March 18, 2007

"As if G-d himself reached down and pushed my sails into the water; the continued saga of Nesaru"

Position: Some place a friendship sloop should not be, Perry Lake, Kansas
Captain: Arieyeh & Barbara Austin
Time on Water: Far too long

       If there was a way to ensure that lightning would hit in the same place twice, that one could ensure a disaster through simple negligence of mind and body, we seem to have an affirmation with the fates. My wife and I purchased “Nesaru,” which translates to “Wind Spirit,” in a sincere desire to illuminate our lives and rekindle a youthful vibrancy that seems to dwindle as life goes on. Barb, my wife and I, seemed to still be lacking the zeal of a life filled with memories created from adventures of our own coupled with quality family time. Our lives were not holistic, and we desperately wanted to fill a growing void. No different then that next log on a warm set of embers, Nesaru has sparked into that raging torrent of adventure upon adventure. We entitled our blog page, A Therapeutic Aphrodisiac For the Deprived Soul, and that she has been.

      Nesaru was originally named “The Dolphin,” and was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, of E. Falmouth, MA. She was built in 1977 by Jarvis Newman and Chase, with a fiberglass molding hull number 13, which was created by Jarvis Newman. She was of the 25 foot Pemaquid II Group, Friendship Sloop Society Sale Number 178. Since Nesaru had graciously selected us to be her new skippers in 2002, as all respectable Friendships select their individual owners based on their own tastes, we had moved her from the East Coast to the Puget Sound in the Pacific North West. We had already sailed her from Olympia, WA, to North of the San Juan Islands and back again. Our adventures while there were of the highest caliber in both natural and educational indoctrination of maritime manners and risks. We had braved rough seas, felt the wind upon our faces and tasted the sweet embrace of the salt upon our lips. We had grown to love it, as well as the natural world it had provided as a ribbon rapped gift to us. Our children were learning of an environment that most can only imagine while reading a narrated tale of buccaneers and buried gold by Robert Louis Stevenson.

       All good things must come to an end, however. In 2006 we received orders to report to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, in order to complete further educational requirements for secondary part of our lives, service to our Country. Nesaru was as much a member of our family as any other, and so arrangements were hastily made to transport her again. This time, however, we would be leaving the fair seas of the pacific for the brown waters of the next destination in our sorted lives, Perry Lake, Kansas! Her movement provided us an opportunity to conduct some much needed maintenance on our little lady. Before she slipped into the warm brown catfish infested waters of Perry Lake, she would have all of her spars and mast re-varnished, her topsides redone, the bottom sanded and painted, a new hailing board for her transom, replacement bronze scupper plates, wheel cover, and staysail stay connectors installed, new sails made by the infamous Carroll Hassey of Port Townsend Sails and the Wooden Boat Foundation, a Dutchman’s Topsail installed by Port Townsend Rigging, and last but not least new halyards and dock lines emplaced. As the 2006 winter in Kansas slowly melted away, we looked forward to the spring in raging anticipation.

      We coordinated to launch Nesaru, the first Friendship Sloop I am aware of ever being in Kansas, in early March. We were the first boat to move from dry dock into the water that season. This would be our first time out on the water, and we were anxious to see what she could do. We elected to go down on a Saturday morning. Not wanting to subject my family to any possible disasters, and keenly aware that the possibility existed that something may not go as planned with the new sails, etc, I had decided to leave Barb behind with the children. In their place I had brought two “able bodied Seamen,” Kevin and Greg. Although both were virgin deckhands, they had worked with me throughout the winter, and seemed more then ready to see what sailing was all about. Upon reflection I regret my decision to bring novice, albeit physically fit and eager, cabin boys. I’m not sure what fever had engulfed my senses with that decision now. If something was to happen, how could two non boating companions be any more fitting then my wife, who had spent the majority of her time working feverishly on our 13 H.P. Westerbeak throughout our adventures in the North West? 

