The Boat Story

My husband came home from work and announced he could buy a boat real cheap.

“You don’t have a truck to haul it,” I said in my rational way that never registered with him.

“This is a great deal I can’t pass up. I’ve got the cash, and I want to go look at it.” He insisted that I go with him.

It seemed to be in good shape. The trailer was sound and licensed. The cushions that fit the v were like new. They started the motor. He told me all the work that he could do to fix it up. My opinion didn’t matter in the end. We would buy a used boat and haul it with my Dad’s old Ford LTD that smoked something terrible.

We got a bill of sale, went to the DMV for a trailer license and boat license. We took the LTD to pick it up and I had to learn how to back up with a boat trailer. Oh, it had to be me. My husband would be drinking when we went boating, and would not be able to drive home. I’d have to get it into the narrow driveway in reverse. He also figured he could direct me from outside where he’d get a better view.

He bought some blue and white nylon rope, life preservers, and a large tarp. He did a lot of little things to fix it up, including putting the motor in the shop for a tune-up. Like it or not, I would be his assistant on these outings and climb in and out, setting up and cleaning up. I never realized how much work is involved in boating. It’s a lot of fun once you’re on the water, but getting to the water and home again is a royal pain.

We usually just took the boat to the cit dock. I backed down the cement ramp into the water. He would release the chain and slide it back into the water. He’d stay with the boat, while I pulled forward and drove the car and boat trailer into the gravel parking lot with the other boat trailers.

After a breezy, sunny cruise, we would pull back up to the dock and wait our turn to load her up. I’d back the car down the ramp, apparently never getting any better, for stray men would always come over and shout advice, watching the angle of the wheels. My husband would back the boat back into the river and then drift forward towards the trailer. Then he would begin the hook-up and crank the cable to draw the boat back up again. Once in a while, I’d have to get back in the car and go in reverse another foot.

One day, I must not have been far enough into the water, but he kept cranking anyway. We had not put new steel cable on. Suddenly the rusty cable snapped. The front end of the boat went straight up into the air. The trailer buckled up under it. I was mortified. Of course, at that time, the dock was filled with people.

Men came running out of nowhere to look. One stranger offered his help. My husband removed the cable attached to the boat from a perch above it. Then he attached the end of the main spool onto the boat. The stranger said we need to weight the boat down to bring it back down onto the trailer, and then we could back into the water, realign the boat and try again.

This guy got up onto the bow of the boat. He called me to join him. I climbed up over the back half and walked up to the wheel. I crawled out with him and nothing happened. A third person came up, while my husband pulled from below, it slowly started to move downward. He started cranking. The front end went down some more, he cranked some more. Eventually, it went down, the trailer straightening out with the boat. The lead guy stayed on, while I jumped into the car to reverse. The third guy left, while Boatman watched the end going into the water. I turned off the car, the cable was cranked, the boat came up onto the trailer.

It sounds very simple, but it took a lot of time. We were embarrassed that we’d had such a public viewing of our ineptitude, and I was worried about ruining the trailer after bending out of shape and back again. But we never had a moment of trouble with it, so apparently, it was a sturdy one. We drove it up the hill towards home, cleaned it up, and covered it. I’m sure it took about fifteen minutes for us to get it in the driveway properly. Heaven forbid, that it might be an inch over on the neighbor’s side.

Another day, driving up that hill, the cushion blew out of the boat. It was a heavily trafficked road, steep, and with curves. By the time we could pull into a parking lot, turn around, and go back down the hill, someone had snatched it up.

As time wore on, the LTD burned more and more oil. We really left a cloud of smelly smoke behind. Lots of people tried to tell us we had a problem. We’d smile and say, “Thanks.” We really created quite a spectacle I suppose. Poor people don’t need to have motor boats, no matter how much they want them.

Years later, we were talking to some nice guy, oh, I don’t know, maybe we were fishing, or something casual. He started telling us about this couple down at city dock who didn’t know what they were doing, and their boat buckled and went straight up in the air while they were docking it. We laughed and told him it was us. He was very serious and polite, and said, “Oh, no. These people really didn’t know what they were doing.” We both shook our heads, pretending we weren't embarassed, and assured him that it was us. No way could two couples do a stunt like that in the same place.