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Our friend Manny had offered his powerboat for this expedition. We also had Captain Steve’s sailing dinghy, with its 8-hp engine. A cast of characters including Captain Steve’s 20 year old son, Silas, his friend Franky, and Manny’s buddy, Rob, was ready to prepare to free the boat. My husband Marten, my son Brittain and I went along for the visual exercise.

Before leaving the dock there was a lot of talk. How should the bladders be attached to Manny’s stern? How much air would be needed to pull them along smoothly? On which side of the dock should we launch them? The discussion stopped and after a sufficient big splash both bladders ended up in the water. They were pulled under the dock and crisscrossed with lines, so they wouldn’t wander sideways. They were then attached to Manny’s 34 ft. Bertram.

We finally made our way down the wide main canal of the marina. I climbed up the fly bridge and asked Manny what the plans were.

"Wish I knew!" he blurted out. "Nobody tells me anything!"

I assured him that I truly thought that Captain Steve and his cast (I mean, crew) had an intricate plan just waiting to surprise us.

We arrived at the scene of Captain Steve’s perfectly poised sailboat stuck in the mud and ever so slightly heeled to her starboard side due to last night’s 35-knot winds, and the plan went into action.

Captain Steve fired up his 8 hp engine and was off in his dinghy tying lines around the keel. Rob was on the bow of Manny’s boat, watching the anchor go down while Manny backed his boat ever closer, foot by foot towards the sailboat. Marten said, "Can you move her slightly to starboard?"

"What do you think, this is a Mercedes?" was the reply in a New York accent from the fly bridge.

All the while, Rob let out more and more rode so that Manny could get still closer. Finally, the Bertram, with the bladders, was solidly in position with one taught anchor line on her bow and two stern lines attached to the stranded sailboat.

Captain Steve had come back to the boat and picked up Silas, Franky and then Rob. I noticed that they had taken a cooler in the dinghy. After they were deposited on the beach very near to the object of our small voyage, the first order of business was to transfer the cooler to shore and place it strategically near the sailboat. They took off their shirts and before I knew it, all three were in the cold water walking around the boat, giving Captain Steve advice. The dilemma seemed to be where to place the bladders under the boat and how to attach them together so they wouldn’t float away before the boat was lifted out of the mud at high tide. While working around the sailboat, their main hindrance consisted of mounds and mounds of dead oysters in the mud as well as concrete poles encased in PVC pipe located all around the sailboat, also encrusted with sharp barnacles.

By now a few sight-seers had come by to watch the escapade. One came by dinghy and gave a helping hand with the lines that were attached to the bladders so the men in the water could pull the bladders to the sailboat. Another man rowed over to watch but did not venture close enough to be drawn into service. In the distance we could see a sailboat circling, obviously interested in our goings-on. A car stopped in the parking lot, located near the bow of the sailboat, and a nice looking bald-headed man walked down the embankment as his female companion looked on. In a charming Australian accent, even he began to give advice.

After an hour of pulling lines and pushing bladders, I began to see a pattern of more advice being given by the would-be rescuers than there was actual work being done. Captain Steve seemed a little frazzled but kept his cool. Finally, after another hour or so, the bladders were secured to the sailboat, the wet and cold workers were picked up, along with their cooler, and returned to the mothership.

On our way back to the marina, I went up to the fly-bridge and whispered to Manny that I hoped the plan for the next day was a little more firm.

The next morning, breakfast was cooking in Windglider, our 44 foot Pilothouse ketch, when I heard Marten at the stern of our boat call, "Cruiser, Cruiser!" Somehow the tone of his voice was a little more urgent than normal when calling to our cat. Suddenly realizing what was happening, I flew to Marten’s side.

Cruiser, our cat, was meowing very, very loudly. He had fallen off the boat while trying to jump to the dock. He had missed and ended up in the water. At least he had the foresight to swim directly to the stern of the boat and to Marten, who scooped him up and gave me a soaking wet cat. An 18-pound cat still looks skinny when wet. After washing him with warm fresh water, which he liked, we gobbled down breakfast and were off on our quest to free Captain Steve’s boat.

Here I was, back again on the fly bridge with Manny. This time neither one of us commented on the "Plan." We rounded the corner of the marina and saw to our relief that the boat had not drifted away with the black bladders overnight. She was sitting upright with the bladders and in the position in which we left her yesterday.

The anchor went down again, and Manny backed up Mercedes-style and waited patiently while Captain Steve dinghied to his boat to tie the lines which he had positioned around the keel yesterday to the stern cleats on Manny’s boat. Manny revved up the engines. The 27 foot sailboat teetered and tottered. We all held our breathes for a second and the force that kept that boat into her predicament let go and the fiberglass sloop moved on cue and slid right into deeper water. A small group of raised fists went into the air and a "YEAH, WE DID IT!" could be heard over the gently moving water. The little sailboat was free after three months of planning and scheduling.

Her captain went back on board and took proud possession and checked for leaks. There were no holes in the fiberglass hull, so the captain proceeded with his plan.

The boat, with the black bladders still attached, was rounded up and towed towards her original anchorage from before the hurricane. Captain Steve attached his boat to its anchor in the lake exactly where it had been so ruthlessly dragged away during Hurricane Wilma due to a chafed anchor line.

The next phase was to release the bladders from the boat. Marten had planned this trip to be a willing participant as the number of cast members had drastically been reduced from the previous day. He borrowed water shoes from Manny and climbed aboard the floating sailboat. He began pulling on the lines that were tied around the bladders and around the boat. Captain Steve was circling the boat in his dinghy to undo the knots and release the lines. Not all of them wanted to cooperate. They were too tightly spun in a knot and were not ready to be released. Marten resorted to climbing over the toe rail of the boat and stood on the bladders to push the bladders away from the boat. Suddenly one bladder moved and wrestled itself from the boat, and the air under Marten’s feet traveled to the other end of the bladder and he began to lose his equilibrium. Rather than fighting to try to stand upright on a moving object and to hold onto the boat’s toe rail, he let himself down, down, down into the cold water. A roar of laughter went up from all of us. Since Cruiser had fallen overboard earlier in the morning, I began to wonder who was next.

"Why didn’t you let out a wailing meow like Cruiser?" Brittain asked.

Smiling and recovering himself, Marten swam around the freed bladders and used the steps on the stern of the sailboat to find his way to a dry towel. Captain Steve caught the bladders and pushed them to the powerboat to bring them back to the dock. Everyone was again dressed in dry clothes and the bladders were secured, ready for the return trip to the marina.

Empty Pockets was left floating to the sound of the gentle east wind, and she hopes to stay there until she is called upon to go sailing one of these beautiful windy days.