The Great Skiboat Mystery
The statute of limitations has expired, and it’s time to expose my niece for what she owes me.
Everyone thinks she’s so wonderful with her awesome smile, fantastic personality, knock-down looks, exceptional common sense, and spiritual poise – but I know a dark secret about her past...
…and it’s all about my ski boat! I had a beauty back “in the day.” Made by Tidecraft, it was grey with sparkling paint and an orange stripe; it took one’s breath away when the sun hit ‘er just right. A 90 hp Mercury moved ‘er at 50 mph on smooth water if I was the only passenger, and I hauled nephews, nieces, and friends all over the lake. Well, until this niece came along.
One of the strangest parts of this story is that she was only six years old! I’ll come back to that.
The boat was named Bonnie, and she was uncommonly reliable. There’s an expression among boat-owners that “A boat is a hole into which you continually pour money.” Bonnie was quite an exception. I ran her for years up creeks, over sandbars, through the wide expanses of deep water and most of all, pulling lots and lots of skiers. I lost track of how many people learned to ski behind Bonnie. If I told Mom we’d be back by lunch, she could count on it because mechanical failure was just not a problem - until the summer of ’95…
We were bustin’ across the water finding wakes of other boats. I used wakes to bounce the nephews who were sitting in front of the windshield. They held the rail and laughed hysterically as the boat would leave the water and they would fly out of their seat. This was typical “cool uncle” stuff because their parents weren’t in sight, of course. In the back of the boat were two tiny seats (one on each side of the motor) that only the smallest of people could fit in, and my niece Lyndan was sitting in one of those. Out in the middle of the lake, the motor died. As any experienced boat operator would do, I turned and stared at it.
Amazingly, this did no good.
It cranked, but it just wouldn’t start. After a few minutes adrift, a passing boat stopped, tossed us a rope, and pulled us to a loading ramp. A few phone calls later, help was on the way and we loaded it up to head home. I took it to the boat shop to await the verdict and the dreaded estimate not having the slightest clue what was wrong.
The mechanic called, and I paraphrase: “Before I work on a motor, I always check the gas. Your problem is your gas tank has a bunch of water in it so your carburetor is full of water. I can drain your carburetor, but if ya want me to pull out your tank as well that’s really gonna cost ya!”
There’s something about that last phrase that really scares a guy. I told him I’d give it a try and if I couldn’t do it I’d bring it back to him. It sounded like he stifled a laugh before he hung up.
The reason I had a boat in the first place was to head to the lake and avoid the heat, but now I found myself in the rear end of a boat trying to move a 14-gallon tank full of ruined petrol with no instruction manual and no clue how to go about it. Of course the tank was under a fiberglass ledge and impossible to get to. After years of use it was slimy and slick on the outside. It had no handles whatsoever. Did I mention the heat? I have jumped out of the boat into the water and not gotten as wet as I was trying to maneuver that tank out.
After hours and hours and seeming days upon end, I got it. Then the thought hit me - what can I do with over 10 gallons of ruined gasoline? I couldn’t pour it out in my yard as weed killer, couldn’t put it in my trash can, couldn’t light fires in the fireplace (I like my house standing, thank you!) – so I ended up hauling it to a little town 10 miles away where an oil field company had a tank of waste petroleum products. They “allowed” me to pour my waste into their tank for a nice little fee.
A few weekends later we were cruising on the lake again. I had driven several skiers around and all was working well when the motor died with no warning. I couldn’t believe it! Fortune smiled on us again when a passing boat towed us back to our dock. Now that I had a clue, I unhooked the gas line and poured some into a glass jar; sure enough, I had water in the gas!
Now getting a tank of bad gas once is bizarre, but two times let me know something fishy was going on. I had plenty of time to think about it while I climbed in to take out the gas tank for the second time. I had filled up at different gas stations. My 40 gallon barrel of extra gas tested good. There were no holes in the boat tank, and I could prove that because I was wrapping my arms around it!
More heat. More sweat. More frustration and fees to dispose of the water-soaked fuel. And sure enough, when I got rid of the water-and-gas mix, that motor fired right up!
So something had to be happening while we were boating, and I still had no idea what. I decided to use the boat but keep it close to the cabin for awhile in case of further incidents.
I owe it to the fact that I was trying to monitor the gas tank in the back that made me turn around in time to see Lyndan. That tiny six-year-old was sitting in one of those little seats in the back with her left hand sticking over the side of the boat. She was putting her hand in the water and enjoying the way it was making water flow up on the side of the boat – in the exact spot where the hole was for the air line to the gas tank!
I cut the engine and stared. This adorable little blonde had been pouring water in my tank, and I had been inviting her to go along! I had taken her every time the problems had happened and it hadn’t even occurred to me to look at what she was doing!
In my humiliation, I almost overlooked that I was now going to lose a third tank of gas since she had mixed it in her own way.
