Ship's Log - Kidogo
5/23/99 - Sunday - Kiawah Catastrophe!
Well, the day started out well enough (famous last words)! We decided to try the Folly River ramp at Folly Beach, and rigged pretty quickly. Anna Kate then fell asleep on the V-berth and, thankfully, slept the entire afternoon! The dock was good, and we put the boat in just fine. 
Getting off the dock was another matter, however. The current was flowing several knots from the (crowded) ramp towards a low bridge about 30 feet down stream. A 12-15 knot wind was blowing straight towards the bridge as well. Fantastic First Mate Emily pushed us off at just the right angle and I gunned the motor as the nose swung around. We headed directly into the wind, motoring up the Folly River. We enjoyed the beautiful houses and numerous dolphins rolling as close as 10 feet from the boat. We were headed towards Kiawah Island and did fine until, around Bird Island at the mouth of the Stono River, a huge dredge came along, forcing everyone out of the narrow channel. I took a quick look at the chart, which showed no obstructions outside of the channel, but which DID have an ominous note at the foot saying that the bottom in this area is subject to "continual change."
About 10 minutes later - "Bam!" What was that? We've run aground! But the chart said...nevermind, crank up the board! Grinding...the board has popped up in the slot. We're finally moving again! "Bam!" CRAP!! UP THE BOARD! Crank crank grind grind.... Motor towards the channel! Scrape, scrape.... I swear I hear the nearby dolphins laughing at us! No more dolphin safe tuna for us! Those ingrates.... 
We motor back and finally reach the channel. Decide the "shifting sands" are too nerve racking without a depth finder, and turn around to head for Bird Island. Looks like lots of boats are there, just follow one in...slowly, slowly...50 more yards..."BAM!" CRAP!! Up the board again!! Stuck! Wind and current pushing us over...there goes the rudder!! It's out! Grab the rudder!! Pull the rudder into the cockpit - full reverse on the Merc 5.... Down the anchor! The anchor line is fouled in the locker? Up the anchor!! Rev rev.... We're moving! Back to the channel! Slowly, slowly, OK - down the board! Yeah! Putt putt putttttt...the engine stops! Out of gas!! Try to crank it again! No luck!! Drifting with wind towards opposite shore. Think fast... Put the rudder back on! Help me get this thing over the side...the current is pushing it away - wrestling with it...there! 
It's in! Unfurl the jib! Thank God for roller furling! We're straightening out! We're sailing! Narrow channel, watch out.... I check the spare gas tank, discover about 1/8 gallon. I pour it in while excellent First Mate Emily steers and calmly deals with my rantings and ravings about chart manufacturers. We sail back up close to the ramp, crank the engine, and furl the jib. May go back to dolphin safe tuna after all. Oh no! The ramp is packed! Current and wind still blowing directly towards the low bridge, about 2 boat lengths from the far dock. Who thought up this brilliant arrangement for a boat ramp?! Circle, circle, dangerously low on gas...there's an opening! Four PWCs just took it! Hey, I was in line first! Another opening...a power boat cuts me off!! Argh!! I hate these freakin' public ramps! A power boat in the perfect docking position, just sitting there tied up, occupants drinking beer!! Could they be any less considerate? I summon up all my reserves of calm. "Excuse me - could you please pull your boat up? I'm dangerously low on gas and I really don't want to hit your boat." Look at 'em jump! That got 'em going - they even grab a dock line and tie off. On the dock! Whew!! Exceptional First Mate Emily deserves a gold star for putting up with this and me. I think we need a good day on the water soon, or the crew might revolt! Dig the pliers out of my pocket to unrig while we wait our turn to take out - "Ker-PLUNK!" CRAP!!! There go my keys!! Another offering to the two-stroke Gods of Folly River.
We began Memorial Day weekend by scouting ramps at Lake Moultrie, a 60,000 acre Santee Cooper lake about 45 minutes north of Charleston. I have really been surprised at the lack of decent ramps and docks
in this boat-intensive area of South Carolina, and Lake Moultrie provided little exception. We checked out 5 ramps all around the southern half of the lake before we finally found a good one, an area called The Hatchery. Earlier, we stopped for lunch at a place called a "marina" (actually a sheer concrete wall 10 feet high for boats to tie up to with rusty ladders to climb up, next to a single, terrible ramp currently clogged with a stalled out primer grey pickup). As we watched the action over soggy turkey sandwiches, we noticed a pontoon boat tied up with no motor. When asked, one of the guys on the dock said that the motor mount rusted through, and the engine just fell off!
On Monday we got to The Hatchery about 10:45 am and were rigged in about 20 minutes. Emily expertly took both lines and swung the boat off the trailer and around to the quiet, new-looking dock. The ramp is in a little creek, protected from wind. We put the board halfway down, and turned on the new depth finder I installed on Saturday, a cheapie Humminbird 100SX with the transducer mounted with slow-cure epoxy in the hull under the starboard quarter berth. To my great surprise, it did the job beautifully all day.
