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Playing
with a Full Deck
By Robert Stephens - Boating Life Magazine
Photos
by John Linn
Water
dripped off the Caravelle 218 like beads of sweat. It
was 20 minutes past dark and this boat, the one that
half a day earlier had been backed off a trailer fresh
out of the shrink-wrap, was finally being lugged out of
the water. Had it been able to make requests, the 218
might have called for a gurney instead of a trailer. Its
first day on the water went as follows:
7:10
a.m. Jim and Christy Garrett, their daughter
Sarah, 12, and her friend Ashley Jones, also 12, start
loading the boat. A Hydroslide XLT kneeboard and
big ski go in the
floor locker, three day bags and six vests are dropped
in the storage compartments next to the engine, water
and ice are loaded into the built-in Igloo cooler, five
bags of groceries and a duffel bag fit under the rear
seat. A fisherman standing nearby says, ''Looks
like you're going out
for a while."
| ''Yep,''
says Jim, resisting the temptation to say, ''No,
just trying to sink it.''
''How long?'' asks
the fisherman.
''Just the day,''
says Jim, ''unless we get lost.'' |
 |
7:25 a.m.
Two more bags of groceries in bow storage, four jackets
on hangers under the passenger console, a sack of
charcoal.
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7:35
a.m. The boat is stuffed like a
Thanksgiving turkey. There¿s food in four
storage areas, clothes stowed from stem to stern
and toys buried under the floor and behind walls.
A tube is filled with air to be towed behind the
boat, U-Haul-style. Finally, four rumps
settle into seat cushions.
7:45
a.m. The S.S. Minnow leaves the
dock. |
8:00 a.m.
Foreheads are slapped. The boat returns to the dock. The
castaways have forgotten something. Matches, apparently.
And to think, Mrs. Howell even remembered to take a
change of earrings.
8:15 a.m.
While waiting at the dock, Sarah and Ashley sniff out
the bananas and breakfast bars. They lounge in the bow,
which has its full complement of removable cushions. The
area is so wide that the girls look as if they're
sitting on opposite sides of a school bus.
8:25 a.m.
Led Zeppelin's ''Carouselambra'' streams through the
boat. Sarah practically falls over herself in her haste
to get her hand on the stereo tuner that's built into
the bow walkthrough. ''Can I turn it, Mom?''
Meantime, Ashley gnaws on
a slab of beef jerky and sheepishly acknowledges that
the girls forgot their Backstreet Boys CD.
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8:50
a.m. Dad returns just in time to hear
the girls chant: ''Poof. Be gone. Your breath is
very strong.'' They emphasize ''strong'' with hard
Georgia accents. Dad ignores them as they
continue. ''Wait. Come back. You need a Tic Tac.''
Turns out, these observations are not directed at
Pop. |
''They started
cheerleading last Friday and this has been going on ever
since,'' says Mom, not at all impressed. ''They learned
that cheer from the movie Bring It On. I don't
really care for it.''
The engine cranks. It's
drowned out by the sounds of, ''Black and white, let's
win this game tonight. Fight, fight. Victory, uh huh''
9:20
a.m. The morning fog starts to loosen as the
218 idles toward the lake's main channel. Bottled water
and soda cans fill four cupholders (with drain sleeves)
in the bow, where Sarah and Ashley continue a
long-distance dialogue. There's enough space to fit a
Frito-Lay truck between them. The same thought must
cross Sarah's mind. She jumps up, opens the windshield
and ducks inside the portside compartment to forage.
9:22 a.m.
Sarah returns to the bow with a handful of peanut butter
crackers.
9:40 a.m.
Jim leaves the throttle at running speed, which sharpens
the cool morning air. From the passenger bucket seat,
Mom reaches into the storage cabin and grabs a jacket.
She then pulls a wind dam across the walkthrough area to
keep the breeze up front, with the girls. Sarah looks
back at Mom with a curious look, and cracker crumbs
spackled to her lower lip.
9:45 a.m.
