In2Deep

Though she’s lived nearly her entire life splashing around in extended boat season climes, in traditional warm weather months terms that’s how many seasons I’ve had with my girl, In2Deep, since I bought her new in January 2002. So yesterday, as I was giving her a full detail in my home slip here at beautiful Lake Travis just outside Austin, and fully cleansing her of some lingering grime from a rare in-tow encounter with a rain storm when returning from LOTO (only the 2nd time in her life that she’s been defiled with road rain film), I found myself reflecting on her years of giving me and my family great enjoyment, and more great stories than I can count.

Dozens of vacation trips to Lake Havasu and Bass Lake (California), countless day trips to Lakes Castaic and Pyramid, single vacation trips to Lake Tahoe, Lake Mead, Lake Powell (the absolute best boat vacation of them all), almost 2 years as a full-time resident and 5 years as a 1x – 2x annual visitor of LOTO, and almost 6 years as a full-time resident of Lake Travis. Yes, I2D has graced many bodies of water, and they are better for it.

When I detail I2D, which happens 2x on average each year (sometimes 3x if I’m feeling industrious), I find myself reliving each situation or scenario underlying the few “character marks” I encounter as I’m waxing on and waxing off, mentally zoned-in on every inch of hull and deck. Maybe those of you who do your own detailing know what I’m talking about. Fortunately, I2D doesn’t have any notable bumps or bruises of that I can’t fully explain. I know the when, where and what behind each; the chunk of rubber missing from the rub rail, the small chip in the fiberglass, the not-too-noticeable rash in the colored gelcoat.

For instance, the small 3-4 light scratches on my deck, just above the rub rail near my forward cleat. These happened during my all-time most memorable “oh $hit” moment:
Havasu, June 2005, 2AM. I2D is moored off the beach at the First Cabin Club (Nautical Inn) just outside my beachfront timeshare – with about 20 other nice performance boats. A massive monsoon storm blows in (as they often do that time of year), packing 65 MPH straight winds and heavy driving rain. Wakes everyone up, and all the Captains run from their rooms to the beach to defend their rides from the elements (which for all experienced Havasu boaters is a very high odds to-be-expected event at least once per trip that time of year). 4’ rollers are blowing off the lake straight into the beach. People’s EZ-ups, chairs, coolers and floaties are airborne. Little kids, who think this is all the coolest thing ever, are being ripped from their mamas’ arms (OK, perhaps a bit of an exaggeration). Anyway, people are running around in a state panic.

My Havasu storm defense strategy to protect against these intense desert weather events had always been to jump on-board, and be ready to quickly evacuate the scene if necessary. I’d never had to actually mobilize this plan, until this storm when A 34’ Magic cat AND a 38’ cigarette – both moored further offshore than the rest of us – broke loose. Like a $400K 75’ long drifting and rudderless battering ram of custom graphics and high performance hardware, these two awesome machines were headed broadside toward our anchored armada. Seeing this imminent doom headed directly my direction about 200’ away and closing fast, I made the quick decision to make a run for it. I quickly untied the stern anchor, ran to the front and went over the bow and released the anchor (coming very close to being pitched into the water), ran back to the helm (bumping my head on the mid-cabin entry (been there done that 100 times), fired her up and powered straight out into the waves toward the middle of the lake. I execute all this perfectly (if I say so myself – and in about 60 seconds.

So clear of the beach and fiberglass tsunami, there I am, in the pitch blackness of Havasu, 100 yards offshore riding out The Perfect Storm. I’ll admit – it was a bit scary…maybe just a tad on the very scary side. So after about 5 minutes I decide the smart thing to do would be to make my way around to the other side of the peninsula – Hot Boat Cove – to at least get out of the straight winds and unobstructed rollers that were tossing me around like a lost floating beach ball. So I do that, and the storm winds are slightly less fierce, and water much less turbulent. To my surprise there is room for about 2 boats on the beach right in front of the Naked Turtle Beach Bar. So I line up, come in hot, and beach the boat. I jump out and quickly set the sand-spike, tie off a couple of fenders on my starboard side, and take position in the water – waist deep and about mid-hull – to hold my girl steady and straight.

Moments later, I hear roaring big blocks, and a 36 Spectre comes flying in next to mine. It’s a tight squeeze, but doable. Mr. Spectre captain jumps out, anchors up, and wades into the water next to me to hold his machine off mine. Things seem under control. It’s been about 30 minutes total elapsed time for this chaos (unusually long for a monsoon to roll). It’s about 2:30AM.

Then it happens.

I’m not sure what the meteorological term is, but this storm which had to this point been rolling in from the Southwest, reverses course and comes rolling over us from the opposite direction – retracing its ugly path. Probably for the first time ever, 4’ rollers are pounding and breaking on Hot Boat Cove. So the scene repeats itself all over again, but this time I’m bow-in on the beach. I’m taking waves over the transom and we are rocking, rolling, and pitching. So is this giant Spectre, and our boats are moving closer to each other with each set of waves.

