"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.

Karl Dahlin and a Whale of a Terrifying Tale

(Continued from last time)
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

The swells had gotten so big that the little motor couldn't even push the boat up what seems like an uphill climb at a 45 degree angle, and I didn't know if we were moving forward or whether we were actually going backwards. Every time we crested the top of the swell we sped downhill like a skier shooting out of the gates of a slalom run at the winter Olympics. Down we sped into a 30 foot trough - assisted by gravity - motor revving into a crash course with a mass of water that begged to swallow us at the bottom.  I held on to the throttle arm of the sputtering motor as Patrick bailed while Karl was busy pressing the gooey Velveeta cheese on to his fish hook, totally oblivious to the fact that we were all going to die!


We plowed into the bottom as the nose of the boat buried itself into the dark water that crashed over the front.  Karl cast his line and told me to head towards the Venice Pier and barked out orders for Patrick to bail faster as we were ankle deep in water and things were beginning to float in the bottom of boat. Heck, I was beginning to think that a fisherman would be happy to hook a prize fish and be dragged away to a sea burial. Unable to keep up with the leaks and the water that kept crashing over the front, Patrick was beginning to get scared and I in particular did not care how many fish we caught - this was not the way I wanted to die!

The swells, the wind and the current was moving south against us and we were not making any progress. In fear of over using it, I didn't say Sister Edith's "death prayer" yet. I only prayed that the motor would continue to run and that Karl would catch something soon so that we could head back into the safety of the Marina Del Rey Harbor. The optimistic fisherman didn't seem to care about the fact that water in the bottom of the boat had been inching higher and that Patrick was crying and under the front bow screaming Sister Edith's prayer every time the USS Minnow crashed into the bottom of trough between swells. Karl fished, I furiously bailed with one hand as I held onto the throttle arm of struggling old Johnson 35.

The wind and the seas continued to blow against us until we realized that we had hadn't made any forward progress at all...only pushed back between the angry sea and the breakwater... (this is the part of the story where you hear the lady on Psycho scream in terror)... we had to keep the boat pointed directly out to the open sea, just to keep our distance from the gnashing teeth of the breakwater rocks that had eaten a boat or two.

Then it happened (this is the part in the story where you hear the Psycho sound effects of the screeching death knife) - The 'O Johnson motor just up and quit and gave up the ghost.

We were now being pushed dangerously back towards the rocks by the fury of the relentless storm.

Doom, Doom, Doom!  Why weren't we in the Blaser's boat? Why were we here in the first place?

Gherhing the Great, me and the Fisherman were all going to die. Karl had a feisty corbina on the line and he wasn't about to be distracted by something so trivial as death.  We were going to die!



Good bye Tommy, Good bye mom and dad,

Good bye Saint Mark's friends,

Good Bye Frank Nargie










Good bye Ricky Tripp...


...and Dennis Dugan and Jeffry Lennon, and Kippy and all baby brothers


 Good by Lennons - on Harding

and Lennons on Superior Ave 

Good Bye Wolf Pack -

Good bye Monster under my bed...

Good Bye Alligator
Good Bye Monkey
Good Bye foul-mouthed Mynah bird
Good Bye Snakes, lizards, Veloci-Raptor, and Iguana Del Diablo

Good bye Harding Avenue...











...And - Good bye future me...

I'll see you all at the bottom of Davy Jones Locker.

Du...du....du...Just When you think things couldn't get any worse...



 

Karl Dahlin, the FISHERMAN and his "mighty" crew

I think being a fisherman is something that is definitely one of those "Nature or Nurture" arguments. My Dad, Carl R. Dahlin, loved to fish and took us all the time.

Pictured (right is) Kurt and Karin, Karl showing off all the fish he caught limit and me-his fishing-pole caddy.

We practically grew up with a fishing pole in our hands. We went fishing at the Kings River, at Salton Sea, off of the Redondo Beach Pier, the Santa Monica Pier and the Venice pier.  We caught corbina and bonita, bass and trout, and mackerel and halibut and albacore, however, it just didn't take in my case. Don't get me wrong, I liked being with dad and the gang of brothers...but fishing just took too long and required a lot of patience. I was diagnosed with sever hyperactivity and just couldn't sit still that long (if you don't believe me, ask Sister Godzilla or Sister Edith - they'll tell you). Karl on the other hand...I think he probably came out of my momma's belly holding a fishing pole (that's why the prank on the little old lady next door was so appropriate - post 5/9/2013). He loved to fish; it was something that couldn't be nurtured in me, but was definitely part of his "nature." He was hooked (that was a pun if you didn't catch it - and so was that - I'll stop already).

