There is a myth that sailors ashore on holiday go completely ballistic: rabble rousing, drinking themselves into a coma, having sex with anything that moves, fleeing to the hills to escape the return to shipboard duties� And I assure you, these were our intentions when we got to LA. It was just that Brian had Donisha and his house, I had a rudder to build, and Eric had no money. Otherwise, we�d have sacked Los Angeles like the pirate Morgan did Panama City and left it burning. As it was, we did cause several fires (though all were controlled), there was some sex (one member of our crew had a fianc� to come home to), and we depleted Brian�s store of beer and rum sufficiently enough that we had to go get more before we left.
In the main, however, LA was a much needed vacation. From our vacation. If that makes any sense.
My old friends Dan and Susannah Frank helped. They brought the necessary peppers, zucchini, cucumber and carrots for sushi night. Also, they expressed a great interest in joining us for a portion of the cruise.
Hahaha! We thought, fresh meat for sacrifice to the ocean gods! To Susannah and Dan we said we�d love to have them along.
There was much playing of video golf on Brian�s playstation, and a feast for the senses that lasted three days. That�s right: food and entertainment at our fingertips for three straight days. Gotta love America. In addition, there was television. It�s amazing how great a thing television is. Especially when it�s got hundreds of channels and Shakira videos practically on demand � oh, wait, Doni could get Shakira videos on demand via the internet. Brian periodically had to forcibly remove me from the living room so the rudder would get done.
�We can�t go anywhere until the rudder�s done,� he would say.
�Yes,� I would reply, smiling at Shakira on the big screen TV while munching on a guacamole-laden chip and checking email.
�You know, we have a lot of catching up to do on the Ship�s Log,� he would continue.
�Yes,� I would say, cracking open a beer and reclining on the couch with a playstation controller on my stomach.
�I still have three cases of MRE�s left,� Brian pointed out, �you could probably get through at least one before we leave��
I was out in the driveway in seconds, pencil snugged behind my ear and all business about building a new rudder.
Eric joined me the next day, looking dazed and wiping guacamole off his fingers. �I heard Brian has MRE�s left,� he said, a haunted look in his eyes. �Need any help?�
We sawed the oak boards. We drilled holes, glued slats together, set screw after screw. After a hard day�s work we had a formidable looking swath of destruction, surrounded by power tools, that would have made any male working on a home project proud. Brian came out to survey, commenting, �I got to thinking about eating an MRE and came out to see if you need any help��
In fact, though I did most of the actual assembly, credit for the design of the new rudder goes to Brian and Eric as much as to me. It was Brian who suggested the rudimentary structure of overlapping slats. I was thinking of a single board cut to match the original, then reinforced with metal strips. Brian, however, had recently built an oak desktop for himself using overlapping sections staggered so their seams do not line up. This method, he suggested, offered all the strength necessary while being far more capable of withstanding stress � a single board can crack, and one crack weakens the whole to a far greater degree than if a separation occurs on just one of the slats. Furthermore, finding the right sized board to replace an odd size and shape such as a rudder could prove extremely difficult and expensive. A length of inch thick oak that could be cut up into the requisite pieces, on the other hand, could be found at almost any lumber supply store in California.
Eric, who used to work for the Gibson Guitar manufacturing plant in Bozeman, Montana, helped immensely with the details. He suggested the strongest method of assembly (grain horizontal, in this case) as well as providing an expert hand during the finishing process. He helped shape the outside edge, cut a grove for the brass rods where the bolts would be fastened, and sanded the whole for finishing. Eric and I took care to place anchoring pins into the body of the rudder, between slats, for extra reinforcement. Brian provided power cutting tools, a stabilizing hand for some of the more difficult cuts, and encouragement throughout. In the end we had a consensus: we�d created one hell of a strong replacement that each of us was willing to trust with our lives. And it looked pretty damn good. Laying the new rudder beside the old, we were impressed by how exactly they matched in shape. It was immensely satisfying.
Dan and Susannah came by that evening (the second day in LA) and we celebrated by making sushi. We also discussed plans for taking them with on part of the voyage. With still 250 miles left between Oxnard and Monterey, we felt that the pre-neophyte sailors would do much better by meeting us for the relatively short run of 90 miles from Monterey to Berkeley. We felt that subjecting them to the cold, wet, long trek around the infamous Point Conception through seas we were totally unfamiliar with would be unjustifiably cruel. Also, we had to consider that several nights of five people on our little boat would prove too much�possibly even inspiring members of the crew to abandon ship�
We spent the next day putting extra coats of paint on the rudder, eating oranges and lemons from Brian�s trees, and soaking up solar rays�and playing video golf. We were absorbing as much relaxation and warmth as possible while ashore. Lurking in the back of our minds was the fact that we�d have to go back to the harbor on the morrow.
When the morrow came we were jetted out to Oxnard in Brian�s land-transport. Groceries, clean clothes, tools and rudder were all ferried down to the dock for loading. I left most of this to the crew. Brian brought out the electric range and started coffee. I sat on the dock. Eric stowed the food and made sandwiches. I smoked a cigarette. My doom was at hand, and all of us knew it. Squeezed into a neoprene shell, I shivered in advance. Sympathetic, sideways glances were directed my way by Navigator and Ship�s Cook. Too soon, everything was ready and there could be no more postponement: It was time to get in the water again.
I have written about this experience before. On the rivers, where cold and current were dangerous. In the Caribbean, diving into warm, clear waves. In Panama, swimming with the bioluminescence. And off Baja, adrenaline compensating for the renewed coolness of the waters. Even in Ensenada, where the depths were too murky to stay below for long�. None of these had prepared me for this day.