What's the worst night you've ever spent on your boat? What made it bad? Did an unexpected wind shift turn your quiet anchorage into a washing machine? Did your anchor drag you onto the hard or into someone else's boat? Did someone else drag into you? Maybe your neighbor had a noisy all night party? Or maybe you were out on the water and got beat up by wind, waves and/or fog? Share your after-dark dilemmas, and then vote in the Quick Quiz at the bottom of the home page. (Quiz contributed by Gary Wyngarden)
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Worst Night
The worst night was at Smugglers Cove on the Channel Islands. Started out OK but the swells built and started come in from 2 different directions causing the boat to do a figure eight while at anchor. About am the anchor light, fell broke and lamp oil spilled on the deck and caught on fire. I woke to the falling lamp and went to see what happened only to slip on the step and remove about a foot of skin from my shin, and then I got to put out the fire. Not as bad a night as others, but it was my worst one.
The worst night was at Smugglers Cove on the Channel Islands. Started out OK but the swells built and started come in from 2 different directions causing the boat to do a figure eight while at anchor. About am the anchor light, fell broke and lamp oil spilled on the deck and caught on fire. I woke to the falling lamp and went to see what happened only to slip on the step and remove about a foot of skin from my shin, and then I got to put out the fire. Not as bad a night as others, but it was my worst one.
Typhoon Rex was aptly named
Our boat was dismasted while I was crewing on a Russian sailboat. We were between Midway Atoll and Kamchatka, Russia when we were hit by a typhoon.
Our boat was dismasted while I was crewing on a Russian sailboat. We were between Midway Atoll and Kamchatka, Russia when we were hit by a typhoon.
Attachments
Like no other night
Preparations had been all made for the Columbus Day Regatta.. 2 full days of sun and fun between Key Biscayne and Elliot Key. 200 Pounds of ice, 12 Gallons of dark rum, 16 2 liter bottles of Coke, and a pack of cheese crackers were carefully packed away. The plan was simple.. set sail the day before, just around sunset, head north, spend the night off Key Biscayne, and begin the race the following day. Unfortunately, it had been pouring down rain all day, and it continued into night. The winds were up to 20-30 knots going the wrong direction, visiability was non-existant, the temperature had dropped to a misrable cold, and the rain stung like needles and soaked you all the way to your bones. Trying to stay as close into shore as possible to avoid the full brunt of the storm, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The wind was fighting us the whole way, and it seemed that for every 10 yards we would make heading north, the wind would push us back 5. About 2 hours into the trip, we found out that our charts were not quite as accurate as we had thought, and we ran into a shoal that jutted out from shore farther than expected. It was dead low tide, and we were run hard aground, so we waited an hour or two for higher tide to jump in and push off to deeper water. The rain pounded on the cabin with a roar and the weather reports looked as bad as the weather outside. Finally, the tide had risen enough to where, through a combination of jumping in and pushing, heeling the boat and using the kicker for some extra horsepower, we finally were able to get her out to deeper water and continue on with our journey. Fighting the wind, waves and rain the whole way, minutes turned into hours.. hours turned into what seemed an eternity. Finally, we arrived at the northern end of our journey around 5:30am, exhausted, soaked to the bone, and very ready to throw out the anchor and get some sleep. What had should have been a 1-2 hour sail had turned into 12 hours of some of the most misrable sailing we had ever encountered. Unfortunately, of course, the waves were large enough to keep the boat bucking like a horse, so we found a sheltered cove on the wrong side of the bay that at least was calm enough to let us get some rest. Needless to say, after a sail like that and bunking down sometime around 6:00am, it's fairly difficult to wake up in time for a 9:00am race! Yes, we missed the opening gun, but unoffically joined in just the same. The rest of the trip was for the most part uneventful. We sailed from Key Biscayne to Elliot Key with the rest of the fleet, spent the night off Elliot Key, and the following day, decided we had had enough and headed for home (well, that and we had run out of Rum and those cheese crackers didn't last as long as we had thought!). But we did get some excellent pictures of the evening activities, and did take home an experience we will never forget.
Preparations had been all made for the Columbus Day Regatta.. 2 full days of sun and fun between Key Biscayne and Elliot Key. 200 Pounds of ice, 12 Gallons of dark rum, 16 2 liter bottles of Coke, and a pack of cheese crackers were carefully packed away. The plan was simple.. set sail the day before, just around sunset, head north, spend the night off Key Biscayne, and begin the race the following day. Unfortunately, it had been pouring down rain all day, and it continued into night. The winds were up to 20-30 knots going the wrong direction, visiability was non-existant, the temperature had dropped to a misrable cold, and the rain stung like needles and soaked you all the way to your bones. Trying to stay as close into shore as possible to avoid the full brunt of the storm, everything that could go wrong did go wrong. The wind was fighting us the whole way, and it seemed that for every 10 yards we would make heading north, the wind would push us back 5. About 2 hours into the trip, we found out that our charts were not quite as accurate as we had thought, and we ran into a shoal that jutted out from shore farther than expected. It was dead low tide, and we were run hard aground, so we waited an hour or two for higher tide to jump in and push off to deeper water. The rain pounded on the cabin with a roar and the weather reports looked as bad as the weather outside. Finally, the tide had risen enough to where, through a combination of jumping in and pushing, heeling the boat and using the kicker for some extra horsepower, we finally were able to get her out to deeper water and continue on with our journey. Fighting the wind, waves and rain the whole way, minutes turned into hours.. hours turned into what seemed an eternity. Finally, we arrived at the northern end of our journey around 5:30am, exhausted, soaked to the bone, and very ready to throw out the anchor and get some sleep. What had should have been a 1-2 hour sail had turned into 12 hours of some of the most misrable sailing we had ever encountered. Unfortunately, of course, the waves were large enough to keep the boat bucking like a horse, so we found a sheltered cove on the wrong side of the bay that at least was calm enough to let us get some rest. Needless to say, after a sail like that and bunking down sometime around 6:00am, it's fairly difficult to wake up in time for a 9:00am race! Yes, we missed the opening gun, but unoffically joined in just the same. The rest of the trip was for the most part uneventful. We sailed from Key Biscayne to Elliot Key with the rest of the fleet, spent the night off Elliot Key, and the following day, decided we had had enough and headed for home (well, that and we had run out of Rum and those cheese crackers didn't last as long as we had thought!). But we did get some excellent pictures of the evening activities, and did take home an experience we will never forget.
The Morning After (a big wind)
Most folks think of the Bay Area of being one with typical Pacific waters (can you say cold?) with an extra helping of fog. Those of us who have lived aboard in the South Bay (between SFO and Candlestick) know what the winds over the cut in the peninsula can do. I am in Oyster Cove Marina, a very nice place with modern concrete docks. No one ever seems to think about wind chill with these fine accommodations. When you take a night of 40 to 50 knot winds (a normal breeze after 5 is 25 to 30) with an ambient of 50 or so, it gets pretty chilly. Even without a storm, since the predominant direction is beam on to the slips, it gets pretty rocky! Then in the morning you are going up onshore to the showers to get ready for work, dead calm, 50+ degrees........ .......a quarter inch of ice on the dock sends you flying!!!!!!!! It might, or not, be life threatening, but it is surely a surprise...... at least the first dozen times!
Most folks think of the Bay Area of being one with typical Pacific waters (can you say cold?) with an extra helping of fog. Those of us who have lived aboard in the South Bay (between SFO and Candlestick) know what the winds over the cut in the peninsula can do. I am in Oyster Cove Marina, a very nice place with modern concrete docks. No one ever seems to think about wind chill with these fine accommodations. When you take a night of 40 to 50 knot winds (a normal breeze after 5 is 25 to 30) with an ambient of 50 or so, it gets pretty chilly. Even without a storm, since the predominant direction is beam on to the slips, it gets pretty rocky! Then in the morning you are going up onshore to the showers to get ready for work, dead calm, 50+ degrees........ .......a quarter inch of ice on the dock sends you flying!!!!!!!! It might, or not, be life threatening, but it is surely a surprise...... at least the first dozen times!
