Ok, so... the "chainsaw" incident, or why I am offline again. Well, I am actually back online now, but I was offline for several days. Way offline, like off the grid, as they say. And... it was all my fault, sorta'. This whole thing really all started when I was having my house reshingled. It was time, really. The old shingles were way past their lifetime and a few were missing from past hurricanes. I called the person that had done the sub-work on my remodel two years ago. His son, Shaun, had started a roofing business and I knew he would do good work. I picked out the shingles and my wife, Cheryl, picked out the color. Soon, Shaun and his crew were busily pulling off the old shingles and working hard.

On one of my many trips up to the roof to check on progress, Shaun showed me an area where they had found subterranean termites under the felt. There wasn't much damage and he had replaced the decking just to be safe. That part of the roof had a large tropical tree (Schefflera) growing right at the corner of the foundation. This was keeping that part of the roof constantly shaded. It was also the route the termites had used to reach the roof. It was time for the tree to go. In addition to the termites, it was also growing up under the foundation and was likely to cause damage soon.

Now, I live in Florida, a subtropical climate. Bugs are just a fact of life. I've even convinced a guildie who lives in Canada that cockroaches are rampant here. Herds of them roam the streets, children often ride upon their backs, and many (far too many) even conduct successful runs for public office.


But we have more than just roaches, we have all kinds of bugs including a wide range of termites; drywood, subterranean, formosan... the list seems endless. Soon after we first moved into this house we discovered we had drywood termites. This was made abundantly clear when huge swarms of winged flyers suddenly appeared within the house one evening, getting into everything and flitting about the lights. I am using both "huge" and "swarm" correctly here, you couldn't breathe without inhaling half a dozen!


I should point out that prior to purchasing the home, we were required by the lender to get a termite inspection, which we did and were declared "termite free". When I called the inspector about this, he explained that was just a formality and that he was not responsible for actually finding any termites that may, or may not, be there. It was all part of the "Termite Inspector Relief Act" which was intended to help generate revenue for his industry and not for the protection of home buyers/lenders. I, not the inspector, was on the hook for treating the house for drywood termites. This treatment consists of erecting a huge tent over the house and pumping it full of a highly toxic gas for two days, which may (or may not) result in complete destruction of any furnishings within the home, but is guaranteed to kill anything living within the confines of the tent, including termites. I can attest that this treatment does work. Everything within the house was dead, including a family of fruit rats that had made a home in the attic. That's another story, but I can say that the treatment just kills things, it doesn't preserve them in any way.


Flash forward to two years ago, when I came home to find an oak tree in the front yard had fallen over! To make matters worse, the tree had fallen on the powerline to the house, snapping the riser pole and electric meter completely off. I attributed the ongoing electrical activity in that general location to the complete lack of power within the house. I called the power company, they came out, cut the power and wished me luck. I called an electrician who, being a fairly bright fellow, quickly isolated the problem to the fallen riser and electric meter. He could do the work the next day, but I had to get a permit from the County, who would then inspect his work before the power company would reconnect the lines. Permits are expensive, risers and electric meters are expensive, but the worst part was the two day wait for the County inspector to approve the installation so the power could be turned on. No power for three days. In August. In Florida. We have a small generator which ran the refrigerator and freezers, as well as a couple of lamps, but not the AC. Ugghhh... that was pretty miserable.

Oh yeah, back to the fallen tree. I called a tree guy to come take it away and he found that the tree had contracted a fungus, which I suppose is kinda' like a bug. That fungus had allowed termites to get into the root system, which was why the tree had fallen over. Sorta' like if a wild band of roving weasels suddenly appeared and chewed off your feet, you would fall over. He also pointed out that three adjacent oak trees also had this fungus and I should consider removing them as well. I was suspicious (ala the "Termite Inspector Relief Act") and just had the fallen tree removed.

About a year later my wife and I were watching TV one evening when we heard a loud crash, then an explosion, followed by a complete loss of power to the house. We noticed this because the TV went off and the dogs ran to hide under the bed. I cautiously ventured outside to find an oak tree (one of the ones previously identified with the fungus) had snapped off about 12 feet up the trunk. The top, looking all the world like a huge broccoli stalk, had landed on the power line and then smooshed our little pop-up camper parked beneath it.


The riser was ripped off the house again, but the meter remained on the house even though it was kinda' burned and melted... and still smoking. The power company, bless their little hearts, came right out, cut the lines and wished me luck. This was looking awfully familiar, like... deja vu all over again. I found out that permit fees, risers and meters had gone up a lot in price, but the County would still take two days to do their inspection. No power for three days. In August. In Florida. Again.

Which brings me to today. Now that Schefflera tree, while tall, wasn't really that big. I could remove most of it myself and save some money, or at least that was my plan. Over a period of several days, I slowly made my way through its many trunks. Unlike a normal tree, this thing didn't have branches... it had trunks. Lots and lots of trunks. I would bring one down, de-leaf it, bag the leaves and cut up the trunk with my trusty chainsaw. Last saturday, I had worked my way down to the last remaining trunk. The largest one, incidentally, which had a wicked lean over the power line. I knew this would be a challenge, but I had developed a plan. My ingenious plot involved a rope, a truck and my wife. I would use a ladder to tie the rope as high up the tree as I could reach, tie the other end to the trailer hitch on the truck and then have my wife drive the truck to pull the tree away from the power line as I heroically cut through that last trunk. It was perfect! It was foolproof! It was... well, maybe not "perfect", exactly.


As I busied myself with the ladder, rope and truck, my wife cast a baleful look at the contraption I had created. Bah, she never believes in my creations. She looked at me and said, "I think we should hire someone to do this". Hmmm, a non-believer. Given the look on her face, I knew she would never agree to participate and drive the truck, so I decided I would just pull the truck forward, tension the rope as much as possible and put it in park. That should generate more than enough force to successfully pull the fallen tree away from the power line where it would fall safely into the front yard. The rope was long enough that the truck wouldn't get hit, so I was good to go!

Now, I should have recognized that this was not the same plan I had so carefully prepared over the past three days. But I convinced myself that this was just a minor modification - my plan was still perfectly feasible. We engineers like to use the word "feasible", it makes us sound confidant while we are actually expressing some doubt. I started the chainsaw and my wife looked at me with one eyebrow raised and took a few steps back. I cut a nice v-notch in the back side of the trunk, the side I wanted the tree to fall on. You know... away from the power line. Then I commenced making the falling cut on the other side. I lined up perfectly with the center of the v-notch, a nice straight cut through and the tree suddenly sprang towards the truck just as I had envisioned it.


At this point, I found myself in a flashback to my childhood watching Wile E. Coyote attempt to capture Road Runner. I mean, really, the only thing missing was a big fat "ACME" stamped on the side of the chainsaw. You see, if I am behind you and give your big, fat head a hard shove, your whole body will fall away from me. Hah - just like I planned! However, if I shove you behind the knees, your knees will go away from me, but the rest of you will fall right on top of me, which is not exactly what I had planned. And the rope that I had tied around the tree was basically about, oh say... knee level, for the tree at least.

