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Boating
is.... (c)2007 - 2008
Boating is ..... Missing the Water
May 17, 08 It's been a month since I've been on my own boat. I've shared some trips with fellow members of the 'Dead End Canal Yacht Club' but it isn't the same. We've been going on a rotation basis and last weekend I went fishing with Cincinnati George all the way out to the 30 mile shelf. The total fuel bill was $300 and we four split it $75 a piece. I caught my limit of Grouper and one legal size Snapper. Everyone else did about the same and three of us put a pretty good dent in a case of beer while Cincinnati George guzzled down bottled water like it was free! We are happy he is a tea-totaler but when we added it all up his water cost more than the beer? On our way in we argued about where to have a plate of chicken wings and I was outvoted 2 to 1 so I ended up going to a place that I pretty much despise just because the afternoon barmaid used to work at Hooters and you know the rest of the story. The off-season crowd is pretty thin in most places and she and two off duty employees were leaning on the Tiki Hut bar awaiting our arrival. Miss 44D was in the process of lifting up her t-shirt and drying off her 44's with a paper towel. We didn't see anything except the towel's impression moving across her chest under the shirt. “Silicone or whatever they use gets hot and it makes me sweat,” she confided as she tossed the coasters our way, “what'll you have?” “Pour some Vodka through that paper towel,” quipped Log Island Sal. We all laughed because it was funny and the spectacle had made us a little nervous. Exactly what she wanted to ensure a big tip. Cincinnati George sat with his back to her the whole visit. He's a Christian fellow and disapproves of such wanton displays. Why he didn't have a vote about our happy hour destination was never fully explained. “So when are you boys (all of us are over 60) going to take me for a ride on your boat,” asked Miss 44D. We shrugged and pointed to George who was ignoring the tempting young woman. George didn't respond so she swatted him with a bar towel and said. “Are you going to take me for a ride someday?” Without turning an inch George replied, “I am a married man!” So what's the big deal she asked? All she wanted was a ride on a boat and right away he was reading something into it that wasn't intended. She was insulted and went out on the dock to smoke a cigarette. Long Island Sal felt sorry for her and followed her. After he apologized for his boating companion they chatted warmly and she took his arm as they strolled back to the bar. “At least there is one gentleman among you!” Sal left her a $10 tip for a $6 bill and she was on him like a grateful barmaid should. “I always wondered what happened to old Playboy Bunnies,” said Alva Bob. Sal wanted to know what he meant by that remark. “I meant nothing by it but they all have to make a living and I'm sure your generous tip will go a long way on such a slow day!” “She was just flirting a little and giving us a show. Whether Sal takes her for a boat ride someday is his business, not ours,” I remarked to George back at his dock. “You're right and I'm not judging him. I have a healthy wife and his is in a nursing home. He took care of her for nearly 10 years with very little help and if he wants to step out on her with that bimbo for a laugh or two well it's not for me to judge,” said George as we washed down the boat. “I hope he doesn't take her for a ride. She such a phony and I don't mean just her plastic boobs. When the season was in full bloom she couldn't be bothered even to say hello but now we're gentlemen or not because we will or won't haul her around in our boat. But hey, she might just be a summer diversion for Sal if he's smart enough to keep her away from his wallet,” I said. The price of fuel is making strange bedfellows. I'm missing my own boat so I might just run her out into some mangrove lined oxbow in the river and read a book or fish a little or just sit and think about buying another sailboat! Boat Safe! +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Boating is... 6 Captains in a bath tub; Part Three! "The End of a boating Pub Crawl" by boatguy Ed We'd worn out our welcome at Larry's Landlubber Waterfront Restaurant after spending over half of our $120 pooled poke. The staff weren't all that unhappy to see us go although one bartender is always very warm and friendly despite our antics. We get a general feeling that the younger staff wish we would act our age. Tough! It would have been fine if we'd stayed right there but we were tired of entertaining ourselves and watching the staff 'nest' together. Having $45 more to spend we