Adventure Bound BLOG

As in the well known poker expression, there are times in boating when you should stay put, or if possible run for cover and batten down.

In 1981 we bought "Lainey" (after my nickname for Elaine), a 20’ Cruisers Inc. cuddy cabin, deep vee, 150 HP Merc I/O, trailable. As usual we piled on all the electronics available at the time and outfitted it with a small butane stove, minimal cooking equipment, other necessities, a Porta Potty and Eddie Bauer sleeping bag.

Custom-made curtains, with either nylon screens or Plexiglas side windows, gave us a comfortable and roomy stand-up cockpit. It was a great little boat. We had retired and moved to northeastern Pennsylvania, only a couple hours from Alexandria Bay, N.Y. and the International Bridge to Canada. We had a number of fine boating days on the St. Lawrence River, 1000 Islands area, and the Rideau and Trent-Severn canals in Ontario.

In February about 1985, we hauled Lainey to the Ortega River in Jacksonville, Florida. We spent two somewhat chilly weeks there, cruising the St. Johns River. We left the boat there, motored home and went back down in the spring, sending the car home with a friend. Our plan was to run to Marathon on the Keys to visit friends, and then to come back up the Intra-Costal to, Northeast River, Md., where we had a slip at a local marina.

Leaving Jacksonville, we eventually arrived at Florida Bay. We gassed up at Jew Creek and prepared for the route south to Marathon. As we were getting gas, the sky to the north began to look ominous. We held, when we should have folded. What a mistake. Shortly after we left, a dark curtain descended over the sky to the north. A storm hit with all the fury of an afternoon Florida storm. The rain was torrential. The wind picked up, the waves tossed poor little Lainey around like a chip of wood. Hastily putting up the top and side covers, we headed into the wind trying to keep a buoy in sight. Visibility was awful. We put on our life jackets and finally took off one curtain on the lee side. If we capsized we didn’t want to be trapped in an enclosed boat.

The storm subsided as all storms finally do. We arrived in Marathon, soaked. The rain had come in the bow hatch. Sleeping bags, mattresses, clothes were drenched. We tied up at Faro Blanco Marina, had a couple of stiff drinks and dinner. We found plastic to cover our bunks and tumbled in. It was a terrifying, and dangerous, experience, All because we held when we should have folded!

-- Bill Corey

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It was about 1979 that my wife, Elaine, and I invited Wally and John, both former classmates, to bring their wives and spend a few days with us on "Ramblin’ Rose," cruising the upper and middle Chesapeake Bay. Wally, John and I were all Electrical Engineering graduates of the class of 1933 at Rensselaer (RPI).

Ramblin’ Rose was a 37’ Chris Craft Constellation 1965 fly bridge cruiser, berthed at McDaniel’s Yacht Basin, Northeast, Maryland. In 1969 it replaced our little mini-cruiser, the Duckling. My wife, Margaret, had died in 1975. The following year I married Elaine, and for the second time in my life I had a gem for a wife.

Wally, a highly successful engineer with more than a hundred patents to his name, knew his way around boats. As did his wife. John, engineer for the city of Chicopee, Mass, likewise a highly competent engineer, was a stranger to boats. As was his wife – a stranger, completely so. Therein comes the tale.

As we spent the several days together, I became more frustrated, even annoyed, at John’s wife. An attractive girl, and an otherwise likable girl, she always seemed to be in the wrong place. Every boater who ever had guests aboard knows the experience.

One night at anchor as we prepared to bunk down, I had undressed, put on a bathrobe, and joined the others who were still talking on the after deck. The “problem lady” had left the head and bow compartment doors open, and the motion of the boat had caused the doors to bang together and the handles interlock. I was furious. All the frustration spewed forth and I spoke my mind about behavior on a boat. Elaine pounced on me for my discourtesy and uncalled-for remarks, dressing me down as only an irate wife can. For some reason I still had my underwear shorts in my hand. In a fit of anger I flung them at her. She promptly threw them overboard. She said later she was about to follow them, but shore looked too far away.

A couple of weeks later, I received a package from my friend Wally. In it was a pair of under shorts with corks sewn around the waist band!

Three years ago, my friend Wally died. His family asked me to speak at his memorial service in New Canaan, Conn. There were other speakers at his service, all prominent engineers. As is so often the case with engineers educated in an earlier era, speaking and writing were often way down on their list of abilities. When it came my turn to talk, I told the underwear story. It was the only time there was any laughter in the room.

Moral. No matter the size, boats are intimate things. If you have guests aboard who have had little or no boating experience, brief them first. Be patient and understanding. And remember: the captain should never, never cease being a pleasant and courteous host.

