East of Tulsa, some sixty 15-foot long sailboats bobbed on Fort Gipson Lake. Skippers and crews competing in the Snipe class national championships sweated and waited for the wind to blow. No wind, no sailboat race.
Race Committee Chairman Steve told the skippers to quit griping about the lack of wind. “There’s plenty of air out there—it’s just not moving.”
This skipper and his Sweet Sixteen daughter waited in the cockpit of “TexFite”, our orange sloop we had trailed from Austin.
That’s when the two teenage Towles boys from Oklahoma City paddled their sailboat alongside. They took out two buckets, dipped water, giggled, aimed at my daughter’s tee-shirt and tossed water.
Sheryl grabbed our bailing bucket, moved to the bow, dipped water, and tossed. The water fight with the Towles brothers was on.
The Okies ignored this Captain at the back of our boat. But the Captain engaged. I reached across and grabbed the back of their cockpit. Took out my hand pump. Slipped the hose into their cockpit. Pumped water.
I pumped water until the Race Committee sounded their “let’s race” horn.
Sheryl jumped back into the cockpit, pulled in the jib sheet ( that’s a rope to the front sail, Lubber ) and we sailed for the starting line.
Looked back to see the Towles delinquents frantically bailing out their cockpit.
We didn’t win a race. We didn’t qualify for the championship series. Neither did the Towles Okies.
But Sheryl and I…..drum roll please…..won the 1967 Snipe Nationals Water-fight Trophy.
