NAKED TRUTH, UNSINKABLE MANNERS
ARE CRUCIAL IN A JAM
Fred Dyson – Dyson's Starboard View – Messing About in Boats
I would guess that Miss Manners never went to sea, but good manners should go with you every time you do. We have seen many accidents, lots of hard feelings, and even a murder or two when boating people are not considerate.
One spring holiday morning I woke up with a hangover and the blues. The sun was trying to burn through the morning fog and a light breeze was puffing from the Northwest. I grabbed some food, a good book, and untied my sailboat, the Sally, from the dock along side of my houseboat. The breeze took me through the Montlake Cut on a broad reach and silently out into Union Bay.
As the Sally and I got further away from the noise of traffic, I thought I heard organ music above the throbbing of my head. I put the tiller over and steered into the fog to investigate. In a few minutes, a yacht loomed out of the mist, and I altered course and pulled in the sheet (line on the sail) to pass astern of her. The bow of another boat showed up off my port (left) side, but I missed it. The organ music was louder and playing to something floating in the water. I steered for it and leaned over the lower side of the boat to grab it.
To my astonishment it was a large wreath. I was stunned. The fog was lifting rapidly and I looked around. I was in the center of a large circle of very fancy yachts, with angry people waving boat hooks at me. They were having a Memorial Day service and spreading the ashes of a revered associate. I recommitted the wreath to the deep, bowed to the glarlng crowd, and exited on the starboard tack. I resolved to pay more attention to holidays and music in the future.
On another small boat trip I neglected another maritime courtesy by forgetting to hail a vessel as I approached. I was in the middle of a two-week kayak trip, and I had run out of both jam and peanut butter to go on my pilot bread. (Pilot bread is a large white cracker, that won't spoil, that sailors substitute for bread on longer voyages.) This deprivation was intolerable, so when I saw a fifty-foot powerboat anchored up in a cove, I paddled over to see if I could liberate some relief.
I paddled up to the port bow of the vessel. I had tied a red handkerchief around my bald head to keep from boiling my remaining brains, but I did not consider how I appeared. I stood up and looked over the deck right into the eyes of a very attractive and very naked young woman who was sunbathing. I stammered something about peanut butter; she yelled something about pirates. A very large and very angry man came running out on deck, waving a boat hook in a very bellicose manner. I left.
I felt bad about my maritime manners, but the angry man also neglected one of the great traditions of the sea. When you shoot at another boat, you are supposed to fire across the bow as a warning. This man seemed to fire his shotgun at our stem. So, my seafaring friends, don't leave your manners on the deck.
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