The large marina building shielded the boats from the sea breeze, allowing him to let the lines go and put the engine in reverse without taking extra precautions. The boat slid out of the slip and turned as he moved the tiller toward the open water of the intracoastal waterway. Once clear of the marina, he followed the navigation aids out Pass-A-Grille channel. The wind was directly in his face as he ran parallel to the white sands of Shell Key and the boats anchored there. The only access to the pristine sand was by boat, making it a more exclusive spot than the crowded public beaches around the point.
Clear of the last marker, he steered into the wind, let out the main sheet, and pulled on the main halyard to raise the mainsail. The sail luffed as the boat was pointed directly into the wind, and he made his way back to the cockpit, shut the engine off, and changed course to 270 degrees—a bearing that would put him on a close haul. The boat took the wind and heeled slightly as he released the jib furling line and pulled out the jib. Speed increased quickly with both sails up, and he sat on the high side of the boat, tiller in hand, watching the green water slip underneath him.
The water started to turn a darker green, reminding him of the color of Sheryl’s eyes this morning. He tried to put her out of his mind as he tacked back and forth, staying close to the 270-degree bearing, timing the tacks so they were the same, in order to stay on course. Birds were circling off in the distance, and he made a note to bring a rod and reel, or at least a hand line with him next time. He judged the sun to be about halfway between its apex and the horizon when he tacked for the last time and brought the boat around slowly to a reciprocal bearing of 90 degrees. He was on a run now, wing on wing; the jib and main on opposite sides of the boat. The tiller lashed in place, his mind drifted as the wind pushed the boat back toward land.
Suddenly a wave jarred him. He must have fallen asleep—easy to do with the boat rising and falling in the following seas. Suddenly alert, he scanned the horizon for the offending boat. Still about two miles from land, there was no need to run this close to another boat in the open waters of the gulf. The afternoon was fading fast and there were several vessels making their way toward the pass, but the offending boat was easy to spot. Its unique cabin stood out on the speed boat.
The other boat was about a mile from the first markers leading to the pass where it would have to reduce speed. That gave the motor boat the advantage of a few minutes, but with his motor in addition to the sails, he figured he could catch it in the channel. He passed the Red #4 marker on his right and saw the boat’s silhouette against Sand Key. The sails were now a disadvantage as the fishing boat was stopped, possibly anchored to blend in with the other boats and wait until dark to offload their catch.
Without knowledge of the channel, he was reluctant to lower the mainsail. To accomplish that maneuver, he would have to turn the boat into the wind before he could safely drop the sail. Instead, he decided to ease the main all the way out and pull in the jib. He grabbed the line for the roller furling in one hand and, leaving two turns around it for friction, took the line for the jib off the winch. Everything ready, he pulled in on the line for the roller furling and met only resistance. Checking the jib sheet, he realized that it wasn’t the problem. The roller furling must be jammed. Concerned now, he tugged on the line several times, but the furling wouldn’t budge.
He looked up to check on his progress and realized he was in trouble. The boat had just past the 7B marker, and was hemmed in a narrow channel. With no options, he let both sheets loose, allowing the sails their full breadth. The only problem was that he was running directly downwind, and the sails still powered him forward. He tried the engine next, turning the throttle to its max, but the small engine didn’t have enough power to correct his course.
The boat was now dangerously close to the sand bar protecting Shell Key, and he was out of options. He tried to put the engine in reverse, but it was too little too late, and the keel of the boat ground into the sand.
The motor strained in full reverse, trying to keep the keel from digging deeper, but a gust of wind drove the boat harder aground. He had to get the sails down. The main dropped into the water when he released the halyard. The jib flapped in the breeze as he climbed forward of the cockpit to bring it in. Using the jib halyard, he dropped the jib, and the sail fell half on the deck and half in the water.
He breathed now that the damage had been mitigated and gathered the sails in, then sat in the cockpit, wiping the sweat from his eyes. The tide would be high in a few hours and probably float him off the sand bar, but until then he had the embarrassment being seen by every boat that passed by and saw him. Several came over to offer assistance, but in the tight channel, and confident the tide would soon do the work, he declined.
An hour later, as the sun was about to drop below the horizon, he was startled awake as the boat moved slightly. It was too early for the tide, so he assumed it was the wake of another boat. He looked up and saw the fishing boat staring bow on at him, the looming figure of George concealing the wheel house.
“Yo, contractor boy. Having some trouble?”
Will tried to ignore him, but the boat remained. “I’m good.” Before he could wave him off, a line hit his deck. He looked at the boat and saw a bright orange bathing suit concealing very little of a tan body on the deck. His gaze remained there until George spoke.
“Bury your pride and let me pull you off. Can’t have you sitting out here all night.”
The last thing Will wanted was George’s help, but he obviously wasn’t going to go away. He went forward and tied the line to the stern cleat and signaled George to pull.
Besides, Will was certain that George’s boat had illegal fish on it, and there was always the chance that it would ground in the process and the marine patrol or Fish and Game would wander along and search it.
