"Roger Long" wrote:

Our new marina dock is much friendlier than the one last year. It isn't the
people so much as it is that there are people. Last year, we were in the
land of boats that never go out. The boats don't get much more use where we
are now but the people are there nearly every night emptying beer cans,
grilling, and enjoying their bit of waterfront.



Almost every time I come in now, I can count on seeing a large friendly
fellow walking towards my slip to heave heroically on the top of the
lifeline stanchions to keep the boat from getting close enough that I can
step off instead of jumping or to heave the bow line so tight that I can't
bring the stern in.



Tonight, I was coming in with my son and one of his friends standing on each
side of the rail gate. We'd had an exhilarating sail and they were in the
mood to participate and let me talk them through the process. Actually,
there isn't much process at the new slip where current, wind, and prop walk
all align nearly as favorably as they did fiendishly at last year's slip
from hell. I motor in, stop the boat, step off, tie the lines. Why the
neighbors haven't noticed this by now and still insist on rushing over to
crack the gelcoat around my stanchion bases is just one of life's mysteries.



Anyway, there was one of the BFF's "Big Friendly Fellows", walking quickly
towards our slip. "Thanks,", I called, "We're all set." He stopped and
turned back. I turned my attention back towards the side of the boat. I
like to stop three inches off and it was a little hard to judge with two
large teenagers in the way. When I was about to put the boat in reverse and
looked up, there was the BFF standing right by the bow cleat. I knew the
boys were going to defer to him and flub my instructions so I said again,
"THANKS, We're all set. I want to talk them through it."



The boat stopped but he didn't. He grabbed the bow line as the boys stepped
off. I said again, "THANKS VERY MUCH. WE'VE GOT IT!"

He dropped the bow line in the water and went stalking off. I realized he
was angry. He shouted back over his shoulder as he left, "That's the way we
do things here. We're a friendly bunch and we help each other out." Well,
some days you just can't help being an asshole, (me, I mean). I guess he
won't be helping me again.

I've had to insist that Bob explain to me exactly what he wants me to
do so that we are both on the same page. Because him yelling at me
halfway through doesn't work.

When someone 'helps' us, I try to bring them into the process by
telling them what we intend to do - many times by asking them to do
something specific for me. Sometimes I tell the person that Bob wants
me to do what he says for me to do (blaming it on him if I don't want
to take a line or whatever the helping person thinks I should do to
help him to help me).

If I know what he wants to accomplish and how he wants it done, I can
sometimes help when it doesn't play out exactly like he thought it
would by doing something that he hasn't told me to do. If we are
backing out, and I see that the bow is swinging the wrong way, and I
am on the bow with a boat hook (which I usually am), I can hook the
boathook on a piling and steady it up so that the stern goes where he
intended it to. He often doesn't realize what I've done or that I've
done anything because his attention is focused on the stern.

At least once, however, I've gotten the boathook hooked on something
and couldn't get it free -- lost the boathook. He didn't like that.
It was his favorite boathook.


By this time of course, the boys, distracted by the exchange, had completely
lost track of the program. I grabbed the last foot of dockline just before
the bow swung into the next boat. Things were happening too quickly now to
get the boys engaged so they just ended up standing around watching me tie
up, again.



I was a drug counselor in a former lifetime and still remember one of the
books that was in the center. The title was, "Does Help, Help?" Good
question.

(Boy Rosalie, does that story about your fandango when the helper cast off
the line prematurely ever resonate.)

I've got one worse than that. We were casting off from the dock in
Nassau, and the dock helper person threw the line at me when I wasn't
expecting it, and it hit me in my nose and knocked my glasses off into
the harbor. I'm not quite blind without them, but I couldn't see
where they went. And I had to yell at Bob a couple of times to get
his attention so he would stop casting off from the stern.

We tied back up, and when the current stopped ripping through the
slip, the water became clear. I got my back-up glasses so I could
see. The glasses at the bottom of the harbor had automatic darkening
lenses, and the water was clear enough that the sun had darkened them
through 10 feet of water and we could see where they were. Bob went
up and got a long net from the swimming pool and fished them out.