There's an old saying that a bad day on the water is better than a good day in the office. Is that really true? What was your worst day on the water? What made it bad? High winds? Fog? Seasickness? Running aground? Doing something dumb? Mechanical problems? Getting lost? All of the above? Would you rather have been in your office that day? Share your stories and experiences then vote in this week's Quick Quiz at the bottom of the home page. (Quiz contributed by Gary Wyngarden)
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The sun was shining, the wind was brisk and we were looking for a good day on the water. On the way out my motor quit, the wind pushed us aground before I could drop the anchor and when I tried to call for help my radio died! We sat there for three hours until another sailboat called the towing service for us (since the local fishermen could not care less about our predicament). Having gone through all this I still feel that a day sailing beats a day in the office hands down!
UP THE BAY WITHOUT AND ENGINE
Rainy day with a planned trip from Norfolk, Va to Point Lookout, Md. Arrived at the boat 0600 after driving all night from PA. Forgot the keys and had to hacksaw off the lock thank god for 24 hour K-marts. Got a quick nap and headed to the fuel dock in pouring down rain to fill the tank. Underway north on the bay at 1137. All well, a little rough until one hour out. With the wind and seas out of the north, on power, what else the engine died. Water in the fuel from leaving the gas cap off after fueling. Up with the sails, tacking for eight hours straight and making 0 headway north only sailing back and forth the same latitude from Mob Jack Bay to the Western shore. Night fall, very little visability, weather warning insisting the wind will change to N-NE around 2100. Caught in the channel with no were to go, finally at 2115, like clock work, the winds changed, the rain stoped and sailing north was possible. 0545, the winds died completely. The bay was the flattest I have ever seen. With nothing around except some spotlights from the local fishing fleets, I went below to work on the engine. Up and down, starting the engine and listening to it die, draining the fuel/water separater, blowing down the lines and venting. Finally, at 0730 the engine started and kept running. A quick drop below to secure the mess I made and back up on deck. Just in time to avoid the massive cargo ship that was steaming down my stern. Perhaps a miss of 100yds or less. Turned port just in time. Only getting 3000 rpm without causing the engine to die, I putted into Point lookout at 1237. Expecting to see my wife on the dock waiting anxiously, she too had a miserable time and found herself lost finding the marina. She was only 2 hours late. 24 hours of the worst sailing adventure I have ever been on as a solo sailor. Still, more fun than sitting in an office. At least I felt physically, mentally, emotionally challenged and satisfied.
Rainy day with a planned trip from Norfolk, Va to Point Lookout, Md. Arrived at the boat 0600 after driving all night from PA. Forgot the keys and had to hacksaw off the lock thank god for 24 hour K-marts. Got a quick nap and headed to the fuel dock in pouring down rain to fill the tank. Underway north on the bay at 1137. All well, a little rough until one hour out. With the wind and seas out of the north, on power, what else the engine died. Water in the fuel from leaving the gas cap off after fueling. Up with the sails, tacking for eight hours straight and making 0 headway north only sailing back and forth the same latitude from Mob Jack Bay to the Western shore. Night fall, very little visability, weather warning insisting the wind will change to N-NE around 2100. Caught in the channel with no were to go, finally at 2115, like clock work, the winds changed, the rain stoped and sailing north was possible. 0545, the winds died completely. The bay was the flattest I have ever seen. With nothing around except some spotlights from the local fishing fleets, I went below to work on the engine. Up and down, starting the engine and listening to it die, draining the fuel/water separater, blowing down the lines and venting. Finally, at 0730 the engine started and kept running. A quick drop below to secure the mess I made and back up on deck. Just in time to avoid the massive cargo ship that was steaming down my stern. Perhaps a miss of 100yds or less. Turned port just in time. Only getting 3000 rpm without causing the engine to die, I putted into Point lookout at 1237. Expecting to see my wife on the dock waiting anxiously, she too had a miserable time and found herself lost finding the marina. She was only 2 hours late. 24 hours of the worst sailing adventure I have ever been on as a solo sailor. Still, more fun than sitting in an office. At least I felt physically, mentally, emotionally challenged and satisfied.
No starter, no rudder.
While entertaining(?) my future son-in-law's parents the winds kicked up. Daughter's future husband AND father-in-law were looking a little green, thought best if we head in. Maybe the third time out on this boat and had the sails furled and flaked BEFORE starting the engine. Less than 50 yards off a rocky lee shore the engine fails to start! I ran up half a main and asked the crew(what crew?) to take the helm while I replaced the fuse I knew had blown. Before I could get to the engine they said the wheel wouldn't turn. All of this was happening with two sick crew and five footers throwing the boat around!! Fortunately I had checked the anchor and rode and it was ready for quick deployment. So less than 100 feet from the lighthouse rocks would a Danforth and some old manila rode hold a 20000# boat in five footers? If it hadn't I probably wouldn't be writing this.
Well the "crew" had turned the wheel so hard that the peg on the quandrant was wedged under the stop. Found this the next day. BoatUS had some trouble towing us with a right-angle rudder! The "in-laws" have never returned.
While entertaining(?) my future son-in-law's parents the winds kicked up. Daughter's future husband AND father-in-law were looking a little green, thought best if we head in. Maybe the third time out on this boat and had the sails furled and flaked BEFORE starting the engine. Less than 50 yards off a rocky lee shore the engine fails to start! I ran up half a main and asked the crew(what crew?) to take the helm while I replaced the fuse I knew had blown. Before I could get to the engine they said the wheel wouldn't turn. All of this was happening with two sick crew and five footers throwing the boat around!! Fortunately I had checked the anchor and rode and it was ready for quick deployment. So less than 100 feet from the lighthouse rocks would a Danforth and some old manila rode hold a 20000# boat in five footers? If it hadn't I probably wouldn't be writing this.
