Dear Crew (Continued)

Ahoy Mates ...

(picking up where we left off in the account of the Battle of the Small Point Armada from the loser's perspective) yes, Wiley old Cap'n Bob repositioned the repositioned Tara's rudder post and refastened its hose clamps so that Team Feinstein + 1 was indeed able to enter into the second of the fleet's two races and make it successfully around the racecourse without taking on any more water. Of course, for those in the know, the distinction of taking on the most water was later to be achieved when Cap'n Bob, himself, took the tiller. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of meself...

With Tara dry and safely back on her mooring, and Adam, Jess, and Noah subsequently headed south by southwest and back to the world of work, Cap'n Bob recruited a new crew to man the mighty GG in an expedition to the uncharted waters of Booth Bay Harbor. To Sarah, Devon, Daniel, Eliza, and Elizabeth, it was billed simply as a 3 hour cruise (sung to the refrain from "Gilligan's Island"). Bright and early, we headed north and west to the Seahorse lobster pound to take on ample fuel for what we all envisioned would be the summer's grandest voyage. Within half an hour, we were snugly moored to the gas dock, slaking GG's thirst for adventure with 100 gallons of high octane. Everything was going smoothly until ... oops, a mere pint or two of the heady brew welled up out of the boat's fuel inlet and spilled onto the ocean's surface to instantly imperil a mere $8,000.00 supply of live lobsters floating nearby in storage crates tied to the dock. Awkwaaarrdd! Under the grim eye of the pound's owner, the hearty GG crew sprang into action and made a valiant effort to redirect the oil slick away from the lobsters. Aided by the tide and the wind, the crew was successful, and chastened but relieved, they bade Seahorse farewell. Booth Bay here we come!

In a gentle breeze, under a clear blue sky across a sparkling sea, the mighty GG headed down east past Wood Island, Bald Head, Cape Small, Seawall Beach, and Seguin Island. Three miles beyond Seguin, with Booth Bay beckoning on the horizon, Able Seaman Elizabeth Vaughan sang out, "I smell something!" This was seconded by Able Seaman Eliza Lagerquist, "I do, too!" So Cap'n Bob throttled back and raised the engine housing to reveal Smokefest of the Sea, aka the GG's 450 King Cobra inboard outboard engine, gasping and snapping and choking in a maelstrom of blue black fumes. Able Seaman Bassuk leapt to the cabin for a fire extinguisher (which expired 8 years previously). Able Seaman D.R. Vaughan, grandson of the blamingest blamer, declared, "I didn't do it, Dad!" (This remark may be apocryphal.) Undaunted, Cap'n Bob calmly plucked his trusty cellphone from his pocket, called Bamforth Marine for guidance, and within minutes confirmed that they were not, in fact, on a 3 hour cruise. Instead, over the next 6 hours, the Zodiac rubber boat was launched to search for help, the GG was anchored in 150 feet of water in which it snagged a string of lobster pots so that the anchor was rendered almost unretrievable, the GG was towed to Seguin by friendly rescue boat number one (Ned Motley's Beetle Bomb), and then the GG was towed from Seguin to Small Point Harbor by rescue boat number two (Billy Hoffman's ) during which the GG's rotting docklines were strung together as tow ropes. They broke and were retied approximately 12 times in route. Late that afternoon, or was it early evening, the GG was brought to her mooring, wounded, perhaps fatally, but all her crew were accounted for, no one was injured, and another boating diaster recovery was etched into our collective psyches. "That's it for the summer," thought Cap'n Bob. Little did he know what yet was to come. See you soon in our next installment, "Pride goeth before a swim!"