So, as I watched the freshly cut trunk spring away from me and towards the planned landing zone, I couldn't help but notice that the top of the tree had apparently not gotten the memo. It was moving a lot slower than the trunk, possibly due to the air resistance of all those huge leaves. We engineers notice and analyze things like that, it's just part of our nature. And, as an engineer, I quickly determined that the top was also moving in exactly the wrong direction. I could bore you with all the esoteric equations and formulae related to gravitational acceleration, fluid dynamic analyis of the airflow through and around the leaves, dynamic moments, and so forth, but instead will simply present a brief synopsis of the results from my analyses:
1) Things are not going according to plan
2) It is not going to fall on Cheryl
3) It is not going to fall on me
4) It is going to fall on the power line


I can only assume a sudden burst of adrenaline had provided my brain with all the horsepower it needed to complete a detailed assessment of the movement of that tree. However, after I finalized result number 4, all adrenaline was depleted leaving my mind unable to process further information. Therefore, I could not complete a full assessment of the resulting stress on the power line and its attachment point to the house before the answer was presented to me in excruciating and gorey detail. The riser was once again laying on the ground, but the meter box, while slightly dented, remained attached to the house. There were no sparks, smoke, flames, explosions or any other signs that something was amiss aside from the incorrect placement of the riser. I cautiously approached the meter to find it still spinning happily away, counting all those kilowatts being consumed by the household appliances. We still had power!

I turned to look at my wife, only to find her with that same damn eyebrow still raised. I smiled at her, turned off the chainsaw and said, "That's enough home improvement for today."


I waited until Monday to call the power company, since I knew exactly what they would do. No point in going the whole weekend without power. After I called, they came out promptly, told me I was having nothing but trouble with that power line (news flash, thanks), cut the lines and wished me luck. I called the electrician, who wondered aloud if he had been here before. Seems like others were sharing in my deja vu this time. I answered yes, and asked if he had some kind of bulk discount, or frequent shopper program. He just smiled. I found out that permit fees, risers and meters had gone up a lot in price (again), and the County would still take two days to do their inspection. No power for three days. This time in January, with a cold front approaching. No heat and cold showers for three days.


The power is back on now. Cheryl still isn't speaking to me, but she has gleefully related her version of events to anyone who will listen. I think I hear her on the phone even now, snickering and giggling. I've received a few heckling phone calls, so I just let the machine pick up for now.

An Eye Catching Lure!

I really love fishing. I always have. As a child, my father would take me out in his little tin boat and we would spend the day on the water. Really good times.

So, as I grew older, I continued fishing and even bought a nice little bass boat after graduating from college. It was the late 1980's and I would pick up my girlfriend after work on Fridays and head to the lake for the weekend. Like most young people, I lived for the weekend!

Living in the midwest, bass fishing was pretty much the only game in town and I pursued it with a passion. While it's not really a "contact" sport, it can sometimes result in injury. You know... the occasional hook puncture or fish spine injury. I've even witnessed people getting knocked out by flying insects while scooting across the lake at 60 mph, but that is another story. This one is gruesome enough!

My significant other (at the time) and I had gone to Stockton Lake in southwest Missouri for a weekend of camping and fishing. Nothing unusual about that, as we often chose Stockton for weekend trips. We spent Saturday fishing for both walleye and bass, but as the evening approached we focused on working topwater lures through flooded cedar trees in one of the creeks that fed the lake. I was throwing a black and white herring bone pattern Zara Spook, one of my favorite topwater plugs.


As the sun began to set, I removed my sunglasses since they were too dark to see through in the waning light. Fishing had been slow and we hadn't caught much the whole day. Working the plug past a cedar trunk, I was rewarded with a monstrous strike! This was a nice bass, about six pounds or so. I pulled the fish to the boat, putting as much pressure on the line as I felt I could. I didn't want this bass to make it down into all those branches beneath the surface! I nearly had the fish to the boat and had cleared the cedar tree when the plug suddenly came unfastened from the fish's mouth. The severe bend in the graphite rod, combined with the stretch in the monofilament line created a basic slingshot that hurled the lure directly into my face at approximately the speed of sound!

I had no time to react and felt the impact of the plug across my right eye. My vision blurred, then everything turned red. I was a little stunned, but shook my head hoping to clear the cobwebs. They didn't clear and I soon realized I had a Zara Spook attached to my face! I shook my head again while looking down, hoping it would fall free. It did not. I then tried gently pulling on the body of the plug, but my upper eyelid went with it. I glanced at my girlfriend and, based on her stunned and ashen look, realized I might have a problem. She looked as if she were about to pass out... and I was the one with the new "jewelry/piercing"! I was strangely calm and explained to her that she needed to keep it together as I was counting on her now. With a panic stricken look, she asked "What do I do?"

There was another boat fishing the same creek. I asked her to yell at them for help. She did, and it took a few moments for them to respond... "yeah, what do you need"?

"He has a hook in his eye!"

"Oh god... we'll be right there."

We were rescued by another kind couple. They approached our boat and I asked if they had any hook cutters. I really wanted to get this plug off my face. Sadly, though they said they often do have cutters, they did not have them with them now. They spent a moment examining the mess and quickly suggested that they pilot my boat back to the dock while I lay on the floor trying not to move.

Now, I have been on some very unpleasant boat rides... 32 hour trips home from offshore through 6 to 10 foot seas. In comparison, they weren't so bad as this one. Even though the water was relatively calm, and the distance short, riding in a small boat with a 6-inch plug with dual treble hooks embedded in your eye is not something I suggest anyone try. You can't really see anything and to say it felt like I had "something in my eye" would be an understatement.

A small crowd gathered at the dock after we arrived. Our rescuers helped guide me into the back of their SUV. One man in the crowd stepped forward saying "I'm a dentist. I can help". Really? Forgive me doc, but this problem is about two inches, two very important inches, north of your specialty. I laid back as he examined me, and have to say that the look on his face was not a confidence builder. "I can't do anything with this" he said, and he slunk back into the crowd.

We were headed to the emergency room, a place I have since become more intimately familiar with than anyone really should be. The closest was a small town called "Butler" (I believe). By the time I walked into the ER, I had been holding that damn plug against my face for about 2 hours. The admitting nurse took one look at me, turned pale and said "You will be next!"


I gave her my insurance card and she turned me over to a strapping young fellow who looked very competent, though a little young to be a doctor. He guided me onto the exam table and told me that the doctor would be right in. I was feeling a little better, now that I had made it to the ER. I would soon be fixed up good as new, right? As I lay there on the table, I saw the doctor as he entered the room.


There is a character actor that played in a lot of westerns in the 1960s and 70s. I don't know his name, but he essentially played the same role in all of them. Very scruffy and bearded with one eye always squinted, the other one just... wild. Usually played a drunk. Well, that's who had just walked in the door wearing scrubs and a stethoscope. "Hmmmmm", he grunted, "ain't seen nothing like this before". My confidence was plummeting to all time lows. "Looks like we are gonna' have to push that hook all the way through". Not words you want to hear when said hook is in your eye! Actually, you never want to hear those words, but through your eye? I mean, seriously... through my eye!??

I must have looked a little panicked and I have to admit, I probably wasn't wearing my best poker face. The doctor explained that the hook was not actually in my eye, but in my eyelid and embedded under the orbital brow. I can't claim to know what an "orbital brow" is, but I had a real good idea of where he meant. He went on to explain that they would numb the area, pull the hook out from under the bone and push it through the fleshy area above my eyelid so they could cut off the barb and remove the hook. I wasn't real enthused about this plan, but couldn't come up with any alternatives.