went around to Turtle Cay behind the beach where we had a few beers and bought our designated driver two original Coca Colas. They are famous for their spicy shrimp served with sweet potato fries so we ordered two. Those of us with Gall Bladders that still function ate the shrimp while the others munched on the crispy fries. The entertainment is up a flight and a half to the outside bar. Molly Malone played Irish music even though her real name is Irma Swartz. After munching down the food we huffed and puffed our way upstairs. Maybe it was our age or the beer we were hauling skyward but an elevator would have been appreciated. This was unfamiliar territory, really touristy with gigantic ice smushing machines and really tall glasses for the fruity drinks tourists crave. "Hey, they have half priced rum runners," said Boston Bob, "do we have enough for a round?" "I could use one," replied Tumor Tom excitedly. "You're on your own," said the official treasurer of the pub crawl (me), "we should have skipped the spicy shrimp. (to the barmaid) Could we get spicy shrimp up here?" "We don't serve food up here but you can bring them up with you! I won't stop you!" "I don't blame them for not serving food. The couldn't keep food runners if they made them run those steps," said Run-aground Ralph. "Why don't they put in a dumb waiter," asked Cap'n Crunch. "Are you applying for the job," asked Pensacola Slim as he sipped wine from a real glass. "What are you implying? We all ponied up an additional $10 and the party continued. During our stops at the different clean, neat, colorful waterfront bars we noticed a phenomena that is very much associated with tourist season, none of the staff were friendly. Despite our 20% tips we never heard the tip bell ring and that is a pretty good indication that we locals aren't one of their favorite types. It's different in the off-season but in season it's pretty hard to impress the servers. Several fellow boaters came by to say hello and to complain about the weekend boaters who run down the middle of the channel and chase everyone else onto the flats. "Where are the water cops? I only see them on the weekend and then they hang out in front of the beach hotels watching the bikinis or at the pass stopping every third boater to catch the drunks," said Wally, a member of th big local yacht club. We all agreed it was getting more dangerous everyday on the water. "Maybe the downturn in the economy will slow down boat sales enough to get the current crop of idiots educated," said "Instructor Howard" of the Power Squadron. But we were preaching to the choir because we were all of the same mind. I noticed that our designated driver was running out of patience with our crowd. Nothing is worse than being sober with a bunch of drunks in tow. "I think it's time to officially end the unofficial pub crawl and head back to the dock," I said. "I love this daylight savings time," said Run-aground Ralph as we idled out of the back bay. "I don't know why they ever change it," said Cap'n Crunch. "Just think of your grandkids standing on a cold dark street in the winter and you'll know why," said Boston Bob. "Screw the little tykes,' said Pensacola Slim. With that pleasant note in our minds we flew across the bay as the sun was setting and raced up the river and down the dead end canal. "I wonder what the poor people are doing," asked Texas Tumor Tom. "Working a second job to pay for your oil, you bastard," said Boston Bob. Always use Super Shipbottom Antifouling Bottom Paint boys and girls and make Uncle boatguy happy. Remember www.supershipbottom.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Boating is..... 6 Captains in a bath tub; Part Deux! (SEE PART ONE BELOW) March 09, 2008 by boatguy Ed The reason the "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" likes Larry's Landlubber Waterfront is, drum roll please, because we don't care if they like us back. Larry's Landlubber Waterfront is as mediocre as any restaurant or bar can be but it has one saving grace, the waterfront view. Larry bought the place for way more money than he should have because he loved the simple elegance of the place. And then he changed it! "Charlene, how have you been," asked Boston Bob. 