Well the "crew" had turned the wheel so hard that the peg on the quandrant was wedged under the stop. Found this the next day. BoatUS had some trouble towing us with a right-angle rudder! The "in-laws" have never returned.Unforgiving Chesapeak Bay
After purchasing my catalina 30, we motored about half way down the Potomic river. That's when it all started. First to go was the transmission with about 30 miles to go to the bay and with no wind. We anchored for the night at St Mary's city. Entering the bay the next morning around Point Lookout the wind was blowing 18-23 knots out of the north. Around 4p.m. we passed Point No Point lighthouse. The wind had increased to 25-30 knots with seas 4-6 feet sometimes larger, this is in a gale in November. As night fell, and the tide at mid-bay as everyone knows who sails or fishs the bay, the current can flow at speeds of 4 knots especially with a full moon which broke through the storm clouds every so often. After tacking to the eastern shore and attempting to enter the Patuxent River for the fourth time, due to wind and current while crossing the bay, we decided to head back across to the eastern shore. Oh, I forgot to mention my mate that was with me injured his ribs and was in some serious pain. The seas were now at about 6-8 feet in the middle of the channel with wind gust 35-40 knots. As we creeped up the eastern shore past Cove Point lighthouse which we could just make out on the western shore, we decided to head north a little longer to give us extra assurance that we would make the Patuxent river channel. As we approched a channel marker which would pass on the port side, my mate shouted Fish Trap! about 5 feet of the bow. Fish traps on the bay can range from small poles with diameters of 1 inch to 6 inches, these were the 6 inch diameter poles. As any sailor would do, I tried to tack, but with not enough speed the boat fell off to starboard. As the boom jibed, the mainsail let go with a bang, it was doubled reefed. I also saw the traveler bow to an unpresided level and thought to myself, I cant't believe that it's still there! As if that were not bad enough, the head sail, a 135 genoa which we had reefed suddenly deployed as the roller furling system failed due the jibe. So, here we are on the eastern shore just north of Cove Point lighthouse. I make the decision to make our way back across the bay to the western shore. As we approach mid channel a large container ship is steaming down the bay. In the middle of the night, a gale blowing, no forward gear on the transmission, seas 6-8 feet and now a container ship barrleing down on us. Well we survived the container ship just barely, I don't think anyone was driving or on the bridge. Anyway, we make it back over to the western shore. We are just south of the Patuxent river by a couple of miles. At this time I deployed the anchor and checked the roller furling system to see why the head sail would not role up. I had a ball of 3/8" line wrapped anyway it could around the drum. The head sail was flapping in the wind so hard it busted all the rollers on the spreaders off. The sail was impacting the spreaders with such force I decided to cut the halyard that holds the headsail up on the furling track to prevent the head sail from ripping. Needless to say there went our only means of tranportation. We made the decision to call the local Coast Guard station who in turn called tow boats for us. Anyway that night ended about 3 a.m. for us with a large bill for the tow (no insurance, won't do that again), a torn Mainsail, no transmission and I forgot to mention the 20lb. danfourth with 150 ft of rode lost. As for being in the office instead of the very memorable trip, I would take the trip again. At least on your own vessel no matter how bad the situation seems, you are still the boss.
After purchasing my catalina 30, we motored about half way down the Potomic river. That's when it all started. First to go was the transmission with about 30 miles to go to the bay and with no wind. We anchored for the night at St Mary's city. Entering the bay the next morning around Point Lookout the wind was blowing 18-23 knots out of the north. Around 4p.m. we passed Point No Point lighthouse. The wind had increased to 25-30 knots with seas 4-6 feet sometimes larger, this is in a gale in November. As night fell, and the tide at mid-bay as everyone knows who sails or fishs the bay, the current can flow at speeds of 4 knots especially with a full moon which broke through the storm clouds every so often. After tacking to the eastern shore and attempting to enter the Patuxent River for the fourth time, due to wind and current while crossing the bay, we decided to head back across to the eastern shore. Oh, I forgot to mention my mate that was with me injured his ribs and was in some serious pain. The seas were now at about 6-8 feet in the middle of the channel with wind gust 35-40 knots. As we creeped up the eastern shore past Cove Point lighthouse which we could just make out on the western shore, we decided to head north a little longer to give us extra assurance that we would make the Patuxent river channel. As we approched a channel marker which would pass on the port side, my mate shouted Fish Trap! about 5 feet of the bow. Fish traps on the bay can range from small poles with diameters of 1 inch to 6 inches, these were the 6 inch diameter poles. As any sailor would do, I tried to tack, but with not enough speed the boat fell off to starboard. As the boom jibed, the mainsail let go with a bang, it was doubled reefed. I also saw the traveler bow to an unpresided level and thought to myself, I cant't believe that it's still there! As if that were not bad enough, the head sail, a 135 genoa which we had reefed suddenly deployed as the roller furling system failed due the jibe. So, here we are on the eastern shore just north of Cove Point lighthouse. I make the decision to make our way back across the bay to the western shore. As we approach mid channel a large container ship is steaming down the bay. In the middle of the night, a gale blowing, no forward gear on the transmission, seas 6-8 feet and now a container ship barrleing down on us. Well we survived the container ship just barely, I don't think anyone was driving or on the bridge. Anyway, we make it back over to the western shore. We are just south of the Patuxent river by a couple of miles. At this time I deployed the anchor and checked the roller furling system to see why the head sail would not role up. I had a ball of 3/8" line wrapped anyway it could around the drum. The head sail was flapping in the wind so hard it busted all the rollers on the spreaders off. The sail was impacting the spreaders with such force I decided to cut the halyard that holds the headsail up on the furling track to prevent the head sail from ripping. Needless to say there went our only means of tranportation. We made the decision to call the local Coast Guard station who in turn called tow boats for us. Anyway that night ended about 3 a.m. for us with a large bill for the tow (no insurance, won't do that again), a torn Mainsail, no transmission and I forgot to mention the 20lb. danfourth with 150 ft of rode lost. As for being in the office instead of the very memorable trip, I would take the trip again. At least on your own vessel no matter how bad the situation seems, you are still the boss.
Seasick on the ferry
They say there are two stages of seasickness: stage one is that you are so sick, you feel like you might die; stage two is that you are afraid you won't. I definitely hit stage two on the ferry to Catalina Island a few years ago. The water was so rough the trip took almost twice as long as normal. Despite taking dramamine, I felt ill almost immediately, and spent the next two hours throwing up with many of my fellow passengers. I must have lost it at least ten times. Upon arrival, I told my wife (who felt sick but never lost her lunch) that we had two choices: move to Catalina or find another way off the island because I wasn't getting back on the boat. She immediately booked us a ride on the helicopter back to the mainland for a few hours later. By the time of our flight, I was feeling mostly normal. However, there was a line out the door of people clamoring to get on the little copter; I recognized many of them from my little corner of hell on the ferry. Was it better than being in the office? Sorry to say, no. I'd rather be angry, frustrated, vexed, perturbed, cheated, lied to, etc. on the water than in the office anyday. But not physically ill.
