"A Three Hour Tour, A Three Hour Tour..."

Ah...sea trials. At least that is what I have chosen to call the first several voyages of my newly acquired V17. "Excursion" was an option but the word implies a dull sort of trip one might take via an institution owned bus from said institution with a bunch of institutional-ees. Our trips are certainly not dull. "Cruise" might have been the word except that it implies a blissful embarkation on a grandiose vessel with crew lavishing luxuries upon all who travel within her.



No, I am sticking with "sea trials". I am defining "sea trials" as the period of time during which my experience of boating for 30 some odd years on boats owned, maintained and paid for by SOMEONE ELSE and my experience on boats owned maintained and paid for by MY OWN MEANS merge into the complete boating experience.

And so it goes - Sea Trials - Day 2

It was not a dark and stormy night. The sun was out, the air warm and humid and the wind was a mild 8-10 knots out of the South East. An apparently great day was in store for us! Nothing too challenging in the weather department but enough of our chosen propulsion method to move us along to our destination.

Our destination - Occoquan Village, Virginia where a beautiful lunch (and maybe some ice cream) were to be had along with a lazy walk, eyeing the wares in the quaint shop windows. I had reviewed the charts, checked the depths in the area that we would be sailing in and determined that we would put in at Leesylvania State Park, a stones throw from our destination but allowing me plenty of room to do some sailing in a non-linear fashion. A good time for me (sailing) and a good time for the crew (shopping). The perfect cruise...uh...I mean sea trial...

Upon gathering the crew and setting out for the day, I learned that an acquaintance had, upon learning of our plans, alerted one of the crew to a "better spot" to put in that was in the vicinity of our destination but closer to our point of origin. I was most eager to get out of the car and onto the water so "great", I said. And off we went.

The new put in location (Pohick Bay Regional Park) was very nice. Not crowded, nice ramp and a serene setting from which to embark. We had hit the jack-pot! I instructed the crew to relax while I rigged the boat. I wanted to see if, and how long, it would take to prepare the boat for sailing by myself. I was sure I could do it in 30-40 minutes as I had now rigged this boat once before and made the experience a nearly tool free endeavor with the purchase of some additional hardware which I had installed the week previous. And sure enough, 2 hours later, we were indeed underway! No bother, I thought. One small set back that will get better with time and experience.

The first 2 hours of the trip were indeed blissful. Fantastic weather, a slow but steady and forgiving wind, calm water and beautiful scenery on this part of the Potomac. The dog, in her lifejacket, feet on the gunwales, trying to catch the wake of the boat in her mouth and, much to our viewing pleasure, almost falling overboard many times. I had an opportunity to further explore the handling characteristics of my new craft and thoroughly enjoyed the sailing and the time to talk with loved ones. We had been tacking frequently for some distance and I was looking forward to making a port tack which was going to point us in the direction of a nice long stretch of open water. As we approached a bend in the river and prepared to make that port tack, we started noticing a lot of small bits of driftwood floating in the river in our path. It was, afterall the weekend immediately following the massive flooding that our area had experienced following the torrential record setting rainfall of June 2006. It was expected that there would be some flotsam in the water and we all marveled at the power of the storms to deposit so much land based material into the river. No bother, a careful eye and a few turns of the rudder and we avoided the obstacles in our path.

Onward we went, continuing to tack toward our destination but now with long runs on the much larger expanse of the river that we had entered. The wind had increased, in short bursts, and we were moving along at a good clip at times and at other times slowly but steadily. We headed toward Occoquan bay and noted to the crew that it lay just beyond "that large choke point dead ahead". Yes, blissfully onward we went.

Choke points, it turns out, not only funnel the wind through the landmass on either side in a gusty, somewhat unpredictable manner, they also funnel flotsam, such as entire trees, down river. Bobbing, dodging and weaving between the waterborne forrest, we pressed on, stress level rising, but determined to make our destination! It soon became VERY apparent that I had exceeded my comfort level for sailing and bobbing within the naturally created obstacle course, and I announced that I was going to lower the sails and power out of our little wooded minefield. I would be more deftly able to maneuver the boat around the obstacles under power, so we did.

We rounded the edge of the landmass to starboard and motored down the channel toward Belmont Bay. We had, by now, cleared the debris field and entered much calmer water. Small sandy cliffs to the starboard and other boats of all types to port dominated the waterscape. I counted at least 4 large-ish sailboats plying the bay enjoying the windspeed that the choke point seemed to create. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a large (35+) powered cabin cruiser bearing down on us from directly aft. I mean it was coming right at us and was currently about 500 yards to our stern and closing fast. It felt as if we were unseen and then I realized that we were in a slightly narrow channel and that he would most likely veer to port to pass us on our left as we were hugging the right side of the channel, trying to stay out of the way of faster traffic. I flashed quickly to the boater's class and remembered the responsibilities of the give way craft in a passing situation. Unfortunately, it seemed, that the captain of this craft had cheated on his required exam. He continued his bearing directly at us, only veering to our starboard at about 50 yards and passing us, at full throttle, about 25 yards off our starboard, narrowly missing the channel marker on his starboard side.

I was soon to learn the depth of the water phobia of one of the crew (Auntie Em). I had known that she was uncomfortable with being on the water, but I took her enthusiasm to go to be a sign that her fear was a lesser one, the boundaries of which were wide. Another misread sign on my part. We are in a 17 foot boat. The laws of physics state that a 35 foot plus power boat, traveling at full throttle is going to displace a lot of water with a substantial force and create a relatively sizable wake. I did not need to understand the laws of physics, I could see the wake that the boat was throwing and knew that it was going to be a big one. My little 17 footer has about 1.5 feet of freeboard around the cockpit and having never taken such a wave broadside before, I was concerned about being overturned when it hit us. As soon as possible, I swung the motor to turn the boat to starboard to take the wake head on. The little craft rode up the first wave pitching to what felt like a 45 degree, bow-up, angle and crashed with a slap into the trough between the first and second waves. She handled it with no problem, as I anticipated.