The doctor produced a hypodermic that was a foot long and a half-inch in diameter, or at least looked that way with my currently impaired vision. "This may sting a bit", he offered as he began stabbing me with this barbaric implement of torture just below my eyebrow and (thankfully) above my eye. I was ready to confess to the assassination of Kennedy, Lee Harvey Oswald AND Lincoln. Jack Bauer had nothing on this dude. Eventually, he got bored (or satisfied) with his efforts and promised to return in a few minutes after the anesthetic had time to take effect. I remain unconvinced that he was using anesthetic. Formaldehyde, perhaps, but not anesthetic. I thought my right eye was about to burst into flames and the left one was rolling around in sympathy. Now blinded, escape was simply impossible.

All too soon, Doctor Mengele returned with, I swear to God, the smallest pair of wire cutters I have ever seen in my life. I mean, they virtually disappeared into that paw he used for a hand. He grabbed hold of the base of the embedded treble hook and began twisting it savagely... at least from my point of view. The sharp hook point grated across the back side of the bone above my eye. I could feel (and hear) it. He eventually succeeded in freeing the point and began enthusiastically tugging it through my upper eyelid. "There it is" he exclaimed, as the point and barb popped through, at which point he produced those tiny wire cutters and attempted to cut the hook point off.

"Doc, those things are never going to cut through that hook" I said, gasping for breath.

"They're all we got" he replied.

He struggled with his left hand, his right, then both. Sweat dripped from his brow and, I have to admit, he gave it a real try. "Call Brian in here" he told the attending nurse as he panted for breath. Brian was the strapping young lad that had guided me onto the torture, err... exam table. While not completely excited at having an orderly performing this procedure, I was pretty sure that it couldn't be any worse. It took Brian both hands and no small amount of effort, but the sharp "ping" of the cutters severing the hook was of great relief to me.

The doctor handily extracted the remains of the hook and then examined my eye. He placed a patch over it and instructed me to see an opthamologist as soon as possible. Me... I couldn't wait to leave that place. Our rescuers drove us back to the dock and wished us well. I slowly piloted my boat back to our campground (in the dark... with one eye) and hit the sack.

Sunday morning dawned bright and early. My girlfriend and I discussed our options. She wanted to head home, but I really wanted to get some more on-the-water time in. She relented and I headed down to the boat. As I sat there in the bright sun, waiting for her to arrive, my eye began to throb and the wisdom of her words sounded vastly better than mine. I agreed to head home. We loaded the boat on the trailer and broke camp. She was driving, and as we motored up the interstate I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my eye. I pulled down the visor and opened the vanity mirror. It was my contact lens! God knows where it had been hiding, but I was able to remove it from my eye, and on examination found a small hole in the very center of the lens. The hook point had hit the lens, glanced off and traveled upwards under the eyelid. Had I not been wearing contacts, I am certain I would have lost my right eye!

Monday morning, I made an emergency appointment with an opthamologist. He examined me and told me "It's too late now, but you should have been placed in a dark room with both eyes patched. Your iris was torn loose from the bottom of your eye." He gave me some very dark glasses and told me to avoid bright sunlight. "You were very lucky" he said. I had to wear the dark glasses, even indoors, for a week.

In retrospect, I was very lucky. I still have good (correctable) vision and have suffered no ill effects. I always carry hook cutters now and they are capable of cutting any hook that I have... even the stoutest saltwater hooks.

I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes...

Those of you over the age of forty may recognize the tag line for this article as the lyrics from the old Jim Stafford song. Even if you are under forty and never heard the song, you may still enjoy the story, so read on! Since very little has been happening within the guild lately, I am left with little else to put in my blog but my own personal stories. I hate to leave all two of my faithful readers with nothing new, so today’s story is about spiders. And my wife, Cheryl (Mrs. Seabrat). That's her on the left. The gross dude on the right is me.


My wife is a truly wonderful woman and I still haven’t figured out why she has stuck with me all these years, as she seems to possess above normal intelligence. She is spirited and adventurous, enjoys camping, fishing, scuba diving and the great outdoors. As a registered nurse working in a critical care unit, she often deals with things that would simply make me pass out. She just has one little phobia… spiders scare the crap out of her. This isn’t a big problem until one surprises her, then watch out! This normally calm and fearless woman begins to resemble an alley cat rubbed down with bacon grease and tossed into a pack of pitbulls.


So I am the designated spider wrangler in our house, which isn’t that bad since we don’t really have many of them around for me to deal with. Those we do have, however, tend to run pretty large. Typically these are wolf spiders, which don’t use webs to trap their prey. Instead they hunt on the move, much like a wolf and hence the name. Apparently, these dudes can live for three years (or more) and approach three to four inches in length.


Over the years I have rescued Cheryl from numerous occasions of impending doom from one of these threatening monsters. Usually this is accomplished using a newspaper or shoe with little drama or fanfare, their corpses scooped up and flushed down the toilet. I can’t simply toss them in the trash, as that would traumatize her even further knowing the creature was still in the house.


Now when I am in a raid with the Red Devils, I usually am focused on the game and Cheryl tolerates that pretty well. But, when spider duty calls I have to respond to her shrieks and deal with the little buggers IMMEDIATELY. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s always at the most inopportune moments. So, that’s just a heads up to my guildies as to what’s going on with Seabrat when he suddenly disappears!


Anyway, the extent of her fear of spiders was always pretty bad, but there was one particular occasion that turned it into full blown arachnophobia. And I remember it well, because it pretty much heeved me out, too! We were watching TV together when a large dark shape came skittering down the wall (that’s how these spiders move… they skitter), onto the floor and headed directly towards Cheryl. Now you have to understand that when it comes to spiders and Cheryl, there are only two directions a spider moves… directly away from her, or right at her. Of course, she spotted it long before it reached the floor and her panic level skyrocketed off the charts once it hit ground level and headed towards the two of us. I mean, she couldn’t really miss it. It was just about the biggest, fattest wolf spider I have ever seen. To her it must have looked like a watermelon with legs!


Fortunately, the spider’s true course was really more towards me and as a result I didn’t even have to get out of my chair (though Cheryl was already standing on hers) to deal with our intruder. Right foot up, right foot down, smoosh… end of story, right?

Except it wasn’t. I heard a shrill scream, a wooshing sound and then the front door slamming shut. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Cheryl had left the building. I don’t think her feet even touched the floor before she reached the door some 20 feet away. See, as it turns out, that spider was big, but it really wasn’t fat. It was in fact carrying 278,923 baby spiders on its body, of which about 278,900 were now scurrying about the floor! Adult wolf spiders skitter, the babies can only scurry. They can’t train skitter until they reach level 10 and these were definitely level 1 noobs.


I looked down in shock and awe at the ever-widening, dark, circular mass of writhing spiders as they attempted to flee. It really was pretty damn creepy – like something out of a horror film! I realized with sudden dread that I had better do something fast before they scattered too much, or I would soon have to buy a new house! Cheryl would never return to this one if I didn’t fix the problem quickly and completely. I commenced reapplication of both feet in a rapid right/left and up/down fashion. This not only allowed me to quickly annihilate the gathering troops, but also served to dislodge the hundred or so that had scurried up my legs. That second part was highly motivational for me as well and within a few minutes of furious white-boy dancing, I had succeeded in completely decimating their numbers to a few stragglers. These were dealt with individually, after which I surveyed the carnage.