They say there are two stages of seasickness: stage one is that you are so sick, you feel like you might die; stage two is that you are afraid you won't. I definitely hit stage two on the ferry to Catalina Island a few years ago. The water was so rough the trip took almost twice as long as normal. Despite taking dramamine, I felt ill almost immediately, and spent the next two hours throwing up with many of my fellow passengers. I must have lost it at least ten times. Upon arrival, I told my wife (who felt sick but never lost her lunch) that we had two choices: move to Catalina or find another way off the island because I wasn't getting back on the boat. She immediately booked us a ride on the helicopter back to the mainland for a few hours later. By the time of our flight, I was feeling mostly normal. However, there was a line out the door of people clamoring to get on the little copter; I recognized many of them from my little corner of hell on the ferry. Was it better than being in the office? Sorry to say, no. I'd rather be angry, frustrated, vexed, perturbed, cheated, lied to, etc. on the water than in the office anyday. But not physically ill.
Suibic Bay typhoon
My worst day on the water was when in 1947, I was the skipper of a US Navy ship USS LST-1040, anchored in Subic Bay in the Philippines, a typhoon came through our area. The high power high speed ships were sent to sea to avoid the storm, but us low powered and decommissioned ships were told to stay in port and ride it out!It was a very long night, the wind was so strong that even with full rode the anchor was dragging, we used full power to minimize the dragging and were able to steer enough to dodge drifting unmanned merchant ships in the harbor with us. We ended up safely on the other side of the harbor about 50 yards from running aground. Whew!!!
My worst day on the water was when in 1947, I was the skipper of a US Navy ship USS LST-1040, anchored in Subic Bay in the Philippines, a typhoon came through our area. The high power high speed ships were sent to sea to avoid the storm, but us low powered and decommissioned ships were told to stay in port and ride it out!It was a very long night, the wind was so strong that even with full rode the anchor was dragging, we used full power to minimize the dragging and were able to steer enough to dodge drifting unmanned merchant ships in the harbor with us. We ended up safely on the other side of the harbor about 50 yards from running aground. Whew!!!
Thunderstorm
You always think you're safe when you get to the marina. I found this isn't always true. I experienced my worst sailling experience in the marina. It was the 4th of July, about 3 years ago. My wife, son, daughter-in-law and grandkids had been sailling most of the day. It rained all day with threatening skies. About 5 PM we anchored in the marina to watch the fireworks, along with several other boats. We had been anchored about 15 minutes when a thunderstorm hit. Three large power cruisers were anchored in front of me with only one anchor for all 3 boats. As the wind increased, the 3 boats were blown toward me. I started the motor, but the other boats had drifted over my rode and I could not get the anchor up. Ended up having to let the rode and anchor go and never did find it. An anchor of one of the boats (this anchor was still on his bow) hung in my stay. I managed to get this undone and headed for my slip. The three boats managed to start their motors just before hitting the rocks. The wind was clocked at 60 mph.
You always think you're safe when you get to the marina. I found this isn't always true. I experienced my worst sailling experience in the marina. It was the 4th of July, about 3 years ago. My wife, son, daughter-in-law and grandkids had been sailling most of the day. It rained all day with threatening skies. About 5 PM we anchored in the marina to watch the fireworks, along with several other boats. We had been anchored about 15 minutes when a thunderstorm hit. Three large power cruisers were anchored in front of me with only one anchor for all 3 boats. As the wind increased, the 3 boats were blown toward me. I started the motor, but the other boats had drifted over my rode and I could not get the anchor up. Ended up having to let the rode and anchor go and never did find it. An anchor of one of the boats (this anchor was still on his bow) hung in my stay. I managed to get this undone and headed for my slip. The three boats managed to start their motors just before hitting the rocks. The wind was clocked at 60 mph.
How about a bad week in the Virgin Islands?
In the late '80's we chartered "Jingles" (a Jeanneau) through a now defunct company in Florida. First they told us they were in process of moving from Red Hook Bay to Nanny Cay, and we would be picked up at the airport on St. Thomas and ferried over to Tortola. We had arranged to meet friends in another boat in Nanny Cay. Nobody was there at the airport. After several phone calls we found the company hadn't moved, and had to get a taxi to Red Hook Bay. The boat was dirty, and we found that the depth and speed, and the VHF were all inoperable. We said we were not going and after a day of waiting they bought over a new VHF. I wasn't going to waste more of my vacation so we took off, and around the top of St. Johns and suddenly with a bang the transmission quit. The new VHF also failed. We anchored under sail in Francis Bay. I took the dinghy over to another boat to call the company - they said that they could not get to us until the next morning. So our the kids (in their 20's) took the dinghy to explore, and got about 20 yards before its motor failed, and they were in a current and drifting out to sea. Had to yell to a neighbor and have him go rescue them before they disappeared over the horizon. They were about 1/2 mile away when he got to them. The next day nobody showed up. I went back to the other boat to call, and was told that they did not have a rescue boat, and that the next morning I should sail to Nanny Cay and somebody would meet us outside and pilot us in. So we head up the Francis Drake Channel, and my son says "Dad - there is water pouring in through the port is the aft cabin" - and there sure was! There was no gasket on the opening port in the hull, and even though it was closed the water poured in. Now, we had to sail on that tack and the port was low on the hull. The bedding was soaked, and water was it the battery box under the bed. We did the best we could to keep the boat upright but water kept coming in. When we got to Nanny Cay there was a fellow in a dinghy waiting outside as promised. He waved at me, I waved back, he waved with two arms, I waved back and thought "what a friendly fellow", and then he started to yell - "turn around you're heading for a reef!". I swung the wheel over, and sure enough just missed a reef (don't forget we have no depth instrument). It turned out that his outboard had failed and he was drifting over the reef, and had been trying to signal us away from the area. Finally another dinghy came to rescue him, and brough him out to us. I gotta say this guy was a superb sailor and took us in to a very crowded dock through the reefs under sail alone. So now we are told that it is going to take two days to get a mechanic and a new transmission and to fix things. Meantime the aft cabin has to be pumped out and matresses dried. So the company gives us the keys to a car and tells us to go sight-seeing around the island. The only problem is that the car belongs to an employee, and they didn't tell him, and he reports the car as stolen! Luckily