We motored out into 18 feet of water, and the lake was like glass - hot with no wind whatsoever.
We decided to anchor for the first time ever, a job which Emily handled beautifully, and then went for a swim. Anna Kate even got into the act, splashing around in her fishy critters life jacket! After a very fun time sloshing about and diving under the boat, we all piled back into the cockpit. A tired Anna Kate immediately went forward for a nap. I set up our cockpit table with the new leg ($3.49 at Home Depot) and Emily set a beautiful gourmet lunch for two, complete with romantic dinner music!
After lunch the wind picked up, and we sailed most of the way across the lake and back, a distance of about 12 miles. We cruised along at a pretty good clip most of the afternoon (the depth finder has no speed indicator). 
We were the only sailboat on the entire lake! We expected to be in the middle of Holiday Bass Boat Hell, but surprisingly we only saw 7-8 other boats all day, and most of those were in the main channel. "Look - those two boats are drag racing - hey, I hope they see us. Hey, we're under sail - rules of the roa...HEY!!" RRRRRRRRrrrrrr!!!! Wake, wake, bounce, bounce.... We look down into the cabin at this point and see Anna Kate standing on the V berth, her head poking up through the forward hatch like a tank commander, hollering "Boat daddy! Boat!! RRRRRRR!!!" No honey, that's evil incarnate! Boo evil!! Boooo!!! What a great feeling - Buffett on the box and us free as birds and sailing without a care at last! This is the kind of day we waited 5 long years for!
As a postscript, when we got home and were backing the boat around in the yard, we heard a loud "Fump!" and saw the boat list several degrees to starboard. It turns out that when we stopped, one of the tires sank straight down into the ground right up to the trailer frame! A sinkhole! We jacked it up with the car jack and finally got it out, but now we have this foot deep tire-shaped hole to contend with! I don't know if we should just plant a tree or worry about the whole house caving in! "Oh well," said Emily, "now at least you have something to write about!"
Driving up the highway to the lake, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the roller furler swinging free down beside the bow pulpit. "This is not good," I thought. I swerved into the median and got out. The mast crutch was gone!! What in the world happened? The mast was now loose, sliding around the transom! While I suppressed the realization that we very nearly lost our entire rig (probably taking out several following busloads of nuns and orphans to boot), I secured the whole thing and went back along the road, hoping for a miracle. About 1/4 of a mile back, there was our miracle - the mast crutch, in perfect condition, lying sedately in the middle of the highway median. Don't think too much, Scott - just pick it up and go.
Our first sailing guests were on the water around 2:30 pm from the Hatchery at Lake Moultrie. 
Emily's brother Brandon, his friend Anna, and fellow Charleston (P15) potterer Jeff Goller climbed aboard and we slowly motored out. We all missed Emily and Anna Kate on this trip, both of whom stayed behind for an afternoon of serious power-napping. Jeff sat on the bow watching for stumps close to shore, but alas the water proved too murky for even the best of eyes. "STUMP!" "WHERE?" WHAM!! "THERE!!" Subsequent inspection of the hull revealed a slight nick, but no damage.
The heat index was up around 110 degrees for the day, so when we reached safer waters, we decided to anchor and jump in. 
Jeff, Anna, and I enjoyed the absolutely wonderful water while Brandon tried his hand fishing the depths for the legendary monster Santee-Cooper catfish. While floating on my back in the hot sun, I was reminded of something my beautiful wife Emily once told me. "Southern ladies do not sweat," she said. "They glow." Well, in 110 degrees, they ought to be glowing like Three Mile Island survivors. I dove deep and turned over onto my back, slowly rising spread-eagle from the murk into the glowing warmth above.
Back into the cockpit for a late lunch of assorted sandwiches (lovingly prepared and individually labelled by Emily) and LOTS of liquids. 
Time for sailing! We broad reached across the lake on a 12-15 knot breeze as Jeff sat on the bow. Brandon and Anna were designated as official jib tenders. After a while I handed the tiller over to Jeff and climbed forward myself. When Anna's hat flew off, Jeff executed an expert man overboard drill and retrieved it within one minute! Wow, now THAT'S sailing!
Later, as I scampered back to the cockpit, feeling that everything was well with the world, I was greatly surprised by an unnerving "SPROING!" Before I could turn around to see, Brandon had already caught and was holding on to the parted backstay! Yikes! Before I could even issue an order, Jeff had already assessed the situation and had made a repair. The turnbuckle screws securing the backstay had worked their way loose, and he quickly screwed them back in without missing a beat!
We motored back to the dock as dusk approached, and took everything down in record time due to ominous encounters with the first mosquito scouts of the evening. As we drove back down highway 52, I thought about how fun sailing is, even when things go wrong. We remedied the problems we encountered by ourselves, and everything turned out just fine. "I can settle for this," I thought, as we bounced beneath the hazy sunset towards home.
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