OK, there must be a wind-chill factor. The girls
scramble to get behind the windshield, where snap-in
Berber carpet fills the cockpit. An NBA forward could
lie down on the floor -- length-wise or beam-wise -- and
work out any kinks. Or, two 12-year-old girls could lie
down and sleep, if they weren't packed with sugar, spice
and everything starchy.
9:55 a.m.
The 218 slows as Dad curls closer to shore to get a
closer view of a mansion sitting just above a bluff. The
Humminbird depth finder ''speed reads'' from 21 feet to
2 feet, before slowly climbing again. Nobody notices
because all eyes are on the house. You could mistake the
silence for the hush before a Navy sneak attack. Someone
might have sighed.
10:45 a.m.
Nearing 50 mph, the 218 runs out from under the ceiling
of clouds. Sun blasts into the boat. But there's no
reaction. In fact, Sarah and Ashley have already retired
to the warm storage cabin, right next to the groceries.
''Bottomless pits,'' Mom
says, referring either to the girls or the storage
areas. ''I've never seen anything like it.''
11:05 a.m.
Something convinces the girls to emerge, wearing their
swimsuits and asking to ride the tube. Maybe it's the
fact that the temperature is climbing toward 85 degrees.
11:25 a.m.
Dad pokes the boat into a creek to check out the picnic
facilities (better than average) and beaching
possibilities (only if he wouldn't mind parking on a
tree root). Next!
Noon
A sandy shoreline and an empty grill catch Dad's
attention. The Caravelle slides up. Sarah opens a hatch
at the front of the bow and pulls out the telescoping
boarding ladder, which, in conjunction with the non-skid
step under one of the bow cushions, plays right into the
''team unloading''
12:15 p.m.
''I’m full,'' says Sarah. Dad, concentrating on the
coals, doesn’t hear. The burgers haven’t even hit
the metal yet.
12:25 p.m.
''Good fire,'' Dad says proudly. Mom quietly concurs.
The girls, however, do not share in his moment of glory.
Rebuffed in their attempt to open a package of Kit Kats,
they’ve meandered over to the Jungle Gym.
1:20 p.m.
Lunch is history. What’s left is packed and reloaded
into the boat.
''I need a nap,'' says
Dad.
1:21 p.m.
''We’re gonna tube now, right?'' the girls ''ask,''
disguising their demand as a question.
1:30 p.m.
It’s officially hot. There are no clouds in sight, so
the Bimini top is employed. The girls don’t even wait
for the boat to leave the park area before crawling onto
the O’Brien Sidewinder.
''See those mouths back
there?'' asks Jim. ''All day long, it’s yak-yak-yak.''
Mom takes a sunscreen
bath and sits at the front of the bow, with a view
across the entire length of the boat.
''Faster … faster …
faster …''
The in-synch voices taunt
Dad from the end of a 60-foot tow rope.
1:40 p.m.
After watching the girls show off for a few minutes, Jim
decides to test the Caravelle’s handling in tight
S-turns at 30 mph. The boat holds perfectly; the girls
don’t.
''Dad, not so rough!''
Sarah calls. Then she and Ashley swim back to the tube
with all the timidity of Flipper.
2:15 p.m.
''My whole raht sahd hurts,'' says Ashley, pulling
herself up the transom ladder and stepping through to
the cockpit, her southern tone amplified from fatigue.
2:17 p.m.
Sarah pulls out the day bags and what remains of the
groceries from the portside storage cavity, and ducks
inside. All this time, sitting behind the load of gear,
was a head. Very convenient after seven hours of
snacking, followed by 30 minutes of demolition tubing.
2:30 p.m.
Dad pulls out the wakeboard. It’s a courageous move,
considering he’s never even slid his feet into
bindings before today.
2:31 p.m.
Check that. Before today he’s never crammed his
feet into bindings three sizes too small. Ashley and
Sarah are oblivious to his pain, having rooted out a bag
of cookies minutes earlier.
2:45 p.m.
