Sailing Tips

Damn! there goes the steering! Now what? You’re a sailor, sailor. This is where your creativeness comes in. Your not just another pretty face on the water. If it’s meant to go wrong it will go wrong on the water.  Reaction time is important here. Assess the situation here and consider safety first. Remember it’s a sailboat. Release the sheets on those sails and you will bob like a cork. Now you will probably find out you don’t have the part needed for the repair on board.  As a mater of fact you will  learn when you get back to port that that part isn’t even made any more. As it turns out the ring at the bottom of the tiller broke. You go below and dig through your tool box while being knocked around by the bobbing boat. You find a large vise grip. It’s perfect. You clamp it around the broke part and it holds the tiller in place. Next you tighten up on the sheets and sail on.  As another matter of fact you will more than likely keep sailing on this jury rig until it breaks again and scares the hell out of you. This is just a small example of what happens when you’re sailing. Always keep your wits about you and work outside the circle when necessary. A little saying I like to use is,”when in doubt, try it out.” You never know it might work. Good luck. Captain Hershberger

All right sailors here’s one that is going to happen to you sooner or later. When it does you will understand the term boom.                                                                                                    The boom is the pole that runs fore and aft on a sailboat. It is attached to the mast and it swings. The bottom of the mainsail attaches to it. One more thing you must know about the boom is that it is POSSESSED. Yes, it’s as though your ex mother in law lives within it. As long as you are aware of it all is well but forget it and it’s like a rolling pin on the side of your head. The spirit within comes to life mainly when running down wind. She waits for you to let the main all the way out, pick a course and open a beer. Life is good. Out of no where comes a wind shift and the boom flies across the boat. You can hear it coming. You grab for your mainsheet and try to slow it down. In the mean time you spill your beer and raise up only to be slapped on the side of your head. It keeps traveling to the other side of the boat. The screws on the end of your traveler have pulled out and the traveler has bent. If you are lucky it was a glancing blow you are only dazed. The worst case scenario is you are unconscious, knocked over the side and shark eat you. The last thing you remember is your ex mother in law laughing and a big, BOOM.                                                            Take care and be duck. Captain Hershberger

I probably shouldn’t tell to many of you sailors about our unofficial holiday here in the marina. We already have a pretty high head count of pocket poolers walking around here. I think that since I’m teaching you the fine art of sailing though you will find out about it on your own any way. So why not include it under  Hershberger 101, Perversion.                       It all began when the marina decided to put in a laundromat for us live aboards . After the first month the guys realized that the female sailors did their laundry on fridays and the guys did it on saturday. By saturday all the guys were out of underwear. It was One Eye Jack that that first brought the subject up over coffee. There were three of us sitting at the picnic table on the fuel pier having a cup. Old One Eye says he wonders if the ladies run out of underwear like we do. I started thinking  of myself and the breeze flowing under my cut offs and over my bare testicles. Hmmmm, He had us all thinking and the next friday we were all having coffee outside the laundromat. Sally showed up first with a load and sat down in front of the machines  reading a book while here laundry churned. I nudged One Eye to look but she was on the side of his dead eye. He couldn’t be sure but he though he saw something. Nose was on the other side of me trying  to stretch his neck around my shoulder. “I see it.” he almost says out  loud. I try to be cool and drop the plastic spoon I stirred my coffee with. Just as I did the big Norwegian girl of the mooring shows up with her laundry and has a seat. My spoon is till on the ground but I have to lean a little father now to check them both out. The norwegian girl keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs. I only have one chance to get my spoon and get a double look. My two companions have also been watching the girls. All of a sudden I go for my spoon and two more spoons drop followed by two heads banging on top of mine. I grab my head and One Eye turns to his blind side hitting Nose in the nose causing a nose bleed. The girls look up at he commotion, smile and cross their legs. We are cool though and calmly get up and walk away. Once around the corner of the building though we are like school boys telling each other what we saw in that split second. That was when we decided to make NO PANTY FRIDAY  a sailors  holiday. In strict observance  of the holiday we all meet for coffee every friday and all wear sun glasses. One thing we noticed though was that that ladies in the marina all had coffee on saturday and sat at the same table we do on friday. Do you think that maybe, Naaaa, they wouldn’t do that. Would they?                               Take care. Captain Hershberger