There was a large, dark, roughly circular mass of spider parts and ichor on the floor surrounded by a few smaller specks scattered around the circumference. Thankfully there were no survivors. I checked my legs to make sure I had gotten rid of any potential stealthy surprises, then gathered up a broom, dust pan, spray cleaner and a few paper towels. As I was cleaning up the mess, the phone rang. It was Cheryl calling from the neighbor’s house asking if it was all clear. I told her I was just cleaning up and she could return home safely. This same girl that made it from her chair to the front door in less than 0.001 seconds took nearly five minutes to make the same journey in reverse. She would make one tentative step, then glance around nervously, certain that she would see a wave of spiders heading for her. Finally, she was satisfied that I had indeed secured the premises and returned to her chair.

I returned to my seat and glanced at Cheryl. She was still breathing heavily and visibly trying to relax. I picked up the remote and flipped over to the Animal Planet, one of her favorite channels. I was hoping for a nice show about cats or puppies, or even lions, tigers and bears (oh my). When luck ain’t with you, it just ain’t with you. The screen was immediately filled with the image of an enormous tarantula stalking along a banana leaf!

Hogs Gone Wild!

Captain Wilson and I had talked about a hunting trip for long enough. It was Labor Day weekend and time to act! He had located a suitable outfitter in Cedar Key, about a 1-hour drive from the Wilson cabin in Chassahowitzka. We agreed to meet there on Friday afternoon, and then drive up to Cedar Key together. Our destination… Tiger Island Outfitters, operated by Crichton and Tracy Allen.


On the way, we chatted about life and times, particularly the area of continued employment. We shared a common fear that we would soon be unemployed. A fear that was realized for me a few short weeks later. Wilson (being the wilier of the two of us) continues his current position of employment, but the prospect of putting some meat in our larders was highly appealing to both of us.

Tiger Island Outfitters (not on an island, and no tigers that I could see) offers “guaranteed” hunts for hogs. They charge $75 for the first two “meat” hogs (anything under 120 pounds or so) and $50 for each one after that. Trophy hogs carry a $200 fee, but neither of us was interested in a “trophy” hog. A deer head on the wall has a certain country charm, but a wild hog has a face not even its own mother could love.


Crichton Allen was expecting us that afternoon and said we should just open the gate and drive on up. Never mind the dogs, they’re friendly, but keep an eye on the emus – they were mean as hell! We arrived around 3:00 pm and parked our truck near the house. We no sooner opened the truck door when we heard an ominous, low-pitched drumming sound. Looking around, we found ourselves being approached (stalked?) by two very large emu! We both chuckled nervously and were relieved to hear an approaching ATV. It was Crichton and our guide for the trip, Brian. They greeted us, repeating the earlier warning about keeping an eye on those devil birds, and then explained their operation to us.


Crichton has fenced off his 23 acre property, keeps it stocked with wild hogs captured by trappers and maintains a number of automated feeders with nearby stands and blinds. As a result, he can virtually guarantee a successful “hunt”. I won’t get into the topic of canned hunts and baited blinds, other than to say this operation does provide an enjoyable experience and the hogs have a large area in which they can escape and hide. They are well fed and their steady diet of corn yields a very high quality meat. Suffice to say that both Captain Wilson and I plan to return!

Crichton also has a small guest cabin with four bunks, a small kitchen area and – thank God – air conditioning! We had arranged to hunt the afternoon, stay overnight and then hunt again the next morning. The cabin was also equipped with a BBQ grill and a large outdoor propane cooker, but we had come unprepared to use those facilities, electing to head into the town of Cedar Key for dinner that night. We unpacked our gear and found Brian waiting for us in the golf cart as we left the cabin. We grabbed our guns and hopped aboard for the ride to our stands.

Brian dropped me off first at a small feeder area which had both a ground blind and a ladder tree stand nearby. I elected to use the tree stand, still unsure as to how aggressive my quarry might be! I knew pigs can’t climb and felt safer in my perch fifteen feet above the ground. Just a few minutes after I settled into the stand, I could see a few hogs walking through the brush in the distance. About that same time, the persistent whine of mosquitoes filled the air. Fortunately, Crichton had warned us that the bugs were bad this year and recommended we bring a Thermocell to keep them at bay. I flipped mine on and pushed the igniter button a few times before it lit. I waited impatiently as the unit heated up and began emitting its magic smoke. A few minutes later, the bugs were gone and I was left to wait in peace.

It really didn’t take long before the snuffle of approaching hogs reached my ears. While they can move very quietly, they do make a lot of noise as they fight over each morsel of food. The scent of corn scattered about by Brian had drawn them in and none were willing to share! I watched over them for several minutes as I picked out a nice fat sow. She was pitch black, but was accompanied by hogs of every shade… white, red, brown and spotted. I waited until she presented me with an open, broad side shot and leveled my Marlin 30-30 at her.


As I aimed through the ghost ring sight, I was reminded of the dubious looks I was given by everyone as I had loaded my weapon earlier. Open sights? Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Yes – I was sure. Florida is not open range land and the brush here is thick. A 100-yard shot is a long one and well within the limitations of my 30-30 and open sights. The shot I was currently lining up was only 25 yards or so, and I held about an inch under my bullseye – the brain. I squeezed the trigger and hogs scattered in all directions. All except for the one that lay twitching on the ground. I had done my part and the rifle, even with open sights, had delivered.

I sat back in the stand and relaxed as the sounds of the surrounding woods returned to normal. I wondered how Captain Wilson was doing – I hadn’t heard any other gunshots. I didn’t have long to ponder before I heard the crack of his 270 in the distance. Nice – hopefully we both had hogs now!

Before I could descend from my stand, I heard more snuffling coming from my right. I sat down and waited to see what was coming. Another herd of pigs was approaching the stand! They slowly approached the baited area, picking up loose kernels of corn and fighting amongst themselves. Their fallen comrade was of no concern and they stepped over it to continue feeding. I watched the group, looking for a target. Captain Wilson and I had agreed we would each take two meat hogs, but the question for me was; take the second one now or wait until morning? I decided a hog in the hand was worth two in the bush and picked out a piebald male from the group. I lined up another brain shot and squeezed the trigger. Again – hogs scattered in every direction except my target which lay twitching on the ground!

After things calmed down, I descended from the stand and walked over to inspect my kills. Both were nice clean kills with no damage to the meat. I was more than satisfied with my hunt, and it had been less than 2 hours since we arrived! I could hear the golf cart approaching with Captain Wilson and Brian chatting away. As they arrived, I heard my friend state “He sure did get two hogs. I thought he missed!” Thanks buddy, but I am better with a rifle than a speargun!


The Captain had taken a small black sow which was already loaded onto the cart. We dragged my two hogs over, plopped them onto the back of the cart and headed back to the cleaning station near the cabin. Brian offered to clean and dress the hogs for us for a small fee and we both accepted, provided he teach us how as he went. We had each brought a large cooler with us, and I retrieved them from the truck. Brian went through the cleaning process in detail, explaining everything as he went. We decided to leave them whole for processing, Crichton iced down the coolers as each carcass was added. He recommended a place called Peacock Meats in Zephyrhills for processing and gave us each a business card for the place. More on that later.


The flurry of activity around the cleaning station attracted the attention of the two resident emu and they circled around us for the duration. Occasionally they would venture too close for comfort and Crichton would “shoe” them away with a well placed kick to the rear. They were persistent, however, and both managed to grab a few scraps from the discard bin. “Watch those legs”, said Crichton, “they can kick forward and backward!” A quick glance at their large feet showed claws that resembled a raptor ala Jurassic Park. Dinosaurs didn’t go extinct… they evolved and we were being stalked by them! Any bird that can stand up and look a grown man in the eye is a force to be reckoned with and not taken lightly.


