Balls Ahoy

Terry Smith bought a forty-eight foot sail boat and a Chesapeake Bay Retriever at the same time. He purchased the boat because he wanted to retire to the sea. He got the dog to double as companion and crew.

Terry ordered the vessel a year before he first boarded. While the boat was being readied, Mr. Smith prepared the ship's four-legged First Mate, Balls. He and the dog bonded quickly. Both loved the water and the dog wanted to please. Terry, robust and adventurous at fifty, trained the dog to leap from dock and boat, pull a preserver, tow an empty life raft, then a full one. By the 4th of July, deliberately chosen to inaugurate Terry's future independence, Balls was as ready to sail Water Bug as he.

Raised on the Great Lakes, the would-be Megellan boned up on every aspect of ocean travel. He read, took courses, had week-long cruises with veteran sailors in Chart Navigation, radar, Global Positioning Systems, radio work, everything to do with hoisting, furling, reefing sails, steering, stowing, cooking, life boat exercises, climbing the mast, diving to check the propeller and rudder. He touched every aspect of sailing he and salty sea goers could think of. With a hundred hours of Atlantic training under his life belt, Terry was ready.

The dog, too, was ready. He'd checked out the litter boxes below and topside. He knew not to gnaw lines, soil sheets, or dig up the flower pots Terry had started tomatoes in. In his own way, Balls was every bit as familiar withWater Bugas the Captain. The two set sailed to Panama.

Throughout the trip, Balls did more than nap on the wind-swept deck. He also served as Watch Dog. He proved himself when a revamped PT Boat zoomed up portside. The three occupants looked menacing. They appeared to be sizing up the sailing vessel and especially its crew. Smith knew that pirating had not vanished with the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. He knew that today's pirates stole boats for their drug-smuggling, alien-transporting operations. But when they saw Balls in the bow, they sensed their potential losses were not worth the risk. The three retreated to the mainland to wait for a more vulnerable target.

When moored at Panama, Terry went ashore to do official paperwork. Balls was in full command ofLady Bug. He did an admirable job. Somehow that solid brown coat made him look bigger than his twenty-three inch frame. Through telescopes and binoculars, the dog appeared a very athletic brown bear.

Man and dog experienced much: high seas, winds that forced the Captain to reef aft-sail and motor in order to make any forward progress, sightings of whales and sharks. Terry caught two tuna which Balls enjoyed as much as the fisherman. Gulls swooped the sailors, the sun burned down, and night watches, though helped by the automatic pilot, were long. Terry lost sleep and more than once had to moor in a desolate cove. But he didn't like to spend his nights bobbing in one place. He wanted to keep moving. But all sailors know that they are not always, if ever, masters of their destiny, so sometimes he was forced to moor. During these times Balls took the watch admirably.

Terry's policy was get ahead, then stay ahead. So he stowed enough food for over a year. He bought everything by the case: powdered mashed potatoes, dried fruit, rice, beans, pasta, canned goods galore including kipper herring and sardines, popcorn, cocoa, vegetable oil by the gallon. And for Balls, he filled an entire section with canned meat and fifty-pound bags of home-made dog food he had smashed meticulously with a heavy ash canoe paddle so it would take little room. With the occasional fish, and bird that Terry dropped with his double-barrel, ten-gauge shotgun, the two were fit for a year at sea. At the moment,Water Bugtook Smith and Balls up the coast of Mexico, past the Sea of Cortez, and onto San Diego.

They visited the San Diego Zoo, then the unrestricted sections of the Naval Base. Terry wanted to see some big, high-powered ships up close. He'd come relatively close to the gigantic sea-going oil tankers and cargo vessels crossing the Gulf of Mexico, in the Canal, and more as he neared the U.S. The ships were so huge they looked like entire cities complete with floating sky scrapers that blocked out the sun if you were on their solar lea. After months on the water and its relative flatness, the sights scared Terry.

While he was on the west coast, the Captain thought he might as well make the rounds, so he headed north. He waved at Los Angeles, blew his horn at San Francisco, flapped a flag at Seattle, and even stopped at Vancouver for a cup of tea and bowl of hot clam chowder. The sea tramps went further north and beeped Prince Rubert, saluted Sitka, and crossed

the Gulf of Alaska before going to Kodiak.

Years before, Terry had experienced cold-weather maneuvers in the Aleutians. Now the Kodiac Naval Base acted as a port of respite. How clearly he remembered beer costing ten cents and a hard drink twenty-five. Those days were long-gone, especially since he gave up drinking after he'd fallen off the ship almost drowning. He wanted to see Kodiac before crossing the Pacific to Hawaii.

The typical route for Americans heading for the pineapple islands is to head west from central or southern California. Approaching the Hawaiian islands from near north presented its peculiar problems. But by now the six-legged seamen had learned to adjust to whatever presented itself, so with regular weather reports and careful handling,Water Bugminced its way southward. Still, they did experience the notorious, windless, becalming of the mid-Pacific.

But Terry and Balls were in no hurry. In fact they enjoyed the non-ripple and non-movement for a change. It gave the skipper a chance to run his dog through his daily routine. He would cast a buoy off the bow; the Chesapeake would fly off the deck to retrieve it. More than once Terry wondered if he was tempting fate by using Balls as shark bait, but while they were becalmed the saw no signs of the sea's great avengers.

Another pastime of Captain Smith during their idle hours was skeet-shooting. He had equipped himself with the big-bore shotgun for protection and recreation. The presence of the thirty-six inch weapon had helped serve the first purpose in the Gulf of Mexico; now he used it to amuse himself.

Balls loved his master's enterprises. So Terry taught his shipmate to pull on command the cord that set off the clay pigeon thrower. The pseudo-birds flew portside, far beyond the becalmed vessel, and the Captain blasted between halyards. It was not easy to train the retriever because when he saw objects flying across the water the last thing he wanted was to stay aboard and yank a rope. To reward his helpmate, Terry ended his skeet-shooting sessions by heaving rubber ducks and bright-colored buoys overboard.

Other than the shotgun, Terry Smith packed one other firearm, a 22 Magnum, semi-automatic pistol. Though he never expected to need it to protect himself -- and what could a 22 do against real firepower anyway? -- he brought it along to stun fish for easier landing. A lone sailor has only two hands, and even though he used his automatic steering devise while

fishing, holding a rod and handling a gaff or net becomes cumbersome. the pistol made landing far easier. Terry carried the Magnum in a holster under his left armpit.

When the two tired of skeet and rubber ducks, Terry made a homemade pistol range. He tailored a twelve-foot 2x4 with upright, quarter-inch wooden dowels. On these he placed his upside down can/targets. The two seagoers had ample recreation.

Terry was happy whenWater Bugwas becalmed. After working the sails he welcomed the rest. Now he could create whatever activity he wanted or needed. Even lie in his hammock and not swing unless he wanted to. If he wanted motion, the trained Balls pulled rhythmically on a line. And so Captain and First Mate spent endless idle hours until the wind finally picked up forcing the crew back to work.

And so the retired Marine with his Chesapeake called Balls sailed the seas loving every moment. It provided exactly what each needed.