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Old 09-30-2009
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Here's an epic BFS from our pal sneade (edited for the children)...

Quote:
Originally Posted by ssneade View Post
this happened years ago, "85" i think. as i've said before i was a powerboat man, anyone who would sail a boat for pleasure was not quite right in the head. besides, who in the hell wanted to go pleasure boating after you've been on the water for ten hours either fishing pots, scraping, trotlining or oystering.....

i did, however have an interest in dredge boats. my paternal grandfather was the owner of three at one time, and my maternal great grandfather and his son built them around the turn of the twentieth century 'til the mid fifties. it seemed amazing people could make these huge wooden things move without them turning upside down....

anyways, the eighties proved to be a turning point in my life. i drank heavily, and i doped even heavier. after selling my workboat to buy dope, i finally decided the dope had to go. the firs hundred dollars i saved went to purchase a fourteen foot racing scow. i hadn't a clue what it was, i only knew it had sails and i wanted to satisfy my curiosity of how the other half lived.....

the first couple of excursions i'll bet were a sight to see. apparently i didn't know which side of that thing was supposed to be on top of the water. nobody would give me any pointers, but there were a lot of people pointing their fingers and laughing their asses off. i didn't give up. i finally got used to holding the main sheet in one hand and the tiller in the other. the day i made my first successful tack i stood up and crowed. yeah, crowed. jibing was a completely different story. that freakin' boom whacked me in the head and knocked my butt overboard more than a few times.....

after a while my friends quit laughing and wanted to take a ride on my newest thing to do. one particular cloudless afternoon, i decided it was time to take her on an epic journey. so me and a bud got a case of beer and left out of goose creek with winds about twelve knots southwest. about five miles across the manokin river and through the thoroughfare to the the bar at the last chance marina. on the way, was my first experience with her planing. i hauled in the sheets an leaned back and man alive! we were quartering two foot seas, sometimes it seemed like we would skip one. what a rush. we were probably running fifteen mph at times.....

so after beers and shots, it was time for the next leg, which was to cross the chainshoals, the shipping channel in the sound to the entrance to holland straights. about half way i noticed it looked like we were sitting a little heavier in the water than normal. this thing has a sealed hull, so i don't have any idea i'm taking on water. about a mile from sound point, we're settling good. i told brian we had serious problems, he allowed if he died, he'd kill me. about a hundred, hundred fifty feet from shore, down she went. brian's screaming "I'm gonna drown", crying like a baby. i said "stand up and die like a man". that dumbass didn't know we were in only four feet of water. dragging a sunken boat onto a bank requires a feat of strength that could only be accomplished by two drunk sailors, so it was easy for us....

although we managed to start draining the boat, we weren't prepared for what hit us next. a freakin' cloud of green head flies. OMIGOSH the pain was unfreakinbearable. we had to jump overboard in order to keep from getting eaten alive. so here we are. boat's on the bank, beer's on the bank, smokes on the bank and we're in the drink trying to survive the flies unending assault.....

i finally gather up the courage (as it was getting late in the afternoon) to see if i could find the leak. it appeared the rudder bracket had worked loose from the stern while doing the planing earlier and water was entering the hull around the joint. eight miles from home. no tools no sealer no nothing. i had an idea, so screaming i charged the boat. (screaming does absolutely nothing to deter greenheads) i grabbed the drain plug and put it back, with the other hand i was stuffing marsh mud into the gap between the rudder mount and the stern. by this time my head and shoulders looked like a pepperoni pizza from the fly bites. i grabbed a quarter from my pocket and tightened the screws as best i could, drug the boat off the bank, and we sailed about a half mile clinging to the side of her, before we were confident we could fight off the remaining flies.....

once under sail, we realized we left the beer and smokes on the bank. sorry, not even goin' back for'em. i'm making a bee line for prickly point, to hell with a beer. so while we're arguing about the fact that we were having to sober up against our will, we didn't notice a tug with a barge under tow bearing down on us. when he blew his horn, we sobered up straight away. i changed course to a heading that would clear his bow by a long shot, or so i thought. when we cleared him, it was by only about fifty feet or so. i think brian shat himself, 'cause he clammed up and sat very still for the rest of the ride home. i still hear that tugs horn to this day. we made it back to the marina just as last light fell. the marsh mud held. brian jumped overboard and cleaned out his shorts. i thought he shat himself and i was right....

today, i take extra measures to ensure those problems never happen again. i moved to georgia, i never leave the house without bug repellent, i keep extra smokes in the cabin in a watertight container, and i quit drinking.....
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