Anchor Set
I have'nt had a really bad experience in my limited overnighters, but recently anchored in a protected inland lake bay in NE Mississippi and awoke to 30 kt. cold frontal winds. When I was ready to head out for the day's sailing, I found my anchor had moved overnight, but was now solidly set deep in the Mississippi mud. Being new to the game, I used brute strength to pull the boat against the wind and haul up a load of that mud. Next time, I expect I will use some of the techniques I have read about in the discussion groups.
I have'nt had a really bad experience in my limited overnighters, but recently anchored in a protected inland lake bay in NE Mississippi and awoke to 30 kt. cold frontal winds. When I was ready to head out for the day's sailing, I found my anchor had moved overnight, but was now solidly set deep in the Mississippi mud. Being new to the game, I used brute strength to pull the boat against the wind and haul up a load of that mud. Next time, I expect I will use some of the techniques I have read about in the discussion groups.
Sleepless in Long Island
A freind and I took our sons on on a Long Island sound crossing to overnight in Pt Jefferson. The sail went well until we neared the breakwater, lowered sail and started the engine. As we neared the breakwater we were awe inspired about the large ferry coming out of the harbor and the one coming up behind us. It was at the wonderful moment the engine quit. After panicking by trying to restart the engine, we had the presence of mind to raise sail, just in time. We tucked into a small side harbor, lowered anchor, let out plenty of rhode and settled in. My freind and I later went to visit a freind on another boat but the boys didn't want to go so they stayed aboard. After a couple of hours we returned to find my boat on her side the victim of an outgoing tide, a shelf in harbor, and two inexperienced sailors for that area. We tried to sleep but kept having this feeling of falling off a cliff. Finally at a bout 3 A.M. ther was enough water to motor off our anchorage to a more suitable spot trying to be a squiet as possible. We reanchored a short time later and finally statred to drift off to sleep when a power boat full of partying teenagers came along and anchored beside us. You can imagine the resonse we got we we asked the group to try to be a little more quiet. The next morning we headed home in winds of 3 knots. What a trip.
A freind and I took our sons on on a Long Island sound crossing to overnight in Pt Jefferson. The sail went well until we neared the breakwater, lowered sail and started the engine. As we neared the breakwater we were awe inspired about the large ferry coming out of the harbor and the one coming up behind us. It was at the wonderful moment the engine quit. After panicking by trying to restart the engine, we had the presence of mind to raise sail, just in time. We tucked into a small side harbor, lowered anchor, let out plenty of rhode and settled in. My freind and I later went to visit a freind on another boat but the boys didn't want to go so they stayed aboard. After a couple of hours we returned to find my boat on her side the victim of an outgoing tide, a shelf in harbor, and two inexperienced sailors for that area. We tried to sleep but kept having this feeling of falling off a cliff. Finally at a bout 3 A.M. ther was enough water to motor off our anchorage to a more suitable spot trying to be a squiet as possible. We reanchored a short time later and finally statred to drift off to sleep when a power boat full of partying teenagers came along and anchored beside us. You can imagine the resonse we got we we asked the group to try to be a little more quiet. The next morning we headed home in winds of 3 knots. What a trip.
Big bay, Small boat, Green sailor
5 years and three boats ago, we being novice sailors, thought it would be neat to sail our little C-22 out of the Cape May canal into the Delaware Bay and up to the C&D Canal, ultimately cruising the Chesapeak. The Delaware Bay was it's typical challenging self for a 22, and quickly got to my stomach. 12 hours later, exhausted, sick, and quite lost in the dark, found us searching for the Cohansey River inlet and then struggling with an outboard that refused to start.....Why I'm still sailing will always remain a mystery to me. Don Bodemann
5 years and three boats ago, we being novice sailors, thought it would be neat to sail our little C-22 out of the Cape May canal into the Delaware Bay and up to the C&D Canal, ultimately cruising the Chesapeak. The Delaware Bay was it's typical challenging self for a 22, and quickly got to my stomach. 12 hours later, exhausted, sick, and quite lost in the dark, found us searching for the Cohansey River inlet and then struggling with an outboard that refused to start.....Why I'm still sailing will always remain a mystery to me. Don Bodemann
The Annapolis Boat Show
October 2001, and my neighbor and I set out in his Columbia 26 from Baltimore friday night for Annapolis to see the Boat Show. The year before we had overnighted on the Magothy, but this year we went straight down. We arrived at dusk and anchored off the Naval Academy. We had dinner--my neighbor is a good cook with a lot of imagination and were soon ready for some sleep. This year the wind came straight up the river from the bay causing a lot of chop. It was not as comfortable as the year before, but it was not bad. I fell asleep just before my neighbor and he was drifting off when he heard some sounds that just didn't sound right. He went up topside to look and let out a scream. We were about a foot away from a large (50'?) power boat--our anchor had dragged. Lucky Roy had heard the noise for if the power boat were not there, we were just off the rocks along the sNaval Academy Bulkhead. I fended off from the power boat while Roy tried to start the outboard. It was not cooperating. Finally it caught and we were able to move away from the power boat. I pulled up the anchor and we motored to a clear spot to drop anchor. We dropped anchor and it did not catch. All the while we were bouncing like a cork. we tried several more times coming up with ideas to help. Finally Roy put another anchor on the anchor rhode as a sentinal, we found the clam shell that had jammed the tines of the anchor and we got anchored again. by this time it was about 4 am. We took turns sitting watch in the cabin (it was cold and unpleasant on deck) until about 6 am. Pulled up the anchor and decided we didn't feel like a boat show after all. Cam Whetstone C-36 - Wolf's Den Baltimore, Md. USA
October 2001, and my neighbor and I set out in his Columbia 26 from Baltimore friday night for Annapolis to see the Boat Show. The year before we had overnighted on the Magothy, but this year we went straight down. We arrived at dusk and anchored off the Naval Academy. We had dinner--my neighbor is a good cook with a lot of imagination and were soon ready for some sleep. This year the wind came straight up the river from the bay causing a lot of chop. It was not as comfortable as the year before, but it was not bad. I fell asleep just before my neighbor and he was drifting off when he heard some sounds that just didn't sound right. He went up topside to look and let out a scream. We were about a foot away from a large (50'?) power boat--our anchor had dragged. Lucky Roy had heard the noise for if the power boat were not there, we were just off the rocks along the sNaval Academy Bulkhead. I fended off from the power boat while Roy tried to start the outboard. It was not cooperating. Finally it caught and we were able to move away from the power boat. I pulled up the anchor and we motored to a clear spot to drop anchor. We dropped anchor and it did not catch. All the while we were bouncing like a cork. we tried several more times coming up with ideas to help. Finally Roy put another anchor on the anchor rhode as a sentinal, we found the clam shell that had jammed the tines of the anchor and we got anchored again. by this time it was about 4 am. We took turns sitting watch in the cabin (it was cold and unpleasant on deck) until about 6 am. Pulled up the anchor and decided we didn't feel like a boat show after all. Cam Whetstone C-36 - Wolf's Den Baltimore, Md. USA
Cold Night
This was my wife's into to sailing. Near the end of the season we finally got into Lake Champlaion. The winds were up and the waves were high. But my wife loved it. She was sold on the concept of sailing. We were cold but the excitement of a great day on the lake warmed us enough and we were looking forward to a celebratory dinner at home. After clearing Canada customs we discovered the river was blocked by a closed railway bridge. After waiting for a half hour for a non-appearing train we were informed by the local marina owner that the bridge was closed for the night. We were not prepeared for this but did what we could to sette down for the night in our "new" Tanzer 7.5. My wife got the poncho liner and I used a sail - neither was enough and we shivered and shook all night. My wife ended up looking like Scott of the Antarctic with just a nose visible through a bundle of coats and whatever covering we could manage. I tried to cheer her up, to calm warm the cold, murderous stares my not-so--now loving weife was darting at me. The next morning the bridge opened and we got home. Wew surevived and learned many, now obvious lessons. Next year - another lesson. This year - that's enough.