           

      Our arrival at the marina greeted us with 15 knot winds. I immediately elected to reef the mainsail. My intent was to test the boat’s engine and lines, and not to push Nesaru to any extremes. My companions, however, immediately placed a vote of no confidence in my decision. Stating bluntly, “We did not come down here to only ½ sail, ya scallywag!” I was eventually swayed from my position (what in Davy Jones Locker was I thinking!?!) The engine hummed with pride as we began to cast off the lines. I noted that several cows, not having much of anything else to do and which graze around the marina, had begun to watch our little exploit. As I began to swing the bow out of the slip I yelled for Kevin, who had thrown the port bow line off and was still standing on the dock, to get on the boat. He stood, as rigid as a roman column, with a sudden expression of intense internal strife. As I continued to gage the momentum of Nesaru out of the slip, I yelled again for him to step onto the boat. Greg moved from the cockpit to the bow and extended his arm to grab him, but nothing in the state of Kansas was going to move him from that dock. It was as if, after all the speeches and rhetoric, he had suddenly realized that we were actually going to go sailing and he was not interested on being away from land! One final yell of “jump” still could not break his consternation. Finally, in a muffled and confused screech, he exclaimed, “But it is moving!”…. um, ya.

     15 minutes later, with all safely on board, we were cruising at a comfortable 4 knots to the North end of Perry lake. As we slipped by the two buoys marking the marinas “channel” I began to relax. My companions immediately began to mix drinks, which they had brought with them. This was, of course, another decision I would grow to regret. By the time we reached the North end I was comfortable that the engine had survived the journey from Seattle to Kansas as well as the winter. Now slightly inebriated, we waved at the cows on the North end and brought her about into the wind, preparing to raise the mainsail and test her rigging. The wind was still out of the West at 15 knots. While I was comfortable with the thought of a broad reach back to the marina, 15 knot winds was still more then I had bargained for. For those of us, to include me at the time, who have not sailed in Kansas, I should take a brief moment now to explain the phenomenon we describe here as, “the hand of G-d.” Not being a meteorologist, I can not truly describe why the winds in Kansas act as they do. However, I can with sincere honesty tell you that, with almost no warning at all and in less then 10 minutes, 15 knots can become 50. There is generally no warning to these gusts. As no one here monitors their VHF radios, and channel 16 is a mute issue. Barb and I used to listen to the coast guard weather reports every time we took Nesaru out. Here, we have been limited to channel 5, cable, before we leave the house! Long live the cable weather channel.

      The main went up without a hitch as the crew and I gasped in admiration of a friendship sloop slicing through the water. The Staysail and Jib shortly followed, and as we fell off of the wind and headed home, a sense of calm fell over me. The engine had worked, the sails seemed to be fine, and my inexperienced crew was trimming the sails nicely. I turned the wheel over to Kevin and began to instruct them on the proper procedures of tacking and jibing. It was not until my forth glass of bourbon that I noticed the breeze on my face has stiffened rather abruptly. We had easily increased to 20 knots of wind, and Kevin was having problems with the weather helm. I elected to lower the sails and bring her in the rest of the way under power. It was here, if I have to identify the exact moment, that all Harry Carry broke loose. As I took the wheel and began to instruct Kevin on what he was to do as we turned into irons in order to lower the sails, he listened with only a slightly glaze eyed interest. I eventually picked up on this, particularly as he continued to look over my left shoulder out into the water. I stopped for a moment, at which time he so politely decided to inform me, “I think Greg fall overboard!” Having never lost someone over the side of the boat, I didn’t believe him. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Greg’s flailing arms above the water line! It turns out that as I took the wheel, Greg’s Corona swelled bladder needed to be purged, and that the best place to do so in his mind was over the transom. While reflecting on his life and staring out over the water, he lost his balance, fell on the flag post, slipped, and took both it and himself over the side! We immediately heaved too and threw life vests for him.  Once we were sure we had him, I went forward to lower the sails.

