by: Capt. Jim Kalvin
“I fear I will not.” Blurted by the late Jerry Fineis many years ago as we sat at the rail of a now long-gone waterfront bar here in Naples. He was semi-famous amongst our peer group for his common-sense approach to matters of the soul and was also known as sort of a back-woods philosopher with a unique and sometimes spectacular point of view. He was also one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I asked him to clarify. “Kalvin”, he began, “there are things I want to do before I die and I fear I will not get them done. So, my biggest fear is that ‘I will not’.”
Jerry died of cancer unexpectedly about 12 years ago, and he left a lot of things on his “to do” list. I think about him each winter, as that was our favorite time to go out and see what kind of trouble we could get into on the water. He was a story teller. And one story that came to mind while I was thinking about him the other day was generated by yours truly. “Fear Not” was his 42’ custom sport-fish that was built for simplicity and speed. Jerry hadn’t taken the time to properly learn how to handle her in close quarters, so he generally had someone with him who could navigate backwards into his slip at the marina once the trip de jour was completed.
One particular Sunday, a friend of mine asked me if I could help him move his converted pontoon barge from Park Shore to Naples. He was nervous doing it alone. I noticed when we pulled out of the dock in Moorings Bay that there were two holes cut into the back of the two pontoons. I asked what they were for and he told me, “that’s to bail the water out – sometimes water gets into the pontoon from the loose welds up front”. Red flag, for sure. But this particular Sunday the Gulf was like glass and the trip would only take an hour or so. Or so I thought. Half a mile south of Dr’s Pass, the engine quit. I eventually got it running again, but it took over an hour and the wind had begun to come up out of the North. Long story short, we started to sink just off of Naples Pier. See, those holes that let you bail water out also let water in when you were in a following sea.
I called 911 on my primitive cell phone and worked my way to the front desk of NPD. I told them what my problem was and was told nobody would be on the water until 10:00, which was 2 hours away. I hung up and called Jerry – which was a major “no-no” on a Sunday morning. He only set one day for himself each week and this was it. It took me 5 minutes to convince his wife to wake him up.
“Lisa, my damn boat sank – I need to talk to Jerry!” “Jim, you know it’s Sunday – I’m not to wake him up.” “Darlin’ – did you hear me? The boat I was on sank – I need to talk to Jerry now!” “Can’t you call the police?” she asked. “I did – there’re no marine units on shift for 2 more hours.” “Well, shoot…..that doesn’t sound right.” “10-4, that’s what I thought! Now can I please talk to him?” I heard muffled conversation, a groan, and a very creative collection of adjectives, then his voice came on the line.
“If you ain’t already dead, you’re gonna to be!” “Jerry – I’m in the water about a quarter mile west of the Pier – I need you to come get us – there’s two of us.” We did the dance about calling the police and he was as incredulous as Lisa and I were, that there were no marine units on the water yet. “Ain’t there anyone else you can call? You know about my docking issue…” “Really?! I’m floatin’ on a friggin’ cooler here!” Before I could say anything else, I heard him yell at Lisa, “Get the keys, we gotta go!”
20 minutes later “Fear Not” looked like she was on gilded wings as she came around the outer marker at Gordon’s Pass. Her aluminum tuna tower was shining like a halo in the morning light and Jerry had those Diamond Edition Cummins power-plants a-hummin’! I breathed a sigh of relief. Feeling a little like live chum, floating over what I knew was awesome live bottom, I could not wait to get into that boat! We picked up the coolers, tool boxes, life preservers, and other flotsam from the “wreck” and headed back to Turner Marine, passing the outgoing police boat on the way in. After I backed her into her slip, we had a few cold drinks and de-briefed the morning.
“What made you all of a sudden jump out of bed and come on out?” Jerry gave one of his signature grins as he said, “I heard the boat go down.” “You what?” “We were talking, and I was hearing the ‘slap, slap, slap’ of the waves on the hull, then that sound stopped and you said you were floating on a cooler. I heard the hull go beneath the waves! Talkin’ time was over!” he said with a laugh. That was one of his favorite “Kalvin Stories” he’d share around a campfire or at any one of our various watering holes. We salvaged the barge and all of the equipment the following week and my buddy was able to go forward with his business, but I never volunteered for any more of his “barge trips”!