we got back before the police found us. Finally the transmission is replaced. The port is sealed with a bead of silicon, and we get a new VHF, and outboard for the dinghy. We have three days without incident. On our last full day we are coming into Cruz Bay, just furled the sails, under power, and Tim yells from below: "Dad - we're on fire!" There is black smoke everywhere. Scary! I open the engine-room and all the electrical wires are melted and smoking - no flames but a lot of smoke. We spray everything with the fire extinguisher. I had turned off the engine at the first sign, so now we are in the ferry channel drifting - no room to manoeuver, no wind, so I just dropped the anchor and fortunately it took. So now we had no power at all, couldn't even light the stove, no anchor light, and we are in the middle of the channel. I took the dinghy ashore and called the company; they said they would sent a boat over to pick us up the next morning. They did, and the same fellow who sailed us into Nanny Cay sailed the boat off. We traveled back to St. Thomas on the power boat. On the way back the manager was very apologetic. She said that many of their boats had been sabotaged by disgruntled employees who were were losing their jobs when the company moved to Nanny Cay. She handed me a letter granting me a free week's charter to make up for all of the problems.... We never did contact our friends. About three months later I called the Florida office to redeem the freebie. The phone was answered with another company name, and I asked if this was the original company. The person said that the old company had been closed down and that they were now a different company. I told them about my letter - and was told that they would not honor committments made by the old company. We got into a mail battle, but I got absolutely nowhere. I finally gave up.... The moral of the story - charter from a reputable company. Derek
In the late '80's we chartered "Jingles" (a Jeanneau) through a now defunct company in Florida. First they told us they were in process of moving from Red Hook Bay to Nanny Cay, and we would be picked up at the airport on St. Thomas and ferried over to Tortola. We had arranged to meet friends in another boat in Nanny Cay. Nobody was there at the airport. After several phone calls we found the company hadn't moved, and had to get a taxi to Red Hook Bay. The boat was dirty, and we found that the depth and speed, and the VHF were all inoperable. We said we were not going and after a day of waiting they bought over a new VHF. I wasn't going to waste more of my vacation so we took off, and around the top of St. Johns and suddenly with a bang the transmission quit. The new VHF also failed. We anchored under sail in Francis Bay. I took the dinghy over to another boat to call the company - they said that they could not get to us until the next morning. So our the kids (in their 20's) took the dinghy to explore, and got about 20 yards before its motor failed, and they were in a current and drifting out to sea. Had to yell to a neighbor and have him go rescue them before they disappeared over the horizon. They were about 1/2 mile away when he got to them. The next day nobody showed up. I went back to the other boat to call, and was told that they did not have a rescue boat, and that the next morning I should sail to Nanny Cay and somebody would meet us outside and pilot us in. So we head up the Francis Drake Channel, and my son says "Dad - there is water pouring in through the port is the aft cabin" - and there sure was! There was no gasket on the opening port in the hull, and even though it was closed the water poured in. Now, we had to sail on that tack and the port was low on the hull. The bedding was soaked, and water was it the battery box under the bed. We did the best we could to keep the boat upright but water kept coming in. When we got to Nanny Cay there was a fellow in a dinghy waiting outside as promised. He waved at me, I waved back, he waved with two arms, I waved back and thought "what a friendly fellow", and then he started to yell - "turn around you're heading for a reef!". I swung the wheel over, and sure enough just missed a reef (don't forget we have no depth instrument). It turned out that his outboard had failed and he was drifting over the reef, and had been trying to signal us away from the area. Finally another dinghy came to rescue him, and brough him out to us. I gotta say this guy was a superb sailor and took us in to a very crowded dock through the reefs under sail alone. So now we are told that it is going to take two days to get a mechanic and a new transmission and to fix things. Meantime the aft cabin has to be pumped out and matresses dried. So the company gives us the keys to a car and tells us to go sight-seeing around the island. The only problem is that the car belongs to an employee, and they didn't tell him, and he reports the car as stolen! Luckily we got back before the police found us. Finally the transmission is replaced. The port is sealed with a bead of silicon, and we get a new VHF, and outboard for the dinghy. We have three days without incident. On our last full day we are coming into Cruz Bay, just furled the sails, under power, and Tim yells from below: "Dad - we're on fire!" There is black smoke everywhere. Scary! I open the engine-room and all the electrical wires are melted and smoking - no flames but a lot of smoke. We spray everything with the fire extinguisher. I had turned off the engine at the first sign, so now we are in the ferry channel drifting - no room to manoeuver, no wind, so I just dropped the anchor and fortunately it took. So now we had no power at all, couldn't even light the stove, no anchor light, and we are in the middle of the channel. I took the dinghy ashore and called the company; they said they would sent a boat over to pick us up the next morning. They did, and the same fellow who sailed us into Nanny Cay sailed the boat off. We traveled back to St. Thomas on the power boat. On the way back the manager was very apologetic. She said that many of their boats had been sabotaged by disgruntled employees who were were losing their jobs when the company moved to Nanny Cay. She handed me a letter granting me a free week's charter to make up for all of the problems.... We never did contact our friends. About three months later I called the Florida office to redeem the freebie. The phone was answered with another company name, and I asked if this was the original company. The person said that the old company had been closed down and that they were now a different company. I told them about my letter - and was told that they would not honor committments made by the old company. We got into a mail battle, but I got absolutely nowhere. I finally gave up.... The moral of the story - charter from a reputable company. Derek
Still Better
While living in Portland, Oregon, I was lucky enough to have a small sailboat repair and delivery business. On one trip delivering a Baba 30 from Seattle to Newport, Oregon, my only crew member couldn't find a dry place to sleep below, the light in the binnacle compass didn't work and we ran ten miles off course looking for the entrance to Gray's Harbor in a storm. Old King Neptune wasn't done with us yet! We ran out of fuel crossing the bar into Gray's Harbor, had to raise sail and sail into a slip. Then my crew secretly called his wife and jumped ship. I rounded up another crew member and finished the sail to Newport in glorious sunshine and 15 knots of wind. Yes, any day sailing is definitely better than a day in the office.