It’s another day in paradise and again I have to move. They seem to be getting close again. It’s been this way since the 80′s. Just when I begin to get comfortable I get that feeling on the back of my neck like I’m being watched. Some times there’s only one of them and other times it’s like there’s whole damn army watching, waiting for me to slip up. They want me bad because I know. The little guys probably don’t even know why they follow me. They only know that who ever gets me will make quite a name for himself. Sometimes I wonder why they don’t just take me out,  a hollow point in the back of my head and it’s over. I guess there is always a chance that I might have told some one and if I’m killed other’s would begin to believe him or her. Her, a fat chance of that. All this moving and hiding has really cramped my love life. I guess I’ll just go over the side after dark and float with the current to the other side of the bay. I can’t make any waves with them watching. Once there I’ll do my usual and steal another boat and be on my way.               Back in the eighties I was just out of the military and wandering around california. Drugs were pretty popular, not like the sixties but it was still good. I had gotten mixed up with a pretty rough crowd that did a lot of dope dealing. I also did a little freelancing on the side. I met a lot of famous people this way. I was always going to parties of the rich and famous. Thats what got me into this mess in the first place.                                                     Back in October of 81 I was given a small package to take to a party. I didn’t know who was going to be there but someone would be to take it off my hands. They would come up to me, give me a code word and then I would give them the package. As it turned out I was one of the few white guys there. It was a party for the champ. Like in boxing champ of the world. This guy had it all but he also had enimies. He had black enemies,white ones. black and white ones from the government, jealous husbands, ex girlfriends and it goes on. The thing that bothered me was that every one at the party pretended to love him. Someone there though wasn’t pretending and that was the person I was meeting.He was probably the only one besides me that knew what MPTP was. It was a designer drug that could really screw you up for a long long time. In a short period you could go from being the greatest athlete of all times to having parkinsons desease type symptoms.  My job was only to deliver and ask no questions. Towards the end of the night  a small black man in a bow tie and a white guy that I could almost swear was the one who tried to bust me on drug charges a couple of years before came over to me. The white guy gave me the code and the black guy took possession. Before turning away the white guy looked me up and down then into my eyes. He remembered me too. I hung around a little longer which turned out to be to long. I happened to come out of the men’s room just in time to see the little black guy put what I had brought into the champs drink. I also saw the white guy watching me. He motioned for me to come his way but I chose not to and fled out  out the back way.  It was about a month later that I saw on the news that the boxing champ of the world was retiring due to symptoms of parkinsons. I stopped dead in my tracks and so did some one else. Ever since the party I felt that I was being followed and now I know why, but by who? I don’t think a jealous husband or girl friend could afford to follow me this long. And those black guys in the bow ties are watching their own backs. That white guy though was a fed and they have lots of my tax money.Could this be my own government watching and waiting for the day I am silenced and why am I silent. I think it’s time I tell my story.      KAPOW! To late.         Captain Hershberger

Alright  sailors it’s time to talk a little safety at sea again. The first is sunscreen. This goes for you dark skinned sailors too. Did you know that sun damage when you are young and think you can sail all day is the main cause of skin cancer when you get older. I know it’s a pain in the butt to remember to put on sunscreen but the body you save to sail when you get older could be a loved one or your own. I personally recommend a high rated sph screen. I also like a thick one that will stay on my forehead and not slide into my eyes when I begin to sweat. Stay away from a strong smeller too. They attract bugs. Make sure it’s on your nose, cheeks, tops of ears, knees and tops of hands. I’m talking from experience sailors. You don’t want a big old blob of cancer on the tip of your nose.                    Next is protect your eyes. Get a good pair of wrap around sunglasses. I like the polarized kind the fishermen wear. You can get melanoma in you eyes. All that squinting doesn’t help with wrinkles either.                                                                                                          Now where were we? Oh yea, Shoes, look around you deck. See that cleat. Now look at it  when you are in a hurry or in the dark. It’s not the same is it? Were shoes sailors. You don’t need a big gash in your foot or a broken toe. There isn’t going to be a doctor around when you are off shore.                                                                                                                            The last s to mention is one I’ve mentioned before . SQUAT in a bucket when you pee and then throw it over the side. No not the bucket wise guy. You don’t want to be fiddling with your zipper and the boat takes an unexpected wave. The next thing you know you’ve lost your balance and are over the side. If and when the Coast Guard finds you your  zipper will be down. Will they write it up as peeing over the side or playing with yourself. That’s all I have for todays safety at sea lesson .Just remember SUNSCREEN, SUNGLASSES, SHOES and SQUAT. Take care . Captain Hershberger

