The customer was a rather rough looking Lion. Oh,
he was dressed well enough, but there was something about him the Broker
didn’t like. Maybe it was the way he seemed to look right through
you. He had come inquiring about a houseboat; a vessel he could live
on. That wasn’t unusual; real estate in the islands was generally
either too remote to be practical, or too expensive. Many folks came
looking for that seagoing compromise, the houseboat, and just as many decided
it wasn’t for them and wanted to sell out a few years later. The
Broker did a _good_ business.
They spent the day looking at houseboats, and yachts of
all descriptions. Some were too luxurious. Some too small.
None seemed too spartan. Most were too expensive. It was obvious
he liked the renovated tug boat, that it seemed to fit his style; it was
also just as impractical, given its high price. Everything on that
one worked……… They were standing on the dock, talking over his options
when his gaze fell across a dark shadow at the edge of the shipyard.
“Whats the story behind the Schooner”? He asked. The Broker
shrugged; “Some “bright young kid” had the idea that the outer islands
could use an inexpensive freight service. He had that cargo schooner
built, on the assumption that sailing vessels had a lower ton-mile rate
than any other vessel, and that the folks in the islands wouldn’t care
about speed that much. It kinda worked, for a while. Then he
got caught in a storm, and the ship got damaged. He wasn’t carrying
any insurance, and had to declare bankruptcy.” The lion nodded; ‘whats
the asking price’. The Broker told him, and he nodded; “lets go take
a look”. The Broker smiled; “help yourself; its not locked.
I, ah, don’t want to get dirty……” The Lion nodded and padded off
towards the ship.
He sat on the edge of the cargo hatch. The ship
was a mess. Filthy. Still, its steel hull was sound, and its
carbon fiber masts in good shape. Most of the running tackle was
gone, but the stays and shrouds were all aircraft grade stainless steel
cable, and in good shape. The auxiliary engine looked frozen solid,
but at one time had been a good make. The donkey engine looked a
little better; he could turn it over by hand, but as the fuel tank was
empty, there was no way to tell if it’d start. Pulling out a PADD,
he started to review his finances carefully.
“Thats a ridiculous offer, but if you insist, I’ll submit
it” the Broker said, thinking to himself that if the bank that owned the
hulk accepted it, his commission would be just about zilch. The lion
just shrugged; “got to start somewhere. Lets see just how eager the
bank is to unload that white elephant.
“I can’t believe they took it!” The Broker shook
his head as he accepted the lion’s check. “I guess you got yourself
a rust bucket…….. Oh, and the marina would like to talk to you about “rent”,
now that you’re the registered owner…….”
“Yeah, mister, I guess if you’re payin’ for it, we can
get water and power to that tub. Ah, that is if you don’t mind a
hose…….” The lion shrugged and smiled; “that’ll work”. He paid
the marina manager for three months in advance and made his way “home”.
It’d taken quite a bit of work to clean up even one small portion of the
ship for his living quarters. Something had been nesting there and
it had been pretty foul. Still, he’d unclogged the bilges, and gotten
a bilge pump working. With running water he could probably speed
the “housecleaning” up a lot. Living quarters first. Even if
nothing else panned out, the price he was paying for his “dock” was cheaper
than living almost anywhere else in the islands, with the possible exception
of some shack in the boonies. He’d had enough of the boonies for
a while……..
The rain woke him. He’d slung a hammock under the
main boom, and had taken to sleeping above decks, due to the heat.
Smiling he rose and faced into the increasing spattering of droplets blown
by the wind. “Wrong direction” he thought to himself. “Someday,
I’ll need a wind from the opposite direction to help me float this puppy.
That and a DAMN high tide…….” Grinning to himself, he went below,
to find someplace a little drier to sleep.
The living quarters were now clean, as was the galley,
which had been returned to functionality, as had been the wardroom.
He had a tidy little apartment on the ship, and while life was quiet, things
were good. The money he had left over from his monthly disability
pension, after necessities, was slowly going to rebuilding the ship.