This was my wife's into to sailing. Near the end of the season we finally got into Lake Champlaion. The winds were up and the waves were high. But my wife loved it. She was sold on the concept of sailing. We were cold but the excitement of a great day on the lake warmed us enough and we were looking forward to a celebratory dinner at home. After clearing Canada customs we discovered the river was blocked by a closed railway bridge. After waiting for a half hour for a non-appearing train we were informed by the local marina owner that the bridge was closed for the night. We were not prepeared for this but did what we could to sette down for the night in our "new" Tanzer 7.5. My wife got the poncho liner and I used a sail - neither was enough and we shivered and shook all night. My wife ended up looking like Scott of the Antarctic with just a nose visible through a bundle of coats and whatever covering we could manage. I tried to cheer her up, to calm warm the cold, murderous stares my not-so--now loving weife was darting at me. The next morning the bridge opened and we got home. Wew surevived and learned many, now obvious lessons. Next year - another lesson. This year - that's enough.
A Windy Night @ Angel Island
(This is an excerpt from a longer story...) 5:45 PM: The sun is down; it’s dusky and getting breezy. 7 PM: We all adjourn to the spacious salon of "Anticipation" for a great potluck dinner. Someone is heard to ask, "Where’s Clara and Rick?" Jim and Jane respond, "They left. Looks like the wind is coming up." 7:45 PM: Desert (angel food cake with Joel’s can of whipped cream) is being served. The motion of the boat due to waves and wind is becoming noticeable. There is a definite sound of "wind in the rigging." Jane comments, "Here it comes." Jane and Jim then say, "We might leave soon to look for a better anchorage." Quietly, people leave "Anticipation" to check their boats. More bumpers are put out. The north wind is blowing directly into Ayala Cove. Wave height 1-2 feet, wind steady at 12-15 knots, gusts to 20. 8:30 PM: Jim and Jane depart in "Anticipation," telling us they may head towards Sausalito to look for a more comfortable anchorage. (As it turns out, they decided to return to Ballena Bay. They arrived at about 12:30 AM Sunday morning, contending with 2-3 foot seas, 30-knot tail winds and an errant dingy on the way back.) At about this same time, a 30’ Hunter charter from Club Nautique in Ballena Bay ties up to our aft mooring buoy and throws out a stern anchor. The boat is crewed by a young, inexperienced couple with a small child. The stern of their boat is about 40 feet off the sandy beach. Muggs recounts: "My first reaction, sitting in the Fleming’s' boat at dinner, was to be real scared. But after observing the action of the boats relative to each other, and after the Fleming’s’ took their boat out of the equation, I wasn't quite so scared. When we were at Nelson's last week, there was a boat, bigger than the Fleming’s and very similar in design. It had the high toe rails with the top piece that overhangs outside the boat. These toe rail top pieces had been lifted up and off -- completely messed up -- during a raft-up in heavy weather. I took a look at the three boats we had -- Joel's boat was the only one with a similar toe rail arrangement, and his toe rail was at a very different height from yours ("Purrrfect’s") -- below it, if I remember correctly. Anyway, after watching it for a while, I figured it wasn't going to get any worse (based on a few nights sleeping in the harbor with loud, heavy wind all night), so I went to bed. However, the noise and the motion kept me up all night. It's definitely a lot more fun when everyone can just party and go to sleep" 8:45 PM: There are three boats remaining in the raft-up. There is a brief discussion about leaving, but we all decide it’s safer where we are and to hold tight until morning. The wind continues to rise. We all turn in and try to get some sleep. As it turns out, we would be up all night. 11 PM: Everyone is either up or still awake. Wind and waves are still increasing: steady 2-foot wave height, wind from the north at 18-20 knots, gusting to 26. Every boat in the harbor is rocking severely. 12:55 AM: We decide to establish an anchor watch. I have the first 2 hours. 3-foot breaking rollers are now the norm. Wind gusty at 20-25 knots, occasionally hitting 30-35. All hell is breaking loose. The noise is incredible. Our 3 connected boats are severely rocking, out of sync. Sunday, 1:05 AM: It’s really, really windy. A Catalina 30 in a raft up near the front of the anchorage seems to break loose. Lot’s of screaming and yelling from that direction. After they blow down 15-20 yards, it appears that they are under power and headed for the finger piers. Suddenly, more yelling, this time laced with panic. I roust out Larry, Joel and Burt. The Catalina lost power and is getting blown straight towards the anchored "euro-style" powerboat. It just misses and is heading for the rocky cliffs in the southwest corner of the anchorage. The skipper runs for the bow and manages to get an anchor out almost in time. The anchor bites, but Dee Dee says she can hear their rudder ‘crunching’ on the rocks. The tide is all the way out. The sound of the wind, the hissing of the waves, the panicked yelling and motion of the boats combine to form a surreal vision. This is serious, scary stuff. (As we were to find out later, the folks in the Catalina had intentionally cast off to make for the safety of the Park Service docks. Shortly after letting loose of their mooring lines to the raft up, they wrapped a line around their running gear – causing the sudden loss of power. To make matters much worse, a woman on board was holding the "wrapped line" at the time and her finger was nearly torn off when the line became entangled in the spinning prop.) 1:30 AM: A Coast Guard rescue/boarding team arrives in a rigid inflatable with a crew of 4. We are monitoring the rescue on channel 22a. Several powerful spotlights turn the anchorage into daylight. At first, they head for the Hunter 30 charter in back of us, thinking they were the distressed boat. However, they quickly noted the Catalina near the rocks. The whole anchorage is up now. A "Coastie" boards the distressed boat and stabilizes the woman with the severely injured finger. After about 3 attempts and some confusion, they manage to get the Catalina under tow and proceed across Raccoon Straight to Belvedere. During all of this, the wind and waves seem to be subsiding. Perhaps the worst is over? False hopes. 3:00 AM: Gusty winds have now changed to a steady blow of about 25-28 knots. I head for the sack; Larry and Joel take the next watch. However, nerves have me up and down checking our bumpers and mooring lines. 4:45 AM: A very large sailboat to our starboard and near the east side of the anchorage dragged anchor, becomes entangled in mooring lines and is crashing into several power boats secured to mooring buoys. The Coast Guard arrives once again (same rescue crew as before) to offer assistance. Overheard on the radio is a C.G. request to the power boaters to cast off/cut their mooring lines from buoys in an attempt to untangle the mess and prevent further damage. The power boaters (not-so-politely) decline, indicating that it was the large sailboat who dropped anchor in their vicinity. They suggest the C.G. tow sailboat away from trouble. However, the small rigid inflatable does not have the bulk or power to handle the task. A small C.G. cutter is dispatched and the sailboat is moved. 6:30 AM: Dawn is finally here! I am nauseous from being up all night and the constant motion of the boat. The wind is now down to about 20-22 knots, waves at 1.5-2 feet. Larry and Joel hop in an inflatable and head for shore to rescue a mooing bumper lost during the night. Upon their return, the consensus of the entire group is to head back to Ballena Bay and have breakfast. 7:15 AM: There is much discussion about best way out of the anchorage. There is still the myriad of lines to mooring buoys, and we are way back in the bay. We decided to go to the outside, paralleling the west (rocky) shore. "Ixia" is off first, then "Purrrfect," finally "Tournesol." Everything goes smoothly. It’s not too often that one departs Ayala Cove exceeding 5 knots. 7:45 AM: We have all managed to clear the anchorage. We head east, and then south. Waves are about 3 feet, winds at 30 knots out of the north, but the sky is clear and we are on a broad reach. "Ixia" and "Purrrfect" are sailing only under a 60% jib and making about 7-8 knots. "Tournesol" begins to raise a double-reefed main and their rigid boom vang shears off. They also raise a 60% jib. The sailing is great. We are all very tired, but are finally managing to get relaxed – even somewhat exhilarated. 8:30 AM: As we approach the Bay Bridge, the wind begins to drop to about 15-17 knots. We all are now under 110% jib, no main. This is getting to be fun. 9 – 10 AM: We are all still together, in the vicinity of the "Hornet," and it’s beginning to really blow. Suddenly, we are hit with a 40-knot gust that puts the starboard rail way under and we round up severely. First "Purrrfect", then "Tournesol", and then "Ixia." We reef the jib down to about 30%, but are still overpowered. It’s time to douse the sail and motor that last mile. "Ixia" has trouble with her jib and can’t get it retracted; it’s quickly shredded. They head off the wind, moving towards the lee of an anchored freighter where they sort things out. The winds are rapidly rising and within 3-4 minutes reach a steady 35 - 40 knots. "Purrrfect" and "Tournesol" struggle back to the shelter of the marina. We are all worried about "Ixia." 10:30 AM: Safely back in the slips. "Tournesol" came in ‘hot’ due to a substantial tail wind. Full reverse for about 10 seconds did little to halt forward motion. No damage to the dock or the bow, however. We are safe. There are white caps in the fairways, boats secured in slips are heeling 15-20 degrees, and winds are reported to be gusting to 70 knots near the harbor entrance. Time for a beer. No, better make that 3 beers. Noon: Aboard "Tournesol" for breakfast consisting primarily of greasy bacon. Gads, it tasted good! We are all zombies. 5 PM: "Ixia" returns, safe, but sans 1 jib. The wind has dropped and it’s a glorious October day. Did all this really happen? Who cares…it’s going to make a great story!
