamed “Donna, get up here!!!”  (Mom was again demoted and I was promoted.)  So Bill and I took over, helping the Captain hold her into the wind so he could take down the mainsail.  We limped back to the marina with only the jib but arrived safe and sound.

Sailboats, of course, are built to move under wind power.  However, there are times when there is no wind.  Therefore, they usually need some kind of auxiliary power.  The Spray had a little outboard motor that could be temperamental at times.  In order to start the ornery little thing, you had to climb way out on the stern, wrap the starter cord around the flywheel – and pull – and wrap and pull – and wrap and pull, until it decided to start.  It was on such a day that we were trying to sail in the harbor.  Terminal Island in the Los Angeles harbor shared its space not only with the private sector but also with the United States Naval Shipyard, berthing various Naval vessels: destroyers, cruisers, etc.  We weren’t in any hurry and were simply enjoying the sun and occasional wakes from passing boats.  There was no wind so our sails were just flapping as we bobbed in the water.  No problem – that is, until a huge destroyer was heading straight toward us down the channel.  Now, sailboats DO have the right-of-way over motorboats.  HOWEVER, I’m not sure how that translates to destroyers!  We figured we’d better start that little motor and get out of the way.  It was just then that our little motor decided to be especially obstinate.  Our Captain, hanging over the stern, was frantically wrapping and pulling that starter cord over and over and over as the battleship came closer and closer and closer.  We could see the Navy captain hanging over the towering bow of his ship, shaking his fist at us, yelling at the top of his lungs with the ship’s horn bellowing in the background.  FINALLY, our little motor decided to cooperate, barely in time before we ended up floating on the splinters of our boat.  As we limped out of the battleship’s way, we sheepishly waved to the livid captain, our hearts beating nearly out of our chests.

And then there were occasional days of FOG – the “pea soup” kind where you can’t see further than 5 or 10 feet in front of you.  It was such a morning that we headed out, hoping that the fog would soon dissipate into a nice day.  That was not to be.  As we headed out into the harbor (thankfully powered by a cooperative motor that day) we could not see a thing.  The harbor was filled with total silence, except for the occasional eerie sounds of foghorns.  Some were near, some were far away but they surrounded us.  It was impossible to see their source.  As we inched along, each of us were futilely straining our eyes watching for anything in our path.  Suddenly, looming within just a few feet was the towering hull of a Naval destroyer!  We had to get out of the way FAST.  However, because we were moving so slowly, we had nearly no headway.  That made doing anything quickly impossible.  We had an old paddle that we could use to fend off in emergencies.  As the Captain frantically turned the tiller, we readied the paddle and barely got out of the way before ramming the ship.  Whew!  THAT was a close call.

Voyages to Catalina Island were always an adventure.  Sometimes we would moor in Avalon Bay and enjoy the town with its landmark casino and restaurants and shops.  Other times we would go to the Isthmus on the north end of the island.  One week, just after I graduated from high school, my mom, dad and I sailed around the whole island, spending a few nights in Little Harbor, on the west (windward) side of the island.  We had the whole harbor to ourselves and spent our days diving off the boat, swimming in the crystal clear blue water and sunning ourselves on the deck.  We ended our week in Avalon where Bill flew over in a seaplane to meet us for the weekend.  On July 4 there was a wonderful fireworks show that was presented at the casino, bursts of fiery color enhanced in the water’s reflection, the end to a memorable adventure.

Being on the boat was such fun, that is, until nighttime when it was time to sleep.  The rocking of the boat was nice and even the halyard, rhythmically slapping against the mast was soothing.  It was Dad’s SNORING.  It reverberated throughout the entire boat.  Even sleeping on the deck didn’t diminish the racket.  However sleep deprived we were, we still had a great time.

Our boat, didn’t have a “head” (or in landlubber terms, “bathroom”).  When we were out at sea, it wasn’t a problem.  We had a bucket that we would use down in the cabin.  It worked fine, as long as you timed your visit in rhythm to the ocean swells.  When finished, you would hand the bucket up to a cooperative crew member to dump over the side of the boat and rinse out the bucket in the downward slide of a wave.  However, if the boat was moving too fast you had to make sure the water didn’t sweep the bucket away.  It was a practiced technique which we perfected.

Our usage of the head took on a very different technique in Avalon Harbor.  We had made a tent out of a piece of canvas that we draped over the boom while we were moored and placed a little port-a-potty in the cockpit.  The port-a-potty consisted of a toilet seat on an aluminum frame with a plastic bag attached underneath.  Every evening Dad routinely spent some time there.  Sometimes he would read, but sometimes he would take out his fishing pole and try to catch a fish.  He never did catch a fish; that is, until one day.  As he was sitting there, fishing pole in hand, there it was!  A fish tugging on his line.  Now he was faced with a dilemma.  Does he abandon his hope of catching a fish or stand up to reel in the fish but risk exposing his you-know-what to the neighboring boaters?  Let’s just say that the fish we had for dinner tasted great.

Our most unforgettable ride home from Catalina was when some cousins with their two little kids from Denver came to visit us.  Mom and Dad took them to Catalina and Bill and I flew there to meet them so we could sail home with them.  The day of our departure dawned beautifully sunny and we were preparing for a pleasant trip home.  We hadn’t been out to sea for very long before the wind began to whip itself into a frenzy and the sea began to churn wildly, the waves breaking over us in icy sheets as we raced through the water.  We were soaked to the skin and with the wind blowing so violently, we were freezing.  So we decided to make our way down into the cabin to get warm, that is, until we heard some commotion going on.  Mom and the kids’ mother were in the cabin taking care of the kids, who had gotten seasick and had thrown up all over themselves.  When we saw one of the kids come up for air with puke all over her face, we decided that being wet and freezing wasn’t all that bad.  I now knew what it meant to be cold to the bone.  It took a couple of days for me to finally thaw out.

The moods of the sea paint such a vivid picture of life.

• When the sea is gentle and sunny and soothing and life glides smoothly through the swells, it is time to be thankful and enjoy the ride.

• When the sea is angry and terrifying, tossing your boat like a ping pong ball, remember that Jesus is always in your boat, likely resting peacefully in the cabin.  He has it all under control.  He is the one who can calm the sea – or then again, he might call you to get out of the boat and walk with Him on the water.  Trust Him.

• When the sea is covered in a thick blanket of fog and you’ve lost your direction, can’t see a thing and hear eerie, frightening sounds, take Jesus’ hand.  He sees through the fog and will lead you safely through the morass to safety.  Trust Him.

• When you are in the path of one of life’s giants and your motor won’t start, remember Jesus is the motor that will never fail.  Trust Him.

• When the sea causes messes in the cabin, Jesus can clean it up … but He might ask you to help.

• When you need a safe place to come home and dock your boat, make sure you have a secure marina to go to.

• When you’re faced with the dilemma of hiding safely in the cockpit or catching the fish, go for the fish.

• And for heaven’s sake, when the Captain shouts “Come About” duck your head!