This month’s task had been the auxiliary engine. Working in the cramped
confines of the ship, in what he laughingly called the engine room, he’d
completely broken down the small diesel. What could be cleaned up
and re-used, he kept. What was beyond repair, like the starter, he
had ordered. To help make ends meet, he’d taken a job as a night
watchman in the adjacent boatyard. Slowly, he was getting to know
most of the locals, to find friends that could help him with the things
he needed help with. Still, all it took was the wind in his face,
some days, to make him impatient to be done, to weigh anchor and set sail.
“You smell like turpentine” Jimmy grinned. The lion
grumbled as he tried to clean the spots of black pain from his hide.
“I look like a fu…… ah, a flaming Cheetah” he growled. Somehow he’d
attracted most of the kids in the neighborhood of the marina. They
were always coming by to see what he was doing. When he was lucky,
their mother’s would send something they’d baked or cooked along with them.
They knew the kids would be safe in his company. Truth be told, he
enjoyed their company, but then Lions had always been social that way.
From the mud up, the Schooner’s hull now sported a glossy black hull, with
a white top. The deckhouse was white, with a tan roof. The
deck was painted tan, doing a very poor imitation of wood. She looked
great……… but looks could be deceiving. She was still stuck firmly
in the mud.
“I think she moved that time!” Big Ed yelled.
The bear was perched on the bowsprit like some gigantic furry vulture,
looking down at where the steel of the hull met the mud. The Lion
took another heave on the winch handle, and the ground tackle groaned.
It was what they called a spring tide, an unusually high tide brought about
by the alignment of the moons. The fact that it was three in the
morning not withstanding, now was the time: He had to move while the tide
and the wind was right. “Hit it again” Big Ed called, and the lion
groaned as he threw his weight behind the lever. That time he felt
it too. Either the ground tackle was slipping, the anchor they’d
buried so carefully in the gravel on the far side of the shipyard was pulling
free, or the ship had actually moved a fraction of an inch. The lion
panted and wished that the donkey engine had been hooked to the anchor
windlass as well as the halyard winches. Another one of those details
he’d have to attend to. He knew that as soon as they broke the suction
the mud had on the hull, things were likely to happen fast…… As he
leaned on the lever again, he heard the roar of the boatyard’s workboat,
as Billy the otter took up the slack on the stern line, endeavoring to
pull that end free too. Despite the early hour, the far bank was
dotted with folks watching, come to cheer them on, even if they weren’t
helping…. As he threw his back into it, pulling on the winch handle
once again, the very earth seemed to moan, a noise ending in a giant _SLUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPP_
and then the bow of the Schooner was swinging free, drifting out into the
channel! The crowd roared, and then Billy’s workboat pulled the stern
free, and everyone was scrambling to get some lines to shore, to prevent
the schooner from drifting into the other boats in the marina. Once
the ship was secured, the party began, and it lasted well into the day.
“Well John, I guess this is it.” “Yeah, Ed” the
lion grinned; “its now or never. Either I take this puppy out to
sea, or give up and declare her another harbor bound houseboat.”
Billy grinned; “you can’t take her out yet! You haven’t even christened
her!” Big Ed nodded solemnly; “can’t take her out without a name!
Picked one yet?” The lion chuckled and nodded; “I’ve had several
suggestions, most of them centering around something like “Lost Cause”,
but personally I think “Resurgent” fits the bill better. Its the
kind of name customers might like.” Billy laughed; “Rusty is more
like it” and Big Ed nodded. The lion shrugged and moved to get a
cold bottle of beer from the quarterdeck cooler, one of his own innovations.
Striding the length of the deck, he stuck an arm through the netting that
stretched between the bowsprit and the bow, and yelling; “I christen thee
RESURGENT” smashed the bottle against the bow. Rising, he wiped his
paws off on the seat of his shorts and padded back to where Billy and Big
Ed stood. “how’s that?” Billy shrugged; “It’ll do, but I still
think Rusty fits her better” The lion smiled; “well, how about we
call her “Rusty” for short?” Billy and Big Ed nodded, and they all
took another swig of their beers.
