Upon my return home, I began to take care of miscellaneous maintenance on Whisk.  I was preparing for another trip to Santa Cruz Island, through "Windy Lane."  I found a very small crack in the gelcoat that revealed a crack in the hull that was leaking water.  I had to flip the boat over and do a bottom patch.  I also replaced a centerboard gasket that was torn off by the same rock that gave me the crack, during a beach landing. 
 
I also patched a batten that had broken on the four day trip when I let the sail get a little out of control during a reefing event.
 
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All patched up and ready to go, I went for a test sail.  JoeSailor was out there on his Prindle 19 and was testing out his MX jib.  He did not like the reduced visibility of the super-low foot of the sail, even though it has a big window in it.  At one point on the ocean we were the only two boats within miles and coincidence had us crossing on a collision course.  I was on starboard tack, Joe on port.  Joe and I both are very good with the rules in this type of situation and can always count on one another to do the right thing.
 
As we drew close, I saw Joe's head through his sail and it was bobbing; he appeared to be looking at me.  Just as we got close enough for me to get concerned about our predicament, I saw his boat begin to round up as if he was tacking, so I relaxed.  Then, I saw his bows move away from the wind again.  I shouted "starboard" as I tacked away and witnessed the Prindle just plow right through the side of my hull.  'Turns out, he was fumbling with a tangled line, had no controls in his hands, didn't even know I was nearby, and had no time to react when I shouted.
 
This event depressed me because I expected the damage to require a new hull, from thousands of miles away, and it was right in the middle of a season full of planned expeditions to various islands in the ocean.  I was able to sail back to the harbor while keeping the broken portion of the hull out of the water.  As I approached the marina I began to ponder the possibility of taking on water when I turn downwind and the boat is no longer lifting the broken hull.
 
I called for Tow-Boat U.S. on my radio three times with no response.  I wanted to ask them for an escort, just to be safe.  When they didn't answer my call I thought it to be unusual because I had heard them answer calls many times before, answering promptly.  I speculated that the rock jetties might have been blocking my signal so I stood up for the next three-shot attempt at calling them.  Again three silences were heard on the radio, followed by a gust that knocked me over while I had a radio in one hand and a tiller handle in the other hand.  I was unable to sheet-out the mainsail in time to avoid a capsize. 
 
Great!  Now I was capsized and the wind and waves were pushing me toward rock jetties and beach with breaking surf.  I pondered for a short instant about whether or not the broken hull was in the water and while I thought that I was okay, I decided that I had no time to think about that.  I tried to climb onto the boat and my radio, now dangling on its lanyard from my life jacket, snagged a piece of rigging.  I freed that up and tried again to climb aboard.  This time my safety line prevented me.  I detached and got up on the boat to make a radio call. 
 
I called "BayWatch," the Los Angeles County Lifeguards.  Calmly we agreed to switch to a non-emergency channel and resume our transmissions.  I informed them of my location and told them that I was not sure if I could right the boat before hitting shore.  The Lifeguard boat was on its way!
 
The Lifeguard at Playa Del Rey beach radioed that he had a visual fix on me and that he would send a man on paddleboard.  I acknowledged both men on the radio and returned to my task at hand.  Just as the boat arrived, so did the paddle-boarder.  Highly qualified rescuers with a good assortment of equipment were surrounding me.  I was feeling a little better now.
 
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Being nervous, it took me as long to rig my SoloRight and righting line as it took the Lifeguards to get to me.  Actually the reason I was just getting the SoloRight in place when they arrived is more of a testament to their speedy response.  These guys are good! 
 
Being in good company and feeling confident about not ending up on the rocks, I relaxed and went about my righting.  Since I did not bother to turn the boat around, I would have to take a two-step approach to righting.  The first step is when the boat appears to be ready to right and then it just twirls a pirouette, wind pushing on the main sail's leech, and falls back down.  Now, the boat turns weathervanes its bows to the wind and is ready for the second and final attempt.  I placed myself on the end of my SoloRight and the boat slowly lifted.
 
Everyone was glad to see the whole event finish up so smoothly.  The Lifeguards confirmed with their dispatcher that everyone was safe.  They all passed around the Kudos and congratulated me for having a radio and being able to right my boat.
 
The Boat U.S. on the water towing service has some explaining to do.  I'll be asking for my three years' fees back.
 
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I called a repair shop for an estimate and was told that I'd get a return call from the estimator.  Two days of silence later, I've given up on him!
 
