Totally Non-Climbing TR

[murraysovereign]

Day’s Objective: Squamish to Granville Island and back, by water, via the “Standard Route” through Howe Sound and English Bay.

 

Date: 8 August '05

 

This trip started out poorly, but finished off well. As with air travel, in which the take-off and landing are the most dangerous stages of the journey, I encountered an unexpected technical crux right at the start. Or, actually, before I even got started, really. Try to imagine a passenger jet crashing in the process of backing away from the gate. Sort of like that.

 

Usually, launching the boat is a fairly straight-forward operation: a) back boat and trailer down launch ramp until boat is in the water; b) release catch on trailer winch, allowing boat to float free of trailer; c) secure boat to whatever is handy so it doesn’t drift away while you d) park the vehicle and trailer before e) driving away blissfully in boat. Simple. Usually.

 

This time, for some reason the boat seemed to hang up on the trailer once I’d backed it into the water. Try as I might, I couldn’t get it to roll more than 6 or 8 feet back off the trailer. While I was walking around in the water trying to figure out the obstruction, I happened to glance into the boat. In the same instant that I noticed a large volume of water in the boat, I also noticed the drain plug twist-tied onto the throttle lever next to the steering wheel, where I always leave it to ensure that I remember to put it back into the stern drainhole before launching the boat. On this occasion, I appear to have forgotten. As the boat filled with water through the drain hole, it had sunk down onto the trailer rather than floating weightless above it, and was thus stuck fast.

 

So the solution seemed quite simple: winch the boat back up onto the trailer and drive a short distance back up the ramp, allowing the water to drain out of the boat. Then put the drain plug in, and re-launch the boat. No problem.

 

Well, maybe one problem. The combined weight of the boat and the large volume of water onboard was apparently more than the winch could handle. Although the first few cranks produced encouraging results, the winch suddenly seized up, and would move neither forward nor back. Close inspection revealed that a number of gears had stripped under the load, and in fact the entire frame of the winch was twisting and buckling. So the boat was still full of water, still 3 or 4 feet too far back on the trailer, and I had no way of pulling it further forward. But, I thought, I could simply drive forward a few feet, just enough to allow the water to drain out. Then I could insert the plug, re-launch the boat, and be on my way. No problem.

 

Well, maybe one more problem. While pulling the truck up the ramp a few feet, I heard a loud “BANG”. When I looked in the rear-view mirror, I saw what looked like the underside of the boat pointing steeply upwards, which is not entirely normal. In fact, I have never before seen any boat behave this way. When I got out to see what had happened, I found that not only the boat, but also the trailer, were both pointing skyward. It seems the weight of the water combined with the boat’s position hanging off the back of the trailer had produced a terrific amount of leverage, so much so that the trailer hitch had released vertically off the ball mount. The only thing now restraining the combined weight of trailer, boat, and water was a very frail-looking, rusty 1/4” chain looped around the bumper. It was as tight as a piano wire, at about a 45 degree angle up from the bumper to the trailer hitch. I was initially afraid to get close to it, for fear it was about to snap and send bits of chain-link shrapnel in all directions. But something had to be done, since the status quo was clearly untenable. So I rummaged about and found a couple of nice angular rocks to block the wheels of the trailer so it couldn’t roll further back into the water. My plan, again, was simple: stand on the trailer hitch to bring the bow downward, thus raising the stern sufficiently to allow the water to drain, then insert the plug, re-attach the trailer to the truck, and launch the boat, finally. This was eventually what happened, but not right away. Not by a long shot.

 

When I climbed onto the trailer hitch, nothing happened. This was not surprising since I am not a large man, and the mass of water on the other end of this lever was several times my puny weight. But I found that by gripping the lip of the truck canopy and pulling up on it with all my might, I was able to start bringing the bow down, ever so slowly, as bit by bit more water drained out the back, making the stern lighter, allowing me to pull the bow down another couple of inches, allowing more water to drain out, and so on, until I eventually had the boat and trailer back down to a more normal attitude. So I had made important progress, but yet another problem (can you believe it?) now revealed itself.

 

Upon being released from the ball-mount, the trailer had, in accordance with the laws of physics, rolled backwards down the ramp until the chain snapped tight. So now, even though I had wrestled the hitch back down level with the ball mount, there was still a horizontal gap of about 18” between the trailer and the truck, and I was trapped. I couldn’t leave my position on the trailer hitch or it would flip back into the water, the boat would fill up, and I’d be right back where I started. My options appeared limited.

 

Up until this point, everything I had done was basically a one-person job. Now it seemed I needed help. Being a man, however small in stature, it is understood that one cannot, ever, under any circumstances, actually appeal for help: it simply isn’t done. But if help suddenly appears, then as an absolute last resort it is permissible to accept such help, as long as you repeatedly assure them that it really isn’t necessary. So I started looking around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. In particular, I was looking at the very crowded docks of the Squamish Yacht Club, immediately adjacent the boat launch. In spite of the large number of boats, there was not a soul to be seen. Either they were all at lunch, or they were merely out of sight, rolling on the floors of their vessels, helpless and screaming with laughter.