The pull caught him off guard and he fell to the deck. He could see George laughing from the helm as he backed his boat away from the sand bar. The water turned brown from the silt he kicked up, and the boat started to move.
Chapter 7
Will paced the floor of the fish house. It was almost 9, and the boys still hadn’t shown up. He hoped they were coming, though the thought crossed his mind that Sheryl had called them off. He cursed himself for not getting their phone numbers, thinking they had probably partied late and just needed a wake up call. Irresponsible for sure, but he remembered when he had been their age, and if he weren’t going fishing he was sleeping in. He stepped outside for the fourth time in the last hour to see if they were there, and looked at the yellow foam panel strapped to his truck. Early this morning he had taken a quick inventory of his depleted funds and made a plan.
The job relied on having a stable surface to work under the structure. On land this would have been easy, using scaffolding and planks, but in the water what he needed was a large floating platform, and that was where the foam panel came in. The four-by-eight sheet of twelve-inch polyurethane would support an elephant.
Looking again toward the street, he continued with his thoughts: It would be harder alone, but there was some work he could do without help. He went back to the truck and removed the panel, which was light enough to carry to the seawall, where he glued and screwed a sheet of plywood to the top of the foam to protect it. Heavier now, he had to strain to push it into the water. It floated well as he boarded it for its maiden voyage.
Tentatively, he stood on the plywood deck and was able to reach the floor framing under the building. He pulled himself along using the wooden joists as he test-drove the raft around the structure. Happy with the results, he went back to the seawall and hopped off.
Still no sign of the boys, so he assembled his tools and some lumber. Back under the building, he went to the first hole and tied the platform to the closest pier with a dock line taken from the sailboat. A floor joist ran right through the center of the hole where he intended to place the new pier. This would have to be cut away and headed off with double joists, to support
the load when he removed it.
He picked up the dangling end of an extension cord dropped through the hole, plugged his saw in, and started to cut away the joists at each opening. It was over an hour later when he finished and went back to the seawall. A glance around the parking lot confirmed that the boys were still absent, and he wondered if he was on his own. He thought about calling Sheryl for their numbers, but didn’t want the confrontation. There was still a lot of work he could do by himself before he needed their help to set the poles.
The next hour was spent installing the supports he needed to reinforce the joists he had cut. Now he needed help to set the poles, but the boys were still not there. With no alternative, he changed plan and decided to jack up the structure around the first hole. This would normally be done after the pole was set and before the beam was installed, but there was no harm in doing it now.
It was close to 10 when he loaded the platform with dive gear, some tools, a steel plate, a jack, and several pieces of six-by-six to use as temporary posts and pushed off the seawall. It was pleasant working under the building’s floor, cooler than the building, the only disturbance the small wakes from the boats passing by on the intracoastal waterway. He tied the platform off and started to get ready.
His original plan had called for one of the boys to be on the platform to help plumb the support post, but he thought if he took it slowly, he would be able to do it himself. Over the years, he’d preferred to work alone, devising ingenious ways to handle two man jobs. Now he’d just have to do the same. Before he geared up, he dropped the steel plate in the water and used the center point of the old beam to attach a plumb bob. He had realized the standard carpenter’s tool was too light and would be affected by the current, so instead he tied a four-pound dive weight onto a piece of nylon twine and dropped that. The weighted line would tell him where to center the plate under water.
He suited up in a three-mil wetsuit for protection, and because he might be spending significant time in the water. With prolonged exposure, even in 80-degree water, you could develop hypothermia. Weight belt strapped in place, he shrugged into his BC, buckled the straps, and swung his right hand around his back to retrieve his regulator. A quick breath to confirm the air was on, and he placed the mask on his face and side rolled into the water in order to keep the tank from damaging the foam.
Visibility was low as the current stirred the shallow water. The depth was only six feet here, and any tidal change would silt the water. When he was about four feet under, the bottom became visible—a mixture of sand with small rocks. He found the string line swaying in the current and worked to center the steel plate where the weight had landed. The plate was two feet by two feet, with angle iron welded in the shape of a square into the center to hold the post from sliding out. He surfaced and reached for the cut piece of six-by-six he would use to enable him to set the jack above the water line. With a hammer, he descended with the piece of wood, fighting its buoyancy as he tried to get one end to set on the plate.
Wishing he had chosen to spend the extra money on steel posts, he struggled with the surprisingly buoyant wood. Once set, he awkwardly hammered two nails into it to secure it in place. The experience of hammering a nail under water was unusual, the water buffering the hammer’s effectiveness.
Finally he surfaced, climbed onto the barge, and slid out of his dive gear. The rest of the work could be done above water. The ten-ton bottle jack fit on top of the six-by-six, and he measured to the beam, cut another section of post, and was ready. Hammering two toe nails to hold the post to the beam, he set the jack in the space between the posts and started to work the handle.
