You can’t hardly miss the high performance racing sleds
online these days. The ocean racers sail, fly, really, among Water Mountains that
periodically pummel boat and crew with tons of Brrr! cold seas demonstrating great drama and expectation.
The racers suffer among these Everest’s of the seas days on
end for the glory of winning a cup celebrating the most challenging racing ever
devised by a bunch of guys who had too many pints on a dark, cold night with no
moon in a bonnie pub by the Irish Sea.
Yet, there’s no obligation to endure the commotion that 50kn
airborne sailing begets. You can choose a
slow, more peaceful sail- Underwater.
IMPOSSIBLE SAY YOU? NAY SAY I.....
Other than rivers, the Great Plains are not known for their maritime recreational opportunities. However, they do have Prairie Potholes formed by leftover berg sized ice chunks buried by retreating Pleistocene epoch glaciers that, in melting, formed small lakes. We had grown tired of sailing Potholes and longed for the coastal waters of Nebraska and South Dakota. Thus it was on a sunny afternoon, the last millennium three quarters past, off the coast of Northeast Nebraska, our little Puffer sailed under the waters of Lewis and Clark Lake.
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| Gavin's Point Dam Louis & Clark Lake |
In possession of a “How to Sail” book lacking a chapter
about how to actually purchase a sailing vessel, we should have been easy prey
for any professional sailboat sales staff.
Fortunately, there aren’t many of them in Northeast Nebraska nor South
Dakota for that matter. Our luck caught a cat’s paw when a disillusioned sailor
conned a local boat shop to take the only sailboat in Norfolk Nebraska in trade
for a real boat.
A REAL BOAT
If you can’t fish or
hunt from a boat what good is it? Sure,
there are lots of ski boats which you can tie to a semi-truck tire inner tube
and tow unsuspecting cousins around till they fly off into hydrospace. And sometimes a crazy uncle could be
persuaded to strap a couple of wood slats to his feet to be towed, dragged
really, over the water, bent over at the waist and wild-eyed with much the same
result. Other than that no other boat is worthwhile. A sailboat?
Just a dumb way to hang your laundry to dry if you ask anybody. This course of thought put us in a better than
expected negotiating position, if there is such a thing when it comes to
sailboat acquisition.
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| Puffer on the beach- Ft Randal Dam South Dakota |
Our Puffer was sitting next to a chain link fence at the edge of the boat yard some distance from the real boats. The boat was lying partly in the watery mud of a recent rain, but mostly on pea gravel. With the air of sailors with vast naval architectural design understanding, all of the ship’s company promptly sat down in the little boat to determine if the almost 13 foot length on deck with almost five foot beam vessel could almost carry two alleged adults, one with sails in his eyes, and three small children.
We seemed to fit so I
asked the price and waited in nervous silence, all of us still on board, while the gravel crackled under
the fiberglass. Our sales rep, astounded that someone was interested, mumbled
something. I said “Ok, but, would you
mind throwing in a trailer?” he was happy, approaching giddy, to rid himself of
the useless blue boat. He pointed to a
trailer under an over-used aluminum fishing boat that had been left aside in
the deep weeds. It wasn’t much of a trailer, nonetheless with 160 lb load it needn’t
be. Thus, the Blue & White AMF
Alcort Puffer, with fishing boat trailer, was ours, mine mostly. It had a set of oars with no locks, a mast
with the boom and both jib and main sails. Lines and rigging were included
along with a wooden dagger board, tiller and rudder. Who could ask for more but we had left him
home to mind the dog.
We campaigned the boat in Nebraska, South Dakota and
Iowa. Once, in South Dakota to a Prairie
Pothole with no water, then had to drive all the way to Pickstown to find a wet
lake. You know how much fun that is on a
hot summer day with 4/40 air conditioning and three back seat “Are we there
yets”.
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| Submarine Puffer Likely Course |
WHERE WE WERE- SORT
OF
The 180 ft. tall Calumet Bluff along the Missouri River is where the Louis and Clark Corps
of Discovery held its first council with the Yankton Sioux Indians in 1804. I only mention this to geographically drop anchor
near where the submarine sailors eventually washed up on a desolate chalk shore
a bit or two west of Calumet Bluff in Knox County, Nebraska circa 1978.
Now, some of you would argue that Calumet Bluff does not
look 180 feet tall. It did until the Army
Corps of Engineers built Gavin’s Point Dam.
Now, calm down, I know the dam is
not located at Gavin’s Point as originally intended, howbeit, the Corps of
Engineers, after labeling a bluff tall pile of papers “Gavin’s Point Dam”,
determined the river was not as wide at Calumet Bluff. Well, I speculated, the engineers postulated,
“Since everybody THINKS they know where Calumet Bluff IS, it stands to reason
the actual name doesn’t matter”.
Besides, if you can’t find a 31,400 acre lake out on the prairies of the
Great Plains you don’t belong there in the first place. Of course, since my navigational expertise
includes finding dry Prairie Potholes I lay no claim to know anything.
Cross Body Tote Three Palm Trees Sunset (Large)
by NaturesWonders A Sailing Hideaway Zazzle store. Helping us make $ for slip rent.
