A Mighty Powerless Docking
A Mighty Powerless Docking By Lee Hogman Have you ever had to deal with a finicky outboard motor that refused to idle? When I first got my 21-footer, Cool Change, to which my wife often refers as my "mid-life toy," the outboard ran great in all throttle positions but idle. It would run for a bit and then die—and at the worst possible times, of course. The motor would conk out when motoring into the marina, away from the islands, when trying to approach the dock, etc., so you can imagine my frustration. My lovely bride often hid in the cabin, refusing to come out until we were docked. This outboard motor was fast becoming the demise of my desire for sailing, but I wasn't about to give in to some piece of machinery intent on destroying my lifelong dream of gliding on the water. Until that one day when my fortitude and sense of humor were severely put to the test. I sail Cool Change on Carlyle Lake, IL. On that particular day, the wind was blowing across the ramp at about five knots. The motor died about 10 yards from the dock and I thought we'd make it on the momentum we had. Well, for each foot traveled forward, we'd drift a foot sideway away from the dock due to the wind. Whereas this wouldn't be a problem just about anywhere else on the lake, large rock rip-rap surrounds this particular boat ramp. I quickly realized that something would have to be done to avoid a confrontation between rocks and hull, so I hauled the main up and steered a course for open water. We swung around and went away from the dock by about 50 yards. I had read plenty about docking under sail, but had never actually tried it. So white-knuckles and all, we sailed toward the dock. As everyone knows, theory and actual practice usually have much different results—I dropped the main as we approached the dock, only to have a very similar result as when the motor died the first time. I hoisted the main again and steered the great circle route back into the lake. They say that three times a charm, so I pointed the bow at the dock and went for broke (no pun intended). Coming in a bit faster, I dropped the main a little closer to the dock this time. My wife yelled that she thought that we would hit the end of the dock, but my cool head and advanced sailing skills (read " sheer luck") kicked in and I turned the boat in time to miss the dock. Unfortunately, the concrete ramp was now approaching quickly. I shoved the tiller hard-over and the pointy end of the boat swung about neatly, away from the ramp (remember that wind?) and away from the rocky shore. So, since I wanted more practice anyway, I hoisted the mainsail once again and we headed out into the lake. For the fourth try, I knew I finally had the procedure down pat, so we circled and headed in. I should mention that the wind was blowing a bit harder now. I stuck to dropping the mainsail at about the same place as before, but was pointed to the windward side of the dock this time, since that pontoon boat that had taken 15 minutes to load was finally gone. That "stinkin'" wind wasn’t going to blow us away this time, by gum! As the boat approached the dock, my wife screamed that this time our forward progress seemed to greatly exceed the optimum closure rate between boat and dock—I quickly realized that her assessment was correct. I grabbed the aft anchor and pitched it backward into the water. The anchor line quickly grew taught and the boat came to a sudden, beautiful, complete stop before hitting the dock, ramp, or rocks—but still about three feet from the end of the dock. Our friendly wind promptly blew us in this big arch, pointing us away from the dock, ramp, and shore again. So (you guessed it), I pulled up the anchor, raised the mainsail, and we circled out again. By our fifth attempt, both my wife's and my confidence were quickly fading at our ever being successful at getting off the lake that day, but we tried once more. I noticed that the number of on-lookers had grown to at least a dozen and many had begun to yell suggestions for docking. We approached pretty hot this time since the wind was upward of eight to 10 knots with no signs of easing. This time I repeated the attempt on the upwind side of the dock, but did not lower the mainsail, which promptly created a great commotion from both my wife and the crowd of on-lookers. As the bow of the boat quickly passed the end of the dock, I grabbed the boom and shoved for all I was worth to windward—and the boat began to slow. A gasp and then a hush fell across the crowd as the boat continued to slow. Some on-lookers, thinking the boat wouldn't stop in time, ran to the edge of ramp to keep the bow from hitting concrete—we were committed now! The saving grace was that I had neglected to raise the keel much past about halfway up throughout all this. The keel bottomed near the end of the ramp and, combined with my back-winding the main, stopped the boat about three feet from where the bow would have hit in very shallow water. The wind pushed us sideway the one or so foot to the dock and the boat gently kissed the dock to signal our long-awaited, successful arrival. At once, my wife jumped to the dock with line in hand and started to secure us to a cleat as the crowd of on-lookers cheered our final arrival. Being justly proud of myself for being so clever, I started to step to the dock, ready to ease the mainsail down (yup, I still had a hold on the boom) when a gust of wind hit the sail. With the sheets fully loose and me with only one hand on the boom and in the middle of stepping to the dock, the boom swung hard over the cockpit and across the dock. The basic result was that I was catapulted across the dock and into the lake on the other side! When I rose from the water with no apparent injuries and took a bow, all present burst into gales of laughter (OK, those that weren't already laughing). I slogged my way out of the lake, went to the boat, and dropped the mainsail. The rest of the recovery went just as smooth as a well-chilled beer. I must clarify that I have long since I acquired another motor and things are going great. As my proverbial hole in the water into which I continuously pour money into, Cool Change has been and, I expect, will continue to be a source of great pleasure for many years to come. My sailboat is not top of the line, not brand new, and not the latest in design or technology—so what? It’s all mine and it sails just fine, now that the outboard has been replaced!
