And so it is with boats. I am a mono-hull sailor at the moment, but I would love to live on a Cat. I liked sailing the tri and hope to do so again. My Grandfather used to own a classic wooden powerboat that we used to go fishing when I was a child. On one of our last family vacations before the girls left the nest we rented a pontoon boat for an excellent day. So with that in mind...
The assembled decided to reassemble at Coles Creek for some swimming, story telling, and maybe a cold one or two. S/V Gail Force was first on the scene. Her Captain, knowing that company would share his hook, set it well with a good amount of scope. S/V Miss My Money arrived, then Nomad, and finally Moonbeams. Each tied bow, stern, and spring and general holiday making ensued.
Off our collective bows, and directly over Gail Force's anchor, powerboats began to clump together. It was an eclectic group including pontoon boats, bass boats, little run-a-bouts, big-engined screamers, and one odd looking thing that had what appeared to be huge speakers hung on Bimini tubing mounted fore and aft. As each pulled in they tied off some bow to bow, some bow to stern, which ever way they were pointed at the moment. Methuselah tangles of thin, multi-colored nylon line appeared haphazardly looped around cleats and tubing and what-not, the odd wrap hanging into the lake. It appeared that more than half dropped tiny anchors off the bow, straight into the mud with zero scope. It must have been an odd looking rope forest under the boats, with anchors landing everywhere. Kids hit the water, dogs joined in, fun and games for all.
As the afternoon wore on the wind worked the powerboats ever closer to our bows. It looked like one end of their line would drift a bit, catch, than the other end would kind of pivot around, catch, and the whole dance would start again. With nary a spring line to be found and the bow-bow-stern-bow-stern-stern lines tangled, stretching and slowing coming undone, the whole mass slowly disintegrated into a giant horseshoe wrapped around Gail Force's rode. One end of the line drifted ever closer to Nomad's bow, the other end bent around to approach Moonbeams. There were plenty of fenders deployed on the sailboats so the only concern was that one of the power folks would cut our collective anchor rode when they left. We started taking bets on how close they would get before one of them looked up.
It finally occurred to our horsepower dependent friends that they were drifting and coming apart, and it appeared they decided to go home. On the port end of the ragged line (as we faced them) two boats cast off but, for reasons unknown, stayed tied bow to stern with each other. One started up, (kids and dogs way to close) the engine making an ugly sound that caught every one's ear. Moments later a young lady on the other boat, showing lots of skin but very little comprehension, stood at the bow holding a frayed end of an anchor line. The pair began to drift toward Nomad's side while a young man dove on the prop to see if it was fouled. There was someone sitting at the wheel, (I am reluctant to call him the Captain.) hand apparently on the starting button. A few heart beats later the engine barked to life once more and the two boats began to move, one being dragged backward through the water. As they turned we could see someone hanging on the bow / stern line, also being dragged backward through the water!
As that pair moved away the next three boats untied from the rest but, once again, stayed bound to each other. Apparently none had an anchor out and they also started to drift toward Nomad. One (with his stern toward us) wanted to start his motor, but there was a woman just off his bow on one of those floating chairs, beer in hand, who was making fun of the fact that she couldn't get out of the way and didn't know which way to go in any case. The clearly frustrated driver, with embarrassed glances at our ever approaching hull, shouted to the pontoon boat at the other end of the 3-ship raft, (who was bow to Nomad) to start up and back away. It was a nice thought, but all that managed was to pivot the 3 boats around. They drifted down our port side with a few feet to spare, finally got something figured out, and each motored away. (The end powerboat with a burst of power that ignored the "NO WAKE" zone we were in.)
While all this was going on the rest took flight. Boats drifted off in all directions, engines started which drowned out the sound of people calling to see if their sterns were clear. Several moved out still dragging tubes at the end of long lines, just that many more hazards for the others to try and avoid. Somewhere in there another pontoon boat drifted past Nomad, her Captain apparently trying to figure out if he had all his crew on board and oblivious to our shadow falling across his ship. That was understandable. His "crew" appeared to fill every square foot of his floating porch, which had maybe two inches of bridge deck clearance showing. It was inevitable that one of these guys would head straight for our anchor line, and one did. Multiple shouts of warning got this Captain's attention and a burst of reverse churned the water just in time to keep him from setting us adrift as well. Fortunately there was no one behind him as he never looked before backing away, spinning the helm, and hitting the gas. A couple of wave runners had joined the fray, zipping around tossing wakes and waves just to add to the mayhem. I have, of course, heard many a story of powerboat follies in my couple of years in the sailboat world. Never did I expect a front row seat to so many of them being played out at one time. It was nothing short of amazing. The show ended with them scattering out of the cove like so many water bugs.
A half hour or so after the noise of the powerboats had drifted off we untied from our first raft-up of the season and headed home. (We would have stayed the night but our new holding tank has yet to arrive.) There was enough wind to work the drifter and as we headed up the lake we got a nice look at a new boat to our marina. She is a home built, cat-rigged ketch that is a real work of art, and she was out on her maiden sail. Cast against the setting sun, centered in the light splashing across the water, moving silently and gracefully along with her main and mizzen trimmed tight to the wind, she was the polar opposite of the powerboat display.
To each his own. The powerboats had a good party, only one anchor was lost, and (so far as I know) no one got hurt and no boats got damaged. Something that, I am forced to admit, can't always be said about the merry band of sail boaters in our home marina. Still, I think sailboat mayhem has a bit more class, so I'll stay with little Nomad for now, thank you.
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