(This is an excerpt from a longer story...) 5:45 PM: The sun is down; it’s dusky and getting breezy. 7 PM: We all adjourn to the spacious salon of "Anticipation" for a great potluck dinner. Someone is heard to ask, "Where’s Clara and Rick?" Jim and Jane respond, "They left. Looks like the wind is coming up." 7:45 PM: Desert (angel food cake with Joel’s can of whipped cream) is being served. The motion of the boat due to waves and wind is becoming noticeable. There is a definite sound of "wind in the rigging." Jane comments, "Here it comes." Jane and Jim then say, "We might leave soon to look for a better anchorage." Quietly, people leave "Anticipation" to check their boats. More bumpers are put out. The north wind is blowing directly into Ayala Cove. Wave height 1-2 feet, wind steady at 12-15 knots, gusts to 20. 8:30 PM: Jim and Jane depart in "Anticipation," telling us they may head towards Sausalito to look for a more comfortable anchorage. (As it turns out, they decided to return to Ballena Bay. They arrived at about 12:30 AM Sunday morning, contending with 2-3 foot seas, 30-knot tail winds and an errant dingy on the way back.) At about this same time, a 30’ Hunter charter from Club Nautique in Ballena Bay ties up to our aft mooring buoy and throws out a stern anchor. The boat is crewed by a young, inexperienced couple with a small child. The stern of their boat is about 40 feet off the sandy beach. Muggs recounts: "My first reaction, sitting in the Fleming’s' boat at dinner, was to be real scared. But after observing the action of the boats relative to each other, and after the Fleming’s’ took their boat out of the equation, I wasn't quite so scared. When we were at Nelson's last week, there was a boat, bigger than the Fleming’s and very similar in design. It had the high toe rails with the top piece that overhangs outside the boat. These toe rail top pieces had been lifted up and off -- completely messed up -- during a raft-up in heavy weather. I took a look at the three boats we had -- Joel's boat was the only one with a similar toe rail arrangement, and his toe rail was at a very different height from yours ("Purrrfect’s") -- below it, if I remember correctly. Anyway, after watching it for a while, I figured it wasn't going to get any worse (based on a few nights sleeping in the harbor with loud, heavy wind all night), so I went to bed. However, the noise and the motion kept me up all night. It's definitely a lot more fun when everyone can just party and go to sleep" 8:45 PM: There are three boats remaining in the raft-up. There is a brief discussion about leaving, but we all decide it’s safer where we are and to hold tight until morning. The wind continues to rise. We all turn in and try to get some sleep. As it turns out, we would be up all night. 11 PM: Everyone is either up or still awake. Wind and waves are still increasing: steady 2-foot wave height, wind from the north at 18-20 knots, gusting to 26. Every boat in the harbor is rocking severely. 12:55 AM: We decide to establish an anchor watch. I have the first 2 hours. 3-foot breaking rollers are now the norm. Wind gusty at 20-25 knots, occasionally hitting 30-35. All hell is breaking loose. The noise is incredible. Our 3 connected boats are severely rocking, out of sync. Sunday, 1:05 AM: It’s really, really windy. A Catalina 30 in a raft up near the front of the anchorage seems to break loose. Lot’s of screaming and yelling from that direction. After they blow down 15-20 yards, it appears that they are under power and headed for the finger piers. Suddenly, more yelling, this time laced with panic. I roust out Larry, Joel and Burt. The Catalina lost power and is getting blown straight towards the anchored "euro-style" powerboat. It just misses and is heading for the rocky cliffs in the southwest corner of the anchorage. The skipper runs for the bow and manages to get an anchor out almost in time. The anchor bites, but Dee Dee says she can hear their rudder ‘crunching’ on the rocks. The tide is all the way out. The sound of the wind, the hissing of the waves, the panicked yelling and motion of the boats combine to form a surreal vision. This is serious, scary stuff. (As we were to find out later, the folks in the Catalina had intentionally cast off to make for the safety of the Park Service docks. Shortly after letting loose of their mooring lines to the raft up, they wrapped a line around their running gear – causing the sudden loss of power. To make matters much worse, a woman on board was holding the "wrapped line" at the time and her finger was nearly torn off when the line became entangled in the spinning prop.) 1:30 AM: A Coast Guard rescue/boarding team arrives in a rigid inflatable with a crew of 4. We are monitoring the rescue on channel 22a. Several powerful spotlights turn the anchorage into daylight. At first, they head for the Hunter 30 charter in back of us, thinking they were the distressed boat. However, they quickly noted the Catalina near the rocks. The whole anchorage is up now. A "Coastie" boards the distressed boat and stabilizes the woman with the severely injured finger. After about 3 attempts and some confusion, they manage to get the Catalina under tow and proceed across Raccoon Straight to Belvedere. During all of this, the wind and waves seem to be subsiding. Perhaps the worst is over? False hopes. 3:00 AM: Gusty winds have now changed to a steady blow of about 25-28 knots. I head for the sack; Larry and Joel take the next watch. However, nerves have me up and down checking our bumpers and mooring lines. 4:45 AM: A very large sailboat to our starboard and near the east side of the anchorage dragged anchor, becomes entangled in mooring lines and is crashing into several power boats secured to mooring buoys. The Coast Guard arrives once again (same rescue crew as before) to offer assistance. Overheard on the radio is a C.G. request to the power boaters to cast off/cut their mooring lines from buoys in an attempt to untangle the mess and prevent further damage. The power boaters (not-so-politely) decline, indicating that it was the large sailboat who dropped anchor in their vicinity. They suggest the C.G. tow sailboat away from trouble. However, the small rigid inflatable does not have the bulk or power to handle the task. A small C.G. cutter is dispatched and the sailboat is moved. 6:30 AM: Dawn is finally here! I am nauseous from being up all night and the constant motion of the boat. The wind is now down to about 20-22 knots, waves at 1.5-2 feet. Larry and Joel hop in an inflatable and head for shore to rescue a mooing bumper lost during the night. Upon their return, the consensus of the entire group is to head back to Ballena Bay and have breakfast. 7:15 AM: There is much discussion about best way out of the anchorage. There is still the myriad of lines to mooring buoys, and we are way back in the bay. We decided to go to the outside, paralleling the west (rocky) shore. "Ixia" is off first, then "Purrrfect," finally "Tournesol." Everything goes smoothly. It’s not too often that one departs Ayala Cove exceeding 5 knots. 7:45 AM: We have all managed to clear the anchorage. We head east, and then south. Waves are about 3 feet, winds at 30 knots out of the north, but the sky is clear and we are on a broad reach. "Ixia" and "Purrrfect" are sailing only under a 60% jib and making about 7-8 knots. "Tournesol" begins to raise a double-reefed main and their rigid boom vang shears off. They also raise a 60% jib. The sailing is great. We are all very tired, but are finally managing to get relaxed – even somewhat exhilarated. 