Dad stands on the transom, drip drying. The wakeboard is
stowed. There’s a good chance he will never try this
again.
3:00 p.m.
''It’s been years since I’ve kneeboarded,'' says
Ashley, which means it was clear back in the 1990s.
After some soft
persuasion and a little refresher course, she’s riding
just like old times. It takes some stronger persuasion
to get her back in the boat.
3:45
p.m. Fire drill! Dad jumps off the back
platform to escape the broiling heat. He and the girls
climb up the bow ladder and towel off in the
locker-room-sized bow. Sarah and Ashley try to push Dad
back into the water … and relent after two seconds.
4:15
p.m. The munchies have infected Mom
and Dad. A table is pulled from storage and set up in
the bow. All the artillery is unloaded. Rold Golds.
Animal Crackers. Cokes. Soft Batch cookies. It’s a
Kwik-Stop buffet.
4:50
p.m. Full of gumption, Jim makes an
announcement. ''It’s time to ski." 'There are no arguments.
He hauls out an HO Charger, gets situated on the transom
and confidently jumps in the water.
5:10 p.m.
After slicing roughly five miles of water with his
slalom, Jim tosses aside the handle as if to say, ''There.
Whatchoo got, Jack?''
5:30 p.m.
Back in his cruising attire, Dad trains the 218 along
some islands so everyone can nose up to the sandstone
bluffs. They’re pink -- the bluffs and all the noses.
6:10 p.m.
Dad stops near some submerged timber, drops the bow
anchor and retrieves four fishing rods that until now
have been given about as much attention as cabbage-leaf
garnishes. ''We’ll give it a quick
shot.''
Another
fisherman sidles up in his bass boat and shows off a
five-pound bass. Ashley grabs it just long enough for a
''real-life'' picture.
Within minutes, a jolt of
excitement fills the boat. Ashley, unable to contain
herself, announces, ''We got the Backstreet Boys on the
radio!''
The lines are reeled in.
6:45 p.m.
The sun is rapidly descending, and the boat ramp is 30
miles away. All the gear is secured. ''I think we can
make it back before dark,'' says Dad. But just as he
sits down to start the engine the friendly fisherman
warns the girls, ''Keep your eyes and mouths shut!''
Mom laughs hesitantly,
not sure how to react to the slightly rude comment.
''No kiddin’,'' the man
explains. ''You’ll get bugs in yer face. If you catch
’un in the mouth, don’t try to chew or spit. Just
swaller real hard.''
The girls exit the bow
and go inside the storage area/snack bin/bathroom.
| 7:10 p.m.
Jim has the throttle all the way down. Only a horizontal
orange sliver colors the horizon. The girls peak out
from the storage door and ask if they can kneeboard
back.
Denied |
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7:20 p.m.
The 218 passes a hurried cormorant from behind. Only a
few minutes of light are left, and goose bumps are
forming on legs.
7:35 p.m.
Gauge lights on the dash illuminate the boat from
within, and the boat squats down and rumbles inside the
no-wake zone. The girls can be heard laughing. Mom yawns
and admits, ''I never thought they’d make it this
long.''
8:05 p.m.
It takes half as long to unload the 218 as it did to
load it, probably because most of the groceries are
gone. The boat is spun around from the dock and onto the
waiting trailer. Water rolls off it all the way up the
ramp.
At a much-deserved
standstill, the boat starts shedding droplets of lake
water -- like a quarter horse standing in the shade
after an afternoon workout. A cool, refreshing drip.
It was that kind of day.
Impressions:
Talk
about space. The 8’6'' beam is maxed out and there’s
no inward flare up front. Plus, the gunwales are
tapered, leaving even more side-to-side room. Caravelle
also moved the engine back, sacrificing platform space
for the sake of more cockpit acreage. The comment in
this story about an NBA forward lying down to stretch?
That’s not a stretch. Someone 6’6'' can
sprawl on the Berber carpet, which also snaps out for an
easy washdown.
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