One of the worst aspects of being a dockmaster on the Erie Canal is having to deal with boats that throw a wake.
You see, the speed limit on the Erie Canal is ten miles an hour, but in a zone where there are boats docked, that drops down to 5 miles an hour and/or NO WAKE.
Every vessel is different; some boats throw a wake at lower than 5 MPH. PWC (personal watercraft, jet skis) throw a wake just looking at the water. You don’t even have to start them up.
Anyway, the point is, the only way you can know if you’re throwing a wake IS TO LOOK OVER YOUR SHOULDER BEHIND YOUR BOAT. The gauges in your fancy boat, even if they read six knots (which is faster than 5 MPH BTW) will not tell you if your snowflake of a boat makes other boats jump up in their berths and crash into concrete walls in a way that upsets all and everything aboard.
Only your eyes can tell you this. Waves and whitewater. If you got that, you got wake.
Lets back up a bit.
A wake is a wave produced by a boat moving through the water. I know that sounds simple, but you would be amazed at how many people with too much money and not enough sense have no idea what the term means.
They can buy a boat, why can’t they put it up on plane in a harbor where other boats are docked? They have no idea. And if you yell at them from the dock, they get pissed, because hey, they spent a lot of money, and shouldn’t have to pay attention to rules, and politeness, and understanding of how water and boats work. Money, gas, throttle, zoooooooooooom!
The title of this piece refers to the fact that large boats require skill; so generally, and I do mean generally, the larger the boat, the more skilled and conscientious the captain. This rule has its exceptions, but generally, it’s true.
Smaller boats require less investment, which scales with less intelligence and/or knowledge of the rules of the road. And by intelligence, I mean if you spend a fuckton of money on a boat, you might learn how to use it. Again, this does not follow with my experience of boaters. Even huge boat captains can be assholes. But generally, that’s not the case.
Anyway, the funniest exchange we had this season was early on when a 40+ yacht of recent vintage ($400,000 by my least estimate) rolled up into Fairport at a smarter than polite clip. They hailed the bridge, and asked for a lift. As dockmaster I gave a warning. The radio exchange went something like this:
FAST BOAT: Fairport bridge, we’d like a lift.
FAIRPORT BRIDGE: I’ll get her right up.
DOCK MASTER: Uh, Westbound vessel, this is a no wake zone, please mind your wake.
FAST BOAT: Roger that Dockmaster, we’ve got an inboard 37 computerized navigation system, we have to maintain this speed for bare steerage
DOCK MASTER: (long pause) I’ll give you points for the excuse.
FAST BOAT: (laughter from the crew in the background) It’s no excuse, I've been a captain for two years now, and I have to maintain bare steerage.
DOCK MASTER: (no response)
Because what do you say to that? That’s a lot of money for a boat that doesn’t go slow? How do you dock? Do helicopters follow you around and throw you a line when you want to stop? The crew was guffawing in the background, because they knew their captain was full of shit. I’ve been a captain for ten minutes and I know BS when I smell it.
The truth is, It’s just easier on everyone involved to slow down. Shit, you have to stop anyway until the bridge is up. It’s like racing up to a stop light. What is the point?
Today was just another example of why boats should be licensed just like aircraft.
We were getting ready to get underway on the Belle when this 34 foot Rinker came roaring through the harbor ON PLANE. The Colonial Belle Captain was the first to give them a shout. I was on the dock and yelled. Bob, our new dockmaster piped up. Meanwhile, all the poor boats in the harbor were slamming into the concrete and the pilings were leaning out in a scary kinda way. The captains excuse on the Rinker? “We didn’t know the rules.”
If you don’t know enough not to throw a dangerous wake in a harbor where other boats are docked, you need to park your boat and give the fucking keys to someone who has the sense not to be a dangerous piece of shit. Seriously. I want to know what these guys think when a boat goes by and slams their expensive beauty into a wall? But then again, I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt. They don’t think that far ahead.