'Get out the wheelbarrow George the big tippers are here,' she mumbled. "Give us a round of Old Frothingslosh. two pitchers if you please!" "Larry took Old Frothingslosh off tap but we still have it in the bottle and it's on special at $3.75 per," said Charlene with a wry smile. We asked what had replaced our old standby? "He's taken all the domestics off draft and replaced them with imports!" "Are the chicken wings still on special," asked Texas Tumor. Charlene nodded and the Tumor licked his lips. They weren't as inexpensive as those most discarded body part of a chicken from bygone eras used to be but they were progressively cheaper. A half dozen were $3 but 4 dozen were only $20. "Give us the 4 dozen, Texas hot!" "No way you idiot, my gall bladder is acting up" shouted Run-aground Ralph. "Charlene, honey can you make them mild with hot sauce on the side?" "I can put regular hot Buffalo sauce on side but the Texas Hot will cost extra," Char said. "Never mind Char, I've got my own," said Tumor Tom pulling a small bottle out of his fanny pack. We ordered two buckets of a very popular beer that none of us like because they were five bottles in a bucket for $10. Our group split up to visit with other groups, Power Squadron members, Coast Guard Axillary members, old bar flies and the such. I wasn't to interested in the same old same old conversations so I sat with our designated driver. "What do you think of the place," I asked? "I haven't been here for a long time but it sure has changed. I remember you could see the water from almost every seat in the house but now I can't see anything but bars," remarked 'Run-aground' Ralph's Grandson, Bill. "That's progress I guess?" Hardly, I thought but when there is a big nut to pay the easiest way is with liquor. Cap'n Crunch lead a Power Squadron member over to the table, "Tell Neil what you told me," he demanded. I started with the price of oil and how we had to get off foreign imports but the Cap'n stopped me abruptly. "I mean the... I mean how it was the props fault all this time for tearing up my boat!" "Absolutely, Neil, you should see how sweet she answers the helm now and backs almost as straight as an arrow. I think that the 'Spirit Filled Prop Technology' company may have performed an exorcism on it as well," said I tongue in cheek. Neill started laughing but checked himself until he saw the good Cap'n go off to find another person to drag over. This is neutral territory so a good natured discussions are allowed and encouraged among the diffuse group of boaters. The Coast Guard Auxiliary was deep in defense of the real Coast Guard and the Corps of Engineers over the poor state of the pass at the end of the island. "The Corp has spent 18 months rebuilding the levees around New Orleans and they're stretched to the limit," one member countered Run-aground Ralph's contention of malfeasance and neglect. "Five years ago when they had just finished dredging that pass YOU ran aground on the tip of the island, didn't you?" Ralph claimed his steering had failed and a big cruiser had driven him ashore with a humongous wake. Boston Bob had found a few sailboaters and they were lamenting the new town rules about tying up their vessels at the town mooring balls. ""Six months and you have to leave. I moved out of the pass and now anchor behind Little Fart Island where the skeeters are horrendous. It's the people in those high rise condos that don't want us to be here," said a blow-boater angrily. The wings arrived on a huge platter and our crew came back along with some invited and some uninvited guests. One couple from Ohio wanted to know where the plates for the happy hour buffet were? 'Texas Tumor Tom' and 'Pensacola Slim' brought along a few of the upper class to join in our feast. These two run with the same crowd and they are used to handouts 'cause they're rich. "Hey guys and gals how are you? We've all chipped in for these wings and would be happy to take your donation," I said. The startled look upon their faces was expected. 'Texas Tumor Tom' came over and tried to push me away. "They're my invited guests!" Ante up $40 more for your guests, I replied. "We've got a hundred and twenty dollars to spend and we can afford a few chicken wings for my friends!" "We put in $20 for this pub crawl and YOU are taking advantage of us to impress your friends! You've got one of three options, Tom. Send them back to the bar and buy them anything you want, put in an appropriate dollar amount to cover their share or be banned from these pub crawls for LIFE!" Just then the tip bell started wringing wildly and yellow flags started flying. Boston Bob had been sited for a 15 yard penalty for talking politics or religion and we were in danger of being evicted. And you thought this was all fun and games? Stay tuned for the finale of our most recent pub crawls. Boat Safe! Always use Super Shipbottom Antifouling Bottom Paint boys and girls and make Uncle boatguy happy. Remember www.supershipbottom.com ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