If I adjust for inflation and the rise in gas prices, I figure she owes me about $9,000…
Everyone thinks she’s so wonderful with her awesome smile, fantastic personality, knock-down looks, exceptional common sense, and spiritual poise – but I know a dark secret about her past...
…and it’s all about my ski boat! I had a beauty back “in the day.” Made by Tidecraft, it was grey with sparkling paint and an orange stripe; it took one’s breath away when the sun hit ‘er just right. A 90 hp Mercury moved ‘er at 50 mph on smooth water if I was the only passenger, and I hauled nephews, nieces, and friends all over the lake. Well, until this niece came along.
One of the strangest parts of this story is that she was only six years old! I’ll come back to that.
The boat was named Bonnie, and she was uncommonly reliable. There’s an expression among boat-owners that “A boat is a hole into which you continually pour money.” Bonnie was quite an exception. I ran her for years up creeks, over sandbars, through the wide expanses of deep water and most of all, pulling lots and lots of skiers. I lost track of how many people learned to ski behind Bonnie. If I told Mom we’d be back by lunch, she could count on it because mechanical failure was just not a problem - until the summer of ’95…
We were bustin’ across the water finding wakes of other boats. I used wakes to bounce the nephews who were sitting in front of the windshield. They held the rail and laughed hysterically as the boat would leave the water and they would fly out of their seat. This was typical “cool uncle” stuff because their parents weren’t in sight, of course. In the back of the boat were two tiny seats (one on each side of the motor) that only the smallest of people could fit in, and my niece Lyndan was sitting in one of those. Out in the middle of the lake, the motor died. As any experienced boat operator would do, I turned and stared at it.
Amazingly, this did no good.
It cranked, but it just wouldn’t start. After a few minutes adrift, a passing boat stopped, tossed us a rope, and pulled us to a loading ramp. A few phone calls later, help was on the way and we loaded it up to head home. I took it to the boat shop to await the verdict and the dreaded estimate not having the slightest clue what was wrong.
The mechanic called, and I paraphrase: “Before I work on a motor, I always check the gas. Your problem is your gas tank has a bunch of water in it so your carburetor is full of water. I can drain your carburetor, but if ya want me to pull out your tank as well that’s really gonna cost ya!”
There’s something about that last phrase that really scares a guy. I told him I’d give it a try and if I couldn’t do it I’d bring it back to him. It sounded like he stifled a laugh before he hung up.
The reason I had a boat in the first place was to head to the lake and avoid the heat, but now I found myself in the rear end of a boat trying to move a 14-gallon tank full of ruined petrol with no instruction manual and no clue how to go about it. Of course the tank was under a fiberglass ledge and impossible to get to. After years of use it was slimy and slick on the outside. It had no handles whatsoever. Did I mention the heat? I have jumped out of the boat into the water and not gotten as wet as I was trying to maneuver that tank out.
After hours and hours and seeming days upon end, I got it. Then the thought hit me - what can I do with over 10 gallons of ruined gasoline? I couldn’t pour it out in my yard as weed killer, couldn’t put it in my trash can, couldn’t light fires in the fireplace (I like my house standing, thank you!) – so I ended up hauling it to a little town 10 miles away where an oil field company had a tank of waste petroleum products. They “allowed” me to pour my waste into their tank for a nice little fee.
A few weekends later we were cruising on the lake again. I had driven several skiers around and all was working well when the motor died with no warning. I couldn’t believe it! Fortune smiled on us again when a passing boat towed us back to our dock. Now that I had a clue, I unhooked the gas line and poured some into a glass jar; sure enough, I had water in the gas!
Now getting a tank of bad gas once is bizarre, but two times let me know something fishy was going on. I had plenty of time to think about it while I climbed in to take out the gas tank for the second time. I had filled up at different gas stations. My 40 gallon barrel of extra gas tested good. There were no holes in the boat tank, and I could prove that because I was wrapping my arms around it!
More heat. More sweat. More frustration and fees to dispose of the water-soaked fuel. And sure enough, when I got rid of the water-and-gas mix, that motor fired right up!
So something had to be happening while we were boating, and I still had no idea what. I decided to use the boat but keep it close to the cabin for awhile in case of further incidents.
I owe it to the fact that I was trying to monitor the gas tank in the back that made me turn around in time to see Lyndan. That tiny six-year-old was sitting in one of those little seats in the back with her left hand sticking over the side of the boat. She was putting her hand in the water and enjoying the way it was making water flow up on the side of the boat – in the exact spot where the hole was for the air line to the gas tank!
I cut the engine and stared. This adorable little blonde had been pouring water in my tank, and I had been inviting her to go along! I had taken her every time the problems had happened and it hadn’t even occurred to me to look at what she was doing!
In my humiliation, I almost overlooked that I was now going to lose a third tank of gas since she had mixed it in her own way.
If I adjust for inflation and the rise in gas prices, I figure she owes me about $9,000…