Once every four months I'm allowed to leave Iraq for a couple of weeks. I left camp Liberty on the morning of October 2nd and arrived in San Diego 48 hours later, feeling like a zombie. I was soon to be a very wet zombie.
My good friend Jean-Luc, who lives an hour north of San Diego, met me at the airport with a U-Haul truck loaded with bits and pieces I had ordered for the boat and a six foot dinghy I'd purchased on Ebay. After lunch and a couple of stops for groceries and supplies we carried the dinghy and several assorted bags and boxes to the beach. I wisely decided to forego the small outboard motor that had come with the dinghy and instead used a new set of oars for propulsion. Unwisely I failed to pin the oarlocks into their respective mounts... but who knew I was about to capsize the dink.
As I reached Liberty's side and stood up to tie the dinghy I stepped too far forward and water poured over the bow. It only took a second to swamp the little boat and find myself and my cargo swimming alongside the overturned dinghy.
Not all my luck is bad. The tide and wind was sending all my stuff back toward the beach. I managed to pull myself aboard Liberty barefoot (don't ask me how, but both shoes and socks came off during the mishap) swearing with every heavy breath to return to the gym as I used every ounce of strength I could muster to lift myself over the boomkin, using the rudder pintle for a toe hold.
I searched Liberty for something with which to bail the dinghy and couldn't find so much as a cup. I strapped on a life jacket and, gritting my teeth against the cold, jumped back into the water to see what I could do about righting and bailing the dinghy with my bare hands.
There is probably nothing more humbling to a sailor than the offer of assistance from two fishermen in a motor boat, but my pride had already washed ashore with my shoes. One of which was never to be seen again. I accepted their kindness gratefully.
In the meantime Jean-Luc had beaten any homeless beachcombers to my stuff and regathered it in a pile. Lost in the capsize were the unpinned oarlocks, so I dispatched JL to the nearby marine store for another pair - this time with pins and cotter rings to lock them in place. (They would be stolen within the week, necessitating the purchase of a third pair. Maybe I need to buy them by the dozen?)
The rest of my time aboard Liberty was wonderful and uneventful. I spent seven enjoyable days sanding and varnishing the brightwork and getting aquainted with my new boat before flying to Kansas City for a weekend with my kids and grandchildren.
My good friend Jean-Luc, who lives an hour north of San Diego, met me at the airport with a U-Haul truck loaded with bits and pieces I had ordered for the boat and a six foot dinghy I'd purchased on Ebay. After lunch and a couple of stops for groceries and supplies we carried the dinghy and several assorted bags and boxes to the beach. I wisely decided to forego the small outboard motor that had come with the dinghy and instead used a new set of oars for propulsion. Unwisely I failed to pin the oarlocks into their respective mounts... but who knew I was about to capsize the dink.
As I reached Liberty's side and stood up to tie the dinghy I stepped too far forward and water poured over the bow. It only took a second to swamp the little boat and find myself and my cargo swimming alongside the overturned dinghy.
Not all my luck is bad. The tide and wind was sending all my stuff back toward the beach. I managed to pull myself aboard Liberty barefoot (don't ask me how, but both shoes and socks came off during the mishap) swearing with every heavy breath to return to the gym as I used every ounce of strength I could muster to lift myself over the boomkin, using the rudder pintle for a toe hold.
I searched Liberty for something with which to bail the dinghy and couldn't find so much as a cup. I strapped on a life jacket and, gritting my teeth against the cold, jumped back into the water to see what I could do about righting and bailing the dinghy with my bare hands.
There is probably nothing more humbling to a sailor than the offer of assistance from two fishermen in a motor boat, but my pride had already washed ashore with my shoes. One of which was never to be seen again. I accepted their kindness gratefully.
In the meantime Jean-Luc had beaten any homeless beachcombers to my stuff and regathered it in a pile. Lost in the capsize were the unpinned oarlocks, so I dispatched JL to the nearby marine store for another pair - this time with pins and cotter rings to lock them in place. (They would be stolen within the week, necessitating the purchase of a third pair. Maybe I need to buy them by the dozen?)
The rest of my time aboard Liberty was wonderful and uneventful. I spent seven enjoyable days sanding and varnishing the brightwork and getting aquainted with my new boat before flying to Kansas City for a weekend with my kids and grandchildren.
Varnishing is a pleasure compared to life in Iraq.
A relaxing moment at the dinnete (posing).
A parting shot of Liberty from the dinghy
as I begin the journey back to Iraq.
