Little "Limerick" spends her days hanging around in my garage ceiling. She doesn't get into the water so much any more. But, it wasn't always that way. A Ranger "minto" built in Kent, WA in 1976, she comes from distinguished family. Born with solid teak seats, wales, rudder cheeks, and dagger board cap, spruce boom, and dead eye and lanyard standing rig festooned upon a cute as a button clinker hull rendered in fiberglass; she's a heavy little packet at over 100 pounds empty. This, on a fine-ended nine-foot water line.

Kinda' short to row well. Too heavy to car top. Pretty cramped for more than one to sail. And, as a displacement hull of miniscule length, she tows something like a wounded whale.

Even so, "Limerick" has spent nearly her whole life in my care. And, we've had some pretty hair raising adventures. Speaking of hair. Mine was still the color it says on my driver's license, during this particular adventure.

And, yes, it WAS a particularly dark, and a damn stormy night.

Long ago and far away, I once lived aboard a 27 foot auxiliary sailboat, moored on the cold waters of Puget Sound. I'm thinking this was about 1979 or '80. Give or take. Winter time. Across the dock from me, was an "old guy." Bob was probably 50, at the time. He lived on a little full-keel Choy Lee sloop. They called 'em Offshore 26's in the sales brochures. Low to the water, teak decks, wooden sticks. Kinda slow. But waaaay good looking. And, a big and balky Volvo one lunger down under the bridge deck.

Bob was not only ancient. He was deaf. He could read lips. And, as long as I remembered to take my sunglasses off, we could carry on a pretty lively conversation. I'd regularly bug him about untying his dock lines now and then just to see if the dock would sink. Finally, one day he rather unexpectedly agreed to take an overnight trip up sound-if I'd accompany him. Well, sure. Why not? Let's go!

I don't remember where we went. But, I do remember getting blown out of the anchorage some time during the night. It's useless to try and talk to a deaf guy over the radio. And text messages were something for science fiction, still.

Somehow, with little "Limerick" swinging wildly astern, I managed to get a line over to Bob's boat, and took him in tow. It was one of those times Mr. Volvo didn't feel like showing up for work. The conditions were not really too swell for sailing around out there in the dark. So, I took an equal-weight boat in tow, and off we went looking for a lee someplace. And, to tell the truth, I was feeling pretty much responsible for putting my friend in peril. After all, he could have been snugly moored in the marina with his TV plugged in. Instead, there we were, out on a night when sane people stayed ashore, closed the drapes, and ignored the wind's shriek.

As things developed, we found a sort of a lee behind Hat Island, in Port Gardner Bay to the west of Everett, WA. I anchored my boat, with the Choy Lee and the minto astern like a mama and two baby ducks. The surge was pretty heavy, and I remember actually watching the sides of my boat's hull flex inward with the pull from the anchor ahead and the two "baby ducks" astern. Not a real happy thing to watch.

The only way I was going to be able to discuss things with Bob, was to shuttle back and forth in little "Limerick." Since the wind was keeping all of us lined up, all that took was a particularly long bow painter. All I had to do was lower myself down into that surging and yawing little boat, and ease out a few fathoms of line. Then, I had to repeat the process alongside Bob's galloping steed. With a flashlight under my chin, I could get the message across. Simply, we couldn't stay there. It was time to run for cover. Everett was down wind, and maybe an hour away.

All I had to figure out was how to keep my little menagerie from destroying itself while I concurrently ran my engine, pulled the anchor, and generally kept us off the hard stuff.

That's about when it happened. Somehow, while shuttling back and forth between lurching boats, "Limerick" slipped her painter and was lost into the darkness. Poof. There one minute, gone the next. A little boat worth about twice what the car I was driving at the time was worth. Bummed? You bet. I figured that maybe someone would find the shattered hull on a beach in Mukilteo or someplace. Maybe they'd find the vessel ID number stamped into her transom, and maybe go to the trouble of contacting me. Maybe. Funny what you think about when there's more pressing business at hand.

One of the more difficult things for a low-powered vessel to do is tow another boat down wind. Especially, with a sea running. It took a while to get everything rigged and working. By then, "Limerick" had been lost for maybe an hour. And, then, just about the coolest thing.

The overcast parted, and the moon came out. And, just pretty as can be, there was 'Limerick" riding a crest out ahead of the flotilla. Shining in the moonlight, and fairly yelling, "I'm over here! Here, I am!"

I guess some relationships endure, because they're just meant to be. Maybe?

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