With the power boat's engine noise still ringing in my ears and the boat finally settled and back on course, I glanced over to see Auntie Em, clutching both her PFD and the boat. She was horrified, shaking and white knuckling the companionway opening for dear life. I felt bad but there was nothing to be done. We repeated variations on the above sequence of events a dozen or so times in our attempt to navigate the channel to Occoquan Village. I think that for Auntie's next trip, I might want to consider a portable, battery powered defibrilator. What she experienced was abject terror and I would not wish such an experience on ANYONE!!

With the channel behind us and being well within the "no wake" zone, we started to relax and anticipate a less dramatic continuation of our afternoon. Lunch and ice cream was in sight! We had finally made it and could see several marinas filled with boats. I pictured the crews of those boats laughing and drinking a cold drink and eating sandwiches at the weathered and worn bars of the marina restaurants.

With the village in sight, someone (I can't remember who) noticed that it was already 5PM. I was astounded! With food and leisure within our grasp, we were going to have to forego such pleasantries and return for fear of being left out on the water in the dark, another of Auntie's phobias and apparently a greater one than that induced by the wakes of the reckless and discourteous boaters we met inbound in the channel. And so, we turned around to repeat each step of the journey, and each excrutiating experience along the way, in reverse. At least we had the wind at our backs now and experience had told me that a several hour distance traveled into the wind could be traversed on our return trip in a fraction of the time if wind did not change direction.

We made it past the rude power boaters, negotiated the debris field without incident and were headed, under sail, home when all of the sudden a calm filled the air. The wind had begun to die for the evening and there we were, miles from the ramp, the car and the trailer. With darkness setting in and with no desire to put Auntie through any further phobia trauma, I decided to power us the remainder of the way.

On that particular day, the wind was strong enough and the distance short enough that I felt quite comfortable carrying my full 3 gallon fuel tank to power our reserve motor. Why would I need anything else? We would at least sail one way and I knew that we had enough capacity to motor at least one way should we need to. As it turns out, we motored most of the distance that day and with several miles still to go, the motor sputtered to a stop. I knew immediately what the problem was but was not sure whether we were out of gas or if the can just needed to be tilted to allow fuel to get to the plumbing that directed it to the motor. We were quite in the middle of a broad expanse of river when I discovered that I could not get the motor restarted. I pumped the priming bulb furiously and, in the process flooded the motor. On one of my attempts to start the motor using the pull chord, I gashed a knuckle on the stern running light. At first it seemed no big deal, then I caught a glimpse of the water that had been gathering in the cockpit and it was red. There was blood splattered all over the pull chord of the motor as well as on the motor casing itself. Pretty much a gory mess but it really didn't hurt that much and was not that big of a wound. It was just in the right place to bleed like a stuck pig. I had to stop my attempts to start the motor and, at the crews insistence, tend to the bloody stump of a middle finger.

After the bleeding had been stopped using an "WetOne" wipe with some sort of stinging solvent in it, I returned to attempting to start the motor. To my surprise, it started on the second tug. Off we went but it was becoming obvious that we were not going to make the ramp. I was not even certain that we would make the shoreline, but toward the shoreline I went. The small remnants of fuel slowly burning away but moving us closer to some hope of rescue. I instructed the crew to start looking for people who might be hanging out on one of the plethora of docks that lined the near shore, the Virginia side of the Potomac River. I knew that if the need become dire, we could call for gas, but that was going to mean a blow to my already bruised ego, several hours of waiting on the water at night with a water phobic Auntie Em and I was going to do whatever it took to avoid putting her through such an experience, not to mention my wallet.

"Over there! There are some people sitting at a table on that dock over there!"

I motored toward their dock. It must have been obvious that we needed help because as we approached, a weathered older man directed us to "come on in!"

We did, explained our plight, and through the din of laughter from the young men sitting at the table drinking beer and eating peanuts in the shell, found out that we were to be aided by a generous Samaritan who had gas, but no oil for our 2 stroke motor. Luckily, we had 8 ounces of oil left in a quart bottle that I had loaded onboard just for such an occasion. We paid him $20 for his gas and his trouble, a fee that he was very reluctant to take, but it seemed like a cheap solution to what was evolving to be a major problem. He asked us if we were trying to get back to Pohick and we told him that we were indeed. He pointed to a bend in the river and told us that we had to get around it and one more and we would be home. "Not far," he said.

Thanks to the generosity of strangers, we were on our way. We rounded the two points with the sun going down on us. It was, perhaps, one the nicer sunsets that I have had the privilege of experiencing. We were able to let go, for a time, of the stresses of the day and finally relax during the final leg of our trip, confident in our full tank of gas and our direction home. For me, it was a trying day, wrought with some embarrassments, but one that left me confident in my small craft and increased my level of confidence to handle the unexpected and perhaps even foolishly unforeseen incidents that are bound to arise.

Of course trailering and de-rigging the boat in the dark was a challenge and there was the little incident of me not having put the caps on the water tank or the holding tank of the porti-potti before we set out that day (and yes it did get used) and not realizing until we parked the boat in the driveway. But those are other stories for another time.

Happy sailing!