I canceled a trip to Santa Cruz Island and planned a shorter trip to Catalina Island.  I'll either do it with a temporary patch or sail the Nacra 6.0 that my buddy Buzz and I have stashed away for a rainy day.  Speaking of rain, just wait until I tell you about the micro burst that hit me yesterday!
 
After I finished the temporary repair, both hulls were airtight.  I had done a patch on both of them now.
 
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I headed out Solo, just behind a Prindle 16 with two men aboard.  The weather was rapidly turning into some exciting cat-sailing weather.  A micro burst was coming.  This is not a common occurrence here.  As I tacked up the main channel of the marina, I was in nearly maximum de-powered mode.  My jib was furled, my traveler was pretty far out, and my mainsail was flat as a board.  I was out-pointing the Prindle and out-pointing mono hulls. 
 
The Prindle was sailing wider angles and progressing upwind nearly as well as I was.  I paused at the end of the channel to swallow hard before going out to sea.  The Prindle went out as I watched them struggling.  I decided to go out only long enough to tell them that I was going to go back in and reef my main.
 
After a quarter-mile reach, they tacked.  I was not doing well.  I was too severely overpowered to catch them on the first tack.  My leach was buzzing and I was sure that I did not want to keep this up much longer.  My mainsail was in danger of ripping.  I decided to tack and give one final attempt to catch them.  I was sure that I could do it on the other tack because it would be more directly into the waves where I could bring the boat into better trim.
 
After a clumsy tack where I had to "back out,"  I was off and flying.  But where did that Prindle go?  I just had wanted to let him know that he would be out here alone, so that I could go back in.  But now I had lost him.  Either I was unable to spot him or he suddenly got back into the harbor without me noticing.  But I couldn't even see his sail over the jetties of the Marina.  I was getting worried.
 
I thought that there was a good chance that he had capsized.  Actually, it was more than a good chance; it was probable.  Now that I could not spot him, I started to think that he could be turtled.  After several good visual scans of the entire ocean's surface surrounding me, I gave up on spotting him.  I decided to get into the shelter of the marina and then immediately call the Lifeguards to ask them if they had seen the orange Prindle that I had lost track of.
 
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Now it was time for the most difficult maneuver.  I had to make that turn from close reach to running, through the beam reach area that I have heard Gino Morrelli call "the zone of death."  The zone of death is the point of sail where the cat will power up if you head up and, will power up if you head off.  You don't want to sail a cat there.  There is nowhere to go if you get an overpowering puff.  Bringing this cat through the beam reach was going to be almost impossible with only one man aboard.
 
I trapped out as far out, back as I could, traveled all the way out, eased the sheet, turned abruptly, puckered up, and hung on as well as I could.  Front leg extended firmly and ready to strike the shroud, aft leg in tension from a foot strap.  As the boat passed the beam reach, the rudders began to lift out of the water as the bows took a dive.  I thought it was all over, but I soon settled down and was on a broad reach for home.
 
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I sailed deeper and deeper as the wind grew more and more violent.  Wind was probably at about 25-35 knots now.  A wind shift, traveler moves 6 feet across the rear beam and I'm jibed.  My butt dragging in the water, I attempt to steer back to the other tack and in seconds I was capsized over, back first.
 
I was underwater as my lifejacket lifted me to the surface.  As I felt the water parting around my head, I prepared myself to grab a giant gulp of air that could possibly be my only available breath between being capsized and being cut free of the tangled lines.  That air tasted good and I was pleased to see that my face stayed above water.  The emergency rescue knife was no longer on my mind.  Now my plan was to right the boat.
 
I saw the nearby rock jetty getting closer at a very alarming rate!  I knew for sure that there was no way that I was going to be able to recover from this one before getting too close to the rocks.  Plan change!  Plan:  Climb aboard, stand up, call for help on the radio, try to right the capsize, get away from the rocks.
 
Both the mainsheet that was in my hand and my lifeline were dragging me.  The boat was moving at probably 4 knots or faster, hulls first, dragging the mast and sail.  I let go of the sheet and pushed the boom out with my foot to give back the sheet line that I had used up in my DUMBASS maneuver.  (Dragging Under My Boat Automatic Sheeting System)
 
I reached forth on my lifeline, toward the boat, and grabbed it to pull myself closer.  That brought me within reach of the stern.  I reached for the underside of the crossbar with the other hand and could not get a good enough grip on the trampoline corner hole to pull myself closer.  After a few attempts I gave up on being able to get myself to the bottom sides of the hulls before being pulverized by the waves crashing on the rocks.
 