Once the coolers were packed, iced and loaded into the truck, we returned to the cabin to wash up and prepare for dinner. We headed out to Cedar Key, just a few miles away. The main drag in Cedar Key is almost like a small replica of Key West. We walked the length of it, reviewing the menus posted outside of each place and settled on a small open air bar with live music. Seafood is the usual choice in Cedar Key; I ordered a grouper sandwich while the Captain had fried oysters. Both were decent, if not great, and the band was enjoyable. We returned to the cabin well fed and ready for a good night’s sleep. Our wakeup call was scheduled for 5:30 am!

True to his word, Brian knocked on the cabin door at 5:30 sharp. Having taken my two hogs already, I elected to take the video camera instead of my rifle and film the Captain in action. Brian dropped us off at a different spot with a two-man ladder stand. We sat there as the sun rose, listening to the woods around us and waiting for the piggies to show. A few wandered around the woods behind us, but there was no opportunity to take a shot. Around 8:00 we decided to walk around a bit to see if we couldn’t find some hogs.


We stalked slowly through the woods until we came across the feeder the Captain had hunted the day before. There were several tree stands and blinds here as well as a large automated feeder. We each picked a stand and sat there waiting for the hogs to come in. After an hour with no movement, we called Brian on the radio asking for suggestions. He showed up a few minutes later and scattered several large handfuls of corn about the area. “That should help” he said, and returned to the cabin.


Sure enough, within ten minutes we could hear hogs approaching the feeder. Soon a large group of hogs arrived and began fighting over the grain like misers discovering a pile of gold coins. We watched them for several minutes before the Captain picked out his target, a small white sow. I was intent on capturing the kill on tape and focused entirely on the doomed hog. When the 270 went off, I found that I was in the blast zone of the muzzle and nearly dropped the camera! My ears were still ringing as we descended from the stand and waited for Brian to return with the cart. I knew the shot was coming, why the hell hadn’t I put in my ear plugs?


Back at the cleaning station, the Captain decided it was time to try his hand at dressing out a hog. Both Brian and Crichton stood by offering helpful tips and assistance as he struggled through the process. This time, the hog was to be quartered so we both could learn how that was done. The use of a sawzall made the process pretty quick and was highly recommended by Crichton. A regular meat saw was suggested by Brian, much easier to haul around and you don’t need electricity to use it. I put that on my list of gear to get.

By noon, we were all packed up and headed back to the cabin in Chassahowitzka. The Captain grabbed the ribs and back strap from the quartered hog to BBQ that weekend as he was having guests at the cabin. I was to take the coolers to Peacock Meats in Zephyrhills. I made the trip and arrived there around 4:00 pm, only to find they weren’t open! I decided to head home and take them to the local butcher shop that had processed a hog for me a couple of years ago. I was shocked to find they had gone out of business! Since it was a holiday weekend, I would have to keep the coolers iced down until Tuesday. Not a problem, really – these were big marine coolers and they kept ice very well. Tuesday morning, I began calling local butchers only to find that none of them would process any wild game! It looked like I was going back to Zephyrhills.


I admit I am a big fan of horror movies. I have watched way too many of them in fact, and when I entered the premises of Peacock Meats, I was immediately overtaken with a feeling of dread. This was one scary place with large, scary people. I was reminded of the movie “Motel Hell” and if you’ve seen it, you will get the connection. I filled out my order, dropped off the coolers and got the hell out of there, thankful that the Captain would be making the pickup and not me!


A week later our order was ready. I met the Captain at his house to divvy up the goods. I had related my experience with Peacock’s to him and he confirmed my evaluation… scary! We chuckled a bit and I explained my plan to process my own from now on. All I needed was a meat grinder and a saw. Anyway, we both had more than enough meat for a while… ham, sausage, ribs, back straps and pork chops. But you can believe that another trip to Tiger Island is in our futures!

Tiger Island Outfitters, Cedar Key, FL
Crichton and Tracy Allen
(352) 543-0851 (office)
(904) 483-0450 (cell)

The Original SeaBrat

Note: Originally written in 1995

After running the A-Maze-Mint, a 207 Quest by Four Winns, for nearly six years, we decided it was time to upgrade to a more suitable boat to fit our needs. Our primary boating uses were scuba diving and offshore fishing. The A-Maze-Mint had been a loyal performer, but we had learned a lot about offshore boating and were feeling a tad cramped. Initially we concentrated on 23 to 25 foot center consoles by Pursuit, Mako and Dusky, all of which seemed to be ideal boats for our use. Then we looked closely at the SeaCat line of power catamarans by North American Fiberglass.



Power catamarans are really just beginning to appear here in the United States. We started out looking seriously at the 25 foot SL5 SeaCat, a center console model. Sitting on a trailer, the boat looks much larger than its 25 feet, an effect caused largely by the height with which it rests on a trailer. While visiting the local dealer's boat show, we saw both the 21' SL1 and the 25' SL5 model sitting side-by-side. The 21' did not look much smaller than the 25', although it obviously was 4 feet shorter in length. At that time, we arranged for test rides in both boats and thus began our conversion to power catamarans.

We learned a lot about power cats when shopping for what was to be the SeaBrat. After nearly two years of research, shopping, looking and wishing we found a lot of hype, a little truth, enjoyed a few test rides and learned a big lesson (or two). If you've been thinking about buying a power catamaran and particularly a SeaCat, join us for the good, the bad, and the UGLY!

the Good...

The SeaCat is a power catamaran manufactured by International Class Catamarans, Inc. in North Carolina. Like most power cats, it provides an exceptionally smooth ride when seas are kicking up. Running directly into the wind, the boat provides a very gentle ride as it cuts through choppy 3-4' seas, an act that would probably cost you a kidney in most typical mono-hulls. The layout of the SeaCat lends itself well to scuba diving and fishing. It features an open transom design which, when combined with an Armstrong marine ladder, allows a diver to virtually walk right into the boat. It also has an unusually large amount of floor space due to its 8'6" beam and wide bow. The nearly vertical sides of the boat assure an extremely wide floor for its beam and the lack of a pointed bow creates a very large front deck area. The center console is roomy and the entire front opens to allow access to the interior.

In April of 1995, we concluded our negotiations with the dealer and bought the SeaBrat, our 21 foot SeaCat SL1. We chose to power it with twin Honda 50 horsepower engines, at that time a highly recommended combination by North American Fiberglass. We had discussed this setup with other owners who had rigged their SeaCats with these engines and all of them highly recommended them. The Honda outboards are 4 cycle engines as opposed to the standard 2-stroke outboard. A 4 cycle engine does not require an oil blended into the fuel, it's like a car engine. In fact, rumor has it that the Honda 90 horsepower outboard uses the old Honda Civic engine design.

Four cycle engines, since they don't burn an oil/gas mix, are also smoke free. There is no noticeable odor and the lack of the smell of burning oil is a godsend when trolling. The Hondas are extremely quiet and very fuel efficient. Operating at 3/4 throttle, or about 4,500 rpm, the SeaBrat delivers nearly 4.5 mpg. When running directly into the wind, this provides a nice smooth ride as the wind actually helps to lift the boat and reduces the effort the engines put into lifting the hull up on plane. Unfortunately, this throttle setting barely planes the boat in smooth water and not at all when running down wind (see "and the UGLY" below).