While living in Portland, Oregon, I was lucky enough to have a small sailboat repair and delivery business. On one trip delivering a Baba 30 from Seattle to Newport, Oregon, my only crew member couldn't find a dry place to sleep below, the light in the binnacle compass didn't work and we ran ten miles off course looking for the entrance to Gray's Harbor in a storm. Old King Neptune wasn't done with us yet! We ran out of fuel crossing the bar into Gray's Harbor, had to raise sail and sail into a slip. Then my crew secretly called his wife and jumped ship. I rounded up another crew member and finished the sail to Newport in glorious sunshine and 15 knots of wind. Yes, any day sailing is definitely better than a day in the office.
BAD DAY???????
I have had what OTHERS might consider a bad day -rigging failure, engine failure, equipment failure, weather, etc., etc. It is all just part of the adventure of the sport. Challenges are what make it fun.
I have had what OTHERS might consider a bad day -rigging failure, engine failure, equipment failure, weather, etc., etc. It is all just part of the adventure of the sport. Challenges are what make it fun.
Lost My Mast!
Lost the ring of my Catalina 27 in 1991 between Angel Island and the Golden Gate bridge. Last day of a 5 day sailing vacation with freinds. Grey skies, 25 knot winds and heavy chop. We hit a large wave just as a big gust hit and BANG!, a starboard lower came free at the deck and the rig came down. At lease no one was hurt. Turns out that there had been a mfg recall on the bolt that held the side stays at the deck, but as a third owner I was unaware of this. The 3 hour motor back to our berth was very bouncy and rolly without the mast. Catalina provided new hardware for free and insurance took care of the rest. It was quite and experience and one I hope never to experience again!
Lost the ring of my Catalina 27 in 1991 between Angel Island and the Golden Gate bridge. Last day of a 5 day sailing vacation with freinds. Grey skies, 25 knot winds and heavy chop. We hit a large wave just as a big gust hit and BANG!, a starboard lower came free at the deck and the rig came down. At lease no one was hurt. Turns out that there had been a mfg recall on the bolt that held the side stays at the deck, but as a third owner I was unaware of this. The 3 hour motor back to our berth was very bouncy and rolly without the mast. Catalina provided new hardware for free and insurance took care of the rest. It was quite and experience and one I hope never to experience again!
Hit by Lightning
I was racing an Albacore in Washington, DC on the Potomac near Reagan National Airport with one other person. We were hit by a small squall that broke the gooseneck. We dropped the main into the bottom of the boat and placed the boom on top of the sails. We were sailing back to the marina under jib. We were near shore at the south end of the airport when I heard some thunder in the distance. Told my crew who was sitting on the rail not to hold the ss wire port stay. Within seconds there was a brilliant purple flash and what sounded like a cannon going of six inches from each ear. My legs felt like they were hit with a whip. Recovered within a few seconds and to my relief, realized I was alive. I then panicked about my crew. To my relief, he was fine but frightened. The sails, which were in the bottom of the boat, were smoking and burning and there was a very acrid smell. Water was coming into the boat through the bottom at a fairly good rate. My crew manned the bucket to put out the flames and keep the leak under control. I got the boat to the marina lift and we pulled the boat out of the water. The lightning apparently hit the mast and went through a stainless steel wire vang to the boom. The voltage discharged from the boom through the main sail that was laying in the bottom. From there, it discharged through the hull. The Windex at the top of the mast was a glob of molten plastic and metal. A portion of the main was burned and melted. I was very happy to survive and later learned that two bicycle riders were killed at the same time on the bicycle path that is very close to where we got hit. I escaped with minor burnes on my legs and ankles. I was not really frightened when it happened because it was so quick. I was told the flash appears purple because the voltage make your eyelids close and your eyes roll so you see the flash through blood vessels in the eyelids. That night I did get very nervous after I realized what happened. The boat got a new mast, boom and sails and the bottom was repaired succesfully. Apparently, moisture in the laminates vaporized and separated some of the laminates. Have sailed through a number of squalls with lightning since. Now I am more concerened about the lightning than the wind. I always head for deep water in these situations since I read that the chance of getting hit in shallow water is much greater than deep water.
I was racing an Albacore in Washington, DC on the Potomac near Reagan National Airport with one other person. We were hit by a small squall that broke the gooseneck. We dropped the main into the bottom of the boat and placed the boom on top of the sails. We were sailing back to the marina under jib. We were near shore at the south end of the airport when I heard some thunder in the distance. Told my crew who was sitting on the rail not to hold the ss wire port stay. Within seconds there was a brilliant purple flash and what sounded like a cannon going of six inches from each ear. My legs felt like they were hit with a whip. Recovered within a few seconds and to my relief, realized I was alive. I then panicked about my crew. To my relief, he was fine but frightened. The sails, which were in the bottom of the boat, were smoking and burning and there was a very acrid smell. Water was coming into the boat through the bottom at a fairly good rate. My crew manned the bucket to put out the flames and keep the leak under control. I got the boat to the marina lift and we pulled the boat out of the water. The lightning apparently hit the mast and went through a stainless steel wire vang to the boom. The voltage discharged from the boom through the main sail that was laying in the bottom. From there, it discharged through the hull. The Windex at the top of the mast was a glob of molten plastic and metal. A portion of the main was burned and melted. I was very happy to survive and later learned that two bicycle riders were killed at the same time on the bicycle path that is very close to where we got hit. I escaped with minor burnes on my legs and ankles. I was not really frightened when it happened because it was so quick. I was told the flash appears purple because the voltage make your eyelids close and your eyes roll so you see the flash through blood vessels in the eyelids. That night I did get very nervous after I realized what happened. The boat got a new mast, boom and sails and the bottom was repaired succesfully. Apparently, moisture in the laminates vaporized and separated some of the laminates. Have sailed through a number of squalls with lightning since. Now I am more concerened about the lightning than the wind. I always head for deep water in these situations since I read that the chance of getting hit in shallow water is much greater than deep water.
Best of times, worst of times
When I go through my mental cataloue of "bad" days on the water; the groundings, the storms, the broken hardware, etc. I realize that I don't consider them my worst days, in fact I consider them some of my best. Because those have been the days when I and my crew were able to improvise, adapt, and cope with what 'ol mother Ocean had thrown at us. Of course, we've been lucky enough to avoid the true nightmares that some of you are describing, I hope that as we learn to deal with the smaller problems, we'll be ready if we ever have a true "bad" day on the water.
