Big daddy

A while back I reported that I had some difficulty with my mother's boat (for more information see: I'm no Jack Sparrow...er, Captain Jack Sparrow). In that post I stated that I could probably go ahead and write the story about how I tried to repair said boat. Well if I would have done that then, I couldn't do it now. And now it'll be a true story, and everyone likes a true story (for more information watch "Rudy").

It was a beautiful day in the Ozarks yesterday. I took my ginormous Ford Expedition on a little joy ride down to Shell Knob. The colors are just starting to change on the trees and you almost didn't notice the bagworms. There was very little traffic on a Monday afternoon so I very much enjoyed the drive. Then, all of a sudden, the joy stopped. I arrived at the boat dock. For those of you who have journeyed down the "hill-of-certain-death" you know why the joy stopped. Anyways, I took my tool box down to the boat. I was told by the local boat dealer, whom I called last week to see about a part, that there was a serial number on the propeller (the part I was replacing). I examined the prop (that's the boat-people term) and found no such number. So I pulled out all of the paperwork concerning the boat to search for some random number I have no idea how to find. After about 10 seconds of this I became discouraged and decided that I would simply (simply is going to the the ironic word) take off the prop and take it to them to match. The thing about outboard motors is that they hang off the back of a boat. This creates some problems when you can't get to the back of the boat due to the 100' of water under it. So after staring at the prop and trying to reach out with my wrench to unscrew the prop nut and succeeding only in turning the prop (cause it's designed to go 'round and 'round), I decided to take my discouraging paperwork to the part place and let them figure it out.

So I arrive at Sport Boat USA, a lovely boat dealer specializing in Mercury motors (that's the kind I have). As I walked to the door I noticed something odd. There on the door was the "hours of operation" sign. I studied this closely as I pulled on the door. At the same time I nearly dislocated my shoulder I read "Monday........closed." I stared at this for a few minutes (literally like 4 whole minutes) and began to become quite frustrated with myself for not calling and making sure that a place of buisness was OPEN ON A MONDAY! So I scavanged through my brain and remembered where another boat place was (right next door). They are not a Mercury dealer so I held little faith that they would carry the part I needed, but since I was already there I thought, "Why not spread my misery around a bit." I drove up and lo and behold they were OPEN! I entered the store and walked to the counter. A middle-aged woman asked if she could help me. I made my prop request. She began asking me questions about the prop I needed. I, of course, had no answers except "It' s not my boat, it's my mom's." I provided her and Bob (I don't know if that's his name but I figured it's a good guess), who had joined us, with the paperwork from the boat. After scrounging through said papers and finding nothing of use, Bob decided that I needed a 13 pitch prop. I said "ok" and held my breath after asking how much this particular part was going to cost. It was $40 less than what those crooked-no-work-on-Mondays people told me at the Mercury dealer, so I was happy....briefly. I asked if there was anyone that could install the prop and she told me it would be a couple WEEKS. I asked if it was a long proceedure and she said no, they are just very busy. I stood there, looking dejected, pitiful, and helpless (which I was) in hopes that she would have mercy on me and call her brother or uncle or nephew who 'just happened to know something about motors.' You know in movies and books and on TV there's this perception about small town folk who are just there to help a feller out and do what's right? That's not the case at the boat store. So after standing at the counter for a few minutes and getting no feedback, I took the prop and headed back to the boat. As I was driving and contemplating my predicament, I glanced back and saw my brand new tow strap in the back of my vehicle.

(jump forward 15 min)

So I'm hanging off the back of the pontoon boat, straped into a makeshift body sling I created from a tow strap. I begin to work on the motor (akward not just because I'm wearing a Polo, Khakis, and hanging off the back of a boat, but also because I have know idea what I'm doing) and succeed in getting the original prop off the boat. Now, as I mentioned before, the water here is about 100' ft deep. So it is imperitive that I not drop any parts or tools into the water. This becomes a difficult task when trying to hold on to a prop, a wrench, and a nut at the same time. However, I managed not to drop anything. I make the repair and decide to take the boat out to test it out (per the recommendation of Bob). This becomes difficult when I find out the boat won't start. I had taken all of the ropes off the boat and was drifting out into the water when I figured this out. I ran to the front of the boat and caught the dock and pulled myself back in. I jumped out and tied a rope to the front of the boat and got back in to try again. I began drifting back out again and expected to feel the gentle tug of a rope keeping me safely tied to the dock...no tug. I looked up and found that the rope I tied to the boat was only tied to the boat, not the dock (I have a Masters degree?). So I jumped up ran to the front of the boat and pulled myself in, this time tying up the boat. After coming to the conclusion the boat would not start, I decided to call it a day.

So all in all things worked out. I have a new skill (making slings from tow straps) and all is well in the world of pontoon boats!

Praise God.