Pictured left (Erick, me and Tommy)







Here we all are below in that old boat back in 1961 that I was telling you about... "Just look at it!" It was practically decrepit 8 years ago already... and now it sat in our front yard under the palm tree, collecting dates and breading mosquitoes in the green rain water that was slowly rotting the floor boards.

By this time in 1969, Karl had painted the boat, but it didn't mean that it was any more sea-worthy, just because it had a fresh coat of blue paint... Pshaw - sea worthiness never stopped a fisherman - did it? the motto was, "just get a bigger bucket for bailing!"






































Karl took that old '59 Johnson, 35 horsepower outboard motor and had it strapped inside a trashcan filled with water right at the bottom of the front stairs (outside - just in case you thought I was talking about having the motor in the living room or something - but don't put that past us either).

He wrestled with that motor for two months...as a plume of blue smoke filled Harding Avenue choking the neighbors who smelled the foul fumes of the old gas-mixture from the ancient machine that roared above everyone in the neighborhood who had to scream above the tired old motor as it revved and sputtered and coughed and shot water from the vibrating trashcan...while Gherhing the Great and I (still in our Giant uniforms) stood by soaking wet with wrenches in our hands like operating room assistants as Karl worked his magic and performed surgery on the tired old motor.

This hopeful optimism on for some time swapping pieces from older motors in the backyard, until one Saturday after operating all day on the thing at about 2:00 in the afternoon, Karl finally managed to keep the old motor running in the trashcan for an entire 32 minutes.  Success! IT's ALIVE!  (I wouldn't call 32 minutes a huge success, but the Fisherman was convinced that he had raised the motor from the dead).  We're still trying to land a man on the moon- could you image if they put fishermen in charge of the Apollo moon program - "Ah the thing leaks...who cares.. it'll make it"  "Ah, so the engines sputter and worked for a couple minutes - who gives a rip, let's send the guys up there and see what's happens!"  Sometimes optimism needs a reality check - but not with fisherman - the dream is the only thing that matters.

Nothing was going to keep Karl away from his dream - not a leaky boat nor a motor that coughed for 32 measly minutes.  Erick or Kurt must not have been around and Karl needed deck hands for the USS MINNOW and to my dismay Patrick jumped at the chance. I couldn't let Patrick show me up, so I signed up as crew for the "THREE HOUR TOUR...The three hour tour!"

True to the Gilligan Island Story (that was on TV every week), it was getting late and the sky's were getting dark.. but that did not deter, Karl our Skipper, who was brave and sure. The way I played things out  in my head was that there was no way this thing could have a good ending!

We lugged the motor over to the old boat, strapped it onto the transom and headed out to the Marina Del Rey where we "cheated the man" by putting two quarters into the gate at the launch ramp - for the car only side, and, with a running start, sped through the gate barely clearing the arm as it swung down almost clipping the motor we worked so hard to fix - worked every time!

Karl must have pulled the rope on that rebellious motor a million times... (I prayed it wouldn't start) and Patrick was already bailing as  the boat was still tied to the dock. The dark skies, the increasing wind, the leaky boat and an untrustworthy motor; nothing about what we were doing made any sense to a rational human being - unless of course, you had the "Fisherman Sickness"   Patrick was oblivious to the fact that I had cheated death already more times than Karl's cat - LAZARUS and I didn't know how many more lives I was entitled to.

It got later and unfortunately for me, the motor sputtered and coughed and came to life.  Ughhhhhhh! At this moment there was no one happier in the universe, than my brother the Fisherman! Oh yeah, Karl couldn't wait to set his hook in the mouth of some stinky-smelly bonita that I would have to clean when we got home.

Believe it or not, that little 35 horsepower motor got us past the breakwater Into a headwind that was picking up intensity and as the sun hid behind the darkening clouds.  The swells got so big that whitewater began crashing over the breakwater sea wall. Pat thought it was fun...I don't think he had a clue... No phone, no lights, no motor car - not a single luxury...

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

so join me back here again my friends..
you're sure to get a smile
From a FISHERMAN and his fearful crew
here on Markie D isle

Next time... the whale... the motor... the storm and the prayer... AND IT'S ALL TRUE!