The neck of the jack rose slowly, soon creating pressure between the two posts. The jack met resistance and he slowed down, checking the posts for movement. If one of them got cockeyed with this much pressure, it could kick out with enough force to injure anyone in its way, and possibly damage the structure above. It would have been safer to have two men at this juncture; one to watch the level of the post and the other to work the jack.
Slowly, he pushed on the handle, listening to the building creaking as the weight was shifted. After an inch, the resistance became stronger. He would need a longer jack handle to create more leverage, but didn’t want to take the time to get out of the water and find one, so he pushed down on the handle with all his power.
***
“He’s gonna fire us,” Kyle said as he pulled into the lot.
“The dude’s desperate. When was the last time you had a boss that talked that nice to you?” Dick replied as he took the last hit on the pipe. He held his breath before letting the smoke out. “Besides, we tell him a story about the car breaking down or some shit, and he’ll buy it.”
“If you didn’t have to stay out ‘till 3 partying, we could have been here on time.”
“What are you, my mother? You were right there with me.”
They pulled next to Will’s truck and got out.
“It’s hotter than seven hells,” Kyle said as they went for the open door. Noise came from under the building as they entered, and he called out for Will.
Suddenly a loud pop sounded and the building vibrated.
“What the hell was that?”
“I heard a splash. Come on.”
They ran outside to the seawall and looked under the building. The platform was still there, with one end of a broken beam laying on it. Will was nowhere in sight.
“He must be in the water,” Kyle said as he jumped in. Dick followed, and they swam to the platform.
Dick took a deep breath and dove, surfacing a second later. “Can’t see anything.” He spotted Will’s mask on the platform, put it on, and dove again. With a hand on the broken beam, he pushed himself to the bottom and started to look around. The silt was thick from the beam falling, and he could barely see his hand in front of his face.
Then something grabbed at his arm. Out of air, he had to fight off Will’s grip and surface. “He’s down there,” he yelled to Kyle and looked around. “Give me that rope.”
With one end of the dock line in hand, he dove again. Will’s hand grabbed him again, though the grip wasn’t as strong as it had been seconds before. Dick worked frantically, fighting the pain in his chest as his breath started to run out. He found the beam and looped an end of the rope around it, then quickly surfaced.
“Pull!” He broke the surface and yelled at Kyle, then took another breath and submerged, not waiting to see if he understood.
Will felt lifeless when he reached him. He planted his feet on the bottom, grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled as hard as he could. When he was almost standing, he felt the weight come easily. Kyle must have pulled the beam off. Now free, he pushed Will to the surface, toward Kyle’s waiting hand.
Will spat and coughed as they pulled him onto the platform. His eyes opened slowly.
“Give him some room,” Dick said.
Will sat up slowly and looked around.
“He’s not right. Let’s get him up top,” Kyle said.
They released the line holding the platform and pushed it toward the sunlight. Once at the seawall, Will tried to get off, but fell back.
“Easy, dude. We’ll help you,” Dick said. It took both of them to stabilize the floating foam enough to move Will onto the seawall. All three leaned back and collapsed.
***
They sat on the sidewalk eating lunch. Will was shaken, but feeling better. At least it hadn’t hit his head—then he’d really be in bad shape. He knew he was lucky the boys had walked in when they did or he could have been killed by the post kicking out and the beam breaking.
“I want to have a look under there and see what happened.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” Dick asked.
“We didn’t know there was a danger factor built into this job when we signed up. Maybe we should be getting more money,” Kyle added.
“Just be happy you still have a job. I was ready to fire you until you saved
me there,” Will replied. He was still upset that they were late; if they had been on time, one of them would have been down there with him. The accident may still have happened, but he would not have been alone. “Let’s finish this up and have a look. One of you guys can be up top and one with me.”
They finished eating in silence and went back to work. Will asked Dick to stay topside, and took Kyle underneath the building with him. They cleared off the platform and started to work their way back to the broken beam. The wood was split in two, now, with both ends submerged. One piece was short enough to lift without getting in the water, but the platform started to sink on one end as they pulled at the beam.
Will backed off and called up through the hole. “Dick, find that dock line and send one end down. It’ll be easier for you to pull it from up there.”
A minute later, the line was through the hole. Will looped it around the end of the beam and called up to Dick to pull. All three lifted—Will and Kyle from below, and Dick from on top. The end came up easily now, and they maneuvered it onto the barge.
When Will saw it, though, he gasped. It was rotted through. The complexity of the job had just increased tenfold.
Chapter 8
“Hey, can you give us an advance?” Kyle asked.
“You guys have only worked eight hours between Saturday and this afternoon.” Will was almost out of money after giving most of the cash to Sheryl and buying materials—and the boat. The last thing he wanted to do was pay out to the boys.
“Just a hundred each,” Dick said. “That ain’t gonna break you.”
Will didn’t need to check how much cash he had to know that it wasn’t enough to pay them. If he could get a couple of poles set, then he could ask Lance for another draw. But even that was going to be tough. Lance had been argumentative when he had called after finding the rotten beam. Will had offered to show him around and explain what would need to be done now, but he declined.
Tuna Tango Page 5