which was within bicycle station for a 14 or 15 year old kid.
Maybe I was 13 but whatever.
I was a river rat from the age of about 11 until well past high school. I was probably about 13 or 14 at the time and for some reason the Coast Guard was doing something on the river. Anyway someone started following me up past Damon's Point and for some reason a Whaler was following me. Something instinctive made me decide I didn't like it very much so I went straight to flank speed.
I was in a flat bottomed Delano and decided to lose them. A glance told me the mud flats had JUST enough water for me to cross, maybe 3 inches. I decided to cross the flats and as I lost water I lifted the outboard and skipped across the flats.
The Whaler in hot pursuit didn't have the 'lift the motor' option and promptly ran aground. As I cleared the mud flats I dropped the motor back into the water and went on my merry way.
Later I found out it was the Coast Guard.
Oops.
It was an incoming tide so they didn't have too long to wait to refloat. Oh, well.
Now to this day I do not know how it got pinned on me but it did. Looking back on this I seriously think I was the victim of a conspiracy of the Chief running the station and my father.
Anyway the Chief knocked on the door shortly thereafter and Dad answered it. Two seconds later he called me.
"This is the Chief Petty Officer that runs the small boat station and he'd like to have a word with you," said Dad.
I think at the time if he thought he'd have gotten away with it the first thing out of his mouth would have been "You little criminal!"
He would have gotten away with it if he'd have given Dad a smirk ahead of time. If I had an ass chewing from someone coming that was fine by Dad if I got it.
Anyway he asked me if I would be interested in showing some of the his people where the mud flats were on the North River. It seemed a Coast Guard Whaler had hit one of them recently.
At that age my only possible reply at the time could possibly be "I sure can!"
This was back in the mid 60s and the small boat stations considered a thing called 'local knowledge' to be far more reliable than NOAA charts. (I've heard they should STILL do this, unofficially. You can't beat it. It's updated on a daily basis.)
That was a pretty good deal for me and I became a very regular regular at the small boat station. I ran a couple of Coasties up and down the river and showed them where the flats were. Actually the channel all the way up to the second bridge was marked properly with the usual buoys. Basic seamanship would get someone around. It's the outside the buoys part that is interesting.
In addition to this, I took the Chief and his wife out in the family skiff for an evening tour and showed him the locations of the flats. His wife enjoyed it. She was (IIRC) from Chesapeake Bay and enjoyed herself. I imagine the Chief did as much as she did. I believe he was from Virginia but did a damned good job of taking to a 1965ish New England. Running a small boat station generally means you don't get to get off the beach too often. You're too busy with administrative chores. It's kind of like the guy that loves fishing and opens a bait and tackle shop. He never gets to go fishing.
They just wanted to learn a little more so they didn't make the same mistake they had made with me.
My reward for a day's work was I got to go on sunset patrol on a 40 footer. A couple of times I got to steer. The Official Speed of the patrol was explained to me by the Second Class coxswain. "Half past bustass. Ring it up!"
After the first time the guys dug me up a set of dungarees and a Dixie cup hat so it didn't look like a kid was on board because someone might say something.
One day the Chief came by as I was helping fix something and commented to a couple of the guys, "I don't mind Piccolo hanging out here and helping out but if you get one whiff of someone showing up from Boston, get him the hell out of here fast."
"I'll stuff him in the paint locker, Chief," said a Second Class.
The Chief chuckled.
Anyway, the inevitable happened. I walked around the building once and found myself face to face with a lieutenant and saluted, hoping to slide by. He returned the salute and asked me who I was.
"Seaman Apprentice Piccolo, Sir." I replied.
"What are you doing here? he asked.
"I'm striking for Coxswain's Mate, Sir. It's the backbone of the Coast Guard," I replied.
"Good for you, Son," he said and we parted ways. The instant he was out of sight I made a beeline for my bicycle and vanished.
A few days later I showed up again in my street clothes with the dungarees in a small laundry bag. This was before the ambiguous day pack became the norm.
The Chief happened by and looked at me. "Striking for Coxswain's Mate, are we, Seaman Apprentice Piccolo?" He was smirking.
"All I could think of, Chief," I replied.
"Perfect answer," he said. "That was Lieutenant Walczak. You impressed him and he was really surprised when I told him who you were. The Lieutenant's one of the good guys."
I sighed visibly.
"Save the dungarees for Sunset Patrol," he said.
I didn't think the Chief knew I was a ridealong for Sunset Patrol but then again, I figured the Chief of a small boat station probably knows a lot more than he lets on.
**********************************
I grew up in CAMP.
I walked on the shoulders of GIANTS.
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