When I go through my mental cataloue of "bad" days on the water; the groundings, the storms, the broken hardware, etc. I realize that I don't consider them my worst days, in fact I consider them some of my best. Because those have been the days when I and my crew were able to improvise, adapt, and cope with what 'ol mother Ocean had thrown at us. Of course, we've been lucky enough to avoid the true nightmares that some of you are describing, I hope that as we learn to deal with the smaller problems, we'll be ready if we ever have a true "bad" day on the water.
My Dad knew better
Out on the BC coast I went up Burks Channel heading towards Bella Coola. This is a channel that I had never been and my father never went that way ever back in 1942 or earlier. I should have known better with my Macgregor 26X, but I had been through some pretty rough stuff but this was a bad decision. The channel is 36 miles long 900 ft deep and kn place to get out of it except one small cove called Cathedral Cove. We started off in smooth water and after an hour we had a tail wind and then came the ebb tide fighting the flood tide. Then we were surfing in a roaring sea after hours of this my arms stared to get sore from turning the wheel and were we ever glad to pull into Cathedral Cove to have a rest and I should have remembered why my dad never went through Burke Channel, never again. Fred Scott LADY Vi
Out on the BC coast I went up Burks Channel heading towards Bella Coola. This is a channel that I had never been and my father never went that way ever back in 1942 or earlier. I should have known better with my Macgregor 26X, but I had been through some pretty rough stuff but this was a bad decision. The channel is 36 miles long 900 ft deep and kn place to get out of it except one small cove called Cathedral Cove. We started off in smooth water and after an hour we had a tail wind and then came the ebb tide fighting the flood tide. Then we were surfing in a roaring sea after hours of this my arms stared to get sore from turning the wheel and were we ever glad to pull into Cathedral Cove to have a rest and I should have remembered why my dad never went through Burke Channel, never again. Fred Scott LADY Vi
The 45 minute sail
We decided to go out for an overnighter. We got out of the harbor and the bay was rough, seas were confused with 5 to 6 foot crossing waves, lots of chop and blowing spray, winds were ragged and gusty up to about 25 or 30 knots. My husband put on the safety harness to put up the main on it's second reef point as we were taking a fair amount of water over the bow. But we were on the lee side of the bay and with certain winds the waves can really pile up outside the harbor so we thought things would smooth further out and we continued. We tacked off toward the smoother shore but conditions did not improve as much as we hoped and the wind was still picking up. Thats when we noticed all of the sailboats coming home without sails. We decided that we were having no fun and were beating ourselves silly on the quest to sail, the dogs were in the cabin crying and howling so we put the main sail down and motored home. We never even got to the jib. Too rough. We have had to sail her into the slip without a motor, we have had a few "couple bonding moments" while anchoring up and while putting down sails in high winds and rough seas and have run into flat dead calms 25 miles away from harbor in the evening but I think that 45 minute beating topped it all. Best decision we made was coming back to port and not making it a 3 hour beating. Cathy Alcorn S/V Andante Anchorage, Alaska
We decided to go out for an overnighter. We got out of the harbor and the bay was rough, seas were confused with 5 to 6 foot crossing waves, lots of chop and blowing spray, winds were ragged and gusty up to about 25 or 30 knots. My husband put on the safety harness to put up the main on it's second reef point as we were taking a fair amount of water over the bow. But we were on the lee side of the bay and with certain winds the waves can really pile up outside the harbor so we thought things would smooth further out and we continued. We tacked off toward the smoother shore but conditions did not improve as much as we hoped and the wind was still picking up. Thats when we noticed all of the sailboats coming home without sails. We decided that we were having no fun and were beating ourselves silly on the quest to sail, the dogs were in the cabin crying and howling so we put the main sail down and motored home. We never even got to the jib. Too rough. We have had to sail her into the slip without a motor, we have had a few "couple bonding moments" while anchoring up and while putting down sails in high winds and rough seas and have run into flat dead calms 25 miles away from harbor in the evening but I think that 45 minute beating topped it all. Best decision we made was coming back to port and not making it a 3 hour beating. Cathy Alcorn S/V Andante Anchorage, Alaska
Adrenaline overdose
My worst day resulted from someone else's worst day. I was working part time at a Hobie Cat rental kiosk in Myrtle Beach, SC,'moonlighting' from my regular job as an emlisted member of the Air Force. Because I was a junior member of the shop, I was working graveyard shift during the summer, which left my days free to waste sleeping or go sailing. I had an arrangement with the owner of the Hobie rental to give lessons and retrieve boats abandoned by tourists in return for sailing privileges. What a deal! This particular day, the wind was out of the Southwest at about 15 kts, and I was dispatched with the owner's 15 year-old son to replace the starboard rudder on a boat that had been abandoned by a customer after a collision with a loggerhead broke the rudder. The boat was about 4 miles up the coast (straight downwind) and the weather was rapidly worsening. The truck dropped us at the boat, we replaced the rudder and pushed off through the surf (only 3-5 feet a that point) and headed off shore. Because the wind was picking up and the swell rapidly increased to 7 to 10 feet, I decided to make one long tack off shore and then one back in to the beach, since tacking would put us in a very vulnerable position at every turn. WE FLEW! Neither of us weighted more than 110 soaking wet, which we were, and we both climbed into hiking slings and desperately thought heavy thoughts as we skimmed from the top of one wave to the next on the port hull, spending nearly as much time airborne as afloat. At about 1.5 miles off shore, we made the tack and started our run for the beach. We were as close to the wind as we could hold her and taking the swell abeam, but still really flying. We were about a quarter mile off the beach when a rogue wave combined with a gust. The wave slapped the windward (flying) hull and over we went! Both Chris and I had been standing on the hull and slipped off under it, so our weight balanced the rig and the boat didn't turtle. After a pause to regain our composure and disentangle ourselve from the rig, we decided that we had to push the top of the mast around so that it was pointing into the swell, which would put the stern to the wind and the hulls toward the beach. We did fight her around (remember the 7 to 10 foot swell...) and arranged ourselves to make the attempt to right the boat. The recommended minimum weight to right an 18 foot Hobie is 300 pounds, we didn't come close, but I was hoping that the swell would make up the difference, lifting the mast as we ballasted. I have no idea how long we tried, it seemed like forever. We would wait for the swell, lean back in the harnesses and pray, then get dunked and try again. Meanwhile, we were being pushed toward shore, where a crowd was gathering. Finally, success! The mast went up, the hull went down.. and a gust caught the sail and she capsized again. Soon we were in the surf line, the waves were breaking and there was no way to wrestle the mast around into the oncoming waves again. I had Chris climb up on the upper hull and 'hike out' to help keep the mast up, and I went to the top of the mast to to prevent it from digging into the bottom as we rode in to shore. At the point where I could get my feet under me, I thought our worries were over, but the day had one more nasty trick to play. I had the mast head clamped under my left armpit, using my right hand to steady myself, when an outgoing wave pulled it away from me, and an incoming one rammed it back at me - straight into my stomach. I managed to twist to one side, had the breath knocked out of me and felt a strange tug-and-release sensation. I opened my eyes to see my one piece bathing suit waving from the masthead! I was wearing a hiking sling and a mae west, so I was actually fully covered, but it was a shock. The next wave grounded the boat sufficiently that we were able to right her and pull her above the tide line before collapsing on the trampoline in exhaustion. Meanwhile, not a single person of the more than 2 dozen watching made any effort to help us. Chris's dad was glad we had saved the boat and not drowned and cheerfully paid for a replacement for my swim suit. Even 'though I can still vividly recall the fear and exhaustion, I would do it again in a heartbeat!
