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Digger
01-09-2004, 09:17 AM
A little while back I wrote a piece for a magazine that caters to antique and classic boat owners. Thought I would share it here for the heck of it.

An Ode to Boating

Ever think what life would be like without boating? Oh, the world would still rotate, mortgages would get paid, and we’d still marvel at a colorful sunset. But the plain fact is that life without boating would be duller. Cheaper. Less fulfilling. To those who share the passion, to those who “get it”, a toast. My relationship with boating started when I was 3 or 4 yrs old, and has become an indispensable part of my life.

I’ve had the pleasure of boating in all kinds of craft, in all kinds of places. Be it a dinghy or an aircraft carrier, an antique runabout, or a modern day go-fast, the intrinsic delights of being waterborne are unmistakable. And precious. There are a few particular instances stored in the old cranium rolodex that always come up when I give it a spin. Here are some of them, in no particular order.

--Wake watching. How is it that watching a boat wake in the making is such an utterly bewitching and captivating event? My family used to have a post war Chris-Craft Sportsman, and with her large open cockpit aft of the engine, the transom was a perfect place to witness the phenomenon. Invariably, as a child onward, when the boat was on plane I would sit there and look aft. First, I would look down at the transom, where the water slices out from underneath like an endless cookie sheet, with little grooves here and there, from the texture and seams in the bottom planking. Out to either side, where the topsides meet the transom, the water rips back in a V, eventually joining and forming the roostertail. One glance at the roostertail tells a story, it tells you how fast you are going, and more. Sometimes it’s a lazy hump like a fountain, indicating a leisurely pace. Other times urgently flat and lengthened; we must be clipping along pretty well. It would even tell you which way the boat wakes you encountered were coming from. Roostertail bobbing up and down? Must be from straight ahead, hitting them perpendicular. Or maybe the roostertail is waggling from side to side; must be hitting the wake at an angle. The white froth of propeller thrust making its way aft between that first perfect set of stern waves, repeated again and again like a column of orderly soldiers. Ever since then I can’t resist the desire to “wake watch” from whatever vessel I may happen on. I remember on chilly fall days I would press my chin down into my life jacket so I could look straight down and see the steam curling from her single exhaust pipe, hear the mellow note of her straight six. Sometimes I would venture forward, scramble down in the forward cockpit to the floorboards, where the sound was muffled, and warmer out of the wind, hear the water rushing down her sides, curl up, and fall asleep.

--I did a tour of duty in Hawaii, tough luck that, where I was part owner of a little 16’ Hobie Cat. We kept it in the dunes on Lanikai beach in Kailua, on the windward side of Oahu. Beach sailing a catamaran is a pure and simple thrill. The wonderfully clear water letting you see the giant sea turtles cross your path, or allow you to dodge the coral heads. With the incessant onshore breeze, sometimes quite strong, it would be easy to head straight for the beach, ripping along on a broad reach, and, after a good visual clearing of the landing spot of course, sail right up onto the gently sloping sand. Commonly you’d have enough headway going to completely clear the water. Hop off the tramp, run around to the forestay, and drag her around facing into the wind, hand sheets, and its back to the beach chair and a cold beer, feet in the warm sand.

--On another tour in Southern California, I would launch my boat in Newport harbor and putz around, gaping at the megayachts. One weekend, clear weather forecast, GPS, and charts in hand, I started south for San Diego, 80 miles or so distant. No other boats around, no wind chop and a gentle 2-3’ swell from the Northwest. Suddenly an enormous school of porpoise converged from the West; they were literally racing for my boat. I craned over the gunwale to try to see my bow wave, and there are two, then three, then six of them playing in the bow wave. Shaking my head in wonderment I turned and looked off my stern, where I saw three porpoise side by side, perfectly in line abreast, “shoulder to shoulder” as it were, surfing on my stern wave. I fumbled for my camera, suddenly all thumbs, and was lucky enough to snap a picture.

--On deployment aboard ship, a great way for me to depressurize after a taxing day involved going to the fantail late at night for a smoke. Never have I seen anywhere darker than an overcast night in the middle of the Pacific. Nevertheless you could still see the massive boil of frothy water churned up by the 800 ft ship, and follow it aft, making a mental note of how smooth the helmsman was. A nice straight line behind? Smooth. A jagged back and forth line? Not so smooth. But then, maybe we were at flight quarters and the helmsman had his hands full responding to all the course changes. Once again, there I was, wake watching.

