Maiden Voyage

Maiden Voyage




Four foot swells pummeled the hull of the thirty-two foot, Trojan sport fisherman, bouncing it around like a piece of drift wood caught in the turning tide. Driving wind and rain thrashed at the windshield and hampered vision. The weather hit us in the face through the open protective flap. Otherwise, navigating through the downpour was impossible. One of the twin 318 engines was dead, shut down when a lobster trap snared it's propeller, twisted around it and choked the powerful v-8 engine. The radio had abandoned us hours ago and our course was miscalculated.

In search of a bigger boat to replace his 26-ft. Bayliner, the Extravagance, after nine years of fishing trips, family outings and secluded rendezvous, John uncovered the ideal replacement, a 1967 Trojan, 30 foot cabin cruiser equipped with twin Chrysler 318 engines and a raised bridge with a removable canvas enclosure called a bimeny cover.

He purchased the "Give and Take" from a marina in Rhode Island on the Taunton River.The crew, John, Paul and I went to pick up the boat. Our plan was to spend the night on the boat and drive it back to Boston on the water the next day.We were unaware that Mother Nauture would be joining our crew mid-voyage.


We rose early, as all good seamen do, and weighed anchor somewhere around 9 am. An hour into the run one engine was running a little hot and I was running a little nauseous. John pulled the access panels and climbed down into the bilge to check it out. Paul took the wheel. I hung over the side rail and disposed of the previous night's beers along with that morning's breakfast.

"Focus on the land. Pick a stationary object and focus on it. It's the best way to calm the motion sickness," John instructed, "Be sure and clean up that rail when you are done barfing all over it."

"Just concentrate on your engine. I'll be fine in a few minutes," I said.

A temporary patch on a leaky hose cooled the engine off. My nausea subsided and the journey continued.


We reached Onset Bay shortly after noontime.
"Let's stop for lunch and I'll pick up a new hose for that engine while we are docked," John said,as he steered the boat towards the public pier.

"Great, I'll go get a restock of beer and ice," I volunteered.

John docked the boat at the public pier. The docking rules allowed a forty-five minute tie up. John and I quickly concluded our respective errands ashore. After a quick hose install by John, we continued on through the Cape Cod Canal.

"Don, you drive for a while so I can take a break. It's a slow ride through the canal. Just stay to the right and keep the throttle where it is," commanded John as he stepped away from the wheel and grabbed a cold brew from the cooler.

"All right John, It's your boat,"I said as I nevously took over the wheel. I had driven boats before but not any as large as thirty-two feet.

"I will keep an eye on things. Go take a break, have a beer, relax, and enjoy." said Paul

"Don keep her a little closer to the middle until a boat comes in the other direction" Paul said calmly.

"Paul, how about a brew while I'm driving? I promise not to crash her up on the rocks," I said, gaining more confidence as I discovered how easily the big boat handled.

"Sure Don, just promise not to barf any more. It's a waste of good alcohol," Paul said with a grin.

"I can handle it. My stomach is pretty well settled now," I said.

We reached the end of the canal and Paul took over the wheel. For a while the water was flat and the sun was warm. Paul had us headed on a course towards Boston. He paralleled the coast. Around 1PM,we were at a half way point and things were going smoothly. The water was flat and the sun was shining.

John had radioed ahead to Beverly, a friend in Boston, giving our approximate location and estimated time of arrival. She expected us for a spaghetti dinner around five thirty. Mother Nature had alternate dinner plans for us.

Abruptly, the wind and the waves picked up. They progressively worsened as swells tossed water up over the bow and the bimeny. The wind driven rain battered against the windshield hampering visibility. Lighthouses and harbor markers, normally seen from many miles off, were swallowed up by the storm. Paul's experience became quite apparent as he steered into the waves and kept the bouncing boat on a wayward course towards Boston Harbor.

Paul,a liscened captain,had skippered several larger boats to and from Florida.He had seen his share of rough seas. John, a boat owner for many years, was no novice to the sometimes unfriendly ocean.I felt confident that they could get us to Boston safely.

"Paul, how about pulling into Plymouth or one of the nearby harbors and getting out of this shit?" John said as we neared the area.

"Not a good idea, John. A turn in these seas could capsize us or the following sea heading into a strange harbor could put us up on the rocks or aground on a sandbar." Paul said.

"Okay Paul. You are the boss. You've got the wheel. Let's head for Boston Light. It marks the entrance to Boston Harbor from the south. That way we keep heading into the weather and have less of a chance of swamping." John said.

