A Little Tipsy After New Year's

Remember when you were in high school geometry (I know, those are painful memories, but bear with me) and your teacher asked you to solve some absurd question that had nothing to do with real life? That question might be something like this: some weirdos need to know the angle of inclination of a right triangle given the base and height of said triangle and some convoluted formulas with letters in them? And you always wondered, who were these weirdos and why didn't they have a better hobby? Well, I can now tell you, those weirdos are us. (I still can't tell you why we don't have a better hobby.) That's right. I am now a real-life math problem. 

But I'm going to get back to that in a minute. It would be mean to deluge you with too much math all at once. 

Compared to our weeks of naps, relaxing, hanging out at the beach, and napping some more, the last few days at our marina in Stuart were busy. Oh, and our last day at the beach was gorgeous.

*Moana soundtrack playing in the background*

Of course, we did the things we normally do when we're lucky enough to have a car and a marina: stock up on Coke for Justin and pasta for me, get the musty stink out of our clothes at the laundromat, get rid of all of our garbage and recyclables, and go out to eat as much as physically possible. (It's been about a week and I think I finally finished our leftovers.)

We were going to miss our safe, quiet little marina, but we were excited to move on. 

Our boat is the pointy thing behind the palm tree on the left. 

But the most time consuming thing we did in those last few days was boat tipping. No, not cow tipping. Boat tipping.

Our next leg of the trip is taking us across Florida through a series of canals that make up the Okeechobee Waterway. I'm sure you're shocked to discover that the Okeechobee Waterway goes straight through Lake Okeechobee. But right before the lake is a railroad bridge that is only 49 feet high. Our mast is 52 feet tall. (Uh oh. Those are numbers. My math senses are tingling.)

Now, there were several options for dealing with this problem.

1. Don't go through the waterway and go the long way around Florida.

2. Call Billy the Boat Tipper. 

3. Apparate the boat to the other side of the bridge.

4. Tip the boat over ourselves so we can fit under the bridge and become real-life math problems.

Option one wasn't going to happen because that's for quitters. 

Oh, you probably haven't heard about Billy the Boat Tipper. Billy the Boat Tipper lives near the 49 foot railroad bridge and specializes in tipping over boats just enough so that they can pass through. He's a bit of a celebrity in the area, and there's nothing sailors enjoy more than telling others about Billy the Boat Tipper and his chosen career (whether they want to hear about him or not.) Billy the Boat Tipper has equipped himself with several large barrels that he attaches to the too-tall sailboat, then he fills them with water so that the boat tips to one side and can scoot under the bridge. And finally, Billy empties his barrels of water and the sailor's wallet of $200 and goes back to his house to await his next summoning. Option two wasn't going to happen because I'm too cheap and Justin's too proud for Billy the Boat Tipper. 

Option three would require too many permits from the Muggle Protection office of MCUSA and I didn't want to do the paperwork to Apparate the whole boat. 

So that leaves option four. And math. 

Before we could do math though, we had to find out how tall our boat was exactly. That meant sending Justin up the mast. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get pictures because I was on deck holding the one line that was between him and a long fall and a painful splat. Justin's voyage told us the boat was indeed, 52 feet high. He also tied a marked line from the tippy top of the mast so we would know for sure when we were shorter than 49 feet.  From there, I extrapolated that I would need to solve for X:

Find X.... It's right there! Har har...

For those who want to remain blissfully unaware of high school geometry, please ignore this next part. 

Cos (x) = Adjacent/Hypotenuse

Cos (x) = 49/52

x = inverse cos thingy (0.9423)

x = 19.55853032

Now, that doesn't handle all of the factors involved. For instance, we were going to be in fresh water, so we would sit a little lower in the water. And if it hadn't rained in a while, the water level below the bridge might be lower than normal. Plus, I tend to panic a bit around low bridges (i.e. the Casey Freakout Factor) so we would want some extra wiggle room to allow for that.

Okay, the math is over. It's safe to come back. 

So we got to work. Our first plan was to put the dinghy on the side of the boat and fill it with water, with the boom tied to the dinghy for support. Justin climbed out on the boom too to give us some extra weight.

Water usually goes on the other side of the dinghy.

That got us a few degrees, but not nearly enough. Plus, it was hard to keep the dinghy stable. Next, we went to our favorite place, Home Depot, and picked up two giant, heavy duty Rubbermaid containers, some two-by-fours, and some extra thick trash bags. The plan was to replace the dinghy with the containers and add the two-by-fours for support. We would put the trash bags on the side deck and fill them with water for extra weight.

Justin and I did not envision using any of our degrees for this.

Put into practice, this whole endeavor looked pretty bizarre. People kept stopping by and staring at us. Boats would pass on the river and do a double take when they saw our mast looking unusually crooked. 

One of these masts is not like the other.

Between the bins and the garbage bags, we were able to get about twelve degrees of tilt, but we knew there were things we wanted to change. The wood holding up the bins needed some extra support, we didn't fill up all the garbage bags, and we planned on moving everything we owned in the boat to one side. But those changes would be put into place on the day of the final tip. So we took everything apart, emptied the bins of water, righted the boat and left our Stuart marina home. 

Byeeee!

Our next stop was a small campground a short hour and a half trip away. This was so different than the grueling, nine to twelve hour days we did on the way down. It was even relaxing, putting along the river in the bright sunshine. We passed through a lock, gave the random other sailboat anchored in the middle of the channel a judgy look, then tied up to some dolphins outside the campground. I know you're imagining a pod of dolphins tied up to the boat, escorting us like King Triton in The Little Mermaid, but I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. (I was definitely disappointed.) Dolphins are boat speak for big, wooden posts sticking out of the water that you can tie your boat to for free. 