by boatguy Ed I wish I could report better news but our grand fuel savings experiment failed, miserably during an exercise of patriotic duty and our frugality. We gathered six of our the most ardent supporters of the "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" for a waterborne pub crawl which is our habit on occasion. The designated driver 'chosen' to bring us home was 'Run-aground' Ralph's Grandson visiting from Pennsyltuckey. In normal time (gasoline under $4 a gallon) we would have rendezvoused at the same happy hour waterfront bar using our own boats. Since we are trying to save money, oops I meant gasoline, to thwart those dirty oil barons and Osama bin Laden we decided to boat-pool. We didn't realize how many casualties we would take in the battle for America's good! Joining the skirmish was; me, 'Cap'n Crunch', 'Run-aground' Ralph, 'Boston Bob', 'Texas Tumor Tom', grandson Bill and 'Pensacola Slim'. We loaded onto Cap'n Crunch's 28 foot boat. Since 'Cap'n Crunch' feigned an injury to his shoulder from playing golf he elected me to take his boat out of his slip. What a 'scardy cat' ever since the new rub rail was installed. His wife said the local dealer used up the last of his extensive inventory and she laid down the law about him hitting everything or anything. "She backs a little to starboard, be careful," moaned the Cap'n. We glided astern until well free of those cursed pilings that he swears were put in the wrong place and that is why he bounces off them so regularly. "That new prop seems to have done the trick," I said aloud as we slowly wound our way down the canal. He went about telling everyone aboard about the re-popping of his boat and how I said it fixed the errant helm that was his nemesis all these years. "I think I'll try it out on the way back," he said to our horror. "Watch out for the Manatees," said our resident tree hugger, Boston Bob. Where are they questioned everyone else aboard? "I saw a couple at the end of our canal a week ago!" "Run 'em over," shouted Pensacola Slim. "They're a useless non-native species who can't adapt and should go extinct and leave our boats alone." We all harrumphed and harrumphed even though we knew he was 90% kidding. "Be careful of my new prop! Manatee skin is tough and they can damage a finely honed propeller!" I ignored him and kept the coarse toward the open water of the river. "Where are we heading," asked Tumor Tom," I'd prefer the new place "Sensations" at the new waterfront development 'Sensational.' "That's almost 20 miles up the inter-coastal and it is a half a tank of fuel," replied Boston Bob. "Leave it to a jackrabbit oil man to pick the furthest spot." "You never mind about my oil wells! I'll cut you off and then you'll be paying $12 per gallon," shouted the Texan with the low producing wells that only are worth pumping when the price of oil is so high. "Let's go to Larry's Landlubber Waterfront Restaurant and Seafood Market. It's a lot closer and I know a short cut," said Run-aground' Ralph. I throttled up and headed towards the river while Run-aground' Ralph tried to convince me to take a backwater route and Cap'n Crunch tried to shout him down. The north shore of the river is nearly devoid of waterfront restaurants so we are usually forced to run the 3 miles down to the beach and seek our happiness among the dozen or so happy hour spots with docks. We could have driven in half the time even with the heavy 'season' traffic but arriving by boat is such an ego trip that we so do enjoy. "Keep to the right of the channel there is a shoal building on the left side," said Pensacola Slim as we entered the pass at the north end of Estuary Beach. I could plainly see that the light green water was indeed further into the channel than the marker indicated. An argument broke out about the setting of the marks and the continuing flux of the pass. 'Run-aground' Ralph cursed the Coast Guard for their ineptness, "I've run up on that bar several times and they never move the marker one foot!" I followed the middle of the channel and had ten feet of water under the keel all the way to Larry's Landlubber Waterfront Restaurant and Seafood Market. Here in Florida the old restaurants always planted themselves on points of land sticking out into channels. That means that the tide rips passed in one direction or another four times a day. "You need to be closer in and lay the rail up on that piling," said Boston Bob pointing to the empty slip right in front of the busy bar. "He ain't laying s&^%t against no piling," cried Cap'n Crunch and half the patrons looked our way. It was very embarrassing. I just passed up all the docks nearest the channel and settled for a nice one out of the current. "You coward," said 'Run-aground' Ralph as he stormed into the restaurant. "You had the perfect opportunity to prove your seamanship and you blew it! That's funny because I thought I had proven it by using good judgment. Oh well, boat safe and come back soon to read about the return trip! Always use Super Shipbottom Antifouling Bottom Paint boys and girls and make Uncle boatguy happy. Remember www.supershipbottom.com
