Disaster+of+the+Pirates

Sam Perszyk November 8, 2009 Disaster of the Pirates “Out of the way! We have starbo-!” My yell was cut short by a loud CRASH! and the sound of ropes flying everywhere. Other boats swerved out of the way to avoid us as my skipper, Cam, and I pulled ourselves from the bottom of our boat. I, Sam, had hit my hip on the side of the boat during the collision. He, Cam, had slammed his shin into a thin black bar that runs across the width of the boat. The sound of the crash had pretty much drowned out the yells from our boat which had been a mix of screams of pain, and screams of anger. Both of which had been in the form of some not so great words. The events leading up to the crash had begun at about 10:00 that morning when all the sailors had started rigging up their 420 sailboats at the Lake Calhoun Sailing School docks. 420s were about 15 feet long, with 2 sails. As we were rigging up our boats, the wind picked up… a lot. 2 crews skyed their jib halyards when the wind ripped the sail off the snap shut halyards at the top of the mast. Everyone knew that it was going to be a crazy day. We were all hoping that the bright sunshine would stay, and that some of the wind would go. Later that afternoon, about 30 minutes pre-collision, the instructors authorized all the students to pirate each other. Pirating for us meant leaping aboard another crew’s boat, stealing their tiller, and their bailer. Then you would use the bailer (a bucket) to throw water over the crew that you just pirated. Lucky for me, my skipper was an experienced privateer. The way it worked was this: As we began closing in on the chosen boat, Cam would focus on everything. Every part of his face, the brown hair, the big ears, and his mischievous eyes, were taking in everything that the other crew did. I would take the tiller, and bring us up alongside the other boat. Then he would jump aboard while the crews were busy swearing at each other. I would keep our boat steady while splashing anyone from their crew that tried to climb aboard our boat. Cam would then disconnect their tiller from the rudder, snatch up their bailers, and leap back into our boat, using what he had learned by watching to dodge the predictable punches from the other crew. I would pull in the mainsail and make a speedy getaway. The “speedy getaway” part is where we got into trouble. As we were getting chased across the glimmering lake by the now tiller- free boat, another 420 came from our left side. They were about 8 feet in front of us when I shouted at them, but too late. WHAM! After Cam and I had pulled ourselves from the bottom of the boat, we had a quick skipper-crew moment (which involved him swearing in Spanish a lot) and then he grabbed the tiller and the mainsheet and turned us around. Then we began our chase. As we were sailing towards the boat that had just cut us off, Cam and I decided that we were going to cut them off. Before they tacked, we turned our boat so that they would come straight towards us, and they did. As soon as they were near enough, we went through the normal routine. After about one minute he had their tiller and bailers, and I was pointing us back in the direction of the docks, with my brown hair flying in the wind and my blue eyes focused on the buildings at the other end of the lake. The End!