It was a strange morning that morning, unseasonably hot and humid with a lot of stray clouds coming from the southwest. There had been several severe storms recently out over the everglades but they hadn’t yet made it out  to the mooring. Most of the boats were just swinging silently with the tide. I was getting a little bored so I thought I’d go visit some friends and maybe have a late morning beer with them.                                                 Mostly every one out here has a nickname. Today I’m going to see Tuna Can Sam and No Panty Sally. The two of them live on an old  Taiwanese  ketch with two one eyed cats. Tuna got his name because the only time you see him ashore is when he is getting rid of tuna cans. Sally got hers as you can guess because she likes a nice circulating breeze. When they first dropped the hook here all the regulars use to love to watch her row the dingy. You could always get a peek at the love muffin. She was much younger then though. Now it’s more like a crab net and none of us want to get caught. Although I must admit after a couple of beers I weaken. They’re good people though and would do any thing for  a sailor in trouble.                                                                                                                                    I called for Tuna just to make sure they were awake. He yelled from below to come aboard. Shirtless and barefoot he came topside with a beer in his hand. “ere you go sailor. Wet yur whistle” he said in an old cockney accent. Sally then came up wearing short shorts with a button down shirt that had a knot tied above her belly button. As she stepped over the hatch I caught me a peak. One beer wasn’t enough though to get me to sneak a second peak. We were all covered with sweat and already cursing the heat. We sat there telling old sea stories when we all noticed a dark cloud coming our way. “That doesn’t look good.” I said. Then the temperature began to drop drastically. Wind began to whip the boat around. Off to port two water spouts had formed. ” Down below Tuna shouted.” Sally jumped first landing on two sleeping cats. I followed landing on her, two cats and a trash bag of old tuna cans. Tuna dove in head first but his belt got caught on the hatch combing. The twister grabbed his legs and I clamped on his arms. Sally snatched on to the galley table and clamped her legs around my head.  The two one eyed cats blind sided each other trying to get out of the way and were out cold.  The three of us were like an irish pendant streaming over the side. The last thing I remember was Tuna’s belt parting and his shorts taking off. With with all the force I had on his arms he came flying down on top of me. What only took a minute felt like a life time. I opened my eyes first. Both my friends and the two cats were still out. I wish I had been. The first thing I saw was this very large penis laying across my chest. The smell of tuna was every where. I rolled my head to the side so as to pretend Tuna and his penis weren’t on my chest when my nose found No Panty Sally with her legs still wrapped around my head. Now having Sally on my head was a better situation than Tuna on my chest but, I still knew I had to get up, and quick. I slithered  my way out from under  the two of them. As I did they began to wake with a few moans. I quickly slipped an empty tuna can over the over the penis and sat Sally up. The cats were already checking out the can of penis. We got our act together and went topside. Sails were ripped and stanchions broken but nothing friends couldn’t fix.  With the storm gone we had another beer and I went to check on my boat which looked fine from a distance. As I was leaving  Tuna said he wished he could remember what happened after he passed out. I just nodded. Sally looked down on me in the dingy, raised one leg up on a broken stanchion  and smiled. I smiled back and she said” peak a boo!” My face was as red as a port running light at night. And that my friends is how I got the nickname Peak a Boo.  Take care.  Captain hershberger

Oak timbers creak from the rock and the roll.                                                                               Thoughts just seem to wander when you’re caught in her hold.                                                 The lantern light flickers . Shadows stand tall.                                                                               Where you’ve been, where you’re going, doesn’t matter at all.

Stale open bilges impregnate the air.                                                                                               You never notice. You just lie there and stare.                                                                               Is it day or is it night. Which watch do you stand.                                                                         You count all the bells. The clock has useless hands.

You have sailed through the tropics, fought arctic freeze.                                                           You have cried in her hold on your hands and your knees.                                                           Yet you have never, prayed to your God.                                                                                         Only have you cursed him and not thought it odd.

Timbers continue creaking. Rigging screams in pain.                                                                   You are caught in her hold beaten and drained.                                                                             Your arms have got boils, your knuckle’s rubbed bare.                                                             Your palms are all calloused. Some teeth are not there.

