Multiple oops
Having spent most of last year living aboard while cruising the eastern seaboard, I've learned to embrace embarassing moments as charcter-building experiences...yeah, right!One cold morning last fall we were in Thunderbolt, GA getting ready to continue south on the ICW. My wife and I got up in the pre-dawn gloom and went ashore to use the facilities which consisted of two concrete-block bathrooms. Being reasonably well-aquainted with each other, we decided to share the sink and shower in one rather than occupy both so we sepped in and closed the door. The door was bent slightly and the latch didn't quite engage the latch plate correctly so I pulled the door util it flexed slightly and the latch clicked into place...oops! When I tried to turn the knob to open the door, it was no longer connected to the latch...plans for an early start vanished as we contemplated spending the next several hours in the bathroom until the marina staff came in to work...Fortunately, some other boater decided to take an insanely early shower and was curious about why we were pounding on the wall and yelling. After he retrieved some tools from his boat and managed to slide them under the door, we were able to disassemble the latch and escape, slightly abashed.In the spring, we left our boat in Norfolk, VA for a month while we went to deal with shoreside things for a few weeks. As a precaution against storms, we'd taken our sails down and stowed them so, on our return, we needed to put the genoa bck on the furler. I clipped the halyard to the sail, threaded the first few inches of the luff into the furlerfoil, and went aft to grind the winch while my wife fed the sail onto the furler. As I ground away on the winch, hunched under our dodger, I listened to the steady stream of comments from my wife about how awkward the sail was and how it didn't seem the right shape and I wondered how anybody who had sailed more than 5000 miles could possibly know so little about her own headsail...Finally, my daughter who had been wandering the docks came back and said that the headsail really didn't look right and I really should come and look at it. Grumbling about the lack of faith in the skipper, I grudgingly climbed onto the dosk and looked at our headstay...sure enough, I had clipped to halyard to the tack and hoisted the genoa upside-down as a giant, 50-foot high, An-Idiot-Is-Docked-Here signal.A few weeks later, we were sailed across Long Island sound in a nice fresh breeze when something red float past the leward side. I was a bit surprised because I hadn't seen the float coming, but pleased that I had missed it by enough that there was no danger of snagging it. When I glance at it a moment later as it dropped astern, I realized it was a nice speherical fender and commented to my wife that somebody upwind hadn't exercised proper care in securing their fender but that we were sailing so nicely that I didn't really feel like running about adjusting sails to go back for it. You could almost feel the beat as the boat lengths ticked off before it finally dawned on me and I looked at our own foredeck...yep, one of our two spherical fenders was missing!