My worst day resulted from someone else's worst day. I was working part time at a Hobie Cat rental kiosk in Myrtle Beach, SC,'moonlighting' from my regular job as an emlisted member of the Air Force. Because I was a junior member of the shop, I was working graveyard shift during the summer, which left my days free to waste sleeping or go sailing. I had an arrangement with the owner of the Hobie rental to give lessons and retrieve boats abandoned by tourists in return for sailing privileges. What a deal! This particular day, the wind was out of the Southwest at about 15 kts, and I was dispatched with the owner's 15 year-old son to replace the starboard rudder on a boat that had been abandoned by a customer after a collision with a loggerhead broke the rudder. The boat was about 4 miles up the coast (straight downwind) and the weather was rapidly worsening. The truck dropped us at the boat, we replaced the rudder and pushed off through the surf (only 3-5 feet a that point) and headed off shore. Because the wind was picking up and the swell rapidly increased to 7 to 10 feet, I decided to make one long tack off shore and then one back in to the beach, since tacking would put us in a very vulnerable position at every turn. WE FLEW! Neither of us weighted more than 110 soaking wet, which we were, and we both climbed into hiking slings and desperately thought heavy thoughts as we skimmed from the top of one wave to the next on the port hull, spending nearly as much time airborne as afloat. At about 1.5 miles off shore, we made the tack and started our run for the beach. We were as close to the wind as we could hold her and taking the swell abeam, but still really flying. We were about a quarter mile off the beach when a rogue wave combined with a gust. The wave slapped the windward (flying) hull and over we went! Both Chris and I had been standing on the hull and slipped off under it, so our weight balanced the rig and the boat didn't turtle. After a pause to regain our composure and disentangle ourselve from the rig, we decided that we had to push the top of the mast around so that it was pointing into the swell, which would put the stern to the wind and the hulls toward the beach. We did fight her around (remember the 7 to 10 foot swell...) and arranged ourselves to make the attempt to right the boat. The recommended minimum weight to right an 18 foot Hobie is 300 pounds, we didn't come close, but I was hoping that the swell would make up the difference, lifting the mast as we ballasted. I have no idea how long we tried, it seemed like forever. We would wait for the swell, lean back in the harnesses and pray, then get dunked and try again. Meanwhile, we were being pushed toward shore, where a crowd was gathering. Finally, success! The mast went up, the hull went down.. and a gust caught the sail and she capsized again. Soon we were in the surf line, the waves were breaking and there was no way to wrestle the mast around into the oncoming waves again. I had Chris climb up on the upper hull and 'hike out' to help keep the mast up, and I went to the top of the mast to to prevent it from digging into the bottom as we rode in to shore. At the point where I could get my feet under me, I thought our worries were over, but the day had one more nasty trick to play. I had the mast head clamped under my left armpit, using my right hand to steady myself, when an outgoing wave pulled it away from me, and an incoming one rammed it back at me - straight into my stomach. I managed to twist to one side, had the breath knocked out of me and felt a strange tug-and-release sensation. I opened my eyes to see my one piece bathing suit waving from the masthead! I was wearing a hiking sling and a mae west, so I was actually fully covered, but it was a shock. The next wave grounded the boat sufficiently that we were able to right her and pull her above the tide line before collapsing on the trampoline in exhaustion. Meanwhile, not a single person of the more than 2 dozen watching made any effort to help us. Chris's dad was glad we had saved the boat and not drowned and cheerfully paid for a replacement for my swim suit. Even 'though I can still vividly recall the fear and exhaustion, I would do it again in a heartbeat!
Bait your trap ?
LOVE AT SEA An elderly couple was on a cruise and it was really stormy. They were standing on the back of the boat watching the moon, when a wave came up and washed the old woman overboard. They searched for days and couldn't find her, so the captain sent the old man back to shore with the promise that he would notify him as soon as they found something. Three weeks went by and finally the old man got a fax from the boat. It read: "Sir, sorry to inform you, we found your wife dead at the bottom of the ocean. We hauled her up to the deck and attached to her butt was an oyster and it had a pearl worth $50,000 .....please advise" The old man faxed back: "Send me the pearl and re-bait the trap"
LOVE AT SEA An elderly couple was on a cruise and it was really stormy. They were standing on the back of the boat watching the moon, when a wave came up and washed the old woman overboard. They searched for days and couldn't find her, so the captain sent the old man back to shore with the promise that he would notify him as soon as they found something. Three weeks went by and finally the old man got a fax from the boat. It read: "Sir, sorry to inform you, we found your wife dead at the bottom of the ocean. We hauled her up to the deck and attached to her butt was an oyster and it had a pearl worth $50,000 .....please advise" The old man faxed back: "Send me the pearl and re-bait the trap"
WAY Too windy!
The wind must have been blowing at 20-25 knots with 5 foot waves...I foolishly thought...let's try anyways...BIG MISTAKE... With the boat healing over WAY too much....I tore the sail trying to get it down to get back into the marina... Luckily...I found a great place that patches sails for $20 CDN!
The wind must have been blowing at 20-25 knots with 5 foot waves...I foolishly thought...let's try anyways...BIG MISTAKE... With the boat healing over WAY too much....I tore the sail trying to get it down to get back into the marina... Luckily...I found a great place that patches sails for $20 CDN!