Under a typical load, operating the boat at around 5,200 rpm delivers a speed of 21 mph and about 3.3 mpg, still a respectable fuel consumption figure for twin outboards! Combine that fuel efficiency with the 80 gallon fuel capacity and you have an effective range of 250 to 350 miles. Last year we ran the boat for a total of 253 hours and 1,552 miles. Our old boat, the A-Maze-Mint with its Johnson 175 got an average of 1.7 mpg and would have burned over 400 gallons more fuel (along with a lot of oil). That's a substantial savings in operating costs and should quickly offset the higher initial cost of the Honda engines.

the Bad...

The SeaCat is a power catamaran and rigging these boats takes a lot of skill and knowledge. With the 50 horsepower outboards, the boat can only be described as marginally powered and often will yield disappointing results (see "and the UGLY" below). The bare hulls are heavy and expensive, largely due to the great amount of surface area as compared to a standard monohull. The knife-like leading edge on each sponson is apparently difficult to get resin into during manufacturing and seems to be prone to air voids. Our boat had a lot of problems with air voids which kept popping up all over. After our third trip to the repair shop for air voids, the local SeaCat representative began to make grumblings about not repairing anymore air voids under warranty! Fortunately, he did agree to fix the last batch and we have not had any more appear since then.

Trailering is also more difficult than with most boats. Given their design, they sit fairly high on the trailer, requiring that it be submerged further than you might expect when launching. We regularly spray the bunks with silicone spray and this allows the boat to be pushed off the trailer without having to submerge the trailer until the hull begins to float. Obviously, this can work against us as well and the boat must be securely fastened to the bow stop before backing down the ramp, or pulling the boat out.

Loading the boat on the trailer can be frustrating. Given the twin hull design, the boat does not naturally steer itself onto the trailer unless you are dead-on center. On our trailer with 2 by 6 bunks, the margin of error is less than 6 inches. If you miss, the boat is pushed off the carpeted bunks over to the side of the trailer where the hull will be damaged when it contacts bare metal. In 15 years of trailering boats, I had never damaged a hull as a result of loading or unloading. That all changed with the SeaCat.

The Honda outboards, like the hull, were also expensive. The Honda 50 costs as much, or slightly more than a standard 90 hp 2-stroke outboard. The initial cost of these engines is offset by the lower operating cost, however. Depending on how much you use the engine, you might find that the difference is made up pretty quickly. In our case, about 2-3 years of operation will more than save the difference in initial cost.

The Hondas are also somewhat heavier than a comparable 2-stroke, but this difference is not so much as you might be lead to believe. The Honda 50 weighs in around 200 pounds, only 10-20 pounds more than a 2-stroke of that size. Given the hull spec weight on our 21' SeaCat of 2,500 pounds, the additional 20-40 pounds of engine weight is pretty marginal.

The finish on these boats, or at least ours, leaves a bit to be desired. Within six months of purchase the boat was displaying a frightening amount of gel cracking, particularly in the transom area. The local rep agreed to fix those with the cautioning remark that such repairs were not normally a warranty item. A few months later, when air voids began to appear in several areas, he probably regretted having agreed to repair those gel cracks. There are still quite a few areas which are showing cracks and crazing. In some areas, particularly the front deck, the colored gel coat is extremely thin and is wearing through.

Other poor areas under fit and finish include the latching systems for the battery box covers. The battery compartments feature a plastic latch with a "living" hinge. We have re-riveted both of them in place and the local rep gave us a pair of stainless steel latches to replace them. The latching arrangement for the fish box and anchor locker consists of a post with a heavy rubber strap. The post on the fish box tore out of the glass and was replaced by the dealer three times before it finally held. It appears to be cracking loose again. The hinges on all hatches are unusual. They appear to be made from fairly thin sheets of stainless steel, but so far have held up very well.

The gunwale mounted rod holders were a $200+ option for four holders. They appear to be good strong stainless steel models, but are a little small for many offshore rods. They do have rubber inserts which can be removed so that the larger rods will fit, but wouldn't it have been easier to just use Lee holders of the appropriate size? Those inserts will eventually get lost or fall overboard.

Floor drainage doesn't work all that well, at least not on our boat. At rest and slow speeds, water tends to accumulate to the front of the boat and will not drain until the boat is underway which raises the bow. This is particularly annoying since the boat tends to take a lot of water over the bow when moving at trolling speeds into a choppy sea.

The SeaCat Hydropod, the little "nose" which sticks down from the middle of the bow and is supposed to help prevent the sneeze which occurs in moderate seas is both good and bad. It probably does reduce the amount of bow spray coming over the front of the boat, but the back side of that nose is drilled with several holes which allow that sneeze to vent into the front deck storage area.

and the UGLY!

We purchased our boat from Kenyon Power Boats in Clearwater, Florida. Kenyon specializes in Bayliners, a package boat, and they seemed to have an awful lot of trouble properly rigging our SeaCat. Regardless of what you may think of Bayliner, as package boats, they require little dealer expertise in rigging. This is not the case with the SeaCat boats. We incurred a substantial and unexpected cost in getting this boat to operate at an acceptable level. As an example, when the boat initially refused to plane out, Kenyon diagnosed the problem as the stock aluminum props. We purchased a set of stainless steel props from them which they recommended, although they refused to allow us to try the props before purchase. We now have a spare set of stainless steel props which, while pricey, do not work well with the boat.

At the time we bought this boat, the manufacturer (North American Fiberglass) was highly touting the advantages of the twin Honda 50 horsepower outboards. This setup, they claimed, would provide a top speed of 30 mph and could achieve 20 mph with one engine tilted up. In discussions with other SeaCat owners running Honda 45-hp engines, all confirmed their top speed to be at or near 30 mph with a cruising speed of 20-25 mph. In our initial runs with the SeaBrat, with the boat nearly empty, we found our top speed to be less than 26 mph. Loaded with fuel and gear, it was unable to plane and struggled to achieve 17 mph.

After spending hundreds of dollars on props and what seemed like a thousand dealer visits and complaints, we weighed the boat on certified scales at the local landfill and arrived at an estimated weight of 3,400 pounds, 900 pounds over the spec weight. Upon hearing this North American Fiberglass agreed to ship the hull back and fix the problem. They reportedly had a problem with their foam gun about the time our hull was being built and felt perhaps the boat was overweight with uncured or waterlogged foam. We would not see the boat again for four months!

Once the boat was returned, we re-weighed it to find that it appeared to have gained about 50 pounds! As it turned out, our weight estimating procedures were faulty. We had taken the shipping weight off the title for the trailer which was 600 pounds too low. Our boat was actually only about 300 pounds overweight. At this point, the local SeaCat representative began working with us in earnest to get the boat to operate as designed. The top speed (empty) was still only hitting about 26 mph, and the boat still failed under moderate loads.

It was decided to try dropping down 1-inch in pitch on the props from 13" to 12", another $400+ out of our pocket (remember, we had already bought a set of stainless steel props at the recommendation of the Kenyon staff). Although the result was a drop in top speed to 25 mph, the load carrying capacity was greatly enhanced, with the boat able to plane and hit nearly 20 mph when loaded close to the USCG limit. It's top speed on one engine, loaded or empty, was only 8 mph. A far cry from the advertised 20 mph.