      The wind was continuing to increase at this point. I would tell you it was 50 knots, but I know it would be the bourbon speaking, which was just now beginning to hit the really wrong spots. Several years ago my wife had bestowed upon me a magical hat which had survived all of our adventures. It was so important to her that at one point, in a near panic, she had actually gone over the side intentionally in the Straits of Juan De Fuca to retrieve it after it had blown off of my head. Since that time it has held a special place of awe in our family legends. It was at this moment, with one man in the water and me on the bow that it again, in a rebellious zeal, blew away. Fear gripped my very soul as I made the only decision possible, to get Greg out of the water and forget about the hat. A few moments passed as we secured our lost baggage and secured the sails to the deck. The alcohol was beginning to wear off now, and we had all had more then enough of the wind. Kansas may get hot in the summers, but in March Greg was not comfortable in his wet cloths, embarrassed and wet or not. We cranked the engine on and headed home. 20 seconds later, the engine sputtered dead… umm, yaa….

     Well, surveying the situation did not leave me with a warm feeling. There were no other boats on the water, and there is no harbor assists, etc, in Kansas. Also, the marina here only seldom monitors their phone or radio. I elected to secure Nesaru before I began to work on the engine. I retrieved the danforth anchor out of the stern lazerate and handed it to Kevin, instructing him to throw it in the water as I began to climb down into the engine compartment. Kevin and Greg looked very uncomfortable on the rocking lake as I checked the fuel lines, pump, and fuel filter, as well as bled the lines for air (a trick I had been taught from our last engine mishap). The engine seemed to be fine. The impeller, oil, and fuel were all in working order. I admit to being more then perplexed, and crawled out of the compartment to think about my situation. It was then that I noticed that we were only 100 yards away from the shore line! Hysterical, I turned to Kevin to ask if he had thrown the anchor in the water. He immediately replied that he had, to witch I turned to the bow to see if we were dragging. Unable to locate the anchor line, I was forced to turn back to Kevin and ask the obvious, “Kevin, when you threw the anchor in the water, was it tied to anything?” His silence, as well as the same look he had given to me at the dock, was the only answer I needed… ummm, yaaaa…

     Have I already used the phrase, “Harry Carey,” in this story? Throughout a skippers life there are just certain events we all try to avoid, such as venereal diseases, poor rum, failed engines, and men overboard. To this point I had failed in at least two of these, and in less then 4 hours. Now, with no anchor and 20 knot winds pushing me into the lee shore of Lake Perry, I decided that it was time to repeat one of them. Despite his rather loud and obvious objections Kevin was sacrificed to Davy Jones Locker, serving in my mind as the next best thing to the anchor he had already lost. I can only try to remain vertical as I portray to you the scene the hapless fishermen that rescued us must have observed as he approached us that late afternoon. There we were, a Friendship sloop in all her prime prepared for the new season, precariously on the lee shore of this little lake in monstrous winds, being held in place by perhaps the second most unhappy and cold man in Kansas. There skipper, the first place winner of that dubious title, perched amidships screeching at the top of his lungs. There was a movie I watched a few weeks back entitled, “White Squall,” in which the skipper explained at his tribunal, “It was as if G-d himself reached down and pushed my sails into the water…” I suddenly found myself relating.

      Several weeks later I found myself on Nesaru, safely in her slip, tending to several small tasks and repairs from our little exploit. I had my family with me this time, to include my wife Barb who knows far more about engines then I. She had managed to determine that the primary fuel pump had failed and would need to be replaced. I was beginning to close up the boat for the day when Barb tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face a most unpleasant expression. She pointed to the shore of the marina and asked me to explain why my hat, which she had spent so much effort and affection caring for, was adrift near the shore war torn, sun beaten, and eaten through with holes. Since I had to this time never had the fortitude to tell her of my little exploit out of humiliation, and she had not yet noticed that the hat was missing, I found myself in for a long day…

    

 

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