Big Ed waved from the dock, as he motored slowly out into
the bay. Billy just stood there as if he expected the schooner to
sink at any instant. When he felt he’d gone a suitable distance,
the lion turned her into the wind. The donkey engine was huffing
slowly, and he kicked her into gear, letting the winch slowly pull up the
jib. When that was hoisted, he threw it in gear to raise the mainsail.
That took a good bit longer and the little engine complained bitterly.
But then that was the biggest, heaviest sail on the ship. Luckily
the Gaff didn’t jam as it slowly crept up the mast; but then, he’d tended
to that carefully, knowing what problems could occur there. Throwing
the clutch on the wheel, locking the rudder into place, he dashed forward
to tie off the jib sheet where he thought it should be, and then dashing
back, he unlocked the helm, and slowly eased the ship off the wind.
As the sails filled out he hurriedly brought in the main sheet. To
his surprise, she took the wind gently, the sails straining, the speed
slowly picking up. He killed the auxiliary engine and feathered the
prop, and just sat back as the Schooner glided across the bay.
He spent the rest of the day just sailing back and forth,
learning how the ship handled, learning his limitations. He decided
he needed an autopilot; while locking the wheel worked most of the time,
if the wind shifted as he dashed about to adjust this or that, it could
bring disaster…….. Still, for someone who hadn’t been sailing in
thirty years, it wasn’t too bad a day’s work. He finally headed into
the wind, near the far side of the bay, dropping the sails, fluttering
to the deck, and then dropping the hook. As the ship came to
rest, he looked about, satisfied. In the morning, the prevailing
winds should make getting under way relatively easy. He puttered
around the ship until dark, and then hopping up onto the mainmast boom,
settled down into the pile of canvas. It was like climbing into an
overstuffed chair, and he lay there, looking up at the stars above him,
delighted, until sleep finally claimed him.
The following morning, he awoke with the dawn. Standing
on the deck, he realized he was in trouble. The wind had shifted
overnight, and he was now anchored off a lee shore. Shrugging he
figured it would be a good test of his seamanship. Raising the jib,
he dashed forward to laboriously raise the anchor. As he felt the
anchor break free, he dashed back, to kick the donkey engine into gear,
to raise the main. The ship slid backwards towards the shore, and
the rocks, and only at the last minute did the rudder manage to swing the
stern to one side, to let the wind catch the sails. He sailed along
the edge of the bay, barely a shiplength off the rocks, slowly clawing
his way to windward. It took about an hour to gain the middle of
the bay, to where he could turn and head for the channel out to the ocean.
“Hope no one was watching that performance” he thought to himself.
“Next time, I’ll swallow my pride and crank up the auxilliary, and just
damn well motor out into the bay.
Big Ed lowered his binoculars and turned to Billy; “thought
he’d had it there, but he managed to pull it out at the last instant.
Either he’s very good, or VERY lucky”. Billy just nodded; “Don’t
think we’ll see him again. His luck’s going to run out sooner or
later if he keeps living like that. Pity too, he always kept good
beer.”
The lion looked at his chart, and then raised the telescope
to look at the blob on the horizon. “I _THINK_ thats little round
top” he thought to himself. “All the field navigation I’ve done,
with map and compass, you think I’d be better prepared for this.
Definitely going to save up for a SatNav system……. Or at least an
RDF (radio direction finder).
He’d followed the chain of islands for about two days,
finally raising the fishing village of Barrelmaker’s cove. Swallowing
his pride, he’d dropped sail well out to sea and had motored in.
Still, the arrival of such a vessel had brought out all the villagers,
and there were plenty of willing hands to help him tie up the ship to the
town dock. The Mayor was an otter, as were most of the villagers,
and was also the owner of the general store. They retired to his
porch to sip a few cold ones and to talk. The lion described what
he was trying to accomplish; charter cargo and passenger service, from
here to wherever, as needed. Low rates for a slow ship. The
Mayor thought that there might be some use for him, and mentioned
that he’d pay good money for a new refrigerator. Delivered.