“We didn’t know the rules.” He said this on the radio. Now, let’s disregard the fact that you couldn’t use this excuse if you drove at 70 miles an hour through a school zone. Let’s look at the fact that we often load up to ten wheelchair-restricted senior citizens on the Colonial Belle. What if this yahoo had been planing by at that time? What if he knocked our ramp off and spilled an eighty year old on the dock?
Don’t throw a wake around other boats. It’s that simple. It should be printed on every console on every boat in the World.
And word to the wise, it’s how we spot the real boaters from the fakes.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Jumping
Jumping is the best thing in the world. There you are, out on the port side, line in hand, waiting, waiting, waiting. You’re a rock star. Everyone is looking at you, out on the nose of that boat. The captain don’t matter, the passengers don’t matter. You have a mission. You’re gonna put this boat on the dock.
Let’s back up.
If you’ve spent any time in Fairport, during the summer, you’ve seen the Colonial Belle come into port. And there’s always that deckhand, out there, on the port side, with line in hand, waiting to jump off the boat and put the eye around the cleat.
Because that’s how we do it. Port bow line, then spring, then stern. This is how we make this 60 ton vessel fast to the the dock.
We call it jumping, but it’s really a three foot step; though as the boat is closing in, that can look both far and wide.
The rule is, one hand for you, one hand for the boat. The unspoken rule is, grab enough line and enough slack, so the senior deckhand up top doesn't short you and you don't end up in the canal.
Deckhands have fallen in. Now we have to wear an inflatable life vest. Because deckhands fell in.
Anyway, the boat comes up the channel, then, full stop. you look down, and there's nothing but water. The captains don't want any forward inertia. You don't want to get wet.
You can feel it, out there on the rail when the captain kicks it back into gear. Then they do this whole Tokyo Drift maneuver, and the boat is turning on a dime. It's slicking into it's berth, and all you can do is wait.
The boat closes into the dock, the senior deckhand is calling numbers to the captain, and when you feel comfortable, you jump, with line in hand.
The first line is the bow, which you place around the cleat, and if you’re good, you keep it from becoming fouled between the dock and the boat. You guide it. The senior deckhand, up top, is pulling in the slack, and as the boat comes on you move from bow to spring.
The spring line serves double duty. If you lean back enough, it makes the bow and beam fenders come onto the dock, and you’re golden. Drop that and get the stern line on tight.
Once the stern line is tight, and both bow and beam fenders are leaning in towards the dock, you can bring up the ramp. It’s best to have the ramp ready before you slide that door, because as soon as you do, the passengers want to disembark.
Jumping is fun. Jumping is the best. Jumping is the pay off for being the lowest of deckhands.
I love to jump.
Let’s back up.
If you’ve spent any time in Fairport, during the summer, you’ve seen the Colonial Belle come into port. And there’s always that deckhand, out there, on the port side, with line in hand, waiting to jump off the boat and put the eye around the cleat.
Because that’s how we do it. Port bow line, then spring, then stern. This is how we make this 60 ton vessel fast to the the dock.
We call it jumping, but it’s really a three foot step; though as the boat is closing in, that can look both far and wide.
The rule is, one hand for you, one hand for the boat. The unspoken rule is, grab enough line and enough slack, so the senior deckhand up top doesn't short you and you don't end up in the canal.
Deckhands have fallen in. Now we have to wear an inflatable life vest. Because deckhands fell in.
Anyway, the boat comes up the channel, then, full stop. you look down, and there's nothing but water. The captains don't want any forward inertia. You don't want to get wet.
You can feel it, out there on the rail when the captain kicks it back into gear. Then they do this whole Tokyo Drift maneuver, and the boat is turning on a dime. It's slicking into it's berth, and all you can do is wait.
The boat closes into the dock, the senior deckhand is calling numbers to the captain, and when you feel comfortable, you jump, with line in hand.
The first line is the bow, which you place around the cleat, and if you’re good, you keep it from becoming fouled between the dock and the boat. You guide it. The senior deckhand, up top, is pulling in the slack, and as the boat comes on you move from bow to spring.