So Mr. Spectre and I jump on our decks, and with each of us holding our respective bow rails, facing each other, and with our bare feet on the other’s boat as leverage – we sit there in this pounding rain, gale force winds, and blowing pelting sand. We are the last line of defense against significant boat damage. Within 5 minutes, our fenders are squeezed between our hulls, and it’s everything we can do to keep the side of his boat from coming over the top of my deck. We are using every ounce of energy to keep our boats apart. My arm and leg muscles are burning, and I’m imagining a pretty big fiberglass repair bill.

In the end, this went on for about 10 minutes, then the storm subsided. We are successful in keeping our boats apart. We both walk back around the point back to the First Cabin Club beach, lots of people milling around. What we see when we get there are 4 swamped/sunk boats, an overturned courtesy dock, and various debris everywhere. Quite the epic storm. The next morning I brought I2D back over to her mooring spot, and gave her a thorough inspection. No damage, but I did end up with a few tiny scratches, barely noticeable, where my fender had been doing it valiant duty.

I won’t bore everyone with the other stories I have behind the tiny fiberglass chip near my bow eye, or the small portion of cracked rub rail extrusion, or the adhesive stain on my bow cushion which my wife will never forgive me for – but I can assure you’re there’s an entertaining story behind those – and the handful of other imperfections on my otherwise perfect 2002 Nordic 28’ Heat Open Bow.

All I can say is that In2Deep has been the perfect boat for these past 12 seasons, given me exceptionally few issues, only left me stranded on the water once (thank you Malibu ski boat with 8 passengers who towed me 8 MILES (2 HOURS) back to the marina, and wouldn’t accept a penny for the inconvenience), and delivered great memories to everyone who has had the good fortune to spend time around and on board.

Happy boating all. Love my Nordic and the boater lifestyle.

David

Jay Gadsby

Great story David!! Someday I will have to get down there and meet up with you.

97FASTech

iTrader: (6)

Damn, quite a story and adventure. Now that is over, it must be fun to relive that memory. Glad no major damage though, sounds as if could have been really bad.

tapp

Great story…great writing, happy it all worked out.

pluguglyinhere

So any advice to a new member of the Nordic Navy. I finally made it with my 2006 Rage, with 82 hours. What is the advice to assure my dream boat holds up like yours?

In2Deep

That's a great question. My basic answers...
1. Be diligent about maintenance; change motor and outdrive oil regularly and check, keep other fluids routinely, and change raw water impeller and fuel/water separator every other season, and check outdrive alignment every couple of seasons (if used under normal conditions) -- to keep her running great.
2. Wipe downs, washes and waxes regularly to keep her looking good.
3. Keep interior clean and conditioned; I like 303 UV protectant -- best stuff out there IMO.
4. Tighten all accessible screws and bolts 2x per season, or whenever you've got a spare 10 minutes just floating around.
5. Don't hammer it out of the hole every time. What's the point? Ease her up on plane.
6. May not be necessary, and others may disagree, but I like to run a tank or two of fuel system cleaner each season.
7. Use her
8. Carry good kharma with you each time out.

Jay Gadsby

^ All very good advice! Don't forget your trailer! The trailer needs just as much love as the boat


Side note, I had to get towed in a few weeks ago. My circuit breaker in the engine bay popped. Not accessible without power. I have since rewired the hatch and the door to the cabin so it can always be opened as long as there is battery power. Only positive note, I got towed in by a Nordic Escape Didn't feel quite so bad about it. Oh, the kicker, I was showing the boat to a possible new owner. I guess I was meant to keep my HO.

mysweetone

Taht was a great story! I dont nko about anyne else but I for oone would love to hear about the tiny fiberglass chip near your bow eye, the small portion of cracked rub rail extrusion, as well as the adhesive stain on your bow cushion...!

Jay Gadsby

Yeah, I vote David writes a short story or two and gets em published.

In2Deep

OK…since you asked and I’ve got some time on my hands to write this.

The facts behind my crushed section of rub rail extrusion.

I file tile this one in two of the saddest of sad sack categories; 1) “I knew that was going to happen” and 2) “what was I thinking”? To get a feeling of the genre, a couple of other choice incidents beyond this one include the time I took a direct hit to my index finger, full-swing with a hammer while trying to drive a 6’ copper ground rod into the ground, and taking a tumble of a 6’ step ladder while attempting to reach across to the center of the roof of my Excursion while giving her a wax. Ahhh. Good times.

So one Saturday night a couple of years ago my wife and I are hanging out with another couple at our house, who love to go out on the water in the early evening for dinner at one of our local lakefront eateries. One thing leads to another and a spontaneous plan is born for the four of us to boat about 6 miles down the lake and meet up with two other couples who will meet us at the restaurant.

We take the quick walk down to our marina, load up, and off we go. It’s a beautiful night. We make it to Café Blue, which is about halfway down a moderate sized arm of Lake Travis, which doesn’t get much traffic in the evening. As I idle up, I see that all inside slips and inside walkway moorings are full. Several large cruisers, and several smaller boats. Along the outside apx. 150’ run of the dock facing the main water – which functions somewhat like a breakwater, I see two other boats tied off. There’s no other place to park – except for this area.

