Copyright TheBeachcats.com
News
First Person Account
| My Sailing Stories
I push off in the 14, and it does feel a little sluggish, so I play with the sail adjustments. I am on a close reach and carrying a lot of power. The boat feels good and is really cooking.
I think I'll go around the oil production platform. It's about 10-12 miles offshore, and it will probably be a little after dark when I get back to the beach, but it looks like this wind is going to hold all night.
As the boatspeed builds up, the apparent wind shifts to almost a beam reach, with the boat sliding smoothly up and over the long rollers. Perfect conditions. This makes up for the slogging up and downwind all day, and helps me to think about what I may have done wrong in the second race. Just can't finish in the top 3 with that 12th. I am going to have to nail both of the races tomorrow, and use the 12th as a throwout.
Wind is up a little. Must be about 15 -18 or so. The 14 is handling well, really powered up and heeling very little. I don't see what Jimmy was talking about.
Just as the sun is setting, I see a black smudge on the horizon. Looks like clouds, maybe a little squall. No problem, I'll be around the platform and on the way back to the beach before it hits. It may even provide some waves to surf. I look back toward shore. Nope, land is out of sight. I don't see any lights, it's not dark enough. Even if I did, they would all disappear soon anyhow. I look out toward the platform. It has grown from a speck to a recognizable shape, but no details yet. I can see some of the brighter lights, but it is still six or seven miles away. That spot on the horizon has grown darker and bigger. Was that lightning? I look closer, paying attention to the smudge, and definitely see lightning in the clouds. No problem. I'll be well out of the area by the time it hits. I am starting to see more lights on the platform as sunset transitions to twilight. The backs of the waves take on a surreal violet hue, and the foam becomes glossy, like beaten egg whites. Beautiful. This is, in the final analysis, what sailing is all about. Peace. Tranquility. Serenity. Quiet pleasure.
It's getting darker. Twilight is giving away to a warm, velvety darkness. I start to eye the approaching storm with some concern. The lightning is now almost continuous. Only a couple of miles to the platform now. Looks like the storm will hit sooner than I thought. Probably just after I round the platform. I can now see the platform in detail. Huge structure with lights everywhere. It looks like a big Christmas tree sitting there. I look again at the storm. Damn, it's getting close. Maybe I'd better tack now and head back for the beach. Yea, it's definitely going to be here before I get to the platform. Ah, might as well tack now.
What the hell?? As I tack through the eye of the wind, the boat heels sharply to leeward and goes over. The sheet was loose, probably just caught a wave wrong. I grab the righting line, get the bows down and the mast points into the wind. Back on the hull and the boat comes up easily. I climb aboard, sheet in a little, and it goes over again. Two more attempts to right the boat, same result. I think that I've found Jimmy's problem. It's no wonder that I could carry so much power on the way out! What with the windward hull full of water! No time to think about that though, because the storm is almost here. I can feel the wind shift, build, and become colder.
I turtle the boat, waiting for the storm. It arrives promptly. I am sitting on the bottom of the tramp in about 3 inches of water. The wind howls, the boat is lighted by bright strobes of light, and the rain feels like someone is pelting me with handfuls of sharp glass fragments. No problem. Been there, done that. The prevailing winds and seas in this area hit the beach at about 45 degrees. This stuff will take me back to the beach, but I will probably come ashore a few miles northeast of the point where I launched.
As I am sitting here, a flash of lightning lights up the scene again, and I just happen to be looking at the tramp lacing at that moment. What's that under the boat? Looked for a moment there like a shark. I am still peering at the lacing when the next strobe of light occurs. Just a flash, but long enough for me to see the ominous shape under the boat. It is a shark!
I move from the tramp to the keel of the more buoyant hull, I am sitting here with my feet in the air, doing a balancing act when he thought occurs to me that I could tumble backward off the boat in this stuff, and I'd be in the water with the shark. I move back to the tramp, but stand astride the lacing. I don't want to look, but I can't help it. I've got to see what the shark is doing. The damn thing is still there. I must have drifted a mile or so since the storm hit, and the damn thing is still with me. He's stalking me. Every time I look at the lacing, I can see the undulating shape not more than a foot or two under the boat. All of the hair on my body is standing on end, and I am getting punchy from a massive adrenaline overdose.
I start to think, I have my Kbar, maybe I could stab him through the lacing. Would that drive him off, or just piss him off?
Meanwhile, back on the beach, four things have become apparent:
I sailed out of sight into the Gulf.
I have not returned.
One large storm is headed for the beach.
It is now very dark.
After a quick huddle, three battery powered Q-Beam searchlights are located, and three Hobie 16s with a skipper and two man crews start the search.