The lion nodded and took notes as others of the villagers added to
the wish list. “I can see I’m going to have to get bankrolled, if
I’m to purchase the goods ahead of time” he mused out loud. The Mayor
just shrugged; “its your business; you can’t expect others to bankroll
it for you. We’re not likely to give you a downpayment and then have
you sail off over the horizon, never to be seen again.” The lion
just nodded. As he rose to take his leave, he handed the Mayor a
stack of business cards he’d had printed up; “anyone find they have need
of my services, just have ‘em give me a call. Got my cell phone number
on there, along with my satellite fax number. I’ll be around if you
need me. And I’ll be back with the goods we talked about”.
With that, he returned to his ship, amongst a herd of the village’s still
curious young.
The next morning, early, he slipped his mooring lines
and backed the ship from the dock. Motoring slowly out into the ocean,
he raised sail and headed on to his next destination. The ship, like
most schooners sailed herself, and he was able to spend a good bit of time
puttering around deck; there was still a LOT of work to be done.
As the ship cut through the blue waters, he took a moment to examine her
in detail. She was 106.5’ long from bow to stern, with a 25’ beam,
and she drew 11.5’ of water, fully loaded. The foremast was 103.5’
tall, and the mainmast was 122’ above the quarterdeck, a step up from the
“main deck” at the front of the ship. She had a companionway to the
forepeak area just abaft the foremast, a cargo hatch between the foremast
and the mainmast, and another just abaft the mainmast. There was a small
deckhouse on the quarterdeck, and behind that, the ship’s wheel.
According to her papers, she grossed 137 tons, with a net weight of 98
tons, giving him a cargo capacity of 39 tons. The ship raced through
the water as the lion bent on all the sail she possessed, sailing easily
on a broad reach. He had all three jibs set, the big rectangular
“Fisherman” between the tips of the fore and main masts, and even the triangular
sail (who’s name he couldn’t remember) between the mainmast’s peak and
the gaff. He purrrred as his little ship, traveling only in ballast
screamed across the waves, her lee rail buried in the foaming water.
As he wove his way from island to island, he thought back to when he’d
been a cub, stealing away in whatever boat he’d had access to, to venture
out by himself and explore the “world”. He chuckled as he realized
that he was still behaving like a cub, except on a much grander scale.
He wondered what his father’d think……. He laughed and could almost
hear his father telling him that it was dangerous to be pushing the boat
that hard all alone; “one good gust of wind, and you’ll be knocked down!
How could you possibly right your ship all by yourself?” He grinned
and shook his head, his mane flying in the wind, and eased off the wind
a point or two, until the ship straightened, just a little. As with
his childhood, as soon has he’d gotten out of sight of land, he’d done
away with his shorts, kicking them down the companionway. A reminder
of youth……..
He’d raised the island easier than he thought, approaching
from the Southeast. He’d cruised around its coast, looking at it
from angles he’d never seen it from before. As he cruised around
the island, he used the time to shorten sail, until he was moving quietly
under just one jib and the mainsail. Just as the sun kissed the horizon,
he entered the lagoon. Skirting the dock, he’d turned with a flourish,
the sails snapping crisply as he came about in the dying breeze.
Dropping the canvas, he let the ship coast to a stop, and then dropped
the hook, scarcely three boatlengths from the little island in the lagoon
called Buck’s Rump. He was folding sails, straightening them in their
lazy jacks, when the canoe came out to investigate. Rale was the
first one on board, his eyes wide as he looked around the ship, growing
wider still as he recognized the lion. Lucas followed his brother
over the rail, also to stare.
He bummed a ride back to the dock in their canoe.
Sylvia had come down to the dock along with her daughters and some
of the guests. Padding up to her, the lion swept her up into a big
hug, and after giving her a big kiss, he said with a grin, said; “See,
Told ya I’d be back!”
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