The storm showed no signs of weakening as Paul kept heading into the waves and wind. Meanwhile, he tried to steer a gradual course towards a light he believed to be Boston Light. He continued to fight the elements and maintain a heading for a couple of hours.

Then, Paul spotted a light off to the left of his target. In error, we were not headed towards Boston Light, but the north shore. Paul made a wide swing towards Boston and corrected our course.


"Lily Pad, Lily Pad, this is Give N Take. Over," John's words feel into the static.
"Lily Pad, Lily Pad, this is Give N Take. Over."The monotonous static was his only reply.

"Dam, the f--king radio is dead now. What the hell else can happen?," John said in disgust as he tossed the mic.

Soon after Paul made our course correction, one of the props got a lobster trap line tangled around it. Frustration, anger and fear could be felt in John's voice as he screamed to Paul, trying to be heard above the sounds of the wind and waves pounding the boat.

"Try backing up and I'll climb out on the transom to try and cut it loose or pull it on board," John said.

"If I back up in these swells we are liable to capsize or I will lose you in the drink. I have to keep making headway," Paul said.

"All right, just be aware of it. We will keep an eye for any more traps. If the one we are dragging gets hooked up on another, we are screwed. John said."

Unable to free it, Paul shut down the engine and we dragged the trap along as we battled the wind, the waves and the driving rain.


Finally, we reached Hull Gut, the entrance to Boston Harbor. As we went in, a Coast Guard cutter passed us on it's way out. The cutter turned around and followed us. Shortly afterwards we were hailed.

"Come about and prepare to be boarded," commanded the voice on the bull horn.

The cutter came across close to the stern, intending to come along the left side of the boat and get close enough to board.

"Stay clear, we have lobster trap line tangled in our prop," John yelled. They ignored the warning.

If the line got tangled in the cutter's prop, it could pull the two boats together very quickly. The cutter advanced.

"If he plans to tie up with us in this rough water, we will have a demolition derby right here on the water," John remarked to anyone who might be listening, "I hope they don't decide to search the boat. I've got a small bag of pot in the drawer under the dinette."

Narrowly missing the line, the cutter pulled alongside close enough to allow one man to jump on board. Just as quickly the cutter backed off to a safe distance.

"Your bow running light is out. That's why we stopped you." explained the nervous young sailor.

"Which of you is the owner of this boat? I would like to do a check of your safety equipment."

"It's my boat," said John. "I'll be glad to show you everything. By the way, we have a lobster trap line wrapped around one our props. Your cutter just missed it. I tried to warn you guys."

"Oh shit," said the sailor as he eyed the line protruding out of the water behind the boat.

"Yeah! Oh shit," John added with a slight tone of sarcasm in his voice.

The sailor followed John into the cabin. The boat was in a shambles. Every cabinet and drawer had opened. Their contents strewed about the cabin. The three crewmen were also in a shambles.Our clothing was soaked and our faces showed the outward signs of our ordeal.

Our anxious look could be attributed partially to the ordeal and partially to our concern over the small bag of pot in the drawer under the table.

The sailor checked all of the safety gear aboard thoroughly and found no other problems. He wrote John a citation for the running light. Then he hailed the waiting cutter. It quickly rolled up beside the boat and he jumped back aboard her. The cutter turned back in the direction of the open sea and sped off.


Under way again, we were feeling as if our troubles were finally over. We had survived the storm on the open sea, the lobster trap and the Coast Guard boarding, John had taken over the helm from Paul for the last leg of the trip.

"They probably suspected we were drug trafficers. Who else would be foolish enough to be out on the open ocean in that storm?"John said as he headed the boat towards the Town River.

"Our next hurdle will bet getting this thing docked. We have only one engine running. The tide is low. There is a swift following current coupled with a strong onshore wind. Not to mention we are still dragging the lobster trap and this is my first time docking this beast. I don't know how she will handle," John said.

"Do you want me to take her in for you John?," Paul asked.

"It's my boat. If something is going to happen to her, I'll be the one responsible. Thanks anyway , Paul," John said.

The first attempt nearly put the "Give and Take" on shore. The current and the wind caused her to miss the mark. It carried her very close to the shore. John backed her up, nearly missed a couple other boats, bumped off the dock and got help from friends on the dock. Finally, she settled into the slip.

Our friends, Randy and Beverly had been waiting on the dock contemplating calling the Coast Guard. The last radio contact had been around 1PM. It was now almost 7 PM.It was definitely cocktail time.

I raised my can of Bud and choked out the words, "I would like to propose a toast to the two gutsy guys who got us home safe. Your clear thinking and quick reactions saw us through. I will never forget this day. Thanks guys."