The boat was prepared and they headed for the Fabulous Florida Keys.

Let’s face it, the keys is a great place for misfits and miscreant gypsy musicians. As the early original native Americans were quoted as saying upon viewing the approach of good ‘ol Christopher Columbus coming over the horizon on the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria:

“Oh NO… BOAT PEOPLE!!

This could well be what residents of the keys might have said while viewing the arrival of the Borey!

At this point, dear reader, it is useful to know a little about the history of the Borealis.

The Borealis… aka the Borey… was an ancient wooden yawl designed by none other than the world renowned American Yacht designer John G. Alden. She was built and left the George Lawley and Sons boatyard in presumably good shape in 1923.

To truly explain the Borey would require a tome the size of Tolstoy’s War & Peace… and that would just be the first chapter! Never in the history of man’s marine endeavours has there been a more scummy derelict wreck of a boat. She was indeed a sickening sight. The fact that she floated at all is an enduring monument and testimonial to the manufacturers of Rule bilge pumps… the BIG ones. I mean pumps the size of those employed on the QEII. The Borey under way was very reminiscent of a New York Harbour fireboat in the 4th of July parade. A minimum of four pumps ran continuously while the Borey crept along at a staggering four knots. The cost of traveling on the Borey approached the magnitude of the national debt with one notable exception… the national debt has at least some potential of being reduced over time.

Lonnie’s relationship with the Borey began in the Year Of Our Lord 1979. This relationship was based neither on common sense nor on anything even remotely resembling a sound seamanlike base of knowledge. No, dear friends, it was based solely on the fact that Lonnie was in love with the bloody boat. She looked really sexy and that as they say was that. To paraphrase the country song;

“I like my vessels a little on the trashy side”

An amusing anecdote here is that Lonnie knew it would be wise to hire the services of a marine surveyor to secure a report on the vessel... the love of his life! A meeting was arranged with a surveyor and the gentleman went on board. In less than thirty seconds he emerged from the main hatch with all his gear. He said to Lonnie;

“I am not going to survey this boat. I'm not even going to charge you for coming here today.”

“Why?” asked the astonished Lonnie.

“There are full grown oysters living in the bilge of this pig forward by the mast. Do you know what that means?”

Lonnie thought hard and the only thing he could come up with was that maybe he’d have his own on board raw bar… and that was good.

“No” said Lonnie

“Oysters must have rapidly flowing clean water to live” said the surveyor. “That means this boat is leaking so profusely... even sitting here at the dock... that there is enough water flowing in to keep them alive!”

With that the disgusted surveyor spun on his heel and left.

No amount of thoroughly sound information or sage advice could dissuade Lonnie from seeing the best in the squalid old tub. Unfortunately “the best” in this case could only be described as submicroscopic. It would be akin to seeing “the best” in Adolph Hitler or maybe Attila the Hun…. Very difficult to find but probably a grain of it was present for the diligent searcher.

Under normal conditions a trip from South Florida to the keys should take maybe a day and a half. But this was the Borey so it took a little bit longer.

Since upon leaving the marina most components on board almost worked fairly well the stage was set for false optimism. A job entertaining at Faro Blanco had been secured in Marathon so the spectre of starvation was temporarily at bay… great joy abounded on the boat. The first night found the happy pair anchored more or less securely off Dinner Key in Biscayne Bay.

At about sunrise the next morning the anchor was weighed (yes it still weighed more or less the same as it had the evening before). Rapid progress was made down Cape Florida Channel. Within view was the turn south into Hawks Channel and then… Key Largo!

AXIOMThere exists on the oceans of Earth a phenomenon called “tide“. It is not a laundry detergent.

The East Coast of Florida experiences two tide cycles per day on average; High, Low, High, Low.

AXIOM

If the draft of a vessel exceeds the depth of the water the vessel is said to be “Aground”

The high tide which occurred that morning was referred to in marine parlance as “higher high water”. The high tide scheduled to occur slightly less than twelve hours later was referred to in marine parlance as “lower high water”

Mathematics is our friend. Consulting our friend in advance can save us mortifying public embarrassment if we are really fortunate. Even if we are not so fortunate consulting our friend in advance can save us from serious injury, death, or worse even than that… great expense.

Consulting our friend after the fact has the rather sobering effect of confirming an a priori condition… namely that we are idiots. I need not elaborate further.

Higher high water. No amount of shifting between full ahead and full astern would budge the old scow one centimeter. Yet she was leaving a pretty good wake. This apparent movement was evidenced by the water rushing past on it’s merry way down Cape Florida Channel toward the broad briny deep of the Big Water… The Atlantic Ocean. With every passing moment less water remained under the old tub. She began to list to port. This disquieting condition grew more alarming by the minute. It must have been quite a sight to the residents of Stiltsville 500 meters off the starboard beam.