We didn’t normally put in along the Nebraska coast because
the campground that goes with the boat ramp, in that era, was basically a field
with a dirt road and a camp where somebody else isn’t mentality. The possibly of
potable water was not probable. Any
electricity came from the sky along with cooler ice. The park featured a rip rap beach requiring
some mountain climbing exposure. Nevertheless
the marina had a good, but crowded lazy sloped boat ramp and a store that sold
the basic bait and gas venue.
In contrast, the
South Dakota shore had a beautiful shady, treed campground with paved roads. You could pitch your tent on soft grass close to the beach
for a small fee that included electric and water. The crown jewel was the red brick
lavatory facilities. (That will have to
be a camping story, although we rarely camped without a sailboat involved). The boat ramp was as steep as Calumet Bluff.
On that day we were to
practice tacking but somehow the book that described how to do so was not found
on board. We sailed to mid waters nearer
to South Dakota, then a couple of bits or so west of Calumet Bluff. Wondering if anybody had put in the drain plug,
the captain fell off to unfortunate course that ended with a knock down.
An over crewed small sailboat all but guarantees good weight distribution. The boat having so little room to sit in the first place contributes to that warranty. The entire Lake, it seemed, volunteered to crew on our little Puffer until our Gross Combined Vessel Water Rating (GCVWR) exceeded the Gross Vessel Floatation Capacity (GVFC) thus the combined weight overwhelmed the boat’s positive floatation system and our little Puffer slowly sank enough to keep us off the bottom, some 45 feet below, but sufficient to achieve stable periscope depth and maintain submarine sailing operations.
I did have to ship Michelle, via air freight, to the bow where Linda assisted her safe landing. Of course our supplies, water frozen in milk jugs, and lunch, now bullhead bait, floated away. All of us were wearing life jackets which may have helped some with buoyancy as most of the crew held tight to the submarine. I don’t really know, as I reached for the tiller and found it still attached about a foot under water. It was hard to see the tiller- we were, after all, sailing the Big Muddy. We left the dagger board down and the sails up primarily because no one thought to do anything else with them. In fact the only thing above water was the mast and sails and portions of the wet ships company. The smaller crew members were held by the larger to prevent complete immersion.
The Puffer didn’t seem to mind- she just kept on sailing,
throwing what some would consider a curiously odd wake from the mast and each
crew. The helm was sluggish but we were
making good Speed Over Prairie. We must have been quite a sight- two oddly short
adults and three really small offspring sitting in, or could be on, the water near
a tall silver pole with laundry hanging from it. Fortunately I had pressed the optional emergency stealth
button.
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| Periscope Depth- All hands under water |
The shore was a good long ways off. I could see the tall cliffs, but not the beach. I know I should have taken sights and calculated the course to the distant shore -but really, what’s the point when you’re sailing underwater? And besides I hadn’t read that chapter yet.
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| The Long Wade Home |
Niobrara Chalk, like the White Cliffs of Dover, is softer than
granite but it’s no sandy beach in Florida either. I remembered our draft was deeper than
earlier in the day and managed to do so with time to pull the dagger board up.
As it were, we pretty much, albeit, full of water and dripping crew, just
stopped. The chalk cliffs had devoured
our wind.
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| On the Chalk Beach of Nebraska- The Puffer Sleeps |
THE MUTINY ON THE PUFFER
The mighty Puffer was not damaged. I merely turned it over to empty the “water
ballast”. I asked the crew to get on
board for the sail back. Oddly, nobody volunteered. The mutiny was complete. We had landed by a crack in the wall of cliffs
that lead to a deep canyon full of fallen trees and large chalk chunks and the
only hope of land based departure. If I
could reach the end of the chalk box canyon and climb to the top I knew the highway
couldn’t be more than a mile and the campsite and transportation device maybe
two or so more. However, my Corps of
Discovery found there was no way out of the canyon except by a lake escape. I had read recently of a family stranded a
full week in just this kind of predicament.
Of course we had no radio, marine or CB (Citizen’s Band). Flares? Hadn’t read about them yet either. And of course we had not filed a float plan
for our three hour tour.
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| The Three Mutineers- On the Beach |
I explained the situation; either sail back with me, ‘cause I’m not leaving the boat, or walk back. The boys thought walking back was the best idea of the day. Linda, who likely would have to carry Michelle, was not as impressed and Michelle, who had enough of airborne and submarine travel for the next several years didn’t think much of hiking either. It would not be a pleasant walk on the beach. Chalk cliffs are always in a state of falling which meant climbing over large, wet, slippery chalk rocks, fallen trees and a likely swim around impassable areas. My mention that taking a swim now and then in the Big Muddy would wash off the chalk did nothing for Esprit de Corps. The mention a possible encounter with a Possible Dinosaur provided no relief. (Yep, those too- another story). Me? I sailed back. Without the weight of the crew and with a fair wind it was an enjoyable sail. (Don’t tell them) Later that evening, when calm returned to our encampment, I, with some caution, approached our tent to find the entire ship’s company had voted never to sail under water again and so far, at least, we have not.
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| PUFFER COVE - NEBRASKA COAST |
SMALL BOATS ROCK !
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