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!”