Precautionary Tale

Flexibility is important when cruising. Wind, water, waves, and machinery require a close watch. Situations can change at a moments notice and it helps if precautions have been taken to mitigate the damage or inconvenience. Along these lines is also the home front. I do not have many concerns at present but Charlotte has two 93 year old parents, one of which she is the caretaker.

This is the seventh summer that Carrie Rose has disappeared over the horizon. Wind, waves, weather, and machinery have had their issues but the home front has been quiet except for this year. Charlotte’s dad [Hi Seymour, I hope you are feeling better] had, let us just say, some gastrointestinal problems and was hospitalized.

As the drama unfolded, we were anchored in Seal Bay on remote Vinalhaven Island. The phone miraculously worked and through consultation with family, friends, and support staff, Charlotte decided to head home. This meant getting back to Herrick Bay and Atlantic Boat Company, our home base.

A route was entered into the Garmin chart plotter and other sundry devices. With the diesel fired up, we started for Herrick Bay. The bay is 21 lobster buoy infested miles away through Merchants Row and up Jericho Bay. The next morning at first light the Honda headed for Bangor International Airport and Charlotte to Chicago. So, until Charlotte gets back Carrie Rose and I are on mooring #14 in the middle of the bay.

Out on the bay, the tides rise and fall ten feet, the lobstermen leave at 4:30 in the morning, and the dock is a two block dinghy ride east. Carrie Rose has to deal with whatever weather develops. The bay has long fetches from the south and the north, so when the wind pipes up from those directions it can get rough. Add to this the effect of the current running in and out all day, and it can get uncomfortable.

The third night out the weather got nasty. I listened to the weather radio and somehow dismissed the forecast. Do not ask me why. Wind, rain, and thunderstorms were clearly announced. Usually forecast with T-storms get my attention but that night it did not connect through my torpor.

I had drinks and dinner with the crew of Sir Tugely Blue and motored out to the boat through a fine mist. Once on board I realized that even though Charlotte had only been gone a day, I had cluttered every flat surface. I can’t live like this so, I started to tidy up, and as I did the weather deteriorated.

If Carrie Rose was anchored, I would have been paying close attention but moorings breed complacency. Finished with my tasks I grabbed a book and went to bed. The boat was gyrating; rising, and falling as the sizable waves passed under her. It was noisy: a combination of the wind hollowing, the waves crashing, the boat creaking, all normal sounds in rough weather. I settled into pages of 15th century Florence and Rome papal intrigue when I heard (and felt) a couple of loud thumps. It could only be one thing, the damn dinghy I left on a long painter tied to the back of the boat.

My standard practice with T-storms in the forecast is to put the dinghy in its proper place out of the water on the swim platform. Of course, this meant the outboard engine needed to taken off and stored. Since I was too lazy to do it when there was light left in the sky, and the waves and wind were small, I now had to do it in the dark with the wind and waves building.

I put the 15th century down and proceeded to get suited up: rain jacket and pants, sou’wester hat, boat shoes and life vest. With a flashlight in my pocket, I ventured out the backdoor into the rain. The first rule I learned on the first sailboat was: one hand for the boat and one hand for yourself, in that order. It was told to a clueless eleven year old in the utmost seriousness by the manic captain of the Thien Hau. I continue to heed his advice.

Here are a few boring details that need to be mentioned. The dinghy, when stored, rests on the back of the transom attached to the swim platform by two oddly shaped clamping mechanisms which require two stainless steel loops to be placed on the platform. These two loops are held on by two clevis pins, and have spent most of their lives attached, except for that night.

I assumed it was going to be a rough night and since the dinghy has a tendency to float up behind the boat and whack into them I had taken them off. Now I know what you are thinking, if I went to the trouble of removing them why didn’t I put the boat away…I know, stupid. So, when I pulled the water filled dinghy up to the stern and put the dinghies clamping mechanisms in place and went to clamp the boat on, I realized that the loops were not there.

These loops are tenuous at best. They hang off the back of the platform and are held in place by small pins. Even in the best of times, putting them or taking them off requires concentration so as not to lose them overboard. I let the dinghy stream back into the night and retrieved the loops.

Now here I needed two hands for the boat, one to hold the loop securely in place and the other to put the pin in. I did this while kneeing on the gyrating platform with the water slapping its under side, and me all the while thinking Charlotte will never forgive me if I fall off into the bay’s fifty degree water.

With the tasks completed, I drew in the dinghy and snubbed the painter in. Now I had to swing the recalcitrant dinghy sideways to attach it to the loops but I had tied the painter too tight. The dinghy could not lay flat against the platform. Another thing I have never done and I did it twice that night.

I reattached the painter and with a little muscle (all I have left at this point), it clanked in place. This is not a position that it likes to be in. It bounces, it slaps, it threatens to tear its connections apart. I never leave it there for long, always pulling it up on the back of the transom where it rest proudly and displays the name Carrie Rose and its homeport of Chicago. That night though, I had to get the outboard motor off.


This is not your average outboard. It is a quirky three piece lithium powered GPS monitored West German made electric contraption. It is in the middle of the bouncing dinghy just barely within arms reach. Remember the one hand rule, well it worked to get most of it apart. It has two electrical cables that need to be unfastened. Then the throttle and tiller arm can be detached. Next comes the large awkward battery that needs to be pivoted 90 degrees. They say it will float but if it fell in here, it would float into the North Atlantic and beyond.

Then the tricky part, the shaft with the motor and prop. It is attached to the back of the dinghy's transom by two vice like screw clamps. I could not reach it without getting in the dinghy and I was not going to do that. So, I started to pull the dinghy up to the stern. This was harder than usual because of the shaft and the accumulated water resting in the bottom.

I slowly pulled and it slowly came up with the shaft pointing up to the dark sky in a precarious angle. I huddled on the swim platform and let the dinghy rest on my shoulder while I loosened the clamp with one hand and held the shaft tightly with the other.

There was no way around it, it was going to drop, and drop it did. The prop and a good half of the shaft splashed salt water in my face as it hit the bay, but I had a good hold on it.

Now out from under the dinghy, I made fast the lines. I slowly made my way down the stairs into the salon. Took off my wet gear, stowed what I could, and lay down in the berth to pick up the 15th century where I had left it 30 minutes before. I awoke with the sun and looked out into dense fog and the now mirror flat bay we floated in . . . a little less flexible.

Oxford, ME