I used my feet in the main sheet and my hands on a deck line to pull myself over to the boat.  I was on the topside of the trampoline where I was able to grab a shroud.  I knew that I was going to have a total loss on the rocks and I pretty much kissed my beloved Whisk good-bye.
 
After struggling for nearly a whole minute or two, I now was in a position where I could both hold onto the boat and hold on to the radio so I decided that I was going to have to call a Mayday from the water's surface.  Would the antenna see over the jetty to the tower on the harbormasters building????  I had nothing to loose.
 
In a snap judgment, I ascertained my situation as a Pan Pan and not a Mayday.  I did not feel as though my life was in jeopardy.  As a diver, body surfer, cat sailor, kind of California  water-man, I have been slammed onto rocks more than once in my life.  So I made the Pan Pan call and hoped for anyone to hear it.
 
"Pan Pan, Pan Pan, Pan Pan, this is the vessel Whisk, a capsized catamaran just outside the Marina Del Rey jetty, channel One-Six over."
 
I big wave hit me and knocked the radio out of my hand.  While it hung in the water, I could hear some noise from the speaker.  That probably meant that someone had at least heard something!  I picked up the radio, blew the water out of the speaker's bezel, and heard, "Vessel calling Pan Pan, what side of the jetty are you on?"  And I answered with, "Outside, South."  Then the radio got doused again and when I cleared the speaker I heard, "...we're going to try to secure a line."  I looked up and right there, near my mast tip was the "UCLA Sea World!"  Yippee, my boat might not be pulverized!!!!!!!
 
I made eye contact with a guy on the fore deck and he said, "they know about you!"  I mouthed the words, "okay, thanks" and began to pull out a towline.  I was going to climb toward him on my standing rigging to try to tie my line to whatever line he may throw to me.  Just then the Lifeguard boat appeared.  Damn these guys move fast!
 
Here came a Lifeguard with a rope.  "Listen," I said, "we may have a May Day situation here.  I lost an Orange Prindle cat that I was chasing and I don't know if he made it back in."  The amphibious rescuer answered, "we got him, he's okay."  I breathed a big sigh of relief. 
 
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He tossed the line over the skyward hull and secured it to the dolphin striker.  He was surprised at the thickness of the striker.  "This is the first one that my clip would not fit over."  So he wrapped the line around and clipped it to itself.  The boat pulled my cat over downwind and I was frightened that we were going toward the Jetty.  This is when I noticed that I had blown laterally down to the end of the Jetty and was no longer in danger of hitting that one.  The other jetties and the beach were a comfortable distance from us.
 
I sat on the hull and grabbed the dolphin striker to try to prevent a rollover.  I looked down at the lifeguard in the water and this is when I realized that it was raining.  The burst was dumping on us. I thought of the Mel Brooks movie "Young Frankenstein" where Marty Feldman says "could be worse, could be raining," and the skies opened up with a downpour.
 
The boat came up and quickly rolled into another capsize.  I couldn't stop her.  The wind pushed her into a full turtle.  The Lifeguard and I got the rope moved around to the proper place to right the boat toward the wind and a successful righting took place.  I rode the hull up and back down as the towboat pulled the cat 180º over.  I landed on the tramp and immediately went for the high side.  Success!
 
The Lifeguard was climbing back on board with his buddy as I cast off their line and they were off in a Zip!  They had other work ahead of them, for sure in this storm.
 
I sorted out my deck and began sailing back in for home.  I received a call on the radio from Vessel Assist asking if everyone on my boat was safe, my boat was okay, and if I was heading back under my own power.  I assured him that all of that was correct, and then thanked him for checking with me. 
 
Then the wind died!  "Under you own power, are you," I asked myself?  I reached for my paddle and found that I had broken it when I was DUMBASSing.  After a minute of bobbing around, the wind shifted and blew from the opposite direction.  I wondered if a storm's eye had crossed and if I was about to get a second dose.  I beat it back up to the docks and landed safely. 
 
I saw the guys on the Prindle and Greg, the skipper, told me that they had headed in and capsized on the main channel.  The Lifeguards had rescued them, just before I made my radio call for help.  So THAT's why I couldn't see them earlier!
 
Everyone was safe and secure and it was "all in a day's work" for the Los Angeles County Lifeguards to whom I am always very grateful.
 
Gary Friesen "hobiegary"
 
 
Copyright 2003 Gary Friesen, all rights reserved.