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The head was clogged for the better part of a week. None of us deck apes could fix it, so Mista Mate took over. He tried all the usual remedies and nothing worked. STILL CLOGGED. So he sat in that head and pondered away for hours. Finally, a "Eureka Moment!" Mate figured if he hooked up the fire hose from the Lista to the discharge hose, he could build up enough back pressure to blow out the Tarpaulin Cove Mother Of All White Fish. So in his methodical way, he mapped out the route the white fish must swim and the fire hose must be attached in order to free the discharge line. As far as I know, Mate traced the connections, the line, and the route on paper many, many times both before and after the fire hose was connected. He could not be wrong! He had it all figured out. The fire hose was connected to the proper opening. The other opening of the discharge hose (from which the white fish would emerge, I mean explode) was inserted into a plastic bag in a plastic trash barrel. Everything was set. Mate took Big John, Kip, Steve, and me aside. Very solemnly, Mate explained the hose set-up and stationed each of us along the fire hose for accurate communication. If memory serves me, Steve was at the foot of B companionway, Kip was at the top of B companionway (on deck) and John and I were at the Lista (one at the valve and one at the on-off switch).Now here is where events get cloudy, interesting, mysterious, confused, or downright criminal. Mate decides to go below to get his complete set of oilies on. I guess in case (God forbid) he did not trace the line out correctly. Mate wasn’t gone more than 5 minutes. But there he was all sealed up in oilskins — nothing could penetrate. He stands at the companionway, checks to make sure we are all in position, and descends as if going into hell to do battle with the devil. There was an audible hush over the entire
schooner. Hearts were pounding, mouths were dry. Each of us along
the fire hose was waiting with muscles tense ready to spring into
action with the Mate’s command. Mate checks out the line one
or two more times and then passes the command to Steve. Steve wide-eyed
and with voice croaking in anticipation passes the word to Kip. Kip
wheels around to face the Lista and relays the order to Big John
and me. “Fire up the Lista!” |
We waited for pressure to build. “Open the valve to the fire hose!” Nerves were tense as we heard the Lista groan as it took the pressure. We knew the pressure of that sea water was now in competition with the old white fish. The Lista strained hard! The fire hose was rock hard and pulsating! Anything could happen! The tension and anxiety were unbearable! Suddenly a scream! More of a screech! No! More of a shriek! This blood curdling sound shot up the companionway and exploded over Tarpaulin Cove. TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! TURN THE _______ THING OFF! We on the hose line were stunned. We had never ever heard the reserved Mate like this. We were so stunned we were immobilized. Our muscles and nerves all froze up at the same time. We stared in awe with mouths agape as an apparition of the Mate (still cursing) reached the top of the ladder and with one leap to the deck went right over the starboard rail into the cove. Not only was he in full oilies and glasses, but he was covered with slime (you know what that means). His oilies glistened with it. And the greatest sight of all was the toilet paper hanging off both ears. As you can rightly imagine, the hose-line crew erupted into hysteria. All reverence for the Mate passes within microseconds. We were rolling on the deck in agony from laughing so hard. My sides still hurt just thinking about that night in Tarpaulin Cove. Apparently the Mate took the full charge squarely in the right ear. To this day Mista Mate, Rob, Big John, Steve, Kip, and I have never been the same. The head incident in Tarpaulin Cove changed us forever. Mate thinks we changed the feed on the discharge hose. We will go to our graves denying it. We‘ll never tell! The publisher welcomes tales from other vessels. © 2007 Newport Harbor Guide. All rights reserved. |