Having been sleep deprived, apparently I missed this group, really the
most important one in my view, when I sent the below:

From: "Skip Gundlach"
To: "Skip Gundlach" ; "Morgan"
; "morgan yahoo"

Subject: "I learned about sailing from that"
Date: Sunday, February 11, 2007 2:00 AM

"I learned about sailing from that"

By this time, the post-mortem on our grounding is well under way.
Nearly
always, even in a hurricane (which virtually always, these days, one
would
know was coming), if a boat comes to grief, there's ample possibility
to
make mistakes in preparation, and learn from the results.

Pilots nearly certainly will recognize the title's slight migration
from the
stories which used to (been prolly 30 years, so I can't swear that
it's
still so) finish each issue of Flying mag. Herein is my contribution.

Our plan had been to take a very easy ride down to Marathon, from St.
Pete,
anchoring in each night, getting a full night's rest, and going on as
the
spirit moved us the next day. We'd been on an insane schedule for the
last
several weeks, typically up until at least 2AM and, as I'm
photosensitive, I
was usually out of bed by 7 at the latest. That had been preceded by
5
months of intense work as we raced to finish our refit and head out to
make
the jump to Georgetown, Bahamas, to pick up the kids, and later,
Lydia's
mother, for cruising fun.

The ideal weather window passed us by, just as we were almost ready
to
leave. So, deprived of a target, we were going to take it easy and
recover
along the way. Forecasts for the entire way - at least as I could
access
them - St. Pete, Bradenton, Sarasota, Venice, Charlotte Harbor, Ft.
Meyers
and Cape Sable - were perfect. 10-15 NE, which, on our heading and
speed,
would make for beam reaching the entire way, and moderate seas, which,
for
our trooper of a boat, would be totally easy.

We'd planned to hug the coast, coming in each night, and make the
passage
through Mosier Channel to clear 7 Mile Bridge, and anchor in either
Boot Key
Harbor or on the south/west side under the bridge, opposite the
shallows.

Despite my earlier concerns, and having pestered every forum and list
I was
on about how difficult I thought it would be, with our 6.5+ draft, we
were
assured that it was entirely feasible to come through and continue on
our
way.

Many discussions ensued about using Key West as a jumpoff point, and
while
it could have been done, would entail a much longer time in the stream
in
order to cross, and would have no readily available check-in point.
In
addition, having done it the other way in the course of delivery from
Ft.
Lauderdale, I knew that that channel was dead simple, but, yet, when
viewed
on a chart or from the air in GoogleEarth or the like, looked totally
treacherous and impossible. From that we inferred it was much the
same in
the route to 7 Mile Bridge.

With all the encouragement and affirmation, we elected for Marathon.
In
hindsight, we would still do the same, as, while under tow at dead low
tide,
we never touched on the way in to Keys Boat Works on the bay side of
the
bridge. And, this was in full dark - but obviously the tow captain
not only
had extremely good chart and radar information, he was intimately
familiar
with the route. We had not expected, nor intended, a dark passage.
Instead,
as we reached the area (as happened - as planned, it would have been
full
light), we were going to throw out the hook outside the channel and
wait for
dawn.

So, what happened?

First, we went aground nearly immediately after turning south, in
uncharted
new ground produced by prior hurricanes, just off Bradenton/Sarasota.
The
decision was made to turn outbound and motor hard for a short while to
get
offshore so as to not have a repeat performance.

This was in the early-mid afternoon - about 2-3 hours from sunset.
Sailing
conditions were, as forecast, ideal. We were still in sight of land,
but
the ideal point of sail was taking us further from land. Thus, the
first of
several cascading decisions was made. Instead of backtracking as
would have
been necessary under sail, or straight motoring in to an anchorage,
we
continued into the darkness.

We were both alert and in fine condition. The boat loved it,
reaching
effortlessly on into the night. We had a lovely dinner of leftovers
from
the prior night, heated up. Lydia went below to sleep while I
continued my
watch. The VHF's mechanical man and woman on NOAA weather radio
continued to
say it was marvelous sailing, and the boat proved it. The
chartplotter
showed our progress steadily down the coast, but continuing to reach
offshore.