 

Whichever was the case, it appeared I was on my own. So what to do? I briefly contemplated a dramatic leap off the trailer hitch into the boat where I would quickly jam the plug into the drain before the boat re-filled with water. This was clearly not plausible, and possibly suicidal – I had visions of myself being catapulted up and over the boat as it flipped backwards, probably breaking my neck on impact in the shallow, rocky waters, and thus drowning. (Can you imagine the episode of “CSI: Squamish” where they try to figure out how and why it had happened?) Alternatively, I could let the boat drop back down into the water long enough to jump into the truck and roll it back the 18” needed to re-couple the trailer, then climb back onto the trailer hitch and resume the wearying process of slowly pulling the bow down as the water drained out yet again. This was at least feasible, but not an appealing prospect.

 

By this time my arms were, to say the least, getting tired from the sustained exertion of lifting upwards on the truck canopy in order to hold the bow of the boat down, and I knew I had to do something soon before I ran out of strength altogether. This was when I noticed that, since I had now brought the bow down to its proper level, there was quite a bit of slack in the back-up chain that had formerly been so frighteningly taut. So as a stop-gap exercise in damage control, I decided to at least re-fasten the chain to eliminate all the slack. That way I could get off the trailer hitch to perform whatever maneuver was to come next, and the boat at least would not flip all the way back to where it had been. So, with my right arm now pulling up on the bumper to keep everything in equilibrium, I reached down with my left hand and unscrewed the nut and bolt that connected the two ends of the chain. I then pulled all the slack chain tight, and wrapped the excess once around the bumper for good measure before fumbling the bolt back through the chain ends and then… dropped the nut into the murky water below me. So now I had one option, and one option only – find that nut. And find it fast, I might add – my right arm by this time was fairly howling with pain. But remember – I couldn’t leave my position on the trailer hitch, more-so now than ever. If the boat tipped upwards now, with the chain disconnected, there would be nothing at all to restrain it and it could very well flip right the whole way over backwards. If that happened I feared for the health of those members of the Squamish Yacht Club, who would just now finally be regaining their composure, only to be stricken helpless again at the sight of my boat floating upside down in the harbour, still attached to its trailer.

 

So now, with true desperation setting in, I began delicately re-positioning myself so as to be able to balance on the trailer hitch as I reached down into the water with my left hand, while still retaining a death-grip on the bumper with what strength remained in my right. After picking up a number of items that turned out to be pebbles, I finally got hold of the nut and, with my hand trembling like a nervous bridegroom, I tried to slip the nut onto the waiting bolt. And dropped it back into the water. My right arm by now felt as if it had been partially amputated, and I was panicking as I groped around in the murk. But mercifully, I found the nut again without much trouble, and this time managed to thread it onto the bolt and tighten it down. Finally, my right arm could let go, and as it did the trailer rose slowly but, held down by the shortened chain, it was unable to lift itself skyward the way it had done earlier. So now I had only to back the truck down the ramp until the ball mount and the trailer hitch lined up, re-couple them, and take a very long, deep breath. Then, finally, more than an hour later than I should have, I set the plug in the drain hole. Whew!

 

Now totally paranoid about what else might go wrong, I went through a pre-launch checklist that would make NASA look hasty and careless by comparison, before finally convincing myself it was safe to put the boat in the water. And from this point on, the day was largely uneventful. The run down Howe Sound was choppy but not rough, and the sun was bright and warm, and I was deeply relieved to finally be away from that cursed boat launch. English Bay was a bit more interesting, with sizeable swells rolling in from two or three different directions at once, but it was nothing the boat couldn’t handle and I made good time all the way to Granville Island. The beauty of all this is that the original purpose of the trip was to visit the marine supply shops just off Granville Island to pick up some odd parts and fittings for the boat. So in the interests of efficiency I decided to also pick up a new, beefier trailer winch, you know, since I was there anyhow. Oh, and maybe a new hitch for the trailer as well – I’ll never again be able to fully trust the old one. And then back in the boat and out on the water for the return trip, which was also blissfully uneventful, and included a stop in the lee of Anvil Island where I cut the engine and just drifted for a couple of hours. I’ve been going there a lot lately to escape the heat, or rather to wallow in it. I sprawl out in the back seat with a good book and a cooler full of cold ginger beers, alternately reading and taking in the view and snoozing in the sun. When it gets too hot, I strip off and roll over the side for a swim, then pick up the book and keep reading until it gets too hot, and go over the side to cool off again, and repeat as often as I damn well please. There’s usually not another soul out there except me and a few seals, and the occasional eagle. It’s as close to perfect relaxation as I’ve ever found.