First Owned, First Sunk . . .
So far, my worst day on the water happened the first day out with the first boat I ever owned. It's late afternoon and I'm watching the clock from my desk in the 7th grade waiting for the bell that would send me off to take out my new boat for the very first time. I'd worked all summer to afford the old, but very beamy 17-foot wooden skiff with a 35-horse Evenrude outboard. My dad had picked up the boat for me and delivered it to a nearby creek. In my area boats are as important to young boys as cars and I was so excited I ran all the way to the creek after school. I’ll never forget the sight of the boat just sitting there waiting for me. Dad had left a note saying, be careful, and have a bon voyage. Heading out across Long Island's Great Peconic Bay I‘m in heaven as a plow through the light chop, standing at the helm, like a veteran Cap Code fisherman. Jauntily, I tilt my cap back thinking I’m master of my own craft and indeed master of the whole frigging universe. Soon I notice another small craft approaching from ahead and recognize a friend of mine and his boat. Pulling up along side we admire my new baby and of course this led to the inevitable race. My lighter and faster skiff planned first and I won the race handily and remember laughing as I slowed and triumphantly swing around the buoy that served as our finish line. After turning beam on the other boat still bow high ran me over amidships. It looked as if he’d go clean over until his locked down outboard pretty much cut me in two. I was stove in (before I really knew what stove in meant) and thrown into the water. (I still can’t watch the movie PT-109) My stern upended and by weight of the motor sank while the bow turned over and floated. The collision ripped most of the transom off the other boat. She ended life upright, swamped, and lying right below the surface. My friend swam over to me and I remember the first thing I said was, "Man, my father is gonna kick my ass." Youth made us think little we were miles from shore, it's getting colder and darker, and no one knew exactly where we were. We had to get out of the water. Grasping two wood floorboards we kicked over to the buoy and climbed atop. We spent the first hour or so arguing about who was at fault. However, after two fishing boats passed within a quarter mile without seeing us we took stock of our situation. We had between us two dimes, a wet book of matches and some marbles. The first suggestion was to swim for it. It had to be three miles at least and getting dark enough that except for some lights we couldn’t really see the shore anymore. We fell sort of silent for awhile, I wondering what the Hardy Boys would do in a situation like this, and him, saying how cold and hungry he was. Just then the red light atop the buoy began to flash. It went on and off in about 4-second intervals, and it stayed on for a about a second in between. I think we both had the idea at the same time. We could send an SOS. My hat alone didn’t work, but both our hats did and we took turns at the very top of the tower sending out the Morse call for help. It took a few minutes to get the hang of it, but it worked well enough. First we tried sending a fast SOS by halving the second the light stayed on, but that was too hard. So we did it the other way, blocking the light altogether in a pattern as close to …---… as we could get. It took another hour or so, but we are finally spotted by the fishing boat “Will Helen” and taken off. Blankets and hot cocoa are provided along with the Captain’s observation that he didn’t really see our SOS but indeed thought the light, he passes almost every night, looked funny enough to warrant a look see. Dad, who’d been out with the town’s Police boat looking for me, went easy. He realized I’d already learned enough of a lesson. To this day I always equate risking anything important to me with how many summers work it took to get it. Nick “Julia Bell” C-27 #86
So far, my worst day on the water happened the first day out with the first boat I ever owned. It's late afternoon and I'm watching the clock from my desk in the 7th grade waiting for the bell that would send me off to take out my new boat for the very first time. I'd worked all summer to afford the old, but very beamy 17-foot wooden skiff with a 35-horse Evenrude outboard. My dad had picked up the boat for me and delivered it to a nearby creek. In my area boats are as important to young boys as cars and I was so excited I ran all the way to the creek after school. I’ll never forget the sight of the boat just sitting there waiting for me. Dad had left a note saying, be careful, and have a bon voyage. Heading out across Long Island's Great Peconic Bay I‘m in heaven as a plow through the light chop, standing at the helm, like a veteran Cap Code fisherman. Jauntily, I tilt my cap back thinking I’m master of my own craft and indeed master of the whole frigging universe. Soon I notice another small craft approaching from ahead and recognize a friend of mine and his boat. Pulling up along side we admire my new baby and of course this led to the inevitable race. My lighter and faster skiff planned first and I won the race handily and remember laughing as I slowed and triumphantly swing around the buoy that served as our finish line. After turning beam on the other boat still bow high ran me over amidships. It looked as if he’d go clean over until his locked down outboard pretty much cut me in two. I was stove in (before I really knew what stove in meant) and thrown into the water. (I still can’t watch the movie PT-109) My stern upended and by weight of the motor sank while the bow turned over and floated. The collision ripped most of the transom off the other boat. She ended life upright, swamped, and lying right below the surface. My friend swam over to me and I remember the first thing I said was, "Man, my father is gonna kick my ass." Youth made us think little we were miles from shore, it's getting colder and darker, and no one knew exactly where we were. We had to get out of the water. Grasping two wood floorboards we kicked over to the buoy and climbed atop. We spent the first hour or so arguing about who was at fault. However, after two fishing boats passed within a quarter mile without seeing us we took stock of our situation. We had between us two dimes, a wet book of matches and some marbles. The first suggestion was to swim for it. It had to be three miles at least and getting dark enough that except for some lights we couldn’t really see the shore anymore. We fell sort of silent for awhile, I wondering what the Hardy Boys would do in a situation like this, and him, saying how cold and hungry he was. Just then the red light atop the buoy began to flash. It went on and off in about 4-second intervals, and it stayed on for a about a second in between. I think we both had the idea at the same time. We could send an SOS. My hat alone didn’t work, but both our hats did and we took turns at the very top of the tower sending out the Morse call for help. It took a few minutes to get the hang of it, but it worked well enough. First we tried sending a fast SOS by halving the second the light stayed on, but that was too hard. So we did it the other way, blocking the light altogether in a pattern as close to …---… as we could get. It took another hour or so, but we are finally spotted by the fishing boat “Will Helen” and taken off. Blankets and hot cocoa are provided along with the Captain’s observation that he didn’t really see our SOS but indeed thought the light, he passes almost every night, looked funny enough to warrant a look see. Dad, who’d been out with the town’s Police boat looking for me, went easy. He realized I’d already learned enough of a lesson. To this day I always equate risking anything important to me with how many summers work it took to get it. Nick “Julia Bell” C-27 #86
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