-- Bill Corey

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We bought our little 21’ aluminum Starcraft mini-cruiser in 1966. My wife, Margaret, and I were 55 years old at the time. During the next four years, in addition to running around the upper and middle Chesapeake Bay and the Eastern Shore rivers, we ran the Trent-Severn Canal, round trip, in Ontario; the 1000 Islands area of the St. Lawrence River; and the 1,300-1,400 miles from Marathon on the Florida Keys, up the Gulf of Mexico, across Florida and up the Intra-costal to Kent Island, Maryland.

The Duckling was a poor rough water boat and a problem in wind above 15 knots or so. Despite its Bimini top and side curtains, it was uncomfortable on a hot or rainy day. On a summer night, sometimes sleeping in our little cuddy cabin was pretty miserable. Otherwise we loved the boat, and took good care of it. It was a great boat on fairly calm water, but not the most suited for our way of boating.

So in 1969 we put it up for sale and bought a 1965 Chris Craft Constellation, 37’ long, twin screw, fly bridge. We added air conditioning and all the electronics available at the time. Margaret died suddenly in 1975, but for 10 years, in the two boats, we had enjoyable, adventurous times as we cruised and explored the Chesapeake, both coasts of Florida and the Bahamas. I’m glad she lived those years to share these times together.

But getting back to the sale of the Duckling.

We advertised it, but there was not a whole lot of interest. Finally we got the break we were waiting for. A teenage boy wanted a boat, and his father agreed to look at the Duckling. They asked to have an in-water demonstration, so we hauled it to Norristown and launched it in the Schuylkill River.

As I prepared to demonstrate it, the father said he wanted an “expert” to ride along. Out of the car came a behemoth, at least 300 pounds. Not even asking permission to board, he plopped down on the port transom seat, and the stern sank. The poor light aluminum shallow draft boat could no way overcome that excessive weight literally alongside the propeller. One of the basic lessons about any ship or boat is the proper distribution of weight. A boat stern heavy or bow heavy, or with a port or starboard list is a poor performer. This was my boat. I was in charge. The Duckling easily took four passengers. I knew the importance of correct trim. Why did I let this 300-350 guy sit where he did? Why didn’t I throw him the heck off the boat? I did neither. The poor boat slogged along like a scow. It was a disaster.

I am now 95 years old, but it still dogs me that I didn’t give this “expert” a lesson on trim. Had I seated everyone properly, or taken the kid out by himself and let him have the thrill of running it, he would probably have become the owner of a fast and nimble boat, one beautifully equipped and well maintained. And I would have made a sale.

A Sale Gone Awry. Even an ocean going freighter must be properly loaded!

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As my wife and I continued north on the Intra-Coastal Waterway from Marathon, Florida, in April 1969, our luck finally ran out. After being towed, we had traveled into North Carolina and run up the beautiful Waccamaw River, the rough Neuse River and finally to the south shore of Albermarle Sound.

As we approached the Sound, the weather turned a bit nasty. We thought the Neuse was a challenge, but when we saw Albermarle we knew we were in for a very, very difficult crossing. It was either wait for a more opportune time or take our chances.

As we idled along the Alligator-Pungo Canal, a sailboat drew abreast. Hailing it, we asked if they were crossing the Sound. They answered that they were, but were going into Elizabeth City and then up the Dismal Swamp route to Norfolk. We had planned the more direct Virginia Cut route. But because of the conditions, we asked if we could follow them across, using their wake as a sort of a carpet. Being okay with them we did so.

Their boat was named “Tall Story.” They were towing a dingy with the name “Short Tail.” (Note the spelling of “tail.”) For years I saw in my mind those names on the transoms. Because as we bounced, pitched and tossed for the several hours’ crossing, we focused on those names, sticking on their stern.

Reaching Elizabeth City, we said goodbye and thanks to our friends. We went up the Dismal Swamp canal – beautiful – into Norfolk for the night. Next day up the Chesapeake Bay to the Little Choptank River, where we spent the night at anchor.

Early next morning, we took off for Kent Island, arriving at our Piney Narrows slip at about 10 o’clock in the morning.

In the slip next to ours there was a fascinating couple. He was a bit of a dandy, and she was one of the all-time boating prudes. They had about a 32’ cruiser, which either he didn’t know how to operate or was afraid to do so. So they would sit on their boat all week, and on Saturdays a local waterman would come to operate their boat and take them for a ride.

As we made our final tie up, after two weeks and 1,400 miles of travel, the neighboring lady greeted us with the question, “Out for a morning trip?” She apparently hadn’t noticed our empty slip all those days. “No,” we answered, “we are just returning from Florida.” To which she replied, “In that?”

Yes, In that. If you have a boat, use it. Push it through strange waters. See all the wonderful things there are to see in new places. Take advantage of that which is there for us to do so. Boating is beautiful, be it in a canoe, a sunfish, 16' outboard, a 65' cruiser, or just “In that.”