8:30 AM: As we approach the Bay Bridge, the wind begins to drop to about 15-17 knots. We all are now under 110% jib, no main. This is getting to be fun. 9 – 10 AM: We are all still together, in the vicinity of the "Hornet," and it’s beginning to really blow. Suddenly, we are hit with a 40-knot gust that puts the starboard rail way under and we round up severely. First "Purrrfect", then "Tournesol", and then "Ixia." We reef the jib down to about 30%, but are still overpowered. It’s time to douse the sail and motor that last mile. "Ixia" has trouble with her jib and can’t get it retracted; it’s quickly shredded. They head off the wind, moving towards the lee of an anchored freighter where they sort things out. The winds are rapidly rising and within 3-4 minutes reach a steady 35 - 40 knots. "Purrrfect" and "Tournesol" struggle back to the shelter of the marina. We are all worried about "Ixia." 10:30 AM: Safely back in the slips. "Tournesol" came in ‘hot’ due to a substantial tail wind. Full reverse for about 10 seconds did little to halt forward motion. No damage to the dock or the bow, however. We are safe. There are white caps in the fairways, boats secured in slips are heeling 15-20 degrees, and winds are reported to be gusting to 70 knots near the harbor entrance. Time for a beer. No, better make that 3 beers. Noon: Aboard "Tournesol" for breakfast consisting primarily of greasy bacon. Gads, it tasted good! We are all zombies. 5 PM: "Ixia" returns, safe, but sans 1 jib. The wind has dropped and it’s a glorious October day. Did all this really happen? Who cares…it’s going to make a great story!
The 1998 Fourth of July Blow-Down! We had anchored for the night in a place called Frog Bay, which was a nice tight little bay with good protection from winds coming from the South through the North West. It was around 4pm, and there were sever thunderstorms forecast earlier, but recent forecasts had begun to sound more ominous, with very high wind bursts sustained at 80kts or more being reported up wind of us. We rigged for high winds, by laying out 150ft. of rode with 30ft. of chain on a CQR and then added a 40lb riding anchor (Sentinel or kellet) down about 75ft. on the rode. This weight gave our rig additional catenary in high winds, and absorbed some of the shock loading in large gusts. Additionally, we also flew an anchor sail from our backstay, which kept our bow aligned to the direction of the winds, almost eliminating the 'sailing' which the hull would do at anchor. We were anchored in 20ft of water over a sand bottom. Our boat is a full keel Cape Dory 30, weighing 10,000 lbs. dry. Around 5pm. the cumulus clouds and distant rumbling thunder were evident on a continuous basis, so we rigged our cockpit tent which goes over the boom, and down over the sides of the lifelines, keeping wind driven rain from the cockpit area, and allowing us to sit outside during the storm. By 7pm, the anvil top of what would become the first of 9 mezocyclone systems to walk through us over the next 12 hours showed over our local horizon. It had to be 60,000 ft tall, and reached out perhaps 50 miles in front of the storm. But the most arresting sight I have ever witnessed in 30 years of sailing was that this anvil top, usually flat and thin, was actually being driven downwards past the face of the approaching thunderstorm at about a 30 degree angle, all the way to the water, where it impinged and exploded into a white wall that extended as far as we could see to the Minnesota border, 75 miles across Superior. This was due ot the upper jet winds being diverted downwards in a microburst, carrying this anvil top with it. The 150 kt winds it carried rolled across Superior, causing the Coast Guard to become almost over emotional (considering their robotic normal mannerisms on the radio) in warning mariners in the path of this storm to get ashore, even if it means abandoning your vessel. Special warnings were being given for all maritime traffic in the vacinity of Isle Royale National Park to get to shelter now as they had 150 mph winds approaching at 40 kts! This was the worst storm I have heard them describe on the VHF, and it was clear that they were impressed with it also. The winds soon picked up in the anchorage, going form a gentle 5kt westerly, to 50 kts from the north as the first of 9 fronts came through. The northern winds were clearly not obstructed by many of the islands in the Apostle Islands (where we were at), quickly growing thru 5ft. in the anchorage. The rain began in earnest, as did the hail..small stuff really, so no problem from that. Fifteen minutes into the storm, the winds started to rotate clockwise, and began to lighten up to 40 kts from the NE, then 35kts from the East, then 20 kts from the SE, then 5 kts from the west, allowing the anchorage to settle down. This rotation took 1 hour to do approximately. Thinking that it was all over, we turned to the VHF weather radio again, only to hear of tornado warnings all around us, and severe winds coming again, in 15 minutes. We watched as the same high winds blew from the north causing the 5ft seas to build again, then rotating clockwise thru the next 60 minutes to near zero. I had on my foulies, life vest and harness and spent the entire night sitting in the compnaionway listening to the VHF..the CG was very busy, trying to rescue several boats. There were maydays from across the lake. Weather statements every 15 minutes. "Special Very-Very Severe Thunderstorm Warnings" from the Coast Guard are a rarity..and we heard it 9 times over the next 10 hours or so. We reanchored twice during the night, trying for some better protection from the north winds that came with such ferocity, but every time the anchor rotated thru 360 degrees, we lost about 15-20 ft. towards shore in the resetting process, and finally, by dawn, I found that we were so close to shore that I could have waded ashore from the dinghy at the end of it's painter. The upshot of this storm was that when it hit the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness of Northern Minnesota, that first 150 kt blow knocked down 2.3 million trees! It stacked old growth trees 10-15 ft deep throughout most of the Boundary Waters area, trapping 3000 backpackers and canoers up there for a week or more. Many, many cars, left at the trailheads were destroyed and buried under tons of trees falling on them. Thankfully only one person lost their life..a small child was killed by a falling tree. We ended up fine, but very tired, as we were both up the entire night, listening to the radio, and guarding the boat. Larry DeMers
Lightning and Underwear
Here's the short version: We (myself, wife, and 2-year-old) anchor in Spa Creek (Annapolis) Memorial Day weekend at sunset with absolutely no wind. Looked like a calm night, so I didn't pay as much attention to the anchor as I should have. Turned in for the night. In the pre-dawn hours, a thunderstorm rolls in. The thunder wakes me, so I get up to check on the baby & the boat's position. Tough to see in the dark. Bolt of lightning - I can see the other boats. Another bolt - that big boat on the mooring looks closer. Another bolt - yep, its coming closer, but its we who are moving. Another bolt - oh Jeez, we're gonna bump! I shot up on deck in my underwear to fend in the pouring rain. In my haste, I forgot my glasses, so I can't see anything smaller than the dinghy. I fended off the moored boat, and ran for the anchor. While hanging on the forestay in a lightning storm, I hauled in the anchor, hoping I wasn't going to replicate Ben Franklin's experiment with electricity. I fired up the motor and called for my wife to hand me my glasses. I located a vacant mooring, and tied up for the rest of the night. Happy ending, though. No electrocutions, and the baby slept through the whole thing!
