Whatdaya mean, this ain’t rocket science?  Of course, it is. 

I think I remembered much of what I had forgotten about small boat handling a while back, when my friend, Mike, was attempting to teach me how to play pool.  He’s an excellent pool player.  Even has a real pool table right smack dab in the middle of his living room.  His wife, Helen, is really tolerant, I’d say.

When I suggested a similar notion to Kate, where I could display one or more of my boats prominently in our living room.  Well.  You probably already know how that story plays out.  But, as I review how Mike can plan a shot where some ball over in that corner is gonna’ somehow find its way through a gaggle of balls grouped in the middle of the table and then knock yet another ball into a pocket in the same corner the other one started out.  I get completely lost.  That is, until I put it all in terms the rest of us can understand.  Yeah.  Put yourself in a small boat on that green felt table - mentally, because Mike doesn’t like keel marks in his playing surface.  Presto.  Moving a boat from here to there is just a bunch of ballistics.  Rocket Science.

So, I guess you could say that this present discussion is all in the name of science.  I for one didn’t do all that well in math or physics back in school.  I did go on to get an advanced degree in the behavioral sciences.  We talked about “needs” and stuff like that a whole lot more than “inertia,” and “mass,” and stuff you can actually count, measure, weigh, and watch happen.  But, that’s OK.  Everybody knows that boats have feelings, and they either want to do what we ask them, or they don’t.  It’s probably because of some sort of repressed memory from the building process or something like that.  I can live with that.

For my own case, I figured that I needed a tugboat.  I didn’t NEED one like I need air, or water, or a tandem axle trailer for Lady Bug.  Not exactly existential.  But, close.  You see.  When Kate and I decided to move from the obviously carefree and completely hedonistic lifestyle of full-time liveaboards - on snowless San Diego Bay; to our little place in the trees.  A spot that Dave Lucas, currently reigning Bard of Tampa, is fond of describing as “That frozen hellhole in Almost Canada.”  We didn’t completely have to swallow the anchor. 

We’ve got a lake here.  And, our home owners’ association has a beach area.  With boat slips and a swimming dock.  Don’t get me wrong.  Dave has a grain of truth on his side.  It does get cold here.  The lake freezes over sometime after Thanksgiving.  And, it stays much like a hockey rink without a Zamboni machine until about the equinox.  Give or take.  And, this is why I need a tug boat.

Our docks here are pretty big.  They’re set on a system of anchors, and attached to the land with ramps pivoting on pins set in really big concrete blocks.  The whole thing can take the surge and heave of being at the downwind end of the lake.  Those docks can really get to rolling and lurching when the wind’s up.  And, that’s what docks are supposed to do.  Problem is, when the ice starts to turn into icebergs and growlers.  When that ice - sometimes several feet thick - starts to moving around in the wind, it can bust up just about anything in its path.  Our docks are sitting squarely at ground zero.  So, they have to be moved to a safer place for the winter.

Three of us 'codgerly' types more or less volunteer to do that deed.  Twice a year.  Each of the boat docks have finger piers jutting out on both sides enough to accommodate 20 boats.  Pushing one of these things around is much like taking two giant '‘fro' picks back to back.  They also flop side to side a bit due to a well-thoughtout articulated joint in the middle.  Lots of floppys, and.  The guys who charge a lot for this job have an honest to goodness log boom tug.  But, in an uncharacteristic proxism of fiscal restraint, I proposed a few years back, that “we” could do this job ourselves.  And, save a whole pile of money in the process.

Turns out, “we” is just Ron, Jim, and yours truly.  There’s a lot of pulling and lifting and shoving required.  Ron brings his little diesel front loader tractor down and we can pick up one end of the pedestrian ramps pretty much alright.  Ron, bless his heart, also brings his 12’ aluminum fishing skiff, with the veteran 15 horse Evinrude.  And, so far, we’ve managed to get the job done successfully fall and spring for a bunch of cycles, now.

And, yes, it turns out to be a lot like rocket science.  And, yes, we really could use a tugboat.  It’s sort of a closely kept secret.  But, it can get cold and windy here when it isn’t hot and calm.  Rains, and even snows on occasion, when it’s not supposed to.  So, a boat with a roof on it would be nice too.  But mostly I NEED a tugboat.

The way it works with a light displacement cockleshell with a high revving, low-powered egg beater on the square end, is you can really only push.  Especially an essentially form - changing, amorphous thing like our docks.  Skiffs like this one are not supposed to be able to pull things around.  You can’t really steer that way.  So, I push.

Pretty much what I do, is hook the bow eye under one of the facia planks on each of the three dock systems we move separately.  Then, I keep everything lined up and “simply” head up the lake.

You could maybe say this is a lot like pushing a pickup truck up a rutted hill with a slinkey wedged in between the hood ornament on your sports car and the truck’s trailer hitch ball.  Actually, quite a bit like that.  Except you can’t really get out and walk on ahead when the going gets slow.

So, that’s one of the reasons why I need a tugboat.  One with a slow turning, big prop.  One with enough low end torque to move big stuff around with some authority.  One with a barn door rudder behind the screw.  And, until yesterday’s episode with the Cheerios bowl, I figured I had it all worked out.  Maybe still do.  Probably.

Except Kate’s calling me, right now.  She wants to know why I have this anchor, chain, and bollard piled up on her window seat.  She probably doesn’t see the artwork in my composition.  Maybe I can appeal to the need for further scientific enquiry.  Probably not.  Gotta’ go for now.

So, I guess if you want to run the “I need a tugboat” riff, you’ll need some pix.  Here are three:

Lady Bug is just about the only girl at the dance.  Moored in one of the dock units we push to the other end of the lake with a tin skiff.

Old Salt holding up the same slip, on a sunnier day.

Lady Bug dressed for the Fourth of July.  Two of the three dock units we move twice a year with a 15 hp short shaft 2-stroke are visible.  Definitely a job for a proper tugboat.

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