As I mentioned in my last post, I was outside of Saint Augustine visiting a friend this past weekend. He’s living on a quasi-ranch on a little tract of land that sits between Faver Dykes State Park (I prefer fags myself, if we are going to be crude and offensive…) and some other undeveloped bit, so it’s all woodsy and quiet and the best part, aside from my friend and his family, is the creek. The creek, I imagine, is related in some small way to the Saint John’s river, and flows out to the Atlantic (like virtually every other piece of water on this half of the divide, but in this case more directly so).
We decided to go for a brief canoe trip before the party on Sunday. We put in and I got in the front. My friend was busy texting and returning calls for part of this bit of the trip, perfectly reasonable since he was about to host friends at an off the beaten path type locale. So I paddled a good bit, took us under…Is it Highway 1? Hm…It can’t be, since it’s west of 95, but nonetheless, I paddled us under a bridge and back, a few hundred yards. I haven’t been hitting the gym much (but I am going to have to because my pants are getting tight and what other options do I have??) and I had really bad cramps and the sun was hot, so after that I wanted to sit back and relax a little.
That was nice for awhile. Then we got the bright idea to go past the homestead and downstream a little in search of a paddle boat they’d had that had been carried away by the deluge of the previous week. Ahoy! We spotted it–upside down, past the natural shoreline, in the Cypress. We were feeling ambitious, so we went in after it. We were wary of potential critters; alligators and snakes and the like, but we both got out, squishing around in eight inches of water covering ankle twisting Cypress knees, and we righted the paddle boat.
That was where the fun began. It was at this point that my friend informed me that there was a “small leak” in the hull of the paddle boat, and in addition to that, try as we might we couldn’t tilt the water out of the foot wells (where you paddle) without more coming back in. Bailing was not an option, as we had nothing but a pair of soda cans (ours) and a bottle from cheap whiskey (not ours). We decide that we would attempt to drive the paddle boat back to the homestead; I am chosen as pilot.
The paddle boat proved unnavigable due to an excess of water not just in the foot wells, but in the hull as well. It was basically sunk, and yet because I didn’t know that at the time, here I am paddling furiously while trying to remember how the rudder works. It seemed at the time that it was broken or something, since it would only demonstrate any efficacy when turned completely to one side or the other. That means I couldn’t go straight at all, since we were in a river and there’s a current, it was impossible to simply point the boat in one straight direction and go. My friend later described how I, in the paddle boat, began “pirouetting down the river.”
He, alone in the back of the canoe, could do nothing. He was unable to paddle over to me because of the wind and the current and the fact that the front end of the canoe was out of the water. In retrospect, it seems it would have been a better choice for him to be alone in the front of the canoe.
So now I’m alone in a boat that can’t be steered, which I later realized was due to the fact that the hull was full of water, therefore making any power in the foreward direction impossible. Any boater will tell you that without forward (or backward) powered motion, the rudder is useless. And I’m heading downriver. The situation was getting out of hand–what to do?
If we abandon the paddle boat, it will be lost: at best somewhere along the shore, and at worst, under the surface of the water, where it would be a hazard for other boaters. Thus, we persisted.
When we finally got the two craft within arm’s reach of each other, we tried various configurations for towing the paddle boat (without rope, mind you). First, I was in the front, being the muscles while my friend held onto the paddle boat in the back. Due to my previous exertions, already described, I was inept at this and began to get bitchy.
“Why am I doing this part when you’re the man? You’re the one with the greater muscle mass, you’re the one with more upper body strength, wah, wah, wha!”
So we switch places, and continue, this time with my friend paddling and the crippled paddle boat pulling us into the weeds with all its weight on the port side.
Next, I abandon any pretense at attempting to help paddle here and there, and I lay down, belly first, on my seat, and maneuver the paddle boat so that it is directly behind the canoe. I grip the cleat in the center of the bow. My friend paddles like a madman, towing my 100-odd pounds of dead weight, plus the paddle boat, plus all the water that’s in it, plus, now we’re going upstream. I am stifling my laughter now as I write! We moved about six inches for every pair of strokes!
200 yards later, we were back where we started. We were tired from our labors, but felt gratified. When we returned to the house, we excitedly related our adventure to the owner of the paddle boat. We expected to be met with effusive enthusiasm, praise, and wonder at how we could have accomplished such a feat…
But alas, I guess you had to be there.