Rob McLaughlin
Here's the short version: We (myself, wife, and 2-year-old) anchor in Spa Creek (Annapolis) Memorial Day weekend at sunset with absolutely no wind. Looked like a calm night, so I didn't pay as much attention to the anchor as I should have. Turned in for the night. In the pre-dawn hours, a thunderstorm rolls in. The thunder wakes me, so I get up to check on the baby & the boat's position. Tough to see in the dark. Bolt of lightning - I can see the other boats. Another bolt - that big boat on the mooring looks closer. Another bolt - yep, its coming closer, but its we who are moving. Another bolt - oh Jeez, we're gonna bump! I shot up on deck in my underwear to fend in the pouring rain. In my haste, I forgot my glasses, so I can't see anything smaller than the dinghy. I fended off the moored boat, and ran for the anchor. While hanging on the forestay in a lightning storm, I hauled in the anchor, hoping I wasn't going to replicate Ben Franklin's experiment with electricity. I fired up the motor and called for my wife to hand me my glasses. I located a vacant mooring, and tied up for the rest of the night. Happy ending, though. No electrocutions, and the baby slept through the whole thing!
Rob McLaughlinWorst night?
I've been sailing for about 37 years and there have been so many "worst" nights that it's difficult to pick one. I think that the common denominator has always been unexpected weather at anchor - usually in a bay with no lights on a pitch-black night. Standing on the deck with a flashlight (a poor insturment for the conditions) in driving rain and wind, trying to figure out whether or not you are dragging, is not fun. I can remember one time that we dragged the anchor until our stern was about twenty feet from some farmer's dock. On that occasion, our Danforth clone had picked up a bunch of metal banding that had been dumped on the harbor floor. That time we picked up the anchor and started to leave the harbor at about 3AM. We had gone about a hundred yards and found a calm spot. The farmer rowed out to inform us that we had anchored in the only spot in the bay that got wind - some kind of local funneling. I do note that the number of these incidents have decreased over the years. With experience, you use better ground tackle and get to recognize potentially dangerous situations. New boaters always tend to use insufficient scope - particularly apparent in marine parks, where people just keep crowding in, long after the anchorage is "full". New folks never seem to have another plan.
I've been sailing for about 37 years and there have been so many "worst" nights that it's difficult to pick one. I think that the common denominator has always been unexpected weather at anchor - usually in a bay with no lights on a pitch-black night. Standing on the deck with a flashlight (a poor insturment for the conditions) in driving rain and wind, trying to figure out whether or not you are dragging, is not fun. I can remember one time that we dragged the anchor until our stern was about twenty feet from some farmer's dock. On that occasion, our Danforth clone had picked up a bunch of metal banding that had been dumped on the harbor floor. That time we picked up the anchor and started to leave the harbor at about 3AM. We had gone about a hundred yards and found a calm spot. The farmer rowed out to inform us that we had anchored in the only spot in the bay that got wind - some kind of local funneling. I do note that the number of these incidents have decreased over the years. With experience, you use better ground tackle and get to recognize potentially dangerous situations. New boaters always tend to use insufficient scope - particularly apparent in marine parks, where people just keep crowding in, long after the anchorage is "full". New folks never seem to have another plan.
A Nor'Easter on the hook
We had chartered a boat on the Abermarle sound over Thanksgiving. 2 days after boarding the boat a Noreaster moved in. Luckily the boat was a heavy bluewater cruiser. Unwilling to give up to the weather we triple reefed the main and flew the small inner foresail. The boat sailed like a dream. Do to the shallow waters it got rough, but the waves never got over 10 ft. We headed up the River to Elizabeth town dead into the wind. The motor wasn't running right so we couldn't get full power. After trying to make headway for a couple of hours it was obvious we weren't getting anywhere. We pulled out of the channel and dropped both anchors. One a 45lb plow and a 45lb danforth. The plow had all chain, the danforth had 25' of chain. We were in 7 foot of water and ran out 150' rode on both anchors. We looked at the wind and the angle we were setting, if we drug we had about 20 miles before we hit anything so were fairly secure knowing that. We had a few heavy bangs in the night and occasionally bow would bob and pop back up sending a strong jolt throught the entire boat. About 2am we were awakened by a scene that looked like something out of Apocolypse Now. Flares everywhere, Helicopters with search lites, everything. Concerned they were worried about us we got on the VHF and informed them we were fine. It turns out the Coast Guard had decided to run foul weather training about 1 mile up stream. They didn't even know we were there. The winds eased about 5:30am. In the morning we discovered we had drug about 200 yards. The anchors were burried so deep in the muck it took about an hour to get them back aboard. Overall it was very exciting.
We had chartered a boat on the Abermarle sound over Thanksgiving. 2 days after boarding the boat a Noreaster moved in. Luckily the boat was a heavy bluewater cruiser. Unwilling to give up to the weather we triple reefed the main and flew the small inner foresail. The boat sailed like a dream. Do to the shallow waters it got rough, but the waves never got over 10 ft. We headed up the River to Elizabeth town dead into the wind. The motor wasn't running right so we couldn't get full power. After trying to make headway for a couple of hours it was obvious we weren't getting anywhere. We pulled out of the channel and dropped both anchors. One a 45lb plow and a 45lb danforth. The plow had all chain, the danforth had 25' of chain. We were in 7 foot of water and ran out 150' rode on both anchors. We looked at the wind and the angle we were setting, if we drug we had about 20 miles before we hit anything so were fairly secure knowing that. We had a few heavy bangs in the night and occasionally bow would bob and pop back up sending a strong jolt throught the entire boat. About 2am we were awakened by a scene that looked like something out of Apocolypse Now. Flares everywhere, Helicopters with search lites, everything. Concerned they were worried about us we got on the VHF and informed them we were fine. It turns out the Coast Guard had decided to run foul weather training about 1 mile up stream. They didn't even know we were there. The winds eased about 5:30am. In the morning we discovered we had drug about 200 yards. The anchors were burried so deep in the muck it took about an hour to get them back aboard. Overall it was very exciting.
Lake Texhoma Night From Hell
This doesn't quite involve a Sailboat, but I am restoring one as I write this. I was out on Texhoma by myself in a 24' Cuddy with Fly Bridge. Got out to the area that I planned to Anchor for the weekend, and do a little catfishing, and get a little work done. Got out about 8:am, dropped and set anchor, fished for a couple of hours with no luck. Water was a little rough, maybe 1-2 foot waves, nothing the boat could handle. Decided to climb in the cabin and take a short knap. About 3:00 or so I woke up, and the boat was being tossed, items in the galley were falling, I could barely stand to get outside. When I got on deck the sky's were black, lightening striking all around me. The Anchor was holding, but every time the bow come over the top of a wave it would bury it's self. I decided that I would try to make it into one of the nearby coves that could at least shelter me from the winds. Went forward to pull the anchor, the first time the bow went under I decided that the anchor wasn't worth fighting for so I cut it free. Then got up top on the bridge, got my orientation down, and started trying to tac into the nearest cove, progress was slow, visibility was bad and getting worse, there seemed to be no letup of the storm. Finally after about an hour of fighting this I was able to see the cove that I was trying to get to, got inside, quickly grabbed my day anchor, tossed it overboard, said a small prayer asking that it hold long enough for this storm to blow over. Fortunately, this cove was well sheltered, and the water was calm in comparison, I could see that the day anchor was going to hold, so I went below to see how bad things were, and to begin cleaning the mess. Got everything picked up, saw that the bilge pump was making way on the water, so I sat back and tried to relax. I was so wore out that I dozed off to sleep again. When I woke a couple of hours later I climed out on deck to find that I was in my original anchor location, the skies were blue, not a cloud in site. To this day I still do not believe that this was all a dream, but the evidence still points to it.
