Clive's Salty Story from The Sea Part 1
In the mid nineteen nineties I often went sailing on San Diego bay with my friend Doug Evans on ‘Sabrina’, a 1956 classic 59 foot wooden sloop built by Spalding Boat Works in San Francisco. Doug confessed having an old boat was an expensive hobby. His first boat ‘Naldera’ was a 1936 40 foot steel sloop built in Germany, and his inaugural sail to Catalina Island is a story to behold. A tale of comic endurance and determination.
Catalina Island is approximately a 60 mile or twelve hour motor/sail from San Diego. Doug’s wife was not enthusiastic about going but had been convinced to make the trip as an introduction to sailing. They also wanted to share the joys of both the island itself and the thrill of having arrived solely by navigating aboard their own vessel.
Having light winds means the engine was rattling away powering them forward, the sun was shining, the sea was calm but with a gentle rise and fall of the Pacific swell. Of which a few miles later they would see the surfers riding towards the beach. It was a typically beautiful Southern California day. Several hours into the journey at a point where land was no longer in sight, it was observed that water was lapping over the saloon floor. The bilge pump handle was located and a lengthy workout began to manually operate the pump and empty the bilges. It was reasoned a combination of a light drip from the stern gland together with forgetting to empty the bilges prior to departure was the likely cause.
An hour or so later the water was again lapping over the saloon floor and a further bout of manual labour on the bilge pump was required. It was another hour or so later still, amidst a further workout, that something failed and the bilge pump became inoperable. By this time the water in the bilges had mixed with small amounts of oil from under the motor and the wooden saloon floor boards took on all of the characteristics of an ice rink. A hazard which was amplified by the gentle rolling of the boat. As the yacht was closer to Catalina than San Diego it was determined to keep going as a bucket was retrieved from the depths of a cockpit locker, this would be used to bail out the water instead of the bilge pump.
Sure enough the bilge water began to slowly rise, so Doug took to removing one of the wooden saloon hatch covers, placing it on the coach roof, lifting the boards and bailing with the bucket directly through the above open hatch. The water draining across the coach roof and along the gunnels to the sea. This was repeated several times as the sea swell gathered stronger and Catalina became ever closer.
The mooring for a sailboat in Catalina bay is in the form of what us Europeans would call a long lazy line. Each mooring point is marked with a floating metal buoy displaying the mooring number, close to this is an upright cane and float, the bottom of which is attached to the lazy line. There are several rows allocated according to the length of the yacht and the way it works is, upon arrival, the port police will give you your mooring row and mooring buoy number. You then proceed to the appropriate channel and approach the mooring buoy, pick up the cane pull it aboard, take the lazy line and pull as hard as you can tying off forward then aft. It is a strenuous task and when first attempted can appear confusing. Doug knew all about the procedure and his instruction to his wife was simple. As he manoeuvred the boat, she must simply grab hold of the cane and not let go.
They arrived late, it was dark and there was no port police to instruct them. Stressed and exhausted with only the use of a flashlight and the reflected lights from ashore. They found a vacant mooring was, as Doug manoeuvred the boat, his wife stepped forward and grabbed the cane dropping the flashlight overboard. Doug leapt forward shouting instructions she must not let go of the cane, as he reached to take the flashlight from her, he slipped on the oily bilge water covered deck, fell over backside first and straight into the open coach roof hatch. He was wedged firm. Unable to climb out he issued frenzied instructions to his wife on making fast the lazy lines. Then to pass him the spinnaker halyard to lift himself out. At this point he questioned why the hatch was missing. It was nowhere to be seen. They retired to sleep that night, Doug was perched on the saloon bench with his hand hanging out of the sheets to sense the rise in the bilge water so he knew when to resume the bucket bailing.
It was a restless night and the follow morning they decided to head straight back to San Diego. They assumed a reciprocal course and set off.
Luckily, a few hours into the journey, they passed their wooden hatch cover floating nonchalantly by. It was promptly retrieved.
After the long trip home and the intermittent bailing they were again exhausted as they moored at the fuel dock.
This was prior to returning to their home berth at Kona Marina. Secured, they filled with fuel and requested the use of the holding tank pump out. Doug sat on the coach roof astride the holding tank deck fitting and promptly removed the screw cap. He shouted instructions to his wife in the saloon to turn the holding tank discharge Y’ valve to ‘deck outlet’.
As the swinging arm of the pump out nozzle was passed to him, from which he carefully aligned it into position, his wife hit the electric switch titled ‘Macerator discharge’ as she had been previously shown when discharging overboard. The contents of the holding tank were launched with the force of a Hydroelectric dam sluice gate, directly skywards between Doug’s legs to hit him smack in the face. The witnesses on the fuel dock leapt back aghast, Doug spluttered and cried out spitting, shaking his head and no doubt wishing he didn’t have a beard. It was some time and after much hosing down of the boat the dock and Doug, before he could find the courage to request they leave the boat moored there while he return home to wash and change. This was granted by the fuel dock operator who agreed sympathetically whilst successfully concealing a wry smile.
Once home Doug’s wife declared she would be happy to never again set foot on a sailboat. Doug showered and changed into fresh clean clothes that were wonderfully free of Eau du holding tank. He called his friend and neighbour to ask if he’d accompany him to the harbour and assist in moving the boat from the fuel dock to their pontoon. ‘Sure’ came the reply, ‘and if we dress smart we can check out that new bar downtown afterwards’.
A couple of hours later attired for a night on the town the duo arrived at the fuel dock. The same attendee was on duty who greeted them and assisted in casting off the mooring lines. Doug went to step aboard, but his favourite cowboy boots slipped on the wooden pontoon, he was at the point of no return, his life went into slow motion as he fell into the harbour water.
Doug went on to become a very competent life long sailor. His wife rarely set foot on a boat again.
Additional Images: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Catalina_Island_(California)
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