I introduced my girlfriend (and wife to be, though I didn?t know it at the time) to boating. I did a poor job of it. I was excited that she was going to finally see me in my element and, somehow, managed to forget that it was not her element.
We set off down the Wakulla River on a late Sunday afternoon heading toward the gulf. The river is fairly narrow and calm at all times. There are stretches where you can run at a high speed. It feels even faster since the river is narrow and winding. I loved the feel of the boat heeling over going around a bend. My wife-to-be did not. What I thought was a smile of pure enjoyment was a frozen grimace.
We made it down the river and entered the choppy water of the gulf. At the first bounce my girlfriend sat down. I recommended that she stand and absorb the shock with her legs. She said that she was more comfortable sitting. I took that to mean that she was comfortable. But that was not the case. She was scared and sick.
We didn?t have to venture far out before the waves slowed us down considerably. Except for the rough water the evening was beautiful. The sunset was exceptional. We ran out of gas. Well, not out of gas. But, out of gas in one tank. I rarely used the other tank always operating out of the same one. This is a mistake. Water collects in a tank that is not used.
My girlfriend was alarmed when the boat would not start. I calmly explained that it was simply a matter of switching to the other tank. I was wrong about that. The engine wouldn?t crank and I ran the battery down. I checked and the fuel filter was full of water. It would be generous to say that I am a poor mechanic. However, I knew that engines preferred gas and were obstinate about it.
I emptied the fuel filter and then was at a loss. I believed that, if I were lucky, I might get the engine to turn over one more time before the battery died completely. My plan was to pour some gas into the carburetor if I could figure out what that was. The only container was a small paper cup. The only way I knew to get gas into the cup was to suck it out of the hose and spit it into the cup. I did that. But, it was obvious that the cup was filled mostly with gas colored water. My mouth was burning. I emptied the cup and tried again. I sucked and spit seven cups of gas/water before getting pure gas. My mouth was on fire. Not just my mouth. My lips and cheeks and eyes were burning.
This process took more than half an hour during which time the sun went down and it got rougher. My girlfriend was, by now, in a near panic even though I encouraged her to enjoy the unusually beautiful sunset since there was nothing else she could do anyway. This did not help matters. I wanted to take a break and smoke a cigarette but wisdom prevailed. I knew we were not going to make it back up the river and hoped that we would make it to the river. I kept this information to myself.
Finally, having reattached the hose, I poured the gas from the small quickly disintegrating paper cup into what I hoped was the carburetor. The engine turned over, caught, and we were on our way. There was just enough fading light to enable us to make it up the channel to the river. However, with no moon and overhanging trees the narrow river was a black canyon that we dared not enter. Fortunately there was a small marina and, though closed, it did have a pay phone. One call got us back home within a half hour.
I was happy. You might think my girlfriend would be ecstatic to be home and thrilled at having such an interesting experience her first time out. Such was not the case.
She married me anyway. Nine years later.
We set off down the Wakulla River on a late Sunday afternoon heading toward the gulf. The river is fairly narrow and calm at all times. There are stretches where you can run at a high speed. It feels even faster since the river is narrow and winding. I loved the feel of the boat heeling over going around a bend. My wife-to-be did not. What I thought was a smile of pure enjoyment was a frozen grimace.
We made it down the river and entered the choppy water of the gulf. At the first bounce my girlfriend sat down. I recommended that she stand and absorb the shock with her legs. She said that she was more comfortable sitting. I took that to mean that she was comfortable. But that was not the case. She was scared and sick.
We didn?t have to venture far out before the waves slowed us down considerably. Except for the rough water the evening was beautiful. The sunset was exceptional. We ran out of gas. Well, not out of gas. But, out of gas in one tank. I rarely used the other tank always operating out of the same one. This is a mistake. Water collects in a tank that is not used.
My girlfriend was alarmed when the boat would not start. I calmly explained that it was simply a matter of switching to the other tank. I was wrong about that. The engine wouldn?t crank and I ran the battery down. I checked and the fuel filter was full of water. It would be generous to say that I am a poor mechanic. However, I knew that engines preferred gas and were obstinate about it.
I emptied the fuel filter and then was at a loss. I believed that, if I were lucky, I might get the engine to turn over one more time before the battery died completely. My plan was to pour some gas into the carburetor if I could figure out what that was. The only container was a small paper cup. The only way I knew to get gas into the cup was to suck it out of the hose and spit it into the cup. I did that. But, it was obvious that the cup was filled mostly with gas colored water. My mouth was burning. I emptied the cup and tried again. I sucked and spit seven cups of gas/water before getting pure gas. My mouth was on fire. Not just my mouth. My lips and cheeks and eyes were burning.
This process took more than half an hour during which time the sun went down and it got rougher. My girlfriend was, by now, in a near panic even though I encouraged her to enjoy the unusually beautiful sunset since there was nothing else she could do anyway. This did not help matters. I wanted to take a break and smoke a cigarette but wisdom prevailed. I knew we were not going to make it back up the river and hoped that we would make it to the river. I kept this information to myself.
Finally, having reattached the hose, I poured the gas from the small quickly disintegrating paper cup into what I hoped was the carburetor. The engine turned over, caught, and we were on our way. There was just enough fading light to enable us to make it up the channel to the river. However, with no moon and overhanging trees the narrow river was a black canyon that we dared not enter. Fortunately there was a small marina and, though closed, it did have a pay phone. One call got us back home within a half hour.
I was happy. You might think my girlfriend would be ecstatic to be home and thrilled at having such an interesting experience her first time out. Such was not the case.
She married me anyway. Nine years later.