 

I eventually got back to Squamish with a couple of hours’ daylight remaining, which gave me plenty of time to install the new winch on the trailer so I could get the boat out of the water. I was pretty hesitant about pulling the loaded trailer back up that ramp, half-expecting the old hitch to release again, but I didn’t have the tools or the time to replace it with the new one. So with bated breath and white knuckles I slowwwly crept it up out of the water and onto level ground, waiting for a loud “BANG” that never came. Thank God.

 

Approach Notes Read my lips: "put the drain plug in, you bonehead."

 

Gear: 1 boat. While not strictly necessary, it helps if the boat was inheritted from your late father, who you miss dearly. Thanks for everything, Dad, except maybe that trailer hitch.

 

1 Drain-plug, (see approach notes, above)

 

1 Trailer Winch, rated for several times as much weight as you ever expect to have to pull.

 

1 Trailer Hitch, preferably less than 40 years old, as they seem to become unreliable with age.

 

Sunglasses, sunscreen, 1 good book, 1 cooler full of cold drinks, 3 tanks of gas, and 1 day to kill.

[Alpinfox]

[Iapetus999]

I had a car-trailer pop loose once when I was loading a $17K tractor onto it. Apparently the trailer hitch was not properly attached to the receiver. If this had happened while driving I shudder to think what the damage could be. Fortunately the chains prevented any permanent damage...except that the electrical plug was shorter than the chains and ripped the wires out of the back of plug...I had to have the manufacturer send me a fax of how to re-wire the plug. I also put my $XXK car on this trailer sometimes...

 

Glad you finally had a good day of it!

[foraker]

Saw many examples of something similar in Seward whilst growing up. One classic comes to mind. Some gentleman, apparently unfamiliar with the tides there, hitched his boat to pole of the floating dock, rather than to the dock itself. It was rather impressive to come upon this later, at low tide, to see a 20' cabin cruiser hanging in mid-air by nothing more than a single line of rope.

 

My father's example of this was to fail, somehow, to lock the boat to the trailer which was attached to our Amerigo camper. While driving down out of Turnagain Pass, we were set upon by some crazed yahoo behind us who kept waving and flashing his lights. He finally found a straight spot on this curvy mountainous road,pulled up along side us, and screamed 'You lost your boat!' I might add this was a 21' cabin cruiser, something not insignificant. Thinking the worst, we turned around and high-tailed back up the road to find it resting up against the trees on the opposite side of the road.

While posing a bit of a conundrum as to how to get it back onto the road, we were merely thankful that, in leaving the trailer and crossing the road it had not run headlong into a family travelling the opposite direction. We were also glad that it had not ejected itself into maw of the valley on the opposite side of the road, where it would surely have fragmented into a million pieces. To this day, we don't know how we could have failed to notice it falling off the trailer. Suffice it to say, I reckon that was the beginning of the end of my father's interest in boats. These days, he just mutters and says "What was I thinking? Why didn't I just rent one?"

[JayB]

Funny as hell Murray.

 

Good to hear that you can escape from the shop every now and then, eh.

Edited August 10, 2005 by JayB

[Alpinfox]

 

"A boat is a hole in the water that you pour money into" -??

[catbirdseat]

Great story Murray. You should submit it to one of the boating magazines. I'd be willing to bet they'd publish it.

 

I recall an incident many years ago in which we were attempting to bring my brothers Laser sailboat home from the Yacht Club on top of the family station wagon (a '71 Kingswood Estate Wagon). My Dad had tied it, bow forward, upside down on the roof. I was of the opinion that the boat was sitting bow heavy and needed to be moved back and more lines secured. But my Dad, as usual, said, "aw, it's good enough, let's get out of here!". We didn't even get out of the parking lot. My Dad hit the brakes rather hard to avoid an oncoming car he hadn't noticed. The boat slid forward and a big, honking cleat first broke the windshield before severely damaging the hood.

[foraker]

If you were going to submit it, I'd make it sound more Dave Barry-esque, esp. flesh out your lack of adjectives and metaphors in describing the "Squamish Yacht Club" ;-)

[olyclimber]

[Dechristo]

Thanks for the rendering of your painful turned pleasurable story... enjoyable.

 

Although, this phrase bothers me - "...I finally got hold of the nut and, with my hand trembling like a nervous bridegroom..."

[catbirdseat]

Just change bridegroom to bride.

[ketch]

Great Story Murray, I second the submit idea.

I ran a boat yard for a while. A fairly new mechanic hauled a customers boat once. We soon saw him running down the ramp following the boat which was skidding on it's transom, him yelling "wait" along with several other choice words. He never did make it past the new mechanic stage but in retrospect it was pretty funny to watch.

[sobo]

That was hilarious! I, too, second the idea of seeking a publisher.

[thelawgoddess]

sweet, murray - what a gripping tale! glad you were able to eventually continue your voyage.

[Kitergal]

OMFG!! That was some of the funniest shiznit I've read in a while!! Anyone who's launched a boat, or has witnessed boat launching totally understands!! Definately submit to boating mags!! THAT WAS AWESOME!! Thanks for sharing!!