At this point, at least the boat was usable, whether it met advertised performance claims or not. When running into the wind, the boat performs like a real champion. With the wind or running with even a mild ground swell, it falls off plane each time it attempts to climb up the back side of a swell, with speed dropping from 20+ mph to less than 15 mph. The final word from the local SeaCat representative was that the performance was "disappointing", but no additional solutions were offered. We are currently in the process of upgrading the engines to the larger 90 hp models.

Summary

Even careful shoppers can get burned. Although the performance of the boat was finally improved (and drastically so), it still falls short of the advertised claims. North American Fiberglass's response to the advertised claims issue follows:

The question of whether or not we advertise performance data prompts this answer. We do not and have not for quite some time. Having said that however, I must confess that we did make statements relating to speed with one Honda engine operating and two engines operating in old literature supplied by Larry Potter the designer of the 21'. As a result of our own testing we discovered that Mr. Potter's performance data was inaccurate prompting us to discontinue the sales literature a long time ago. Should we have checked his data out before using it? Yes we should have but, you would think that we could rely on information provided by the "designer". We also severed our relationship with him.

Graham Flanagan, CEO

I guess Mr. Flanagan and I have a disagreement as to what a long time ago is. Interestingly enough, I returned to the Kenyon showroom several days after I received that response and picked up a sales brochure which still made those performance claims.

As to the weight of our boat...it does appear to be overweight, but probably within acceptable limits compared to the spec weight. The spec weight on the 21' was revised from 2,000 pounds to 2,500 pounds sometime between 1993 and 1994. Our hull appears to weigh in around 2,800 pounds based on weight slips at the local landfill. That's 800 pounds heavier than the 1993 model and could easily explain much of the performance problems. Why on earth North American Fiberglass thought they could add 25% to the weight of a hull and NOT affect performance is inconceivable. Were our boat 500 pounds lighter I feel confident that it would easily achieve the 30 mph advertised speed, though I doubt it would even approach the fabled single engine performance of 20 mph.

In support of North American Fiberglass, much of their claims are true. The boat does ride very well and handles rough seas admirably, particularly compared to an equivalent sized monohull. We are very happy with the layout of the boat. Their agreeing to ship the boat back to their factory and attempt to correct the weight problem is to be admired and we appreciate the effort they extended in trying to get the best performance possible from this hull. Our local SeaCat representative, John Richardson, worked very hard to help us and extended every effort and resource available to him to solve the performance problem. He has our sincere gratitude.

Would we buy another SeaCat? Hmm, a qualified yes would be our answer. We would require the sale be contingent on a satisfactory sea-trial of the exact boat, not a dealer's demo model. This puts the performance of the boat in the dealer's best interest since he won't make the sale until he can demonstrate that your boat is rigged to perform at or near expected service levels. Our test ride in the dealer's 21' SeaCat was very impressive, and it was equipped with smaller, 45 horsepower Honda engines. We suspect it was also an older and lighter model.


The New and Improved SeaBrat (1997)



Our Motivation

This spring, while running about trying to find a kingfish or two, we finally came to the conclusion that we really needed to upgrade the engines on our boat. We'd been operating with the twin 50 Hondas for about two years and had been less than pleased with the performance. On this particular fishing trip, the seas were calm with a very mild groundswell of about 2 feet, but there was almost no wind or chop on the water. We had a pretty light load and the boat kept falling off plane while running with the rollers. It simply could not climb up the back of those swells... and these were pretty mild swells! I found this not only annoying, but in the future (inevitable??) event we should encounter heavier stuff, I was concerned for basic safety. Cheryl and I agreed that we needed to fix this problem.

Which Engines?

We spent nearly a month researching larger engines. We both really liked the Honda reliability and lack of smoky exhaust, but the price of the 90 hp engines were pretty steep. Several dealers tried to convince us that the Honda 75 would be big enough. Maybe, but the difference in price between the 75 and 90 was pretty small. Having found ourselves in the position of needing to buy larger engines, we didn't want to be there again. We were going to put the maximum horsepower on this boat. Something we should have done in the first place! Besides, the Honda 75 and Honda 90 were exactly the same size... BIG. The 75 was just a de-tuned 90 and both had a spec weight of 384 pounds, 170 pounds more than the existing 50s!!! We were about to add a total of 340 pounds to the rear of the SeaBrat. At least that ought to take care of the water not draining from the floor while at rest!

SeaCat's Advice

At this point, I decided to contact John Richardson, the local SeaCat representative. Mr. Richardson was more than happy to help us where he could and offered quite a bit of advice as well. He gave us the name of another person (John Thompson) who had just recently done the same thing that we were attempting. Mr. Thompson turned out to be a terrific source of advice and information. He even pointed us in the right direction to get the engines at the lowest possible price.

Boat Modifications

Mr. Richardson told us that the new boats were being made with a raised transom, though we probably didn't need to raise the transom of the SeaBrat. He also suggested that the batteries be moved forward under the center console. We asked Mr. Thompson what he had done and found that he had left his batteries and transom as-is. He agreed that he did pick up a lot more water in the back, since it now sat lower, but didn't feel that it was a problem. He strongly recommended that we replace the access covers with locking models in place of the stock pop-out type. Cheryl and I experimented by standing on the transom of our boat while at anchor to see what that the additional weight was going to do. We found that the scuppers wound up partially submerged and that water would frequently splash over the transom.

Obviously the locking access covers were a good idea and fortunately they were not overly pricey. Raising the transom would be nice, but at a fairly large cost. In addition to the cost of the transom work, we would then need to buy the extra-long shaft version of the outboards which cost more than the standard long shaft models. We decided to forego the transom operation. If we wanted to raise it later, we could. The engines could then be mounted on jack plates so the long shaft version would still work. Now we had a plan, all we needed to do was implement it.

Buying and Rigging the New Engines

The local Honda dealers, while not outrageous on price, were really into the nickel and dime routine. Every little thing was an extra, tachs, controls, gauges... nothing was included. We took Mr. Thompson's advice and looked outside the local dealer area and found a place that would sell us the engines we wanted, complete with gauges and controls, but we would have to pay to have them shipped. A little research found that we were still way ahead of the local dealer and we ordered the engines. While I could manhandle the 50s off the boat, there was no way I could possibly lift those 90s.

We found a nearby marine yard that was willing to accept the delivery of the new engines and would mount them on the boat for a modest fee. Our plan was almost completely in place. John Richardson loaned us his Honda manuals which detailed the rigging procedures. By the time my engines arrived, I had memorized the rigging we would have to do. We had to replace the tachometer (included with the engine) since it was a different type than the 50 used. We could reuse all the old controls. All we had to do was plug in the wiring harness and connect and adjust the throttle/shift cables. It was almost too easy.

Did It Work Out?

Our first sea trial with the new engines went without a hitch. We had bought a set of Powertech RXB 4-blade props which John Richardson recommended and they worked beautifully. Top speed was about 33 mph and we could easily cruise at 25 mph. Although the engines are mounted as high as possible using the existing holes, they could stand to be raised another 1/2 inch.

We could also probably repitch the props another inch or so and pick up a little more speed, though this would definitely reduce our single engine speed. With a little effort and a few more dollars, we could probably increase the top speed to about 37 mph, but I doubt it would improve our cruising speed any. Fuel efficiency, while pale in comparison to the old 50s, is still very good at an average of 2.6 mpg at cruise.