The spring line serves double duty. If you lean back enough, it makes the bow and beam fenders come onto the dock, and you’re golden. Drop that and get the stern line on tight.
Once the stern line is tight, and both bow and beam fenders are leaning in towards the dock, you can bring up the ramp. It’s best to have the ramp ready before you slide that door, because as soon as you do, the passengers want to disembark.
Jumping is fun. Jumping is the best. Jumping is the pay off for being the lowest of deckhands.
I love to jump.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
Cocktailing
Serving drinks on the Colonial Belle has it’s charms. We call it cocktailing.
You run up the back stairs with a Guest Check pad and a pen, and survey the top deck. Over there is a Mom and Dad with 6 kids. That’s a tray full of Iced tea, bottled water, lemonade and you get a $1 tip. Over here is a two top with a guy with long hair and a girl with tattoos. That’s a Margarita and an Electric Lemonade and a $3 tip.
Which do you do first?
I’m short, stupid and unbalanced, so I generally do two or three tables at a time; that’s the only way I can keep orders straight and hope to be able to lug the trays up the stairs without losing everything.
There's a lot of pressure from the get-go, but our shortest cruise is an hour and a half, so don't worry, you're gonna get a drink.
A note about trays, you only bring them up with drinks, carrying one around when taking orders is lame. You have to go down to get change, so why carry that extra weight both ways?
The double chair seating along the port and starboard side and up in the bow is usually saved for last; it’s awkward to serve folks that don’t have a table.
I’m always impressed with the deckhands that are good at cocktailing, especially the ones that seem to enjoy it. It’s not really that big of a boat. The bar is open. I understand the restaurant effect of sitting and having drinks delivered, but as a boater I don’t understand why folks are unwilling to roam the boat.
But that’s just me.
We generally start cocktailing after the Fairport lift bridge, which means once you have enough orders, and if your senior deckhand is any good at the bar, you’re delivering drinks right at Perinton Park, and collecting money to take back downstairs and make change.
You can always spot a newby. They’re the one standing up next to a table with a tray under their arm, counting out money when the Church Street Bridge looms and is about to take off their head.
You run up the back stairs with a Guest Check pad and a pen, and survey the top deck. Over there is a Mom and Dad with 6 kids. That’s a tray full of Iced tea, bottled water, lemonade and you get a $1 tip. Over here is a two top with a guy with long hair and a girl with tattoos. That’s a Margarita and an Electric Lemonade and a $3 tip.
Which do you do first?
I’m short, stupid and unbalanced, so I generally do two or three tables at a time; that’s the only way I can keep orders straight and hope to be able to lug the trays up the stairs without losing everything.
There's a lot of pressure from the get-go, but our shortest cruise is an hour and a half, so don't worry, you're gonna get a drink.
A note about trays, you only bring them up with drinks, carrying one around when taking orders is lame. You have to go down to get change, so why carry that extra weight both ways?
The double chair seating along the port and starboard side and up in the bow is usually saved for last; it’s awkward to serve folks that don’t have a table.
I’m always impressed with the deckhands that are good at cocktailing, especially the ones that seem to enjoy it. It’s not really that big of a boat. The bar is open. I understand the restaurant effect of sitting and having drinks delivered, but as a boater I don’t understand why folks are unwilling to roam the boat.
But that’s just me.
We generally start cocktailing after the Fairport lift bridge, which means once you have enough orders, and if your senior deckhand is any good at the bar, you’re delivering drinks right at Perinton Park, and collecting money to take back downstairs and make change.
You can always spot a newby. They’re the one standing up next to a table with a tray under their arm, counting out money when the Church Street Bridge looms and is about to take off their head.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Floating Restaurant Algebra
We use some interesting terminology on the Colonial Belle; we say we're gonna drop salads, we sling drinks, and when dinnertime has come, we throw out plates. That is to say we serve salads, pour drinks and carefully place that serving of chicken in front of each guest.