“Har har… look at those damn fools!!!"

Remember our friend? Mathematics! The Borealis requires five feet of water to float. The fall of the tide that cycle was three feet. Three from five is two (if you went to private school). Within one hour the Borey was lying on her side on the sand bar in two feet of water… that’s knee deep to you lubbers… exactly like a beached baleen whale.

NIGEL

The ship’s gig, or dinghy, of the Borealis was a Swampscott Dory. She was named the DoryAlice,

Lonnie had built her by hand. She was nineteen feet long and had a sprits’l rig and a couple of Shaw & Tenny 10 foot spruce oars. Any fool could see that she belonged to the Borey because the lines of the two vessels were almost identical. In spite of this similarity the crew felt (no, wait, firmly believed), that if they left the Borey and rowed around among the huge crowd of spectators who had assembled in all manner of craft that they would not be associated with the stricken vessel. Actually there was a more practical reason for getting off the Borey. The decks were tilted 45 degrees and it was impossible to stand up! This plan, of course, did not work.

“Y’all run aground, huh?”

“Naw, we just put ‘er here to scrape the bottom y’damn fool!”

Mathematics, as we stated, is our friend! Before leaving the Borey to hide their shame a perusal of the tide tables seemed in order. That confirmed the depressing truth that they had gone aground at the peak of higher high water. Another tide of that height would not occur for a full lunar cycle… like 28 days, man!

The site of this lunacy was approximately two miles from the nearest place to go ashore. That place is the Key Biscayne Yacht Club. I don’t think there is a vessel in there under a hundred feet… and certainly not even a dinghy under a million three! The nearest neighbors of this august establishment were Richard M. Nixon and his friend Bebe Rebozo. Tough neighborhood to crack. Of course our disheveled, bedraggled, hung over and otherwise just plain motley crew believed in their heart of hearts that all sailors are brothers. So they rowed in and tied up to the quay in their cutoffs (no shoes… not even flip-flops) And of course no shirts.

Having proudly secured the DoryAlice they made their way through the shocked stares of the extremely upper class yacht club members

to the foyer of the joint. There they were “greeted”, in a manner of speaking, by Nigel the Concierge and Maitre d’ Hotel. Thank God it was not the Commodore! Anyway they explained their plight which was actually twofold. First and most importunately as stranded shipwrecked seamen they required a case of Miller Lite. Secondly they needed to arrange the services of an ocean tug to haul the Borey off the bar at the next high water at 1800.

Nigel informed them the nearest 7/11 was three blocks away. That solved the first problem. Now the matter of the tug. The Miami phone directory was procured and the appropriate phone number located. Our intrepid adventurers asked if they might use the phone as it was a local call. It would be best to point out at this time that Nigel wore white gloves. I guess it was part of his pseudo navy attire, I suppose proscribed by the aforementioned Commode Door of the club (excuse me, Club). Be that as it may Nigel allowed that the said phone could be used as long as he held it so it would not be contaminated by the crew of the Borey. This rather tedious arrangement resulted in scheduling of a tug for 1730 that afternoon. The crew trudged off to the 7/11 to procure the juice of the barley and finally rowed back out to meet the tug.

PENNIES OVER THE RAIL

As the tide rose it started to cover the deck of the Borey. Closer and closer it inched to the port lights. This is where we learned that an Alden will right itself just before the sea enters the port lights of the deckhouse… but we closed ‘em anyway. By the way it is very possible to put the vessel down a full 90 degrees, so the mast is in the water, in a severe squall but that’s another story… stay tuned!

The tug coming to the rescue.

The tug arived right on schedule... folks will do that if you’re paying them. We tried hauling her off by the the samson post on the foredeck and the towing bits on the afterdeck but still, even with the 800 horse power tug, the old girl still had her keel firmly stuck in the bottom of Biscayne Bay. Mathematics is our friend… especially where it involves guys like Archimedes and Pythagoras. We took a mainmast halyard and made it fast to the towing bit on the tug. Then we hauled her over around 40 degrees to port. This reduced the apparent draft and we were able to get her free… sideways… off the bar. I cannot tell you how great a relief it is to be afloat and on your own bottom again. With the mast still intact!!

The elation, however was short lived. Now the matter was at hand of actually paying for the tug. Being completely broke our crew resorted to rolling up pennies they had been saving for years. They passed them over the rail to their saviors who after approximately a shoe box full said "Just get the hell out of here! Forget the money!

Follow the Feet to chapter 3