[Sunday, April 18th, in a marina, along the West Coast of the United States...]
Just had a bit of excitement in the marina.
New guy - trying to find his new slip...on a 25 ft. tiller-controlled sailboat - with an outboard.
He heads down the wrong channel...realizes he needs to turn around.
He's only using the outboard - not paying attention to the tiller.
He's not paying attention to the wind.
They begin to drift into some boats.
He hits three. Broadside, along his port.
He decided what he needs is max thrust from the outboard.
Did I mention he isn't paying attention to the tiller?
Now, he's 100% focused on the outboard.
He's now also not paying attention to where the bow is pointing.
I'm yelling at him to cut his power.
He does so. Momentarily. Thank You Baby Jesus.
He begins to drift into some boats again.
He immediately decides what he needs is max thrust, again.
[I continue beseeching him to cut his power, repeatedly. Yet, throughout his Tasmanian dance-of-death along the marina channel - he continues to ignore my advice.]
Did I mention he isn't paying attention to his tiller?
He's also not paying attention to where his bow is pointing.
His wife is on the bow - they are fast approaching the stern of a sailboat...at max thrust...an image of parts of her body (fingers, hands, legs, arms) getting caught between the two boats flickers through my mind...or, her being flung from the bow into the concrete pillar at the end of the dock. I cringe in anticipation of the imminent contact between the faster moving bow...and the stationary boat tied to the dock.
At this point, he decides to leave the cockpit (Sweet Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!! - he really is an IDIOT) - and heads to the bow.
Did I mention he is still under max thrust?
As he reaches the amidship area of the boat - the imminent situation dawns upon him...and he turns to head back to the cockpit (but, too late...)
He careens into the port-stern quarter of the sailboat. Hard.
(by a miracle, two port-stern dock lines take the brunt of the hit, acting as a safety net)
As he ricochets off that hit - he somehow manages to bang into the stern-mounted outboard on that boat - and damages the stern of another sailboat to his port.
Did I mention he is new to the marina?
That sailboat he just hit? It belongs to one of the women who work in the marina office. This guy's life just got infinitely worse, in ways he cannot yet possibly fathom.
I call the marina office to let them know what is going on...all while shouting at this guy to cut his power.
Now, he's backed off from hitting that boat (of course, with max thrust)...so now he's beginning to drift back across channel. It looks like he is going to hit some boats on my side of the channel.
Again, he decides the only solution is max thrust.
Did I mention this guy is an idiot?
But, per his training (?) - his sole focus is his outboard.
Not his tiller.
Not his bow.
Meanwhile, I've been banging on an empty 5 gallon fuel jug - and yelling - to get people to come up on deck and help ward off this Wrong-Way Tasmanian Devil Menace. Only one person hears me. The wind is carrying my voice away. An ephemeral thought passes through my mind - next time I'll use the air horn.
Now, he looks to be heading for the stern of a friend's sailboat. Again, at max thrust.
Did I mention, he is solely focused on his outboard?
And, that he isn't paying attention to his bow?
This is where I'm thinking "Jesus, Take the Wheel" would be a better plan right about now.
At the last moment, he veers away...at max thrust...toward my side of the channel...but eventually course corrects...and powers out into the main channel.
I call the Harbor Patrol to alert them to this new menace.
My heart is still racing, 20 minutes after this excitement.
This is NOT how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning.
Some of the best advice for anyone stepping aboard a boat for the first time:
"Never approach a dock faster than you are willing to hit it."
