By Lee Högman
We have a buddy at our local marina named Buddy. His real name isn't Buddy and, in actuality, Buddy could be several buddies, but to avoid incriminating any specific person (me included) let's just stick with our Buddy. Buddy is a guy that is very friendly, quick with a warm greeting and a cold beer and is always eager to help a fellow boater. Buddy is also a guy that many folks at the marina try and keep a little distance from for safety sake.
Like this past weekend when the winds were really whipping and most of the sailors stayed in the marina to socialize, do some minor maintenance or clean, or just lounge around and relax, Buddy was busy working on his boat. While cleaning out a number of amazing things from inside the cabin, Buddy eventually came across a canister of emergency flares that were several years past the expiration date.
Well, Buddy decided that he really should find out whether these flares were any good because he, understandably, didn't want to waste perfectly good flares. Buddy went ahead and loaded a flare and fired it into the air, right in the middle of the marina that is always full of sailboats gently rocking in their slips.
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The flare made a stately arch into the air, burning brightly for everyone to see, especially those that were startled by the sound. Some of us "veterans" have grown accustomed to the occasional sounds of destruction and mayhem that come from Buddy's boat, so I simply grabbed the fire extinguisher in one hand and the first aid kit in the other and stood by watching from my boat. Of course the wind caught the flare and redirected it so that it fell back toward the next dock downwind from Buddy's boat.
Yup, that burning flare landed on a docked boat and before the owner could sweep it off into the water, scorched the fiberglass deck
—and it just missed landing on the cockpit bimini or the open hatch on the foredeck. Our Buddy was very quick to apologize and offer to make restitutions to the victimized boat owner, including the offer of cold beer. I am certain that Buddy believes that beer may be able to solve almost any problem.
Then there was the time that Buddy was cleaning the oil off the inside of the aft hatch with gasoline. It seems that the cleaner Buddy was using wasn't doing a good enough job, so Buddy dug out his one-gallon gas jug that he keeps in the boat. Thoughtfully, Buddy put out his cigarette before he opened the jug. Then he poured a bit of gas into a rag, closed the jug tightly, and set it on the dock out of the way so that no one would trip. You see, Buddy wanted to be very careful.
He cleaned the inside of the hatch of all the oil stains
—that gasoline sure works wonders, doesn't it? Since that worked so well, Buddy soaked his rag again and wiped out the bilge. When that was cleaned to his satisfaction, Buddy bagged up the gasoline-soaked rag in the baggie from where he just pulled a sandwich and set it on the dock, ready to go to the dumpster.
After a cold beer and that tasty sandwich, it was time for a smoke. Down into the cabin went Buddy, apparently where his pack of smokes were. The fireball lasted only a second, but it got the attention of everyone in the marina. The good news was that the boat did not explode into a gazillion pieces and was in fact only slightly blackened as was Buddy, who immediately exited the boat and jumped into the lake, beer in one hand, lighter in the other, and a smoke still hanging from his lips.
The rest of us were very happy to learn that an errant fireball in the marina was seen by enough of the local townsfolk to have the authorities contacted. We accepted the fact that the local volunteer fire department/emergency medical service told Buddy that he had suffered what amounted to little more than a sunburn and left him with a stern warning about gasoline fumes. Of course cold beers were immediately handed out to everyone from the melted Styrofoam cooler, since the cooler was shot and there was no sense in letting the beer get warm. The exact cause of the fire that started in the trash dumpster later that day after Buddy had left was not discovered, but most of us in the marina have our suspicions.
Some at the marina may recall when Buddy wanted to show off the used sail that he got. Buddy was very proud of his bargain sail and hoisted it to the top of the mast. Everyone in the marina got to look at Buddy's new sail and watch as the boom swung wildly into the rigging of neighboring boats since Buddy had forgotten to cleat off the mainsheet and the wind wasn't from the bow. A few frantic moments later after the sail was corralled and the boom secured, Buddy offered cold beers to anyone who would accept one. We almost had a party.
It was during an early season party that we had some entertainment of sorts. Buddy was cleaning his boat using a bilge pump to get water out of the lake, given that our brand new docks didn't have water available on them yet. After a couple hours of Buddy cleaning and our partying, Buddy decided that he needed a break, a beer, and a smoke, so Buddy droped the scrub brush and hose and came over to chat and expound on the progress that he was making.