--I marvel at the range of emotions boating evokes. The pure adrenalin excitement of coming on plane in an open exhaust twin engine high performance offshore boat, feeling and hearing the engines roar, synchronizing the throttles by ear, is a hard feeling to match. I get goosebumps every time I do it. But then, so is the exquisite peaceful reverie of a perfectly trimmed sailboat in a steady breeze, with naught but one or two fingers on the tiller.

--As a young boy I lake sailed the venerable Alcort Minifish with my family and friends. We would go out on rough and windy days, to capsize on purpose. Sheet in tight, heeling further and further, leaning back, back, back and finally going over with her, squeak of bare feet slipping out of her cockpit and into the water, laughing underwater and thinking how funny that sounded. Of course then we would race to see who would get to the centerboard first to right her again like the heroes we were.

--Many times, tying up a boat in a slip, cradle style with four lines, in calm water, getting the length of each line just right, I have sat and watched long enough to see all motion stop, waiting for that simple equilibrium. The boat, held perfectly still only by the weight of the catenary of each line, frozen in space and time.

--Canoes were always a source of fun and excitement. There were canoe races with the other boys, which would invariably end up with a heated splashing war between crews, which canoe paddles seem to be made for. Then sometimes two of us would go out and fish on a quiet morning with the surface of the lake like glass. My buddy and I would take turns paddling from the stern, while the other fished from the bow, casting along the shoreline of the crystal clear water, trying our best to paddle silently and sneak up on the fish. Sometimes it worked, and it’s hard to describe the exhilaration produced by seeing a smallmouth come darting out from around a rock and in an instant take the lure.

--One bitter cold early spring day, just after ice-out, we went trolling for salmon in my friend’s boat. We were bundled up like Eskimos, side by side in his intrepid little Glastron outboard, rod tips pointed out and rebel lures trailing out behind. I had on a crappy pair of gloves that weren’t preventing my hands from becoming numb, so I had my arms crossed, hands tucked under my armpits, with my trusty Zebco rod stuck in the crook of my arms. As we were dodging ice floes, suddenly my rod tip jerked back and almost pulled the rod right overboard, and I remember thinking that I had caught a rock. But then in a flash my heart skipped because that unmistakable wiggle associated with the strain on the rod exclaimed that there was something alive at the end of that line. The salmon fought hard, but we won the day and raced back home with the fish, cold forgotten.

--None of these instances would have occurred without a boat. And that’s the point. No matter what kind of vessel we pilot, be it old or new, power or sail, its about being on the water, and we are ever so richer for it. Sometimes we tend to forget that. So maybe you’re out there sailing along in peaceful contemplation, or enjoying a leisurely cruise in your classic runabout, when suddenly your reverie is interrupted. A big modern day go-fast boat comes up alongside, loud and in your face. Don’t prejudge. It may well be another kindred spirit, taking the water from a different venue. You may see him doff his cap or snap you a casual salute in appreciation of your vessel. Indeed, it might be me.

DonRatto
01-09-2004, 09:38 AM
Good stuff Digger, now I feel warm and fuzzy. Seriously that was a well written piece.

MOP
01-09-2004, 11:50 AM
Very Nice! We are truly lucky to be so afflicted :)

Morgan's Cloud
01-09-2004, 02:13 PM
Digger , I'm SURE that I read that somewhere before... Can't recall.. what magazine was it in ?

chucknoonan
01-13-2004, 08:20 PM
Very good!

Digger
01-14-2004, 02:58 AM
MC, hasn't been published yet. Will be in Winter issue of Antique and Classic Boat Society (ACBS) mag

Bryan Tuvell 33ZX
01-14-2004, 08:14 AM
DIGGERS passion for boating is very obvious, in the above article and in person. We have enjoyed his company on our boat many times this past season. I have learned allot from DIGGER in docking with our outrageous currents. PLUS, no one owns a bigger pipe wrench when needed. Thanks.
DIGGER IS A TRUE BOATER.
(I second the at sea comments, nothing like it...
Go NAVY!)

See ya on the water again soon DIGGER.
(and Saturday for our Survivor party! Will DIGGER WIN?) :D
Lots of women and booze!
Bryan

DIGGER, Concrete pool decks Thursday and Friday, stop by. I took a week off. :)

Team Jefe
01-15-2004, 10:03 PM
Absolutely. Thanks Digger

Fish boy
01-18-2004, 04:29 PM
Could not have said it better... And I really mean that, there is no way I cold have said it so eloquently, but I know where you are coming from.

Fish

hottub
01-20-2004, 10:27 AM
Cheers!!!