Yesterday was dues paying time on Blind Hog. There was a 120 nautical mile round trip to the Spur in a nasty 2 to 4 foot Gulf chop, with the Freemanator, Justin Goff, and Lisa Weber aboard, dodging thunderstorms all day to catch two - count'em, two - mahi.
The real fun began when, at 5 PM, the port engine shut down 12 nautical miles from the Destin sea buoy and could not be restarted. So, I lashed the port shaft to the engine mount to prevent the screw from turning and burning up the transmission, and on we came, at 6 knots, in a beam sea.
Steering on one engine in a twin screw boat is problematic, because you can only go straight by maximum over steering at a low speed to counteract the thrust of the one screw, which very much wants to turn the boat, in this case, to port. But I wasn't too worried, because I had actually come in on one engine in Blind Hog once before, and it had not been all that difficult getting him in the slip.
Upon arriving at the sea buoy two hours later, my relief was short lived. I realized that because of the steering challenge, the east wind, and a strong current, I could not get between the rock jetties and into the comparative safety of East Pass without significant risk of piling up on the west jetty.
I called Mary to report our situation, and she said she coud see us from the balcony, circling counterclockwise, trying to get enough easting and enough nerve to attempt the entry. But it was a no go on both fronts.
We called for a tow. They said they would be there in an hour, but they were not in sight an hour and a half later. It was dark by then and too rough to anchor with confidence off the beach, so I decided to chance going in, with Lisa in the tower and Justin on the bow to spot jetties and buoys that were almost invisible in the combination of overcast darkness and the glare of all the lights that are Destin at the height of the summer season. (My radar is, of course, in the shop, but, hey, I knew I wouldn't need it, because this was only a day trip.) Freeman was standing on the gunwale, holding on to the tower leg, relaying info between me and my lookouts. I did not call Mary, because there was nothing she could do, and I did not want to worry her.
Creeping along at three knots, we made it through the jetties. All went well until I attempted the starboard turn into Destin Harbor, and, once again, I could not get my bow around against the east wind and the falling tide running out of the harbor. I was trapped in the 30 yard gap between Noriego Point and the docks at Harbor Walk. I could maintain my position by alternately backing and going forward, thus avoiding being carried down on the pilings of the nearby East Pass Bridge, but I could not get in the harbor.
"There is Grandma," Freeman said. Sure enough, there was all 22 feet of Honey's Money with Mary at the wheel and Bart and Pete Mitchell aboard. They tossed us a line, but try as she might, Mary and her little boat could not pull Blind Hog's bow around, and she was in danger of me pushing her into the docks as I fought to hold my position. We had to cast off the line.
At that moment - and the timing could not have been better - the tow boat finally arrived and took us in tow. Mary led the tow boat to my slip, where she and the Mitchells jumped out on the dock, tossed us lines, and pulled the Hog into his slip by main force. It was 10 PM.
An hour later, Freeman and I were sitting at the kitchen bar after a shower as Mary warmed seafood soup she had made for us earlier.
"Mary, what possessed you to come out in your little boat in this wind in the middle of the night," I asked.
She shrugged. "I saw you head for the jetties, and I knew you might need help. Just part of my job. Do you boys want hot sauce with your soup?"