Boating is.... February 17th, 2008 by boatguy Ed
On my morning constitutional I noticed the "Handy Dandy Dockside Service" truck parked in Indiana Andy's driveway. He is one of the newer members in our beloved "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" and he's from Indiana of course! He brought an 8 year old 30 foot Barslammer down with him several years ago and has kept it on a lift ever since. He's a bit of a know it all. The members never really took him under our wings, nice fellow though! His wife makes Swedish meatballs for our club meetings and they are a big hit! On my second round trip I saw 'Jeff the dockside mechanic' putting his tools in his truck and said hello. I'd forgotten that I once wrote unkindly words about the skill level of 'some' dockside mechanics in a recent column. His chilly reception reminded me. "Up and at it early this morning," I said in a glancing way because I intended to keep moving. I'm not sure if he'd rehearsed his reply or not but it had the sting of a well thought comment. "I thought your club took care of it's members..." "Huh? What, what do you mean?" My reaction wasn't well thought out or rehearsed. "What's your point?" "Someone should have told your new member that inboard/outboard boats should be checked regularly for worn out manifolds, risers and such," quipped Jeff reaching for his invoice pad. I knew that instrument of danger all to well because I had him do some work for me a few yeas ago. "Sea water in the oil," I asked fearing almost the worst. "The starboard engine is froze solid. It was giving him trouble on the way in but he ran it home anyway," Jeff said with a leering glint in his eye. I knew the scenario all to well. I could understand it if he was a single engine vessel but he had two. Granted, limping home on one engine isn't fun but if he had any hope of saving the starboard engine he should have shut it down immediately. When engines start acting up it usually means bad fuel or it is over heating which will make it miss and smoke. Bad fuel is no problem or should I say not nearly as much of a problem as overheating. Ingesting sea water into the oil system is akin to sinking a hot motor. The cooling system on an I/O engine can be raw water up to the heat exchanger or a type of enclosed radiator system. The sea water side is eaten away at a fairly predictable rate because the metal is poor but thick. Five years in Florida salt water is pushing your luck and inspecting the outside for tell tale signs of impending doom isn't help much. The only really definitive check is the ecostly removal of the elbows and riser that make up the exhaust system slash heat exchanger. A flash light and a probe is all it takes to determine the potential longevity of the cast iron parts. I've always said that once removed they should be replaced despite their condition because if you are sufficiently suspicious replacing them will let you get a good night's sleep. They make stainless steel sets which are very expensive but they will outlast the rest of the boat. There are myriad of flushing products that promises to remove rust scale and coat the inside of the drive and heat exchanger but they are just band-aids. I guess if you started using them from the beginning it would help but after the corrosion starts it is a little too late! Don't get me wrong everything corrodes in salt water including stainless. "I was told to ask you," said Andy. Who told you to ask me? "Jeff from Handy said you'd know the process for changing out the motor!" Did he really? I wondered if it was my time to make up to him but I needed to hear Jeff's proposal. "He is going to replace the starboard engine with the exact same engine if he can but he isn't to confidant. He thinks that both engines might have to be replaced to match them up," said Andy. "Have Jeff pull the starboard engine and send it off to a re-manufacturer for an estimate. While you're waiting have him pull the manifolds off the port engine. Go slow with this and have the best people work on the engine. I wouldn't run out and buy 2 engines without checking out the first one. As far as Jeff goes he is capable wrench who can pull the engines, swap out parts and reinstall the new or rebuilt engine but I'd get a second and probably a third opinion about everything else!" I'm pretty sure Andy is going to get a new engine, short or long block to be determined! Remember, if it's running hot - shut it off! That's why we have towing insurance! Boat Safe.