-- Bill Corey

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In April 1969, my wife and I loaded the "Duckling," our little 21' Starcraft aluminum mini-cruiser with a 110 I/O, and headed south to Marathon, Florida and the Florida Keys. We were ready to tackle the Intra-Coastal Waterway, ready for the 1,400 miles north to our Kent Island Marina, Chesapeake Bay.

We spent several days cruising the Florida Bay and under the Seven Mile Bridge at Marathon, into the Atlantic. Then we awaited a calm day to head over Florida Bay to Cape Sable and the Gulf of Mexico, and start north. While waiting, we had a boatyard in Marathon enlarge our gas tank and add an extra battery. We wanted good weather and calm winds for the trip across the bay and up the gulf. We had learned the hard way the previous year that the Duckling was a poor performer in rough water.

We cast off finally, and took a due north magnetic heading to Cape Sable, the southernmost part of mainland Florida, and the Gulf of Mexico. We raised the Cape Sable light and continued up the Gulf shore to Fort Myers Beach. We ran east up the Calooshatchee river and canal, to Clewiston, the entrance to the route across Lake Okeechobee.

The good weather had held, and the two day trip was uneventful, except for a broken rib and mangled tongue sustained at Clewiston when I fell between the dock and the boat, banging my ribs and chin against the Duckling’s gunwale.

Crossing Lake Okeechobee, entering the St. Lucie canal and river, we arrived at Stuart, Florida for the trip up the Intercoastal. With ribs hurting, especially when I had to lift the cooler, empty the water and put in a new 50-pound block of ice, we enjoyed the following days running up Florida, Georgia and most of South Carolina. The weather stayed fine.

We got almost through South Carolina, where we crossed the mouth of the Pee Dee River, intending to run up the river to Georgetown to spend the night, when we ran out of gas. Setting the anchor, I tried calling the Coast Guard on the ship to shore radio. Got no reply. But the captain of a fishing boat answered, asked my problem, reported the fishing was bad and that his guests were getting tired. He was coming in the inlet in about an hour and would tow us to Georgetown.

He asked if we were all right, in no danger and apologized for an hour’s delay to give us a tow. I glibly replied we were fine, thoroughly safe, had plenty of food, and enough beer to last a week. To which he replied he would then “See us in seven days”!

My heart stopped racing when he arrived on “Nauti-Gal,” a 40' sport fisherman, about an hour later, threw us a line and towed us to a marina in Georgetown. He would accept no money, but gave me a stern lecture about using some common sense when boating. Had he not been where he was and when he was, on a not very traveled area of the waterway, it might have been a long, long wait.

-- Bill Corey

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The “Duckling” was a Starcraft aluminum mini-cruiser, 21'7" long, 8' beam, bought in 1966. It had a cuddy cabin and a 110 horsepower I/O drive. It was my wife’s and my first power boat, bought to fill the void left by the departure of our two daughters who had finished college and married.

From the beginning we had a problem with the engine occasionally dying out. New fuel pumps, both mechanical and electrical, were installed. The carburetor was replaced. After each repair, the tank was topped off and the Duckling skipped over the water as well as ever.

In June 1968, my brother, his wife, my wife and I towed our boats – they had a Boston Whaler loaded with camping equipment, and we had the Duckling – to Trenton, Ontario. The purpose was to make a round trip on the Trent-Severn Waterway.

Starting on the Trent River at the Bay of Quinte, Lake Ontario, the Waterway wanders 310 miles slightly north of west from Trenton to the Severn River at Georgian Bay, Lake Huron. Forty five locks raise you 640 feet to the highest point at Balsam Lake, Buckhorn, and then drop you 398 feet at Georgian Bay. On the way the route takes you through the Kawartha Lakes, and across Lake Simcoe, some of the most beautiful cruising water I’ve seen.

Without difficulty, except finding the Duckling a lousy rough water boat and very subject to cross winds, the latter causing me some embarrassing moments due to the swirling winds in some of the locks, in several days we reached Lake Simcoe. In a heavy rain storm with little visibility we ran a compass course across the lake to the town of Orillia. I found a covered slip in a marina and we spent a comfortable night.

The next day was clear. While getting gas I explained to a mechanic the trouble I had been having with the engine conking out. Without a word, he pulled the intake tube from the gas tank and pointed out a small split near the bottom of the tube. hen the fuel was low in the tank, the split was uncovered and the fuel pump could pump nothing but air! With fuel level above the split, fuel was pumped normally. That explained why after every so-called repair job, as a matter of course we always topped off our tank and the problem appeared fixed.

The 10 bucks given the Canadian mechanic forever solved our problem.

The lesson learned: Look beyond the obvious; it's often the Simplest Thing.

-- Bill Corey

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Bill’s boating stories are legendary. Funny, memorable, they often teach a thing or two. In fact, he did quite a few rounds as instructor for Coast Guard Auxillary classes. Now 95 and still as vibrant as his stories, Bill shares a few of his favorite boating escapades.

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