I haven't the foggiest where this violent rhetoric has its roots. Perhaps it comes from the rough and tumble world where the customer on the other side of the bar may have a pistol or two hidden away amongst their finery.
Or perhaps the violent language is simply a reflection of the difficulty of facing the public when you know they have little or no appreciation of what it takes to feed them in a civilized manner. Especially on a boat. In the middle of the water.
You know, basic floating restaurant algebra.
I haven't the foggiest where this violent rhetoric has its roots. Perhaps it comes from the rough and tumble world where the customer on the other side of the bar may have a pistol or two hidden away amongst their finery.
Or perhaps the violent language is simply a reflection of the difficulty of facing the public when you know they have little or no appreciation of what it takes to feed them in a civilized manner. Especially on a boat. In the middle of the water.
You know, basic floating restaurant algebra.
Pump Out
There’s something special about going to pump out on the Colonial Belle. A lot of the crew dread it, because, well, it is a shitty job, but there’s a certain sense of freedom. There are horror stories, about turbo pumps being left on, and deckhands getting doused with gallons of human waste, but if you follow protocol, it’s actually quick, clean and fairly easy duty.
There are no passengers, only crew, so you can let your hair down, so to speak. There's no audience. It's just us folks. It takes about an hour, so deckhands can perform needed tasks while we’re underway, or parked at the pump out dock.
Also, the short ride includes a lot of tight maneuvering, and I can tell the Captain enjoys showing off her close-quarters skills. We turn the boat twice during this brief journey, and not for nothing, turning a 60 foot boat with a 30 foot beam in a canal that is only 100 feet wide is something to watch, especially when that vessel only has one prop and no bow thruster.
The Captain always seems in high-spirits when we go to pump out, and her attitude is infectious.
We use two breast lines, and even those are rigged in a way that is loosey-goosey compared to normal rigging for passenger cruises; two eye-spliced ends are run down the side of the boat on either side of the sliding cargo door, and then extra slack is pulled and the looped ends are tossed into the doorway willy nilly, ready for the jumper to gather them and jump from the doorway onto the tiny wooden pump out dock.
Once the jumper has placed the eye-splices over the cleats and the boat is snuggled up against the dock you hook the long yellow hose to the fitting on the boats flank. The Banjo fitting is a little tricky, but once it’s in place and you hit the green button, you can watch through a tiny plexiglass window on the hose as all that effluvia is pumped out of our tanks and down into the city’s sewer. The joke is to play “count the tampons” but I’ve never actually seen one.
I like to go to pump out. It’s satisfactory in a way. A cleansing. Like taking a really well-deserved shit.
There are no passengers, only crew, so you can let your hair down, so to speak. There's no audience. It's just us folks. It takes about an hour, so deckhands can perform needed tasks while we’re underway, or parked at the pump out dock.
Also, the short ride includes a lot of tight maneuvering, and I can tell the Captain enjoys showing off her close-quarters skills. We turn the boat twice during this brief journey, and not for nothing, turning a 60 foot boat with a 30 foot beam in a canal that is only 100 feet wide is something to watch, especially when that vessel only has one prop and no bow thruster.
The Captain always seems in high-spirits when we go to pump out, and her attitude is infectious.
We use two breast lines, and even those are rigged in a way that is loosey-goosey compared to normal rigging for passenger cruises; two eye-spliced ends are run down the side of the boat on either side of the sliding cargo door, and then extra slack is pulled and the looped ends are tossed into the doorway willy nilly, ready for the jumper to gather them and jump from the doorway onto the tiny wooden pump out dock.
Once the jumper has placed the eye-splices over the cleats and the boat is snuggled up against the dock you hook the long yellow hose to the fitting on the boats flank. The Banjo fitting is a little tricky, but once it’s in place and you hit the green button, you can watch through a tiny plexiglass window on the hose as all that effluvia is pumped out of our tanks and down into the city’s sewer. The joke is to play “count the tampons” but I’ve never actually seen one.
I like to go to pump out. It’s satisfactory in a way. A cleansing. Like taking a really well-deserved shit.
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