This doesn't quite involve a Sailboat, but I am restoring one as I write this. I was out on Texhoma by myself in a 24' Cuddy with Fly Bridge. Got out to the area that I planned to Anchor for the weekend, and do a little catfishing, and get a little work done. Got out about 8:am, dropped and set anchor, fished for a couple of hours with no luck. Water was a little rough, maybe 1-2 foot waves, nothing the boat could handle. Decided to climb in the cabin and take a short knap. About 3:00 or so I woke up, and the boat was being tossed, items in the galley were falling, I could barely stand to get outside. When I got on deck the sky's were black, lightening striking all around me. The Anchor was holding, but every time the bow come over the top of a wave it would bury it's self. I decided that I would try to make it into one of the nearby coves that could at least shelter me from the winds. Went forward to pull the anchor, the first time the bow went under I decided that the anchor wasn't worth fighting for so I cut it free. Then got up top on the bridge, got my orientation down, and started trying to tac into the nearest cove, progress was slow, visibility was bad and getting worse, there seemed to be no letup of the storm. Finally after about an hour of fighting this I was able to see the cove that I was trying to get to, got inside, quickly grabbed my day anchor, tossed it overboard, said a small prayer asking that it hold long enough for this storm to blow over. Fortunately, this cove was well sheltered, and the water was calm in comparison, I could see that the day anchor was going to hold, so I went below to see how bad things were, and to begin cleaning the mess. Got everything picked up, saw that the bilge pump was making way on the water, so I sat back and tried to relax. I was so wore out that I dozed off to sleep again. When I woke a couple of hours later I climed out on deck to find that I was in my original anchor location, the skies were blue, not a cloud in site. To this day I still do not believe that this was all a dream, but the evidence still points to it.
Moonlit on Matagorda
Being an avid offshore sailor and fisherman, it's sometimes hard to think of an inland bay posing a dangerous threat to my vessel and crew. However, Matagorda Bay on the central Texas coast has claimed many wrecks, large sailing ships of old. This particular evening, we were planning our long awaited moonlit cruise in my first "crusing boat" a 33' Hunter. As we embarked on our 1 hour motor out of the channel from our marina to open sailing waters of Matagorda Bay, the wind was picking up steadily. By the time I arrived at channel marker 45 where we make our left turn into the Bay, my "little" 33' boat was being raised out of the water like a ski boat on a rough lake. But still determined (and stupid), I made the turn through the narrow channel between spoil banks and hoisted my foresail only as I sailed out into open bay at about 50 deg to the wind. The light 10 knot winds at the marina had turned into 25 plus with 5 x 5 very steep waves. After about 10 minutes of getting hammered, soaked and my girls down below not giving a hang about the full moon, I decided to turn back (I had accomplished my moonlit cruise fantasy). As I normally do, I fired up my engine to navagate the very narrow cut back into the Matagorda ship channel. It is not marked and difficult by day, so making it at night was doubly difficult. As murphys law goes, all the pounding had stirred up the gunk in my diesel tank and at the worst time possible, the engine died. Since we had a lee shore 1/2 mile away, my first instinct was to drop my 33 lb bruce and get my engine started. This anchor was way over rated for a 33' Hunter, but being a power boater most of my life, I believe you can never have too much anchor. And thank goodness for the 33 bruce, because it stuck fast and held us in the 30 knot winds and 5 ft pounding muddy seas. The short of it, I never got the engine started, it was 1 am, I was tired, a little disoriented so we stayed put...and got the unique experience of sleeping (trying to) in a very light boat in very powerful water. The anchor held all night, the winds subsided to 20 knots by morning, the engine started (just long enough to get in the channel) and we sailed all the way back to the marina and into our slip, through several tight "L" turns. And as all experiences like this, I am a better (and wiser) sailor from it.
Being an avid offshore sailor and fisherman, it's sometimes hard to think of an inland bay posing a dangerous threat to my vessel and crew. However, Matagorda Bay on the central Texas coast has claimed many wrecks, large sailing ships of old. This particular evening, we were planning our long awaited moonlit cruise in my first "crusing boat" a 33' Hunter. As we embarked on our 1 hour motor out of the channel from our marina to open sailing waters of Matagorda Bay, the wind was picking up steadily. By the time I arrived at channel marker 45 where we make our left turn into the Bay, my "little" 33' boat was being raised out of the water like a ski boat on a rough lake. But still determined (and stupid), I made the turn through the narrow channel between spoil banks and hoisted my foresail only as I sailed out into open bay at about 50 deg to the wind. The light 10 knot winds at the marina had turned into 25 plus with 5 x 5 very steep waves. After about 10 minutes of getting hammered, soaked and my girls down below not giving a hang about the full moon, I decided to turn back (I had accomplished my moonlit cruise fantasy). As I normally do, I fired up my engine to navagate the very narrow cut back into the Matagorda ship channel. It is not marked and difficult by day, so making it at night was doubly difficult. As murphys law goes, all the pounding had stirred up the gunk in my diesel tank and at the worst time possible, the engine died. Since we had a lee shore 1/2 mile away, my first instinct was to drop my 33 lb bruce and get my engine started. This anchor was way over rated for a 33' Hunter, but being a power boater most of my life, I believe you can never have too much anchor. And thank goodness for the 33 bruce, because it stuck fast and held us in the 30 knot winds and 5 ft pounding muddy seas. The short of it, I never got the engine started, it was 1 am, I was tired, a little disoriented so we stayed put...and got the unique experience of sleeping (trying to) in a very light boat in very powerful water. The anchor held all night, the winds subsided to 20 knots by morning, the engine started (just long enough to get in the channel) and we sailed all the way back to the marina and into our slip, through several tight "L" turns. And as all experiences like this, I am a better (and wiser) sailor from it.
Anchoring
I never sleep well while anchoring. And this is when the weather is reasonably good. If the weather is unstable I don't sleep at all. I lay there and listen and feel the boat's sounds all night long. On the other hand, if I'm on someone else's boat I have noted they don't sleep well and then I do. I guess it's the captain's responsibility. Bill Hamilton whdvm@aol.com
I never sleep well while anchoring. And this is when the weather is reasonably good. If the weather is unstable I don't sleep at all. I lay there and listen and feel the boat's sounds all night long. On the other hand, if I'm on someone else's boat I have noted they don't sleep well and then I do. I guess it's the captain's responsibility. Bill Hamilton whdvm@aol.com
Shipwreck in Smuggler's Cove
New Year's Eve in 1978 after I had my first sailboat (24" 1/4ton) only a few months. Uneventful sail out from Oxnard, nice evening but work to rough weather during the night due to Santa Anna winds. The other sailboat in the cove raised anchor and wisely left. Had no radio so had no idea what was coming. Had waves breaking over the bow in the morning so we started the outboard, raised the anchor and tried to motor out. Did not get far due to the prop being out more than in so dropped two anchors and tired to ride it out. Late that day, put the wife into the inflatible and before I could get in, a wave took in out of my hands, folded it in half and deposited her on shore nearly dry. I stuffed 2 sleeping bags into the inflatible bag, donned two lifejackets and jumped in. Spent a horrible cold night in the old adoble building listening to the wind and the javelinas outside. In the morning, the boat was up on the rocks, bottom cracked, keel imbedded into the gravel and no motor. CG came by later in the day but too rough to land so we got a CG helicopter ride. I was amazed at the pilot's skill to land in the high winds between the cliff and trees. Made front page of the LA Times! I still have the tiller!
