"Thar She Blows!" With the Dahlins - Fact is stranger than Fiction!

The 'O Johnson outboard motor quit and we were doomed to a violent death. Every time one of the huge swells picked up our little boat it tossed us closer and closer to the rocks of the Marina breakwater. I think that the corbina on the end of the Karl's fishing line was so afraid that of the angry seas that it leaped right into our 16' leaky boat. Karl handed me the pole and grabbed the pull-starter rope and began pulling with the might of a Viking sea warrior!  10 times! 20 times! 30 times!  Karl pulled that rope as the motor only gave one hopeful cough to tease us with hope!    

WE WERE GOING TO DIE!


Just then we saw a Coast Guard boat head out of the Jetty!
WE were SAVED!

We yelled and screamed and waved our arms and begged for rescue. Patrick climbed out from under the front where he had strapped himself to the only two life preservers on board and joined in the frantic plea for help. Again, gravity pulled us quickly down the backside of the last swell and were swallowed from visibility in the trough as though we had totally disappeared off the face of the earth.  

CRASH went our small boat at the bottom as if being immersed in baptism.

Patrick was flung from the bow like a missile launched from Cape Canaveral and Karl reached up and snagged "Gherhing the Great" by the foot and reeled him in to safety - if that's what you can call it.

As we ascended to the top of the next swell, not only did we get closer to the hungry rocks, but we saw the backside of the Coast Guard Cutter speeding away in the direction of the Venice Pier.

By my estimation, I figured that we had two more swells until we would be crushed against the rocks - pulverized into oblivion as if a block of cheese with a cheese-grater.

King Triton must have been angry with us...or God maybe, for throwing up on a Priest at church. This might have been my fault! I didn't dare tell the other guys!

 Karl must have pulled that rope a thousand more times. NOTHING

It was time!  It was time for Sister Edith's prayer! Patrick had climbed under the hull again and resigned himself to death. I didn't have the heart to tell the poor guy that our life preservers were so old and used that by now the vinyl compartments leaked and sucked in water which turned the orange things into nothing more than lead weights - sea anchors. I was certain Pat would be the first to meet 'O Davy Jones!

Here goes..."Oh dear Lord, I love you and am sorry for my sins." This was not a prayer to Saint Anthony - the Patron Saint of "Lost Causes" - No, this was a prayer of giving up all hope and that God would spare us a little time in Purgatory!



Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale.
A tale of a fateful trip
that started from Harding Avenue
Aboard this tiny ship

Patrick fancied he was a sailin' man
The Skipper brave and sure
The three of us set sail that day
for a Three hour tour
a three hour tour...

The weather started getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a couple fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow would be lost

 "THAR SHE BLOWS"  This next part of the story doesn't happen in real life - only in stories - so you'd think!

We mistakenly thought everything up to this point was bad - HA! But it continued to go from very, very, very, very bad to much, much worse!

You can sign up for a "whale watching" cruise from the Marina Del Rey with absolutely no guarantee what-so-ever that you'll even see a whale! And when you do, they seem so peaceful as if they enjoy sharing the ocean with other inhabitants of the world.

 "Look mom" some kid shouts "Look.. a whale" and some other stupid kid says "Thar she blows" trying to be funny and the people aboard grab their Instamatic Cameras - exclaim "ooh and ahhs" and furiously snaps pictures of the majestic peaceful creatures.

That's how it's supposed to happen, Not here... not this time. Not when King Triton is angry at you for some unknown reason.

The weather was already getting rough
the leaky boat was tossed...
all for the sake of a stupid fish
The Minnow would be lost.
The Minnow, the corbina, the Johnson, Patrick, Markie d and Karl would be lost.


Don't ask me why the dumb whale was so angry - woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess or it was following Triton's order to kill us. When upset, those large docile animals have a force not to be reckoned with. This thing came right at us! It charge us and rammed into the side of our pathetic little craft. Karl picked up a paddle and tried to hit the thing, thinking he could scare it off - you know - like punching a shark in the nose.   Uh...Uh!

"Oh Captain, my captain!"

I got a paddle out and was thinking I could use it to keep us off of the rocks - even though I thought Patrick, with his life-preservers, might make a better a buttress against our imminent appointment with death - if I were to strap him to the side of the boat like a human-sized dock-buoy.

The massive sea creature came back again -  this time underneath the boat and flicked up into the air with its mighty tail, like we were nothing more than a toy to be played with.

Over and over again we battled - oars swinging - swatting whale blubber - and Karl cursing at the beast!
Another swell -  another ramming! The USS Minnow would be lost.



An hour later Mrs D. got the call from the Coast Guard! A small blue and white boat was found split in two and no survivors were found.

Everyone on Harding Avenue heard the news - some cried - but not all.

As for the hippies - well, they retreated to the hippy enclave in the ivy hangout behind our house known as "Wall Drug" and toked on the leaves from the "Mexican Tomato plants" in mournful remembrance of their comrade The Great and Mighty Fisherman, Karl Dahlin and also talked kindly about his peanut sized minions who had drowned at sea.