smacky and bucky

Keelhaul: Nautical. To discipline by dragging under the keel of a ship. The process used by the Dutch Navy was to draw the offender under the keel from side to side. This was done at a steady pace, fast enough to avoid drowning but not so fast that he was dragged against the hull and severely hurt by the barnacles.

My timing was not as good as that of the Dutch Navy.

This weekend I was down at the dock with my father-in-law. He was cleaning a gas grill with a pressure washer. The grill, a heavy Weber model, suddenly found the ability to dive, and leapt into the water, sinking about 10 feet down to the bottom. I had my bathing suit on, so I put on a SCUBA mask and jumped in to get it.

A few important elements to this story:

(1) The dock has no ladder, so if you go in, you have to get out some other way.
(2) The grill had fallen behind a motor boat suspended in the air on a lift. I had lowered the metal ladder from the back of the boat, with the thought that I'd grab it and climb out of the water that way.
(3) The SCUBA mask pinched my nose closed, meaning I could only take a breath through my mouth.
(4) Because it's summer, the water is teeming with jellyfish.

I locate the grill, grab one leg of it with my left hand, and begin swimming to the surface. I rise to where my eyes are above the water, but with the water filled grill tailing below me, I can't lift my face high enough out of the water to take a breath (my nose was pinched shut). I'm treading water with my right arm and holding the grill with my left. It suddenly occurs to me that (A) there's nothing to grab onto within reach, (B) I can't stop treading water with my right arm long enough to jump for the ladder on the back of the boat, which is hanging within sight about two feet above me, and (C) because of the weight of the grill in my left hand, I can't tilt my head up enough to take a breath. I'm suspended an inch and a half under water and I'm quickly running out of ideas. (D) I'm also starting to freak out at the idea that a jellyfish is going to wrap its tentacles around me as I thrash around.

I finally decide to twist my body and lift the grill in an arc out of the water. My father-in-law can then grab it and free me to swim again. Well, I lift the grill with no problem, and he grabs it and I can let it go, but my right foot pushes off against one of the dock pylons, and in completing the arc, my right hand brushes against the same pylon. The same barnacle covered pylon.

I swim to shallow water and step onto shore. By the time I'm back on the dock, I've counted 16 surface cuts on my right hand. Luckily, only two are deep enough to bleed.
The big toe on my right foot is another story. The top of my big toe has been punctured by the barnacle, forming a deep perfect square. The square of flesh can move freely, and it's bleeding on all sides of the puncture. I limp up to the house and stand in the grass, waving my arms to get my wife's attention inside. I don't want to trail blood on the deck. She sees my foot and brings all the first aid items. I use a butterfly bandage to pinch the wound closed and cover that with another bandage.

I've changed the bandage several times since this happened on Saturday. Now I can feel it throbbing in my shoe and I'm paranoid about infection. The University of Maryland Medical Center has a page about barnacle cut treatment.

Besides that, it was a wonderful weekend. Grilled steaks, white wine, sunset boat ride.