Come to think of it, I think my old boat’s lower helm had the worst visibility of them all.
Back in the ‘90s I was single handing my boat (38’) south from Wrightsville Beach to Charleston. My friend, Jay, was following me in his similar sized boat. We were just south of Southport, NC when I had an emergency call of nature of the high and highly aggravated type; the kind you can’t ignore. We were on the ICW and, fortunately, on a Monday morning. The channel was narrow, the wind was blowing, and there was nowhere to stop without getting in the marsh. No time nor place to drop the hook. Desperate straits.
I left them both in-gear at idle and took off with the autopilot remote. On the way below, I grabbed a hand held and told my buddy to switch channels. I told him to close up with me and radio helm inputs. “Huh?!?”
“Yeah, really.” I mean this was a no-sh#%er except there was plenty.
So there I was, sitting on my Galley Maid flushable helm seat with the radio in one hand and the autopilot in the other driving the ICW. Every few seconds came a message, “Port a couple, Starboard a bit, copy,” etc. “You done yet?”
“Rooooger.” I was starting the feel better all round. I froze: “What was that?” I radioed.
“We just met a northbound trawler. You should’ve seen that guy’s face,” he radioed back. I’m glad Jay had the presence of mind not to tell me beforehand.
I’ve been laughing at that feat of piloting for twenty-five years. I used to be bulletproof.
