Boat Units (def.): Medium of exchange used to fund upgrades / repairs to ones vessel, or to embellish the cruising kitty. 1 boat unit  equals 100 conventional smallest currency  units.

Saturday we actually got started on our boat unit quest pretty early. By 0830 we were munching down yet another comfort breakfast at Costa del Mar,  chilequiles and hot coffee, using the sugar packets and the salt and pepper shakers as visual aides… strategizing our work day. It’s amazing how serious you can become when boat units are at stake…..and time is money.

The commander and I offloaded the gear necessary to perform the seagrass survey at Olivia. Transect line, core tools, anchors, buoys, engine, gas tank and the twenty seven other items required to gather raw data in the field. D went for groceries (beer). We inflated the Avon, put the engine on the stern and shoved it into the water. While waiting for D’s return, we visited across the harbor with Wes Thom, who had just stepped the mast back onto Paper Dragon, his Cal 30. He informed us that there was an offshore Club race, with the bay race on Sunday. I muttered something under my breath about having to work, and that other people ought to have to do the same….. The day promised to be a good one, winds had died from the little cold front that pushed through on Friday, and the water had calmed back down to a sheet of blue. At 1000 we steamed out of the fingers, towing ‘Div’s dink behind us.

Lots of water in the Bay still, the result of strong spring tides and the little norther. Outside the weather was spectacular, as we steamed up to the survey area, and put the hook down just outside of the cluster of pilings, loaded up the dink and putted off to the bulkhead where we laid out the first transect line.

It took about an hour to work the first transect, all seven points. The commander came up with a nifty device that uses a commode flapper valve, and by pulling up the valve the muddy core just slides out like a……well, anyway it comes out pretty easy into the mesh bag, where we wash it in the bay, checking for any seagrass shoots. The flapper wasn’t cooperating too well though, but with a bit of design modification, we were soon blasting down the transects like nobodies business.

Sort of reminded me of longlining, up and down the 200’ groundline as we picked up and laid down transect after transect on the west side. We did find a little seagrass in some of the shallower areas, but for the most part the water was deep and unvegetated. Exactly like we like it. Having to count grass shoots takes time…..and time is money…..errrrr…..I mean boat units.

Looking up from our work every now and then we noticed a steady parade of sailboats, under canvas in the early morning light breeze, gliding along towards the causeway pass. Hosts of powerboats blasted everywhere on the Laguna searching for hungry Redfish, Speckled Trout and Flounder. People were having fun.

I was getting aggravated, and not at all eleemosynary, I soon found myself muttering under my breath as each boat passed by in view that they should all get jobs, and be at work just like we were. Misery loves company

All the while, we were communicating between Olivia (the mothership) and ourselves; Olivia’s dink. A typical exchange went like this:

“Olivia, Olivia, Olivia…..Olivia’s Dink over”.

“This is Olivia, over.”

“Olivia, we’re about done with this western area, we’ll be heading over there in about 15 minutes….just a heads up…..we’ll be needing some hot food…..and martinis shaken, not stirred, over”

No reply.

We continued to work, listening to some yuppies fishing for tarpon over at the Brazos Santiago Pass. One of them attempted to make a joke to his colleague on another boat

“Hey……why did the marine biologist swim from one jetty to the other?”

“I dunno…why DID the marine biologist swim from one jetty to the other?

“To get to the other side….”

I’m serious…. as corny and sophomoric as this sounds, (and it’s my experience that most yuppies are corny and sophomoric, but that’s another rant entirely)……this exchange really happened.

I couldn’t resist.

I grabbed the VHF handheld and retorted: “Marine biologists don’t swim…..they use boats….WE should know!”

And then under my breath muttered: “and you guys should GET A JOB”

Once we finished that area, we nosed up to the stern and came aboard to a huge plate of cold cut sandwiches and some icy Tecates. How cool is that? Total comfort in the middle of the work day, and we relaxed below decks with a warm breeze blowing in the open ports and hatches, the sounds of bluegrass music on the Sirius radio in the background.

Olivia had been swinging on the hook, and I figured it was because I had the mizzen sail up and there was a contrary current running, so I dumped the sail, but it didn’t seem to make any difference. Maybe a bit more scope would’ve helped, or perhaps a light Danforth stern anchor……No matter, it wasn’t uncomfortable, and the hook seemed to be holding fine, just a merry-go-round.

After a short rest, we dragged ourselves topside and back into the dink to do the eastern rectangle transects. The afternoon wind was now blowing, but still not over ten or twelve miles an hour as we banged through a light chop, laying out the groundline once again. We made record time on several transects, and on the final one, the water being too deep to core the bottom, we drove back to ‘Div to pick up a couple more refreshments (Hey….there’s a lot of desert out there) collecting the final data with a lead line and portable depth finder.

Finishing up around 1800, we kicked back in the cockpit and consumed a last cold beverage as the sun began to slip from view. It had been a magnificent, flawless day in the field, thanks to the comfort of home, Olivia.

I started up the Westerbeke, and the commander cranked in the anchor rode with the windless, within minutes we were steaming back into the fingers.

I shoved the boat into the slip, and the wind caught the rigging, pushing us a little sideways, and for the first time in eons, I had to back out (thank goodness for 30 horsepower) and re-dock, this time without incident.

I could blame it on being tired, or the wind, or the fact that I was tugging a dink behind me…..or perhaps even the last cold beverage…but I won’t. It was just one of those things that happen. Hey, any dock up without putting a ding in the boat is a good one.

Yesterday I wanted to go sailing, but the winds were up to about 20 knots in anticipation of this cold front, and besides I was so sore, all I could do was sit around and complain. I guess I’m not eighteen anymore.

Today, the seasons first true cold front has arrived with wind gusts to about 50 from the north, and it’s slated to get down into the 50 degree F. range……pretty cold for this part of the world.

I have taken a break from transferring the raw data to a spread sheet, and shipping it off to our GIS expert for the generation of cool maps and stuff, once that gets back, I’ll just lash together a report, a little creative cut-paste-substitute and voilâ… Boat unit time!

Wednesday I’m flying out with the commander to Kemah to pick up Ciclon and head south to Port Aransas on Thursday on the “Harvest Moon Regatta”. Crew will be the commanders dad, Gene; the commander, Captain Sean and yours truly. It should be a good time, and maybe even a tall tale or two……..

A great tutorial on how to dock a boat (unashamedly stolen from the movie Captain Ron):