The Remote Boat

Creeping Remote Controlism Hits the Powerboat World

4:00 a.m., Portofino, Italy. A sleek, 90-footer is moored “stern to” the nasty looking stone seawall that etches a horseshoe shaped interface where land meets sea in this picturesque village. The vessel is new -- a Zommari Bags Moni. The evening is hot and humid but inside the boat it is cool and comfortable as evidenced by the stream of water being discharged from the air conditioning system. The comfortable owner’s cabin has every possible amenity bar, remote T.V. and stereo, three-inch-deep carpets, “his and hers” heads with whirlpool bath and showers, gold plated fixtures, satin sheets and the finest fleece pillows.

Stranded at an Outdoor Cafe

Across the street from this magnificent craft, we see four people each trying to sleep stretched across two chairs at an outdoor cafe which shut down hours ago. Every once in a while, one of them gets up and pees in the bushes. One could logically surmise that this was a group of college students travelling on the cheap or, perhaps, some Italian bums with taste. Unfortunately, it is the owner, his wife and the crew of the magnificent vessel moored across the road! Hapless victims all of THE REMOTE BOAT. 

You see, the vessel’s gangplank (or passerelle as it’s called in Europe) is of the remote-controlled variety actuated by a little push button device carried in the owner’s pocket (very common in Europe). The idea is when you leave your vessel, you retract the passerelle which squirrels itself away into a little compartment in the transom with a trap door to cover the opening. That way, the boat, being eight or nine feet away from the seawall, is completely inaccessible to the riffraff that might frequent the area. When the owner and his party got back from a night on the town, he pushed the little button and… NOTHING HAPPENED. He pushed it again. No dice. Hence, the uncomfortable night at the sidewalk cafe.

All this started a number of years ago on, believe it or not, sailboats. Strange to say, this was a practical application of automated gear that allowed the owner of a large motorsailor or sailboat to drastically reduce the number of crew. Sail hoisting, lowering and trimming was accomplished by the push of a button at the helm. Powerboat guys just couldn’t stand being “one upped” by sailboats so they started to pursue applications for automated gear on powerboats. Unfortunately, the applications are almost unlimited.

Remote Possibilities

First, I have an admission to make. As much as I hate all this stuff, I own a remote living room. It started innocently enough with a remote controlled T.V. The control unit sat unobtrusively on the cocktail table. Then we added a VCR, resulting in another remote-control unit on the table. A stereo system (with remote everything) resulted in a third large unit on the coffee table. Of course, the cable T.V. box had its own remote unit, making a total of four. 

But wait, there’s more: The fans we picked out for the living room were available only as remote-controlled units (fan on/off, light on/off, fan direction and fan speed). There are two fans in the living room and each one has its own separately coded remote control making a grand total of six damn “remotes” cluttering my coffee table, make that seven. The CD player in the stereo system has its own remote- control unit so, make that eight. A couple of years ago, the guys in the office gave me a remote VCR programmer. 

So, there I set a guy who hates complication in life surrounded by eight dammed remote-control units, one of which, at any given moment is always on the fritz. At one time, we had a beautiful art deco crystal car centerpiece on the cocktail table, but had to store it away in a cabinet to make room for the remotes. We’ve tried to arrange them artfully, but it’s not the same as the crystal car. I’ve since eliminated the clutter somewhat by pairing remotes with double sticky foam tape, thereby reducing the number to four rather clumsy contrivances. Then, I saw this ad for a remote-control unit that would do everything so I bought it. Turns out, it doesn’t do everything, only some things. Make that nine remotes on the coffee table! Hey, if it can happen to me, it can happen to anybody.

The marine remote trend started in Italy but it is spreading around the world. Presently remote-control units are multiplying like the cuddly, fuzzy, little Tribbles on “Star Trek.” And what powerboat wonders has this great new revolution spawned? In addition to the above mentioned passerelles, we now have remote controlled: Davits, anchor handling gear, exterior and interior doors, retractable masts, outriggers, interior and exterior lights, anchor windlasses, engine controls (scary), boarding ladders, windows, hatches, bimini tops and who knows what the hell else computer nerds will dream up in the future. Hell, even remote-controlled toilets are available (July ‘89).

Zap Yourself

We are all being victimized by creeping remote controllism in our lives and, scarily enough, this will eventually lead to the downfall of pleasure boating. In the future, see, it will be possible to devise a remote control for your brain. At the press of a button, the boating pleasure center of your left lobe would be activated. Zap! You’re enjoying a South Sea Island cruise on your magnificent 150-foot motoryacht. Zap! You’re screaming along, jumping from wave top to wave top in an unlimited class ocean race boat at 100 miles per hour. Zap! You are anchored in the Exumas surrounded by topless nymphs. Zap! You're piloting the Q.E. II, through the Verrazano-Narrows. Yes, friends all of this and more is possible in the next few years.

And what can be done to thwart the insipid expansion of Remote Controllism? As usual, I have an answer. The DOOM’S DAY REMOTE CONTROL. Picture this: Antibes, France, in July. The harbor is packed with yachts: Micro megas, mini megas, megas and mega megas. The night is eerily quiet with only the sounds of dock lines straining on bollards and rigging incessantly slapping aluminum masts. A black car pulls into the marina parking lot with its lights out. A figure dressed in black exits the car and runs in a crouched position to the water’s edge. In his hand is a big black box with a single, ominous, red button on it. He takes cover in some shrubs, surveys the situation, then pushes the button. 

Simultaneously hundreds of vessels in the harbor spring to life. Lights go on and off, passerelles extend and retract, doors open and close, windows go up and down, T.V.’s go on and off, gangways deploy and stow themselves, sails are hoisted and lowered, engines start and stop. The once serene harbor is turned into a maelstrom of motion, light and sound. 

Yes folks, it’s the DOOM’S DAY REMOTE CONTROL -- coming soon to your friendly local marine store.

(Reprinted with permission of Regina Fexas.)

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