Warden's ticket ends boater's smooth sailing

I broke the law.

Of course, I did not do it on purpose. But as any law officer will attest, ignorance of the law is no excuse.

I was not speeding. I was not illegally parked. I did not run a toll.

I was simply sailing. Sailing? Who gets a ticket while sailing? As luck would have it, me.

As the old song goes, "I was sailing along on moonlight bay." Well, not exactly.

It was a beautiful afternoon on the Fourth of July in northern Wisconsin as I awaited my family's arrival at our cabin. All was in readiness for our crew of 12: fishing boat in the water, food in the fridge, beds made.

"Why don't you relax and go for a sail?" my husband suggested. (See, it is really his fault.)

I had not been sailing yet this summer. With a blue lake and a blowing wind, I thought, why not?

My sailboat is small. Perfect for one or an occasional passenger perched near the bow. I have been sailing since I was 12 years old, and few things give me more pleasure than heading out onto the water in my little boat to test my wits against the wind.

There is only the soft sound of water rushing against the hull and the beautiful backdrop of the forested lake offering peaceful solitude.

Unless, of course, you're about to be stopped by a warden.

I had just accomplished a hard tack against the wind to get out of our bay and into more open water when I noticed a powerful fishing boat approaching at a slow speed. Sometimes other sailors on the lake will approach to compare sailing notes. And so I offered a friendly wave and a smile.

The man at the wheel waved back. True, it seemed odd that he was tailing me so closely, but I assumed that he was interested in my boat.

He was. And as the boat pulled up I realized that he was a she: a steely, short-haired woman packing a pistol and wearing a bullet proof vest. I was in trouble.

"Hello!" she shouted over the wind.

"Hello!" I shouted back, wondering what was up.

"Do you have a valid sailboat registration with you?" she asked.

"No," I answered honestly. "Sailboats don't need registrations, only motorized boats do."

"Sailboats do if they are over 12 feet," she replied.

"Mine's not over 12 feet," I countered.

"It says 1400 right on the side," she answered.

"That must be the model number," I blustered.

"No, it means you have a 14-foot boat, so I'll need to write you a citation," she said.

"Can't you just give me a warning?" I pleaded.

"No," she answered. "I must be consistent."

Even though I was in moving water, I knew I was stuck.

"How much is the ticket?" I asked, bracing myself.

"$186," she replied.

I about toppled out of my boat. $186! Was she kidding?! I looked at her pistol and decided probably not.

During this whole conversation, I was struggling to control my sails against a blowing breeze by heading into the wind and letting my sails go slack. It's not exactly like stepping on the brakes or pulling the car over to the side of the road.

Apparently, a sailor's wind was not a warden's worry.

With about 30 feet of water between us, she shouted out her questions:

Name? Address? Age? I miserably shouted my answers back, ducking the wildly flapping boom like a middle-aged woman practicing hip-hop out in the middle of the lake.

For a moment, I thought about pretending my boat was out control and just sailing away, but I figured she'd tailgate me until I ran aground.

I also thought about capsizing as a diversion, but I sensed she'd probably hand me the ticket while I was treading water.

Thankfully, common sense prevailed, for I'd heard of this warden's reputation. Newspaper accounts reported that she had once hidden in the woods for more than 48 hours in an effort to entrap out-of-season hunters.

You didn't mess with this badge number.

Finally, she cruised up on my port side handing me the ticket and actually pointing a finger to the boating regulations book for me to read.

As luck would have it, my sailing ropes wrapped around her boat cleats, tangling our vessels up tighter than a fish on a barbed hook. That's all I needed -- to capsize the warden.

At last I was set free (both literally and figuratively), and with my ticket tucked in the bottom of my swimsuit I cruised home, the wind as they say, out of my sail.

We immediately measured my boat upon return: 13'/8." Guilty as charged.

Several weeks later, an embarrassing newspaper accounting appeared.

There's misery in company, however, and over half a newspaper page was devoted to natural resource violations, with a great many offenders coming from Illinois. It seems we Illinoisans keep the Wisconsin tills full, not only with our tourism but with our negligence.

I felt better when I read about the guy who got a $148.20 fine for failing to cover a battery in a boat; the fisherman who was nailed for $248.60 for keeping a 13'½" bass; and the dude who got socked for $160.80 for "overloading a pontoon with 18 people -- only two of whom were under a hundred pounds." Was there a scale?

Obviously, the laws are there for the protection of the lakes, the wildlife and the people. And those big fines will make most of us pay a whole lot closer attention. (My check's in the mail and the registration is ordered.) Mea culpa.

But as I scanned the columns for my crime, a lucky surprise greeted me.

My tricky last name was botched beyond recognition. Thank you sister wind!

At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.