Boating is ..... The beginning of the Dead End Canal Yacht Club February 10th, 2008 by boatguy Ed When I moved onto the "Dead End Canal" 15 years ago I wasn't looking for hundreds of new friends. I'm not really an outgoing person much like my Father who disliked most people except a very close circle of acquaintances. He had his minstrel show group called the "Polly Wogs" where he embarrassed his children by dressing up in black face! He tolerated his family and a few drinking buddies but that was it. My siblings keep pointing out that I am a lot like him or should I say used to be. After moving onto the canal there was absolutely no way to remain a hermit or troll! As the moving van was backing up to the house there were people lining up to help. Thank goodness my wife was there to charm the masses and explain that I was too buys to play nice. "Hey, I'm Martin, Major Martin USMC! Welcome to our little canal," this booming voice rose out of the crowd directed at my wife. And that was alright with me because I wasn't ready for some energetic jar head officer to tell me how to arrange my living room. After escaping the Marine Corp draft in January 1966 because of a few misguided, yet much appreciated volunteers that took my place, hooray, I vowed not to go near another Gyrene again! But that was impossible around Major Martin the neighbor from hell! He was very helpful, way too helpful if you can picture that. And a take control kind of guy who was used to giving orders and that was his good parts. We were going to clash and it didn't take another half hour for us to have our very first spat of many, many more. "I'm ready to order the pizza," said my wife, "but the guy in the crew cut wants everyone to have thin crust pizza." "Order a mixture from Pizza Hut, thin, thick, hand made whatever?" "He doesn't like Pizza Hut. He's almost insisting we order from some place called Mario and Nicole's in a plaza near here!" "Order both and have them delivered." I decided to stay away from the Major in order to keep the peace. No luck! "Ed, I want to introduce myself," said Major Martin. He went on to instruct me on how was the 'right way' to live on the canal. His 'rules' were very revealing. The were right out of the Marine Corps handbook. He was very prejudiced against sailboaters no matter what the color of their skin. Finally we had some common ground because I wasn't to happy with sailboaters but for very different reasons than the Major. I had owned a sailboat dealership back in my misspent youth and I grew to dislike most of my customers because they took advantage of my knowledge but didn't buy from me they bought from mail order discount catalogs. Strangely enough I was no longer a sailboater but I possessed a 20' Harpoon Boston Whaler sailboat that I inherited during a bankruptcy procedure on a building I rented. I vowed to move that boat to my dock just to get off on really bad footing with the Major. "That's not a Boston Whaler," several other neighbors argued when they stared at the decal on the small boats stern. I had a good time proving them wrong but I never got a chance because the Major refused to speak to me especially during the original meetings of the "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" which he was forming. The situation resolved itself when a man approached me in his small boat as I cleaned the Whaler. "I wonder, sir, is that boat for sale?" And then it was gone and I was admitted as a charter member to the "Dead End Canal Yacht Club" and the Major started speaking to me. In fact up until his death we almost became friends. About the time the sailboat went away I became involved with 'Super Shipbottom Antifouling Bottom Paint' and despite many of the club members switching the Major never did. I never asked him to but I knew it was his way of showing me he was in charge and that was okay by me. I never asked him to use my paint because bottom paint is very personal and besides I didn't want to deal with him if something like a meteorite happened to hit his boat. I knew he would blame my bottom paint for attracting the disaster! Although he never wore a powdered wig nor wooden teeth the Major was the founding father of our beloved yacht club. The Major and his wife out grew boating about seven years after forming the club. They sold their waterfront home and bought a huge diesel motor home. It was a sad farewell but we understood that it was now or never for the 80 year old. His boating skills had diminished. As the drove off for the last time a new member, Cap'n Joe said, "Do you feel safe knowing he is driving that behemoth down the highway?" It came to pass that old Joe quickly became Cap'n Crunch and the torch was passed! Boat Safe!
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