A Young Yacht Owner's Lessons learned:
“Mind numbing” describes the full day of motoring the intra costal waterway at 5 knots. Twelve hours of watching, depth sounder, buoys, and GPS, stimulates a yearning for the open ocean, and beer. We were less than a quarter mile from that beer when disaster struck.
One hundred yards from a slow-to-open draw bridge, I started a circle to allow time for it to open. This particular draw bridge was old, slow, and sounded like a hundred wrenches being dropped down a metal stair case.
The tide and wind were racing in parallel toward the bridge, I was just past halfway through my circle. The jib was flapping and had just crossed sides as I started furling.
It was just then that we noticed a jib sheet fly through the block to join it’s brother on the new leeward side. “I’ll get it” my wife said as I continued furling. She still had one foot in the cockpit when engine suddenly yelped Thung-kk, and stopped.
You have the picture: A tightly strung jib sheet in the water leading towards the prop. Wind and tide gushing towards a slowly opening bridge, 100 yards away. The main sail stowed under a sail cover.
Instantly, we were in danger. The boat (also our home at the time) was drifting, sideways towards destruction.
Offshore cruising sailboats should have anchors properly secured: Out of the way, low, and if possible, centered. Ours, was none of those. Having anchored last night, it was ready to drop. I ran forward, untied, kicked, swore at, and pushed the anchor overboard. Then I prayed and waited as we quickly drifted closer to rocks and a half opened bridge.
How deep is it?
Will it Set?
If it doesn’t, can I get the jib out in time?
Can I trim the jib with the sheet stuck around the prop?
Will insurance cover this?
Is this how my dream of living aboard ends?
Just then the sideways drifting hull started swiveling, bow pointing into the current. The chain tightened, emerging from the water straight ahead. I can’t overstate the feeling of relief felt as our stern swung just twenty yards from the wooden structure that ushers traffic under the bridge. People fishing the nearby rocks appeared, relieved. It was holding.
I was preparing for a swim just as the coast guard motored by. They offered to call a towing service but declined to lend a hand. They were most insistent that I not get in the water. My second mistake of the day was listening. Next time, I’ll follow my instinct and free my own boat (thankfully there hasn’t been a “next time”)
It’s a common expression that when ever two sailboats are side by side, you have a race. I had won a few such races that day. Our jib and motor combined passed other cruisers reluctant to set sail.
Now I was more than humbled as these same boats. Looked eerily upon our disposition. This was further exasperated by a little misunderstanding I had with the bridge operator. I had requested the opening then, to his bewilderment, I appeared to just anchor in front of his pass through. Car traffic was waiting over 10 min before I realized he was afraid to close it. I radioed that we were having troubles and to close the bridge. He immediately did so and then, for some unknown reason, he assumed that it was unsafe for him to open the bridge again. So the entire day’s worth of traveling sailboat “companions” were now circling around waiting. They had been told that there was a boat in distress and that the bridge could not open. I hailed the operator again and suggested he continue normal bridge procedures. Immediately traffic stopped, the bridge started opening and all the boats lined up single file and passed close-by as my anchoring spot didn’t leave much room. While thinking this couldn’t possibly be more humiliating, I then noticed a growing crowd of pedestrians overlooking our situation from the fixed part of the bridge.
Eventually the towing service arrived. I was surprised that he towed us rather than tie along side. But he expertly towed us forward just enough for me to pull the anchor. The further upstream to put for some turning room. He called the bridge for an opening and then swiftly turned us back towards the throughway, keep just enough speed to maintain steer-ability.
After making the turn, I was uncomfortable that the bridge was still closed. But we had time and honestly, I was happy someone was communicating with the bridge operator. Still, I asked, and the tow boat captain confirmed, it would open. Soon the bridge started its haunted clanging noises, but still, given the our pace, this was could be “close” I thought. Aware that I had just asked, and that my shaken nerves could make me edgy, I decided to remain silent (mistake number 3) as we swiftly powered towards a mostly closed bridge. Then something happed, the bridge noises stopped. We were nearing the point of no return now 30 feet form the actual bridge I shouted Jim! Get me out of here! The driver, now under the bridge, did the only thing he could do. He put his 300 horse power engines in reverse and flew by me in the opposite direction. We exchanged grimaces as he passed, as if to agree that this was going to hurt. When the line grew tight, we collided just forward of my beam, loudly.
To imagine this seen, picture the bridge with one hinge, to starboard (on my right). The left side of the bridge arc’s upward and to the right creating a gap for masts to pass by. The channel’s left side is where masts safely pass the bridge. Now picture the tow boat reversing past my starboard side (near the bridge hinge).
While all this was occurring the bridge resumed opening slowly.
As the tow line drew taught my boat abruptly slowed down but to me time moved slower. We seemed to hang there for minutes until bow began to the pivot on the towline. By god’s grace, the stern began swinging left, towards the tiny but slowly widening gap on the left side (the lifting side of the bridge).
I was thinking how to vacate whichever direction the mast fell. Few options on a boat 12 feet wide. The crowed, was now gripped by their show. I remember one guy Yelling Oh no! No! It’s Going To Hit, IT’S GOING TO HIT!!
All eyes were glued to the top of the mast. It’s path arched with the pivoting boat while the bridge arched up and right. The two arch’s formed a near miss like the way a high jumper snakes their body up and around the fragile pole.
Were I sitting on top of our mast, I could have reached out and touched the bridge. The crowd cheered as we (including the tow boat) passed sideways by the still opening bridge. The man yelling was now saying “Wait… My God it May Make It, it’s going to make it IT’S MAKING IT!
Once tied at dock, with all systems off, We were traumatized. There was the crash site which had made an ugly mark but amazingly no damage (A toast to CE Ryder’s quality blue water sailboat construction). Then there was the line tightly tangled in the prop. As I readied to dive, my wife for the first and only time said “Can I pour you a shot of rum”
As it turned out. The bridge operator had engaged the bridge to open but experienced an issue and had to switch to a backup device which caused the delay.
To this day if you sail with me, you’ll notice all four sheets are checked for a secure figure eight knot prior to departure. Also ingrained in my head is, when ever a line is suspected to be overboard, shift to neutral. These lessons were recorded in my log along with "Blue water cruisers belong at sea."