One beer, two beers, three beers later and someone asked Buddy why his boat seemed to be sitting "kinda" deep in the water. In fact, why did it look like it was about to go under? With lightning speed and cat-like reflexes, Buddy went to his boat and pulled the hose that was connected to the pump that was sitting in the lake, out of the cabin. Buddy then did the logical thing and put the pump into the boat to get the water out, but not before sloshing through the cabin to retrieve a beer from the now floating cooler. It only took him a few minutes to collect the flotsam and jetsam that had floated out of his boat with several of us voicing concerns about what the old football helmet missing the face guard was used for.
One of the more interesting spectacles to observe is when Buddy is working out in the parking lot. Buddy owns a pickup truck with a camper top on the bed that's crammed with stuff—all sorts of stuff—big stuff, little stuff, stuff for the boat, stuff from the boat, and even some stuff that eludes any rational explanation. When Buddy starts a quest for something that is inside the back of the truck, people grab lounge chairs and cold drinks and sit down to watch. The visual calculation comparing the size of the truck and amount of stuff that comes out of it is impossible to comprehend. Some of us have even won a couple bets from passer-bys when convincing doubts about getting it all back in are uttered. Where it may take Buddy most of the weekend to clear the parking spaces on either side of his truck when he's done, amazingly there's no evidence of his ever having been parked there by Sunday evening.
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Please don't think that I or my fellow marina inhabitants aren't supportive of Buddy. Most of us really do like him, deep down, somewhere in our hearts, maybe. It is not just the sense of self preservation that motivates us to help Buddy with some of the work on his boat. In fact, a couple guys have been seen lately checking out the cleaning chemicals that Buddy uses and reading him the warning and safety instructions before they give the chemicals back.
This friendly gesture may possibly be the residual effect of the noxious cloud inside his boat that Buddy staggered from a while back. An hour of laying on the dock and several beers later, Buddy felt up to going back into his boat. Buddy was able to dispose of the offending liquid overboard and open up all the hatches to air the boat out. Unfortunately, Buddy couldn't offer the kid in the adjacent boat a beer when the poor lad lost his lunch while the boat aired out. Nor could Buddy offer an explanation about the hundreds of dead fish that had floated to the surface of the harbor by the next morning.
Amazingly, there are a few contributions that Buddy has provided to the marina. While the list is not very long, some of the changes that Buddy has been credited with have been very well received. Apparently, the marina is a very good spot for fishing so we often have fishermen fishing from the banks of the harbor's rock levees or fishing boats that drift among the docks. Sometimes these fishing folks are not welcomed, especially if they are not courteous, let a lure hit a boat just before sunrise, or put their boat in the way when a boat in the marina is trying to leave a slip.
Being a fisherman myself, I am acutely aware of the proper courtesies that should be displayed when near others, but convincing some folks isn't easy. Buddy's indirect contribution to the solution of this problem resulted from his spending nights on his boat. Buddy's boat is not big enough for Buddy to change clothes or get dressed inside without the cabin top and hatches open and him standing. Now being on the last row of the docks, with his boat in his slip facing the rock levy, no one in the marina should be able to see a lot of Buddy. That is not the case for anyone fishing along the levy or on a fishing boat at that end of the harbor. Apparently the word has gotten around since we rarely even see anyone fishing around the docks any more—at least when Buddy is there. Another great addition in the planning stage is the pending addition of fire extinguishers on the docks. The major consideration that remains undecided is whether an automatic detection system is suitable or whether it would be a cause of greater damage than the problem if the system were to be accidentally activated.
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Buddy's poor boat has also been the topic of several conversations. In all sense of the normally humane treatment we like to bestow upon our precious boats, Buddy's boat should probably just be put out of its misery. But Buddy is a very determined guy and can always buy beer, so the poor little boat continues to occupy a slip. At the moment, the poor boat's mast is down, laying ****-eyed across the deck and extending out into the lane between docks. When it isn't there, Buddy places it on the dock, almost out of the way. Buddy has made great strides in the way of progress in the resurrection of what should be a dead boat. Considering that the poor boat has almost been sunk and blown to bits, it's actually in pretty good shape.
This is the life we live with Buddy in the marina. Either in defiance or as an answer to many prayers, Buddy continues to stay in the marina. Those that have been residents for any length of time have learned to live with Buddy or at least to be prepared to deal with whatever happens. Visitors can easily spot those by the way they react to sudden or strange sounds. New members will personally investigate the matter without bringing a fire extinguisher, first-aid kit, or even a bucket of water. Experienced members know to grab all three and stand by until the area surrounding Buddy is no longer a risk to potential first responders. I wonder how many other marinas have a buddy? Does yours?
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