New Year's Eve in 1978 after I had my first sailboat (24" 1/4ton) only a few months. Uneventful sail out from Oxnard, nice evening but work to rough weather during the night due to Santa Anna winds. The other sailboat in the cove raised anchor and wisely left. Had no radio so had no idea what was coming. Had waves breaking over the bow in the morning so we started the outboard, raised the anchor and tried to motor out. Did not get far due to the prop being out more than in so dropped two anchors and tired to ride it out. Late that day, put the wife into the inflatible and before I could get in, a wave took in out of my hands, folded it in half and deposited her on shore nearly dry. I stuffed 2 sleeping bags into the inflatible bag, donned two lifejackets and jumped in. Spent a horrible cold night in the old adoble building listening to the wind and the javelinas outside. In the morning, the boat was up on the rocks, bottom cracked, keel imbedded into the gravel and no motor. CG came by later in the day but too rough to land so we got a CG helicopter ride. I was amazed at the pilot's skill to land in the high winds between the cliff and trees. Made front page of the LA Times! I still have the tiller!
A repeat of two weeks ago, yes, a night of hell...
After reading some of the stories, I have to repost this one. I do feel better having read them. „h 10-4-02, Took the boat out with little to no wind at all. A little was blowing from the S but not much. We intended to anchor out for the night¡K so we motor-sailed to south of the plant and Mrs. Fowlers house and found a spot just out side of the crab pots. About 12-13 feet of water. There was another two hours before low tide, so I planned for the current of an incoming tide, so I positioned the boat - SSE with the big anchor off the bow and smaller anchor off the stern. We put up the screen cover over the companionway to let the air in¡K It was a warm day. Bon heated crab soup for dinner. We were sitting eating the soup noticing the wind so starting to blow and cool things down. Felt good. The wind got harder and harder and the waves started to hit the back of the boat. The wind was blowing out of the NE so the waves were hitting the port stern. Not good. The water was breaking over the stern and coming through the screen door. I put up the door, but the cover is about a foot higher then the door and the water was still coming in. Not easily, we changed the screen to the plastic, but the plastic piece had nothing to fasten to the door¡K so the water still was coming in. With great difficulty we took the cover off and shut up the boat hatches. By this time the boat was lifting and falling at least 3 if not 4 feet. We were exhausted and Bon was getting sick. I sat there, shut my eyes and wandered what I was going to do. We were trapped. It was dark. The wind was blowing a good 20 knots. The waves were a good 3 foot-hitting me in the butt, exploding over the cockpit. I¡¦ve got two anchors holding me in place¡K hopefully; at least I¡¦m not going anywhere. It is the smaller anchor that¡¦s holding us! It¡¦s only 8:00! Bon went into the bathroom and stayed there till about 2 or 3 in the morning, before she came out and lied down on the seat. I just sat there till about 1 and I finally laid down using my junk bag and a pillow. I had been dozing off, but only for moments at a time. The water hitting the back of the boat sounded like a cannon. By morning, the wind had died to a 10-15 knot, still from the NE and the waves maybe 1-2 feet. How do I get us out of here? The high waves were still washing over the cockpit. So, wetsuit on, with a good Columbia rain coat, life jacket, tether line. Can¡¦t move¡K I checked the anchor lines and the bow anchor was slack. The smaller anchor had been holding us all night. First start the motor. That¡¦s been getting washed over for the last 12 hours. We had at least one light on most of the night, so I used the pull cord. It¡¦s a Honda 9.9 and it started in about 4 pulls. I pulled the stern anchor up first; thinking the wind would start swinging us around and I¡¦d motor over the bow anchor. With the stern anchor up and over top the bow anchor the motor died. I started it again. It ran for a couple of minutes and it died again. 4 or 5 times this happened. I looked at the gas tank and it had turned upside down. I up righted the tank and started pulling the cord again. Still it would run for a couple minutes and then die. I had managed not to get sick all night, but hanging over the boat did it. I got sick. Not good. Those two crackers and three swallows of coke I had for breakfast are out of here¡K Ok, My wife says maybe something is wrong with the gas. Hmmm, I¡¦ve run with this gas for a couple of hours and it was fine, but maybe the upside down thing did something. I shifted to my reserve tank. It started ran for a couple minutes and died. Hmmm, maybe water in the line. I started it again and it stayed running. Thank you, God! I pulled up the bow anchor and we motored home. Looks like a nice day for sailing ¡V Naaaaa¡K Locked her up and went home. Late that afternoon, after getting ourselves cleaned up, taking naps and eating some light food; we went back to the boat and cleaned her up. Not a good weekend. Rule One - Never- Never anchor directly on the bay !!!
After reading some of the stories, I have to repost this one. I do feel better having read them. „h 10-4-02, Took the boat out with little to no wind at all. A little was blowing from the S but not much. We intended to anchor out for the night¡K so we motor-sailed to south of the plant and Mrs. Fowlers house and found a spot just out side of the crab pots. About 12-13 feet of water. There was another two hours before low tide, so I planned for the current of an incoming tide, so I positioned the boat - SSE with the big anchor off the bow and smaller anchor off the stern. We put up the screen cover over the companionway to let the air in¡K It was a warm day. Bon heated crab soup for dinner. We were sitting eating the soup noticing the wind so starting to blow and cool things down. Felt good. The wind got harder and harder and the waves started to hit the back of the boat. The wind was blowing out of the NE so the waves were hitting the port stern. Not good. The water was breaking over the stern and coming through the screen door. I put up the door, but the cover is about a foot higher then the door and the water was still coming in. Not easily, we changed the screen to the plastic, but the plastic piece had nothing to fasten to the door¡K so the water still was coming in. With great difficulty we took the cover off and shut up the boat hatches. By this time the boat was lifting and falling at least 3 if not 4 feet. We were exhausted and Bon was getting sick. I sat there, shut my eyes and wandered what I was going to do. We were trapped. It was dark. The wind was blowing a good 20 knots. The waves were a good 3 foot-hitting me in the butt, exploding over the cockpit. I¡¦ve got two anchors holding me in place¡K hopefully; at least I¡¦m not going anywhere. It is the smaller anchor that¡¦s holding us! It¡¦s only 8:00! Bon went into the bathroom and stayed there till about 2 or 3 in the morning, before she came out and lied down on the seat. I just sat there till about 1 and I finally laid down using my junk bag and a pillow. I had been dozing off, but only for moments at a time. The water hitting the back of the boat sounded like a cannon. By morning, the wind had died to a 10-15 knot, still from the NE and the waves maybe 1-2 feet. How do I get us out of here? The high waves were still washing over the cockpit. So, wetsuit on, with a good Columbia rain coat, life jacket, tether line. Can¡¦t move¡K I checked the anchor lines and the bow anchor was slack. The smaller anchor had been holding us all night. First start the motor. That¡¦s been getting washed over for the last 12 hours. We had at least one light on most of the night, so I used the pull cord. It¡¦s a Honda 9.9 and it started in about 4 pulls. I pulled the stern anchor up first; thinking the wind would start swinging us around and I¡¦d motor over the bow anchor. With the stern anchor up and over top the bow anchor the motor died. I started it again. It ran for a couple of minutes and it died again. 4 or 5 times this happened. I looked at the gas tank and it had turned upside down. I up righted the tank and started pulling the cord again. Still it would run for a couple minutes and then die. I had managed not to get sick all night, but hanging over the boat did it. I got sick. Not good. Those two crackers and three swallows of coke I had for breakfast are out of here¡K Ok, My wife says maybe something is wrong with the gas. Hmmm, I¡¦ve run with this gas for a couple of hours and it was fine, but maybe the upside down thing did something. I shifted to my reserve tank. It started ran for a couple minutes and died. Hmmm, maybe water in the line. I started it again and it stayed running. Thank you, God! I pulled up the bow anchor and we motored home. Looks like a nice day for sailing ¡V Naaaaa¡K Locked her up and went home. Late that afternoon, after getting ourselves cleaned up, taking naps and eating some light food; we went back to the boat and cleaned her up. Not a good weekend. Rule One - Never- Never anchor directly on the bay !!!
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