By: Capt. Tim Ramsey
About a month ago I ran into a man I sold a boat to back when I was doing my post-military retirement thing selling boats in Naples. I asked him how his boat was treating him, and he said, “you know, you gave me the best advice I ever got.” He was referring to how and when he came in looking for a boat, he told me he needed a boat that would fit ten people. We talked more about boating and Naples/Marco, and I discovered it was just he and his wife in town for most of the year. I asked if he needed a boat that big all the time. The answer was no.
As many people do, when they move down from up north they think of all the people that would inevitably come to see them in the winter. That’s what he was planning for, people coming down a couple times a year. We discussed if he wanted to be a tour guide, and if he and his wife could handle a big boat. He was pushing seventy and she was barely a hundred pounds and arthritic in the shoulders. Then he told me he planned to trailer it, which I thought was a bad idea. With his bad knee I was wondering why he wasn’t planning to put it on the lift behind his house. Then he told me he never trailered a boat and figured his Ford Explorer would “pull it just fine.” So my advice to him was “buy the boat you’ll use most of the year just you and your wife. When visitors come, go rent one of those big party barge pontoon boats, pile everyone aboard, go fish, hit the sandbar (not literally), spill your beer and chicken wings on it, and at the end of the day, drop it back off at the dock, tip the people, and walk away. Go home to where your boat is still clean and ready.”
That was the best boating advice he ever got. He told me that exact scenario played out multiple times over the last few years. Then he admitted that if he bought the big boat he first looked at, he wouldn’t have been able to get into it while on the lift, into it while on the trailer, and his vehicle was definitely inadequate. My advice also saved him the cost of a trailer, which he admitted he would have never used.
Boating is an activity where the best advice comes from a combination of experience and common sense. Unfortunately, alcohol and other factors sometimes turn off a person’s ability to heed to it. One day, I decided to run up from Goodland and see the freak show that is Big Marco River during high season. It’s normally entertaining. As I floated out of the way close to the canal that leads to Isles of Capri, I saw a guy swing out from the dock across the way at the Snook Inn. His throttle hand was apparently an amateur and three people in his bay boat almost fell out in the turn. Then he crossed directly across the river in front of much bigger boats and motored close to me. As his boat slapped down on a series of successive wakes, I noticed the collar on his trolling motor was up near the head, not down keeping the motor from self-deploying. I threw in my two cents and advised him on his issue. He scowled and ignored me. Not thirty seconds later, he hit the throttle, the boat slammed down after another big boat wake, his trolling motor popped off the cradle, slid forward into the water, and he found out the hard way physics can be cruel and costly. With the boat’s momentum and the incoming tide, his trolling motor shaft turned into a banana.
Selling boats and having my own boat means I’ve done my fair share of trailering. At one point I was trailering something every day. Backing a boat down a crowded ramp with wind, sun, swells, other people waiting, and a crowd of onlookers can be a daunting task. If you’re new to it, best to practice before the main event.
One day I was prepping a 27’ Sea Hunt for launch at a ramp in Cape Coral. I was parked a short distance from the ramp, standing in the boat while on the trailer snapping in the bow cushions and making sure things were shipshape. I was especially “nit-picky” launching at low tide. At the ramp, a man was having some difficulty backing his trailer carrying a cabin cruiser style boat to the ramp with a minivan that was painfully sagging in the rear.
I continued with my tasks for a few moments, then noticed the man had finally lined the boat up for launch. He was backed up right to the edge of the ramp, trailer tires still on the flat ground, and the back of the boat over the slope. I saw the man get out of the minivan, go to the front of the trailer and disconnect the winch strap from the boat. As he turned and started walking back to the driver’s side door, I realized the situation and shouted, “don’t do that.”
The man looked at me, looked at the boat, apparently had no sense of curiosity regarding my statement, then scowled and ignored me. He got into his car as I made my way off the Sea Hunt determined to go stop him from his impending doom. It wasn’t that he was alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t tie a rope from the trailer to the boat to stop it drifting away when he launched. No. He had a brand-new roller trailer, and I could feel the worst was about to happen.
I climbed down the ladder I brought with me to get on the boat and turned toward the ramp. The man put the minivan in gear, went backward, the trailer tires transitioned onto the slope of the boat ramp, the load gained in speed on the decline, the man jammed on the brakes, and the boat kept going, gliding backward on the rollers off the trailer, depositing itself on the grooved concrete ramp with a sickening fiberglass crunch. I froze in my tracks, turned, and casually strolled back the other way, hoping the man didn’t notice my fruitless attempt to intervene.
The best advice I ever received regarding boating and fishing came rather abruptly, and out of my own head. One day while fishing up north, I drove the boat out a historically rough inlet. I was running straight into the incoming tide and the bow was digging into the swells and sending water shooting out to the sides. I tried adjusting the throttle and the boat’s angle and that’s when my mistake happened. The boat hopped out of the water, landed flatly on the front of the incoming swell, the inertia sent me forward, the steering wheel impacted my bottom rib, all the air burst out of my lungs, and although not the fourth of July, my vision was filled with stars and fireworks. I cut the throttle a bit too hard, my best friend almost fell out of the boat, and I suddenly heard a voice. It was me, giving myself a stern talking-to. I said, “always wear your life jacket when going out rough inlets.” At the very least the padding would have helped.
Now I’m not saying I’m the last word in boating advice. Far from it, as you can see by my last example. I know that most unsolicited advice that comes in the form of “you should” is probably worthless. However, there are some constants that always get learned and re-learned over time. It’s good advice. Take it. Wear your life jacket. Don’t drink and boat. Don’t kick a wake on people fishing. Don’t overload the bow. Don’t go in the backcountry without a map or GPS. Never trust the fuel gauge on a boat. Sun block is only good for 80 minutes no matter how good. Practice your trailering. Drink water. Protect your vision. You are not a jet ski expert, and no one wants to see your “trick” maneuvers. Don’t feed the seagulls. Put the knife back in the sheath. If you don’t know what the markers mean you’re about to run aground. No one wants to hear your crappy music. You are responsible for the people on your boat. Stopping in the middle of the channel to see a dolphin or recover a lost hat is a sure way to cause a collision.
I can go on and on. The stories are endless. Remember, the best advice is the kind that keeps you safe, helps you have a fun day out on the water, and gets you back again. See you out there.