At this point, I’m admitting publicly right here that I’m a bit of a docking/tie-off worry wart when I’m at these public boat-in venues. I can’t really explain it, but it is what it is. That said, I’ve never considered my always-on quest for an ideal tie-off approach to be a real issue, since we always end up in a good place, and I had never had any issues at foreign docks or tie-ups. And hey, I’m always the one doing the tying and double-checking that things are all-good anyway, and I’m always the last one off the dock, trailing my passengers who most often just jump off the boat, and saunter up to whatever restaurant or bar we’ve arrived at. Nevertheless, and for some time now, I’ve been told by Ms. I2D and my kids, that I spend too much time over-assessing these types of scenarios, and that I should relax a bit, go with the docking flow, and just “be the ball”. So with this in mind, and toward a goal to live a less stressful existence, I decide to apply this mostly unfamiliar Zen-like frame of mind. I idle up, and tie up there on the outside, along with the two other very nice boats. Water is like glass, the moon is out, and the crowd up on the waterfront balcony are having a great time. I hadn’t seen a larger boat of consequence all night, and I figured that if someone does drive by, the wake effect will be manageable – no worries. What could go wrong. Probably...nothing. Calm and rational Zen-like attitude I think.

So I join my group, who had been seated along the lake-facing railing, and order a Jack and Coke, Tall. We have an awesome view of the water, which is great for ambience – and a perfect vantage point for my frequent check-in glances out to the boat (which I of course I don’t let on I’m doing for fear of being accused of un-Zenlike behavior). Very hard to do these visual inspections at night, since no sunglasses to stealth behind.

No sooner had my drink arrived at the table, than I see what can only be described as a barge-sized cruiser, steaming down the arm toward us – which turned out to be our locally famous 55’ Sea Ray Sundancer that lives at Lake Travis – widely considered to be the 2nd largest boat out here (a 65’ Sunseeker named “Pulp Fiction” takes #1 big boat honors). She’s rambling in at a pretty good clip, but in keeping with my newly found sense of Zen – I tell myself that she’ll be slowing down and coming to idle before she gets here, since she surely is headed to our restaurant.

No such luck. Our 55’ Sundancer maintains her speed as she cruises up the arm, past the restaurant, a scant 100’ or so off the docks, and putting off the normal Mt. McKinley sized wake these sized vessels do. Most people in the restaurant who were paying attention were oohing and aahing at the sheer beauty of this vessel as she steams past, her 10 or so passengers enjoying the South Beach ambiance cast by her blue underwater LED’s while sipping martinis, and with Sinatra serenading them singing New York New York from the $30K stereo system. Oh, and she's got that cool looking Ratheon spinning radar thing going -- probably for the express purpose of tracking the progress of the tsunami she's throwing off (just as seen in the Poseidon Adventure).

Me, well the only music I’m hearing running in my head at that moment is “Turn Out the Lights, The Party’s Over”. Oddly, I recall it was the way Don Meredith used to sing it on Monday Night Football when a team was getting crushed. RIP, Dandy Don. You and Cosell (Howard, RIP to you as well), were the best ever.

So with nothing I can do but watch in horror – I calmly get up from the table, and start my walk of shame down to my boat. I watch in slow motion as she is lifted up, fenders pinched hard against the dock, then down, then back up as the Fenders flong up to the surface of the dock, then back down catching my rub rail. Insert big thud sound here.

At this point, and I'm about halfway down the dock at this point, I'm trying extremely hard to maintain my Zenmaster aura. And despite the fact that we all know -- yes, WE ALL KNOW -- that the boat gods routinely punish poor judgment, and with my sketchy tie-off they'd surely punish mine by sending a giant wake my way that would toss me into the dock -- no...despite all that -- I was remaining reasonably calm. Then I recalled that I that I uncharacteristically succumbed to inexperienced boater group pressure to do things their way and not my own time-tested, never wrong, never an incident way. Welll, OK, there's more than one way, my way, from point a to point b. Besides, if I had objected, that would not have been in keeping with this oblivious, er, I mean calm mind theory. And besides, broken things can be fixed. No big deal. I enjoy spending money for something I could have -- knew I could have avoided.. I'm about 3/4 down the dock at this point.

I get to my boat, thoroughly expecting to see the rub rail completely separated from the boat given the hit it took. Much to my surprise, the only damage was to a small section of the rub rail, which seemed to just crush top to bottom, leaving a spiderweb set of cracks, along about a 6” section. Not a big deal. I now have a crunched rub rail section -- where none existed just 15 minutes before. What? Unacceptable. The fact is this could have easily been avoided had I not strayed from my normal routine.

So it was at that moment that I more or less abandoned my 15 minutes old turning of a new leaf. This calm, laid back, Zenstate folks talk about isn't for me.
I'll just stick to what works for me, and leave mental processing innovations for something else.


I2D