Mush, dolphins! Mush!

We went onshore for a bit and walked around some trails nearby. They were pretty and green, and made me once again feel glad I wasn't in gray, snowy Buffalo. We ran into another group who had just finished the trail, and they said there were some wild pigs around. We wound up cutting our walk short that day because we didn't want to get boared. (Ba dum tissss.)

The bush on the left is plotting something. 

That afternoon, we went back to the boat to enjoy our remote spot and relax. Now, if you were paying attention earlier, you'll remember that random sailboat I mentioned that was anchored in the middle of the channel. Being the anti-social creatures that we are, we adopted a "you do you" attitude and assumed the other sailboat had a reason for not following the rules and tying to the dolphins on the side of the channel. It turned out we were right. A few minutes into my book, I looked up and saw an old man rowing a dinghy towards us from the other sailboat. The man introduced himself as John Something, (I'm not revealing John's real last name to protect his innocence....or I just can't remember it....) And he succinctly stated his clutch wouldn't engage and he needed a tow to his home marina in Indiantown. 

So far, Justin and I have not experienced a bad enough mechanical breakdown that we've needed to call a tow boat. (I think Justin would rather jump in the water himself and swim the boat somewhere before asking for help.) But I like to think that if something bad does happen, some good Samaritan would take pity on us and give us a lift wherever we needed to go. 

We told John that it would be no problem for us to tow him to Indiantown, especially since we needed to go in that direction eventually anyway. And so we tied his boat up, and away we went. 

John's boat got a great view of our butt. 

We didn't get to talk to John much; I get the vibe that he's kind of a lone wolf. (Or whatever the aquatic version of a lone wolf is. Lone shark? Lone sea cucumber?) But he was so grateful for us towing him to safety that he offered to pay for us to stay the night at the Indiantown marina. 

That marina also serves as a boatyard, and the next day Justin and I spent an hour walking up and down the rows of boats that had been pulled out of the water for one reason or another. Our home marina in Buffalo also serves as a boatyard, particularly when everything comes of the water in the winter, and one of our favorite things to do was walk around and check out all of the boats on land. (Yes, we know we need better hobbies.) This yard had way more boats than we had ever seen back in Buffalo. I'm still baffled as to why so many people would keep their boat out of the water in a place where the water doesn't freeze. 

These boats are probably going slower than mine right now. 

The next day we left John safely tied up in Indiantown and went to an anchorage a couple of miles away from the 49 foot railroad bridge. 

And the final tipping preparations began. First, Justin added some extra supports to our Rubbermaid-holding wood so the containers would be more stable and supported. 

Justin got really good at dinghy surfing. 

Then we worked on moving everything we owned to the port side of the boat. That meant on deck, the generator, air conditioner, fuel containers, extra soda cans (lots of soda), and extra line were all squished to one side. 

When we went to bed that night, we knew we looked pretty weird. 

No sunset is complete without giant Rubbermaid containers. 

The next morning was calm and clear: perfect for boat tipping. First, we worked on getting everything below to the port side of the boat. And I mean everything. Even the furry crew members did their part and moved over to port. (Conveniently, their favorite hole is also on the port side.)

Tiny was more confused than normal. 

And the boat started to tip; just moving our stuff bought us five degrees! The next step was filling the heavy duty trash bags with water. That was my job. 

The bags were very jiggly. 

Before long, our heel was getting very pronounced. It was hard to walk on deck, and even more awkward to walk down below. Granted, we had been tilted over this far when sailing before, but it was always while we were moving in strong winds. It felt bizarre to tip over so much with almost no wind.

Once the bags were filled, Justin rowed out in the dinghy and started filling up the containers. While he was setting up, I worked on filling a couple of garbage cans with water. 

Don't worry, there were more soda cans than you see pictured. 

Next, I went down below to check on everything, and I discovered poor Tiny trying to get back into the safety of the hole. She was having a hard time, and so I give you the funniest video you'll see all day. 

I got a chance to take a picture of our inclinometer (thingy that tells you your angle) and we beat our goal! And Justin still had another container to fill!

That's the first time I've been happy about 23 degrees.

Finally, we were ready to go. Justin took a quick turn in the dinghy to check out his handiwork.

Justin said it was hard to hold the camera straight to take this.

We pulled up anchor and headed off for that last bit of canal before the bridge. I jumped in the dinghy so I could document the event. Mischief Managed had never looked more ridiculous. And then, off in the distance, we saw it. The bridge.

I've never been more terrified of a bridge in my life.

Even though our math was good, I was freaking out a little. 

Look what this did to my hair! 

And then, we were there. Watch the video to see what happened....

Fine, I'll tell you even if you didn't watch the video. We sunk the boat. 

Just kidding! We made it through, no problem! In the end, we were tilted over 27 degrees, and we cleared the bridge with more than a foot to spare. It was actually a little anticlimactic. As glad as I was that we made it through safely, a part of me wonders what it would have looked like to see the boat smash into the bridge. 

All that was left to do was take everything apart. We anchored just past the bridge and gleefully went about dismantling our rig. A few other boats passed by while we were doing this and gave us some very confused looks. 

Finally, the boat righted itself and it was back to cruising as normal. But it felt good that night knowing we really did manage some mischief. 

tl; dr: We tilted the boat over to fit under a low bridge on the Okeechobee Waterway.