This damn shark really has me spooked. He is still there, under the boat. I must be half way back to land by now. How long is he going to stay under the boat? Is he going to wait until we start to get into shallow water to scoop me off the boat? I heard that most shark attacks happen in shallow water. Scenes from Jaws are running through my mind, and I can almost actually hear the theme music. I look out toward land. Is that a light? I am too far out to see lights on the beach, so it probably isn't. I stare intently into the darkness. There! There it is again. It's definitely a light! It's getting closer! The wind and rain are as intense as ever, but I start yelling and waving my arms. The light gets closer. It's a Hobie with three people aboard! I think they see me. They are headed straight for me, and I am yelling as loud as I can. The boat gets closer, and before I can say anything about the shark, a figure with a light jumps from the boat. I rush over to pull him aboard yelling about the shark. He joins me on the bottom of the tramp and shines the light through the lacing.
"It's the SAIL you idiot", Conrad yells and then cracks up. I look, and sure enough, it is the sail. The damned sail has had me almost paralyzed with fear for the last 3 hours.
We get the boat back up, but to no avail. It just goes over again. The other boats have turned back to the beach. We get the boat back up again. We sit on the very rear of the tramp on the buoyant side and go downwind to the beach. We dump the boat several more times, before getting back to land, and each time I hear "tun tun tun tun...."
Sonny
First Person Account: Offshore At Night, Capsized In A Storm, With A Shark.
First person present tense works best for this catamaran sailing story. It allows me to think and try to feel what I was thinking and feeling then.
Background: Port Aransas, Texas (on Mustang Island) Hobie Fleet 99 annual Sand Dune Regatta, after sailing the last race on Saturday
It's been a frustrating day. Wind 10 to 15 and gentle swells, but the courses were set with very long upwind and downwind legs, and very short reaches. Upwind, cross current and almost broadside to the wave action. Downwind about the same but with a few sleigh rides. All races were course VIIs.
I just want to go out to go fast and unwind a little. Crew is beat, so it looks like a solo trip. Just as I start pushing the boat off, Jimmy Rose comes up and says "Why don't you take my 14 out and check the setup on it? It doesn't feel right and maybe you can spot the problem. Besides, If you go over, it will be a lot easier to right than your 16". "OK, Jimmy, I'll check it out" I reply. Background: Port Aransas, Texas (on Mustang Island) Hobie Fleet 99 annual Sand Dune Regatta, after sailing the last race on Saturday
It's been a frustrating day. Wind 10 to 15 and gentle swells, but the courses were set with very long upwind and downwind legs, and very short reaches. Upwind, cross current and almost broadside to the wave action. Downwind about the same but with a few sleigh rides. All races were course VIIs.
I push off in the 14, and it does feel a little sluggish, so I play with the sail adjustments. I am on a close reach and carrying a lot of power. The boat feels good and is really cooking.
I think I'll go around the oil production platform. It's about 10-12 miles offshore, and it will probably be a little after dark when I get back to the beach, but it looks like this wind is going to hold all night.
As the boatspeed builds up, the apparent wind shifts to almost a beam reach, with the boat sliding smoothly up and over the long rollers. Perfect conditions. This makes up for the slogging up and downwind all day, and helps me to think about what I may have done wrong in the second race. Just can't finish in the top 3 with that 12th. I am going to have to nail both of the races tomorrow, and use the 12th as a throwout.
Wind is up a little. Must be about 15 -18 or so. The 14 is handling well, really powered up and heeling very little. I don't see what Jimmy was talking about.
Just as the sun is setting, I see a black smudge on the horizon. Looks like clouds, maybe a little squall. No problem, I'll be around the platform and on the way back to the beach before it hits. It may even provide some waves to surf. I look back toward shore. Nope, land is out of sight. I don't see any lights, it's not dark enough. Even if I did, they would all disappear soon anyhow. I look out toward the platform. It has grown from a speck to a recognizable shape, but no details yet. I can see some of the brighter lights, but it is still six or seven miles away. That spot on the horizon has grown darker and bigger. Was that lightning? I look closer, paying attention to the smudge, and definitely see lightning in the clouds. No problem. I'll be well out of the area by the time it hits. I am starting to see more lights on the platform as sunset transitions to twilight. The backs of the waves take on a surreal violet hue, and the foam becomes glossy, like beaten egg whites. Beautiful. This is, in the final analysis, what sailing is all about. Peace. Tranquility. Serenity. Quiet pleasure.
It's getting darker. Twilight is giving away to a warm, velvety darkness. I start to eye the approaching storm with some concern. The lightning is now almost continuous. Only a couple of miles to the platform now. Looks like the storm will hit sooner than I thought. Probably just after I round the platform. I can now see the platform in detail. Huge structure with lights everywhere. It looks like a big Christmas tree sitting there. I look again at the storm. Damn, it's getting close. Maybe I'd better tack now and head back for the beach. Yea, it's definitely going to be here before I get to the platform. Ah, might as well tack now.
