My heart sank as my outboard motor pivoted up out of the dark, tannin
colored water, the propeller my new 70 horsepower Yamaha cloaked in a
mangled, dripping wet, wire mesh crab trap. Our German friends from
Berlin stood up, looking over the stern railing of our equally new
pontoon boat to see what the problem was. We were being blown about
by the incessant wind as I raised the motor to see the damage, still in
shock from the sudden, unexpected tooth-jarring stop. The outboard
motor had died immediately, something that always gets a boater's
attention.
We wallowed at the mercy of mother nature in the wide, shallow
mangrove creek while I knelt on the transom, leaning over the motor
to see how badly damaged the motor was. The prop was completely
wrapped in black, chicken-wire mesh and thick, bent re-bar. Re-bar is
the steel reinforcing rod used in cement construction. Commercial
crabbers make the frames of their traps out of re-bar. It is cheap,
strong, heavy, and takes a long time to rust out. You don't bend
re-bar with your bare hands. The crab trap had a dead bait fish in
it, but no crabs. It had probably been set just before I ran over its
buoy, wrapping the line around my propeller and pulling the trap off
the bottom. I had been watching my wife, Ilse, while she asked me a
question and didn't see the white, Styrofoam marker and our new
Bennington 20 foot pontoon boat came to an abrupt halt. Rather
silently, I may add. The mangrove creek was empty except for a few
crab traps haphazardly strung down the center.
How I got here in the first place would give most boaters gray hair.
I had taken the weather forecast for granted earlier in the day and
gotten into deep, deep trouble. No, not the TV forecast many
recreational boaters rely on, but the official NOAA, National Oceanic
and Atmospheric Administration, forecast. In fact, I listened to it
on my hand-held VHF marine radio just before I throttled up into
Charlotte Harbor, headed south toward Cape Haze from our home port
up-river just off the scenic Myakka River. Five to ten knots out of
the south, decreasing to five knots by afternoon. Great! If I can
handle the out-bound waves, we'll be in great shape for the return
trip.
Trust me, a pontoon boat is not meant for open water and three-foot
seas. Normal boats have a pointy end, called the bow, which usually
goes through the water first, and some kind of front cover to keep
water out of the boat. The end is pointy so water will flow smoothly
around it. The back end of a boat, called the stern, is flat and rarely is called upon to go first. To the casual observer, a
pontoon boat looks the same at each end. It really does have pointy
ends that go first, but there is no fore-deck to divert water that may
come over the bow. In that case, all your passengers get wet feet
and soggy bags if they left them on the floor. Pontoon boats are not
blue-water boats.
I had taken our guests up-stream two days earlier to show them the
many alligators found sunning themselves in the fresh water along the
river banks between Rambler's Rest campground and Snook Haven, just a
few miles north. That trip was perfect for our pontoon boat, and now
we wanted to fulfill our guest's wishes of seeing porpoises, or
dolphins, in the wild. So, for this trip we headed south into the
salt water of Charlotte Harbor. Our visitors from Berlin had a narrow
window before heading back to winter in Germany, so if we didn't get
out today, we probably wouldn't have the opportunity to show them
Bull Bay or Turtle Bay, and quite possibly miss seeing the dolphins
we are accustomed to in the area.
An hour and twenty minutes after we started out, we slowed and pulled
into protected Cape Haze Bay, bumping the sandy bottom only once as I
turned toward the protect anchorage twenty feet or so too early. The
wind was a solid ten knots out of the south, but our little
Bennington had fared well. We hadn't even come close to taking any
waves over the front deck, so everything was perfect. According to
the weather report, everything from here on was going to be a piece
of cake.
We took photos of an obliging dolphin that circled the boat several
times and gave us plenty of photo opportunities. It was as if I had
scheduled its appearance just for our visitors. We slowly motored
around the point and soon found out weather was going to be a major
player after all. The building winds out of the south prevented us
from landing on one of our favorite beaches, ripping my stern anchor
loose and causing us to cut our stay short.
We toodled along for a few minutes in the strengthening winds headed
west toward Bull Bay, then decided to turn around and head for home
instead. The winds were increasing, not decreasing. Too late. As we
headed back into the open water of Charlotte Harbor, the following
seas were too heavy for a straight heading back toward the Myakka
River. Afraid of burying the bow and the following sea rushing
behind, I took a northeasterly course across Charlotte Harbor toward
Punta Gorda which allowed me to at least control the boat in the
building seas without taking water over the bow or being swamped from
behind. We were soon in three foot seas and fifteen mile per hour
winds from my right rear quarter. Disney World has nothing in its
ride inventory to compare with the trip. The nine-mile trip across
open water in a pontoon boat was a thrill to say the least, but I
only drenched my passengers once. I couldn't go faster than nine or
ten miles and hour and still control the boat, so it was a simple
grit your teeth and hang-on type trip. I couldn't prevent one huge
breaker from sloshing water over the port bow, but at least our
guests were in good, if not soaked, humor. It was a real test for our
ten year old Golden Retriever who squeezed himself between our guests
for most of the bone-jarring trip. He gave me more desperate stares
than my wife did.
We finally pulled into the Ponce Inlet canal at Ponce De Leon Park
and sighed with relief to get out of the heavy wind and rolling seas.
We throttled back to idle and found the wind still pushing us through
the canyon of big boats nestled safely up on their dry lifts. The
twenty minute respite from the incessant see-sawing across wave
crests and troughs was enough to give everyone a chance to see if
their sense of adventure, if not their sense of humor, had survived.
Cutting through Punta Gorda Isles brought me out into the Peace River
in the lee of the winds from the south. I took a direct course across
the Peace River, then aimed westward toward the entrance to the
shallow Hog Island Cutoff which would once again get us out of the
fifteen knot wind. The last few minutes across the Peace River once
again found me fighting the steering as I minimized our exposure to
the moderate seas as much as possible.
I entered the Cutoff on the western side, avoiding the sand bar that
catch many boaters unaware, and throttled back to a comfortable
cruise through the shallow mangrove creek that always reminds me of
the Florida Keys. Several dedicated fishermen watched as we glided
past, once again enjoying the relative quiet. We were almost through
the two mile long creek, enjoying the twisty parts and joking about
taking a “short cut” when we slammed to a sloshing halt.
Our German friends immediately set the front anchor when they realized we were drifting toward the mangroves. Luckily they are as at home on the water as we are, and knew exactly what to do as I was preoccupied with the other end of the boat.
I propped myself against the stern and after the required expletives,
began prying the wire chicken-mesh from around the prop. If I had to
use heavy leverage, I would have to get off the boat and in the
three feet of root-beer colored water just to use my ever-present
tools, but I was lucky, the re-bar lifted up and off the propeller
after only a few minutes of prying and twisting. The trap splashed
back into the water and we were free. We were once again ready to
finish our trip and not only was I still dry, I hadn't even opened
the tool bag.
We sat at idle for a few minutes after starting the motor, making
sure it didn't make strange noises or leak from any seals. I pushed
the boat back up to cruising speed and we finished the creek without
any further drama. Entering the Myakka River well past the Hog Island
Point kept us out of the wind and waves so the remainder of the trip
home was almost dull by comparison. An hour later, after washing the
salt water off the boat, and checking the prop for nicks, we all sat
down to a glass of wine.
The German clinked our glasses and said “Thank you for showing us
the Dolphins!”
“No problem, any time! It was our pleasure.”
I'll know the next time I try to get our dog back on the boat. He
might not want to come.
