When I was 12, I was in the Cub Scouts. He didn’t make it to the Boy Scouts, but I remember one of his mottos was “Always Be Prepared.”
This advice would have come in handy when I sailed the high seas in 1967. I like to think I was prepared when I was working on my career and when I still lead trips in Kenya. Not so as captain of the “King Midas”. Here’s what happened.
In 1967, I was an assistant district attorney in Santa Barbara. I got the same job with the San Diego County District Attorney’s office. The day before I presented, I decided to stay in Santa Barbara. (Yes, flaky). However, when I interviewed and accepted the job in San Diego, I purchased a 25-foot Chris Craft cabin cruiser. This dog was called “King Midas”, an oxymoron if I ever saw one.
The name alone should have been my first clue that this floating mahogany boat was going to be trouble. In any case, King Midas had to reach the port of Santa Barbara, so he was going to pilot this cruise along the coast to its final destination. Since I knew nothing about sailing in an ocean, I convinced my friend Terry to be the “pug”.
Sheila and Donna dropped Terry and I off at the port in San Diego. They were to meet us at Newport Beach Harbor. All four of us sleep on the boat or in a motel. The following week we would sail to Santa Barbara. Great fun!
To be honest, I don’t know what I was thinking! My total boating experience was taking my dad’s 14-foot Weldwood down the Columbia River for five nights with Jay and Harold. I didn’t know the rules of the sea, I hadn’t been educated on the radio, and I didn’t have any information from the dealer about electrical equipment. Yes, a disaster in the making.
The marine salesman (I think his name was Fang) gave me the key and watched me start the engine. Purr like a kitten. He made me a little nervous when he commented that the “King Midas” had not been out of port for a year and that they had very rarely started the engine. Mr. Mud said all I would have to do was run the engine for a couple of hours and then shut it off and check the oil. He gave me two cans of marine oil in the house. Terry and I started this ill-fated adventure around 10am. We forgot our coats, but it was a warm day. I thought we’d be in Newport Harbor in the early afternoon so we didn’t have any food, just a six pack of coke. (Coke hadn’t been invented yet.)
Terry was going to bring his toolbox, but left it in the trunk of his car. We had a screwdriver and pliers. I felt like we were in paradise. A warm day, calm sea and my co-pilot at the helm. We were probably 25 miles offshore and about four miles offshore when I decided to shut the engine off and check the oil gauge.
My friend, Mr. Mud, had said to run along the coast for a couple of hours, and if the oil was low, he would put in some more. It seemed reasonable to me. I checked the dipstick and the oil line was right on the mark. I replaced the crank and turned the key. When I turned the key, all I heard were crickets! Maybe “clickety, clickety”. The battery was dead! No messing with this key would bring the battery back to life.
Terry and I looked at each other and realized we were in a pickle! Not only was the battery dead, but the radio was dead, we couldn’t send any messages, only hear a few other ships.
Twenty-five miles along the coastline and four miles offshore posed a big problem. Just as we were wondering what to do, a strong wind came out of nowhere and created huge waves. They didn’t flood our boat, but we both got seasick, and I mean seasick. He took the bow and I took the stern for a couple of hours. Fortunately the ocean calmed down and we only got moderately sick. I had started to gain a little weight, but I thought that little bout of sickness would take off at five pounds.
Fortunately the wind had died down, but unfortunately the fog had set in and, without a coat, I felt like an icicle! I pulled the fabric off the flybridge and Terry and I hugged each other, wrapping ourselves in the fabric to keep us warm. Cell phones had not been invented. The night seemed eternal, but the sun finally came out around 6 am. We should have had breakfast, but the cokes didn’t look appetizing.
We had a big problem and that was how we got back to the port of San Diego. Several fishing boats passed close enough to see us waving. They answered us, thinking we were enjoying our morning!
I had an inspiration and unscrewed the mirror from my head. Then I climbed up on the flybridge and put the mirror in the eyes of some fishermen from another boat. They actually came to see if we needed help. They said they wish they could help us start the engine, but that would delay their fishing trip. I was relieved to be told they would call the radio and notify the Coast Guard.
Hours later the Coast Guard showed up and dropped a sailor down to make sure our engine wouldn’t start. Another sailor threw us a 2 inch rope and towed us back to San Diego. It took several hours. Meanwhile, our wives had called the Coast Guard when we didn’t show up at the port in Newport Beach in the morning. When we didn’t show up in port on Saturday afternoon, they thought we had anchored in the ocean for the night. I must have thought we had a 500 foot rope attached to a 100 pound anchor. They went to find a motel and had a very good breakfast.
When we got back to the port of San Diego, the seller apologized. He said he had forgotten that the switch that controlled the battery charge had not been turned to the right. His mistake, but he showed us that with a simple flip of the switch, the battery would be charged. The girls were waiting for us at the port. I didn’t appreciate their smiles, although it could have been my imagination.
The problem was that “King Midas” was still in San Diego and I had to get him to Santa Barbara somehow. I decided to get a new co-pilot since Donna wouldn’t let Terry ride with me again. Two weeks later, I started again with a federal narcotics agent, Ren. Only this time it got worse, we ended up in jail.
To be continued…
Robert Quall is a former Merced County Superior Court judge and Merced resident who helped establish the nonprofit Maasai Medical Mission. The group makes annual trips to impoverished regions of Africa to provide health services and other support.