What the hell?? As I tack through the eye of the wind, the boat heels sharply to leeward and goes over. The sheet was loose, probably just caught a wave wrong. I grab the righting line, get the bows down and the mast points into the wind. Back on the hull and the boat comes up easily. I climb aboard, sheet in a little, and it goes over again. Two more attempts to right the boat, same result. I think that I've found Jimmy's problem. It's no wonder that I could carry so much power on the way out! What with the windward hull full of water! No time to think about that though, because the storm is almost here. I can feel the wind shift, build, and become colder.
I turtle the boat, waiting for the storm. It arrives promptly. I am sitting on the bottom of the tramp in about 3 inches of water. The wind howls, the boat is lighted by bright strobes of light, and the rain feels like someone is pelting me with handfuls of sharp glass fragments. No problem. Been there, done that. The prevailing winds and seas in this area hit the beach at about 45 degrees. This stuff will take me back to the beach, but I will probably come ashore a few miles northeast of the point where I launched.
As I am sitting here, a flash of lightning lights up the scene again, and I just happen to be looking at the tramp lacing at that moment. What's that under the boat? Looked for a moment there like a shark. I am still peering at the lacing when the next strobe of light occurs. Just a flash, but long enough for me to see the ominous shape under the boat. It is a shark!
I move from the tramp to the keel of the more buoyant hull, I am sitting here with my feet in the air, doing a balancing act when he thought occurs to me that I could tumble backward off the boat in this stuff, and I'd be in the water with the shark. I move back to the tramp, but stand astride the lacing. I don't want to look, but I can't help it. I've got to see what the shark is doing. The damn thing is still there. I must have drifted a mile or so since the storm hit, and the damn thing is still with me. He's stalking me. Every time I look at the lacing, I can see the undulating shape not more than a foot or two under the boat. All of the hair on my body is standing on end, and I am getting punchy from a massive adrenaline overdose.
I start to think, I have my Kbar, maybe I could stab him through the lacing. Would that drive him off, or just piss him off?
Meanwhile, back on the beach, four things have become apparent:
I sailed out of sight into the Gulf.
I have not returned.
One large storm is headed for the beach.
It is now very dark.
After a quick huddle, three battery powered Q-Beam searchlights are located, and three Hobie 16s with a skipper and two man crews start the search.
This damn shark really has me spooked. He is still there, under the boat. I must be half way back to land by now. How long is he going to stay under the boat? Is he going to wait until we start to get into shallow water to scoop me off the boat? I heard that most shark attacks happen in shallow water. Scenes from Jaws are running through my mind, and I can almost actually hear the theme music. I look out toward land. Is that a light? I am too far out to see lights on the beach, so it probably isn't. I stare intently into the darkness. There! There it is again. It's definitely a light! It's getting closer! The wind and rain are as intense as ever, but I start yelling and waving my arms. The light gets closer. It's a Hobie with three people aboard! I think they see me. They are headed straight for me, and I am yelling as loud as I can. The boat gets closer, and before I can say anything about the shark, a figure with a light jumps from the boat. I rush over to pull him aboard yelling about the shark. He joins me on the bottom of the tramp and shines the light through the lacing.
"It's the SAIL you idiot", Conrad yells and then cracks up. I look, and sure enough, it is the sail. The damned sail has had me almost paralyzed with fear for the last 3 hours.
We get the boat back up, but to no avail. It just goes over again. The other boats have turned back to the beach. We get the boat back up again. We sit on the very rear of the tramp on the buoyant side and go downwind to the beach. We dump the boat several more times, before getting back to land, and each time I hear "tun tun tun tun...."
Sonny
More articles in category First Person Account & My Sailing Stories
- Harvest Moon Regatta 2010 - 157 miles of Texas Coastline (in the dark) (by damonAdmin on Nov 04, 2010)
- Family Regatta a Success for New Mexico Hobie Fleet (by damonAdmin on May 30, 2007)
- U.S.A. Tornado Nationals and Olympic Pre-Trial Reports (by damonAdmin on Oct 14, 2006)
- 2006 Hardway Distance Race Report (by Anonymous on May 23, 2006)
- Remembering My First Ocean Sail (by damonAdmin on Jan 06, 2006)
- Local Catamaran Sailors Venture to Catalina Island (by damonAdmin on Nov 21, 2005)
- What it's like to sail the Round Texel (by damonAdmin on Jun 13, 2005)
- The Last Hobie 18 from Hobie Cat. (by damonAdmin on Apr 06, 2005)
- Hobie 18 Catamaran Shipwrecked on Lake Michigan (by damonAdmin on Sep 14, 2003)
- Tornado Catamaran Sailor "Enters" the Tri-Point Anacapa Race. (by damonAdmin on Aug 28, 2003)