The OOA Incident

For you non-divers, OOA is an acronym for out-of-air... something no diver wants to (or should) experience. Here is what happened to us on a recent dive in the Florida Keys this year.


Almost all of the diving that Cheryl and I do in the Keys is relatively shallow with 30 foot maximum depths. There are abundant patch reefs and sealife in these depths and we tend to favor these over the deeper areas on the outside of the reef line. As a result of the shallow water, dives tend to last for an hour or more per tank.

I typically dive with 100 cubic-foot steel cylinders, while Cheryl favors her smaller 80 cubic-foot steel tanks. Our normal routine is to make a circuit around the reef area, returning to the boat near the end of our air supply. Since Cheryl has less air, she usually returns to the boat first and clips her gear to a float line I place behind the boat. I tend to finish off my tank searching the bottom near the boat and surface ten or fifteen minutes later.

On this particular dive, Cheryl had signaled to me that she was ready to return to the boat and I lead her over to where she could see the float line above us. She began her ascent and I returned my attention to a nearby coral head where I hoped to find a lobster. A few moments later, my peripheral vision caught sight of something sinking. I looked up to see one of Cheryl's dive fins falling to the bottom. I then looked up to see her swimming to the boat as her BC and tank began to sink rapidly to the sea floor. Only one dive fin remained attached to the float line above me!


Somewhat annoyed that she had been so sloppy about clipping her gear to the float (and had forgotten to inflate her BC), I swam over to retrieve the "lost" items. I tried to inflate her BC, but discovered that there was no air left in her tank! I immediately became much more concerned, grabbed the submerged gear and headed for the surface. Reboarding the boat, I was greatly relieved to find that she was completely ok. She told me she had tried to inflate her BC at the surface, but there had been no air left in the tank to do that. Her gear was so heavy though, that she couldn't swim with it so she had ditched it and then swam to the boat.

I told her that I was proud she hadn't panicked, but was concerned about two things: one - she had not managed her air supply properly (i.e. she shouldn't have waited so long to surface that she ran out of air), and two - that she ditched all her gear instead of just her dive weights. We discussed the incident for a while and agreed upon some new guidlines for her. She agreed to let me know when she was down to 1500 psi in her tank, whereupon we would begin our return to be near the boat for the end of the dive. She also agreed that once her pressure gauge got into the "red" zone on the gauge (around 750 psi), she would immediately surface and inflate her BC. If we should happen to be too far from the boat for her to be comfortable with a surface swim, she would stay at the surface while I returned to the boat, pull the anchor and then go back to get her (with the boat).

We also covered procedures that she should use when using the float line. She was in the habit of removing her fins first and clipping them to the float as she continued to breathe from her regulator. We discussed the problems with this and agreed that from now on, she would inflate her BC immediately upon reaching the surface, then clip the BC to the float and ditch it. She should also keep her fins on for her swim back to the boat.


We had been fortunate in that this had occured on a calm day with no current. Had conditions been windy and/or with a heavy current, she would have experienced much greater difficulty. The beauty of the dive site, along with the excellent diving conditions had led her to try and extend her dive beyond a safe limit - a mistake I am certain she will never again repeat.

Big Pine Key - 2008

Our journey to the Keys this year went off without a hitch. We left the house on Sunday morning at about 7:00am and arrived at Big Pine Key at 4:30pm. A long trip to be sure, but more than worth it for two weeks of fun in the sun!


Our first morning in the Keys, we loaded all six tanks and headed for Big Pine Shoal just a few miles south of our resort. The water was an azure blue as we skated over Hawks Channel on our way to the reef. Visibility on the reef itself was very nice, about 30 feet or so. The only problem was... there were no lobster! The reef was in beautiful shape with lots of growth and fish, but no lobster were around. We looked hard and made five different drops, burning all six tanks between the two of us. By the time we headed back in, we had three lobster and a few nice fish.


When we got back to the resort, we found that my parents had arrived in their RV and were camped at the first site next to our motel room. We chatted for a bit, then cleaned the fish/lobster and had dinner together. This essentially describes our entire trip! We had generally good weather and caught a few fish with the occasional lobster thrown in.


On Wednesday afternoon, my sister and her husband arrived after flying into Lauderdale and driving down to Big Pine. My mother had brought barbecued ribs from home and we had a terrific meal with the whole family. I love ribs, but the meal proved too rich for me and flared up both indigestion and a gout attack! The indigestion went away, but the gout is still hanging around.


Thursday dawned bright and clear, with no wind and we rallied everyone together for a trip out to Looe Key. This was something I had been trying to put together for several years and I couldn't have asked for a better day. Looe Key is the best snorkeling site in all the United States and it didn't dissapoint on this day. My sister was enthralled and spent most of the afternoon face down in the water watching the myriad fish swim about. Back at the boat, I demonstrated the voracity of the local yellowtail population by tossing crackers into the water near the rest of our group. The water would boil as huge schools of snapper raced to intercept the incoming treats even before they hit the water. We all enjoyed the barbequed pork sandwiches my mother had prepared and returned to camp at midafternoon.


Now was the time for the big fish fry! My sister loves fried fish (don't we all?) and the previous days of diving had provided a nice sampling of various species for the fry pot. Red grouper, hogfish, mangrove snapper and yellowtail snapper were all cut into fingers and fried up along with a heap of hush puppies! Oh boy... another night of indigestion for me, but the fish fry was a big success!


Cheryl and I went diving the next day, but the calm weather had given way to 15 to 20 knot winds and three foot seas inside the reef. That's certainly diveable, but Cheryl had forgotten to take her seasick pills and got the mal de mer after one dive. I noticed that the boat was listing to the right more than usual when we reboarded the boat and (combined with Cheryl's nausea) decided to head back to the resort.


After the boat was tied up back at the dock, I pulled the transom hatch on the right sponson to check the bilge, only to find that it was completely full of water all the way to the top of the hatch... yikes! The float switch and the bilge pump had both failed. Fortunately I had a manual pump and began the arduous process of emptying the bilge by hand. Once I got the water level down to a manageable level, I bummed a ride with my sister into town and bought a replacement pump. The float switch still didn't work, but the pump would suffice to keep the bilge dry - I just had to remember to manually switch it on. I traced the leak to the transducer cable which was run through the transom below the water line. Not a huge leak, but enough to be a problem docked overnight. I used some epoxy putty to reduce the leak even further, but plan to re-route that cable above the water line and fill the hole later.


The Key deer were plentiful at the campground (as always) and we would take a walk each evening to see them freely roaming the grounds. There was one buck that had been fighting and had a number of wounds around his neck. Every picture I took of him showed glowing eyes and I named him "demon deer". He seemed very aggressive and would paw at the ground while staring at us, so we gave him a wide berth. Others were outrageously friendly and would approach looking for handouts. Feeding the Key deer is a no-no, but these had obviously become accustomed to people feeding them.


My family stayed with us through the rest of the first week and then departed for home on Sunday leaving Cheryl and I to enjoy each others company for the second week of our vacation. I wish I could say that we finally found the lobster, but we only had one really successful day when we managed to catch ten spiney lobster and three shovelnose.


The diving was beautiful and the weather cooperated with only a few windy days (nothing the SeaBrat couldn't handle though). As we settled up our account on Saturday morning, Cheryl made sure to make our reservations for the same time next year. We can both hardly wait!