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Authors: Tom Lochhaas

Suddenly Overboard

BOOK: Suddenly Overboard
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Copyright © 2013 by McGraw-Hill Education LLC. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. The publisher takes no responsibility for the use of any of the materials or methods described in this book, nor for the products thereof. The name “International Marine” and the International Marine logo are trademarks of McGraw-Hill Education.

ISBN: 978-0-07-180332-8
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D
EDICATED TO

all sailors everywhere—may we
never experience the misadventures
of those in these narratives—and
to the courageous women and men
in rescue services around the world
who work to save those who do
.

CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Note on Imperial vs. Metric Units

C
HAPTER
1 |
The Storms We All Fear

Chichester Bar

WingNuts

Rally Boat to Bermuda

Briefly

C
HAPTER
2 |
Some Incidents Can't Be Prevented?

Tangled in Rigging

Lost Keel

Keep Treading!

The Tether Issue—An Opinion

C
HAPTER
3 |
A Good Day's Sail Goes Bad

Just One Little Mistake

Too Much Freeboard

Briefly

C
HAPTER
4 |
Anchoring, Docking, Dinghying

Long Voyage, Quiet Harbor

Late to the Slip

The Season's Last Sail

Briefly

C
HAPTER
5 |
Run Aground

Tidal Estuary

On the Rocks

The Reef of New South Wales

Briefly

C
HAPTER
6 |
Engine or Equipment Failure

The Delivery Skipper

Take It Easy

Briefly

C
HAPTER
7 |
A Gust of Wind

Three Generations Sailing off Puffin Island

A Hobie on the Lake

Briefly

C
HAPTER
8 |
No Way to Call for Help

Voices

Short Sail on the Sound

The Inverted Cat

Briefly

C
HAPTER
9 |
A Thousand Ways to End Up in the Water

To Save a Puppy

Gone Fishing

Briefly

C
HAPTER
10 |
The Perils of Solo Sailing

A Sailboat Comes Ashore

The Fouled Halyard

Briefly

C
HAPTER
11 |
Can Your Crew Save You?

Saturday on Lake Arthur

Wednesday Evening Club Race

Four Miles off Hyannis

Briefly

C
HAPTER
12 |
What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Capsize in Puget Sound

Capsize in Lake Huron

Sinking in the Georgia Strait

Bahia Transat Disaster

Appendix | Interview with Gary Jobson, President of U.S. Sailing

PREFACE

T
wenty years ago I almost became a statistic. Although I'd sailed for a decade, had taken a boating safety course, and always took precautions like putting on my PFD (personal flotation device) when the wind or waves got up, I made one of those dumb mistakes everyone makes from time to time—if you're human. I can't imagine a stupider way to die.

It was a calm, beautiful day at the end of the season, and we were returning to the dock after a pleasant afternoon sail when it happened. At the time I was mostly just embarrassed. Afterward, with self-deprecating irony, I told it as a funny story. Years later, I learned it's one of the more common ways that sailors die on the water. Who'd have thought?

I kind of doubt my wife or daughter would've told it as a funny story if it had ended as so many real stories do.

In early October the waters of the Atlantic Ocean off New England—never warm—had already grown colder still. My friend Dan and I wore light jackets and jeans and socks under boat shoes, but the sun was warm and bright. My home port is a river harbor, just upstream from open ocean, and the tidal current can run 3 to 4 knots at half tide. We were used to that, of course, and factored it into our navigation. Trickier were the unpredictable eddies and side currents nearer shore and among the floating docks where I had a slip that summer for my 26-foot sloop. Still, not
that
tricky, and I was very accustomed to docking by myself after singlehanded sailing. With crew, a piece of cake! Something I didn't even have to think about anymore.

Not thinking was my first mistake.

It was easy to motor into the slip slowly against the current, as I had so often before. Dan stepped off the port side with the bow line and walked forward to a cleat. I casually moved up to the
port rail and stepped off with a stern line—and inexplicably found myself in the water.

I don't even remember how it happened. Later, Dan told me I'd been looking at him and pointing at which dock cleat to use when an eddy kicked the stern to starboard. I must have looked hilarious as I simply stepped over the rail and into the water.

I was right there beside the floating dock and easily held on, but damn was it cold! Fortunately the eddy kept the boat a few feet behind me rather than crushing me against the dock, but I wasn't thinking about the boat just then. I was wondering why in the world I couldn't pull myself up onto the dock. I grasped a cleat at the edge, but I had no leverage and couldn't brace my feet or legs against anything to climb up. The current swept my legs out at an angle, and already I was starting to shake with cold.

Dan cleated off the bow line, decided not to worry about keeping the boat from banging into the one to starboard, and came back to see if I needed a hand. When he saw I was apparently okay, he finally laughed. He grabbed one of my hands to help me out, but I was 200 pounds of dead weight, heavier still with my waterlogged clothes, and he's a smaller guy. With a heave he yanked me high enough that I should have been able to hook a knee up on the float . . . but my legs seemed to have stopped working.

At this point in the story I usually let go with a string of epithets. In reality, I doubt I said much; the research shows panicking people, like those drowning, seldom actually call out for help, much less curse.

So there we were, me still wondering why I wasn't yet out of the water, Dan no doubt wondering that too—just climb out for God's sake! He still held one of my arms, but I couldn't feel the cleat anymore that my other hand clutched. My thinking was getting muddled and I considered letting go and letting the current drift me downstream where I was sure I'd bang up against the next dock where surely there was a ladder. Or whatever.

Maybe Dan saw the confusion in my eyes, or maybe he imagined having to tell my wife how he'd been unable to pull me out
and could only watch helplessly as I slipped and went under, but abruptly he grabbed my other hand, locked tight on both wrists, crouched down, and with a mighty heave swung his weight backward and scraped my chest up onto the float like landing a giant fish that has died on the hook.

BOOK: Suddenly Overboard
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