Fifty Bucks for a Tow
Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 8:29 pm
We were coming back from a raft up this evening around sunset, rounding the south end of Shelter Island past the boat ramp and along the mooring field under motor when I see a guy about 100 feet away on an old derelict 60' catamaran yell "Fifty bucks for a tow!"
I look at my wife and say "did he just yell fifty bucks for a tow?" and she allows that he did.
I didn't think I could tow the cat or any other boat that size, but I didn't want to leave a mariner in distress without at least checking in, so I maneuvered closer and as I came around the boat I saw that he was actually on a much smaller 20' cuddly cabin fishing boat behind the cat that appeared to be rafted up to the catamaran.
Turns out it wasn't rafted up to it, they'd drifted into the moored cat from somewhere in the bay and grabbed it by hand to avoid drifting into the quay about 50' shoreward. We were perhaps 500 yards from the Harbor Island Fuel dock across the channel.
"You folks need help?" I offer.
"Yes, we ran out of gas!" he says. "I'll give you fifty bucks to tow us to the fuel dock."
"I don't need $50, but I'll tow you." I say. We backed towards them, the admiral tossed them our 50' utility line, and he caught it. "Thanks man! I called Sea Tow but they wanted three hundred bucks!" he yelled, as if that were remotely expensive for saving one's ass.
He then attempted to wrap it around the anchor chain above his roller.
"You'll want to cleat that off to the cleat where your forward dock line is!" I yell.
"Where?" he says.
"You're port forward cleat!" I yell.
"What's a cleat?" he says. Okay. The problem is becoming clear to me.
"It's that thing the line--the rope--by your foot is tied to. Remove that rope, and then cleat this one on."
"Okay," says he. He removes the dock line just fine, but clearly doesn't know what to do with the tow line we've tossed him.
"Bring it in through the hole in the base, wrap it around the base once, then figure 8 it over both horns until you run out of cleat or line." I say. I didn't want to get too complicated.
He does so, and we pull out, beginning to tow. Their boat swings wide and crabs behind us.
"You still need to steer!" I yell back to him. "Steer like you're just going slowly behind us."
"Okay!" he yells. "Thanks for doing this!" I set our speed to 3 knots, which is about as fast as I'd want to be hit by him, and set off towards the fuel dock which happened to be the direction we were going anyway.
"Sure thing. What happened?"
"We ran out of gas" says he. "I'm not sure how, I put $150 in before we went ocean fishing outside of San Diego Bay." He possessed some kind of certainty that $150 worth of gas should be sufficient to solve any sort of speed x distance solution for any boat.
"You're lucky you didm't run out of gas out in the Ocean!" yells my wife.
"Yeah, I guess so." he says.
"That's why I sail." I say, to which he laughed.
We towed them across towards the fuel dock, and fortuitously a sailboat left just as we were coming to it.
"Uncleat the dock line all but the last loop around the horn and hold it. Have your buddy steer towards the dock as if you are under power. We will pass by, and when you're certain you're in good position, unloop the towline and throw it off. If you don't get good position, just steer back out and we will bring you back around for a second pass!" I yell to him.
We pass by the dock about 5' away, he tosses off the dock line as they come along side and with the fuel dock attendants they get tied off.
"What are you guys, professionals? That was way simpler than when the Sea Tow guys come in" yells the fuel dock attendant as we pass.
That last bit made me feel kind of good. Probably it was just simpler because I didn't have to stop to get my $50. Waved to them and proceeded to our slip.
I look at my wife and say "did he just yell fifty bucks for a tow?" and she allows that he did.
I didn't think I could tow the cat or any other boat that size, but I didn't want to leave a mariner in distress without at least checking in, so I maneuvered closer and as I came around the boat I saw that he was actually on a much smaller 20' cuddly cabin fishing boat behind the cat that appeared to be rafted up to the catamaran.
Turns out it wasn't rafted up to it, they'd drifted into the moored cat from somewhere in the bay and grabbed it by hand to avoid drifting into the quay about 50' shoreward. We were perhaps 500 yards from the Harbor Island Fuel dock across the channel.
"You folks need help?" I offer.
"Yes, we ran out of gas!" he says. "I'll give you fifty bucks to tow us to the fuel dock."
"I don't need $50, but I'll tow you." I say. We backed towards them, the admiral tossed them our 50' utility line, and he caught it. "Thanks man! I called Sea Tow but they wanted three hundred bucks!" he yelled, as if that were remotely expensive for saving one's ass.
He then attempted to wrap it around the anchor chain above his roller.
"You'll want to cleat that off to the cleat where your forward dock line is!" I yell.
"Where?" he says.
"You're port forward cleat!" I yell.
"What's a cleat?" he says. Okay. The problem is becoming clear to me.
"It's that thing the line--the rope--by your foot is tied to. Remove that rope, and then cleat this one on."
"Okay," says he. He removes the dock line just fine, but clearly doesn't know what to do with the tow line we've tossed him.
"Bring it in through the hole in the base, wrap it around the base once, then figure 8 it over both horns until you run out of cleat or line." I say. I didn't want to get too complicated.
He does so, and we pull out, beginning to tow. Their boat swings wide and crabs behind us.
"You still need to steer!" I yell back to him. "Steer like you're just going slowly behind us."
"Okay!" he yells. "Thanks for doing this!" I set our speed to 3 knots, which is about as fast as I'd want to be hit by him, and set off towards the fuel dock which happened to be the direction we were going anyway.
"Sure thing. What happened?"
"We ran out of gas" says he. "I'm not sure how, I put $150 in before we went ocean fishing outside of San Diego Bay." He possessed some kind of certainty that $150 worth of gas should be sufficient to solve any sort of speed x distance solution for any boat.
"You're lucky you didm't run out of gas out in the Ocean!" yells my wife.
"Yeah, I guess so." he says.
"That's why I sail." I say, to which he laughed.
We towed them across towards the fuel dock, and fortuitously a sailboat left just as we were coming to it.
"Uncleat the dock line all but the last loop around the horn and hold it. Have your buddy steer towards the dock as if you are under power. We will pass by, and when you're certain you're in good position, unloop the towline and throw it off. If you don't get good position, just steer back out and we will bring you back around for a second pass!" I yell to him.
We pass by the dock about 5' away, he tosses off the dock line as they come along side and with the fuel dock attendants they get tied off.
"What are you guys, professionals? That was way simpler than when the Sea Tow guys come in" yells the fuel dock attendant as we pass.
That last bit made me feel kind of good. Probably it was just simpler because I didn't have to stop to get my $50. Waved to them and proceeded to our slip.
, Bye the way G that nice seafood dinner & bottle of wine I prepared was worth a lot more than $50. 