One day you will leave her or she will leave you.                                                                           She might die on the rocks as most old ships do.                                                                           Then you will tell all your stories, to an inquisitive lad,                                                               and how the life of a sailor, was hard but not bad.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          I wrote this one day while trying to sleep down below with rain seeping through through the deck hitting me. It was a terrible time but events leading up to it made it great.         Take care Captain Hershberger

It’s a beautiful night but yet a strange night. The tide is slack. Nesting sea birds are quiet and the moon is full. Silhouettes are abundant out on the mooring. I’m sitting on deck puffing on my pipe waiting for the show to begin. The full moon does strange things to people and sailors are a little strange to begin with. Now there’s nothing wrong with me but a lot of these old sea dogs like to howl at the moon just like a old lone wolf. At the stroke of midnight just after the first cloud passes by the moon you’ll begin to hear one off in the distance. Then from the other side of the mooring field you hear an answer. Only this time it’s more like a she wolf. Several other deep throated males will answer her call and then it’s quiet for a long period. The silence is broken by the sound of oars cutting through the still waters. I watch and see the silhouettes of the she wolves coming along side the moored vessels. I listen and can hear a whimper followed by a howl. In the moon light you can see one female climb aboard and the small boat moves on to another vessel until the last has gone aboard. You can hear the mating animals echoing in the night air. Mast are pitch poling and the sea around participating vessels is stirred to a luminous  white. Again all is quiet except for and occasional whimper of satisfaction. One by one the little boat retraces it’s path retrieving it’s precious cargo. Once ashore the the howling begins on the moorings and not one  at a time. The whole pack begins the ritual thank you chant under the moon. As I said in the beginning there is nothing wrong with me, yet I find myself putting my pipe down and scratching behind my ear. I have a strange strangling feeling in my throat I must clear. I look up to the moon and I howl. The animal within has been released. Am I so different from them. Only the next full moon will tell.                                 Take care Captain Hershberger

The wind blew hard from the north northeast and I was short of hands.                               I’d a cargo of bibles and a priest on board and a wheel that I myself manned.                       The rigging wailed like a woman giving birth, timbers like an old man’s moan.                     I the captain in a madman’s rage stood at the wheel alone.                                                         My body shivered  from the icy spume that froze on my snow white beard.                             I tried to brush the snow from my brow but my hands  had proved my fears.                         My fingers held fast to the spokes of the wheel. Black and blue were my nails.                       My knuckles were white with blood red stains where my flesh in the cold had failed.           Our sails had split and our coarse had slipped we were on a leeward slide.                             I felt all alone on the wind swept sea when to my port the priest I spied.                                 A bible was raised  in a pale white hand and a prayer from his lips did flow.                           I swear by whatever winds might be he brought up the gods from below.                               The winds were calmed and the sea was stilled like in the stories of old.                                 We survived with the Father, Son and Holy Ghost and a cargo of bibles in the hold.                                                                           Enjoy, Captain Hershberger

It’s gusting to forty knots. The mooring field is a frosty white. I can see my boat pulling against her mooring lines but the only way I will row out to her is if she is sinking. Today is a drink coffee and socialize day. Several of the older captains are standing along the beach looking out. The younger captains still sleep in. The space between us eventually gets smaller as we make our way to the closest pot of hot coffee. In our case it’s the fuel pier. Frank who is probably older than the rusty weathered gas pumps on the pier always keeps the pot full on days like this. Conversations begin with a nod. It’s a lot like old gunslingers meeting and waiting for the other one to make a move. Only this time the draw is a good story. It’s as though the ghost of Mark Twain has taken over every one of these wind beaten, sun dried old sea dogs. Words ride on the wind stopping only to be wetted by another sip of Frank’s high octane coffee. We all know that not all these stories are true to their course and greatly embellished but we don’t care. We are sailors. The best part is when the younger captains finally get down here to check on their boats. They usually walk into the middle of a tale. They sit on the on the next bench or lean against the building listening to our stories. We know they are back there and do a little gang bang on them. That’s when we all get in to a story telling frenzy . We tell our best and most embellished tales. We talk loud, laugh and slap each other on the back watching the young ears being drawn in. Then when we get to the best part we lower our speech to just above a whisper. We can do this several times in one tale.  Each time the young captain leans a little bit more. At this point he is a mullet and has been baited. We had one young fellow leaning on a gas pump lean so far over he tripped on the gas hose and fell into the drink. We pulled him back on dry land and poured him a cup. Then we created a tale about him. He realized he had been baited but he also realized he had been accepted into the pack. That was thirty five years ago. That young man now has a white beard and has sailed the world. He has a seabag full of stories of which many are embellished and ability to be a good gang banger. He can sucker anyone into listening to one of his tales as I just did you.         Take care Captain Hershberger