As we had to miss the corner, anyway, that was no problem. And even
though
the wind picked up a bit, the boat handled it with aplomb. Otto
steered his
course without so much as a tweak from me. The waves built a bit, but
that
was to be expected as we continued to move offshore.

However, as the new day dawned, it was apparent that the waters
weren't all
that benign any more. The world outside was empty - never a sight of
another
boat on the entire trip once we left landfall - and nasty, as well as
getting windier and lumpier.

Still, she shouldered on, with our full enclosure keeping us
relatively dry
and reasonably warm, and our course was fine for our destination. As
we
began to heel a bit, we just eased the sheets, allowing her to stand
up
again. That she did so, and also increased her speed suggested to me
that
we'd been too tightly sheeted, anyway. Our speed over ground (SOG)
increased to the high 8s - high performance and exhilarating and
chest-puffing.

That was another decision point which, with hindsight, probably
contributed
to our eventual downfall. We probably should have reefed, instead,
and
pinched up a bit. None the less, at this rate, we'd make our marker
well
before dark - an outstanding run for the trip. That, too, contributed
to
our continuing as before. Had we any concept of what was to come,
we'd have
done something different - but hindsight's always 20-20. Instead,
we
continued, making extremely good time, in comfortable position.

By this time, the winds were pretty reliably in the 20s. Again, no
worries,
as we came over on our delivery in winds which never went below 20.
VHF
forecasts were now very spotty, as we were pretty far from land, and
the
seas were beginning to be nasty. As the wind built, we heeled even
more.
Yet, still, we were well within our experienced prior range for wind
and
felt no concern. So, with about 70 miles to go, we just bore off a
bit,
easing the pressure yet again - but taking us further from shore.

Soon, the seas and winds were untenable. We dropped all sails and
headed
inland. By this time the winds were in the high 20s and flirting with
30.
We made more than 4 hours of motoring to next to no effect. All the
prior
decisions had put us, effectively, out to sea, in nasty conditions.

What to do? Lydia didn't want anything to do with my going forward to
put
in a triple reef, but if we didn't have some sail up, the boat was
extremely
uncomfortable, thrashing around in the washing machine of what I
estimated
to be 9' seas or better, based on the disappearance of the horizon
from a 6'
freeboard/cockpit elevation with me sitting on top of it.

However, I pointed out that we could run the engine full blast and
make less
than 2 knots, perhaps overheating it (there was an elevated temp but
not an
overheat condition), and in the end, take the next two days to reach
land at
that rate, or put me into the harness and straps and go forward in a
cautious fashion, straighten out the sails issue, and stabilize the
boat if
nothing else.

So, I did. Good decision, among what might have been several poor
ones, as
it stood right up and sailed. However, the winds were still building,
and
it required bearing off, again, from a beam reach. That put us yet
again
further downwind of what we wanted, but we were still a great long way
from
anything, so sailing was ok from a safety standpoint.

We discussed going to Key West. Another potential missed opportunity;
if
we'd done that, likely we'd not have had any problem. But, again, we
were
very far from anything, and the charts all showed pretty much a clear
shot
at our first waypoint. Two equipment failures contributed to our
eventual
demise: The radar would not light, so land was invisible in the
night, and
didn't see the squall/front, either (apparently we were just in front
of a
weather system the entire way down, none of which was mentioned in the
VHF
automated reports updated so regularly), and our electronic charts
didn't
have the detail needed to see what was coming.

So, having discarded the Key West option, Lydia wanted me to get some
sleep,
as the boat was sailing along at a comfortable (for me) 5.6 under
triple
reef, again still far from anything. So, she took over and I went to
the
aft berth where the motion, while substantial, was easy and thus was
of no
issue, and I slept soundly. What I couldn't have known was that she
was
very uncomfortable, nearly seasick, and rather than standing watch,
was on
the saloon sole, popping up every few minutes, looking around, trying
to
make sense of the chartplotter which - since she'd not been monitoring
it,
and making range adjustments to look ahead and also in detail at where
we
were headed by zooming in along the intended route - she really
couldn't
comprehend, worsened by her physical state.

Looking back, she should have gotten me, despite how tired I was, or
how
much she wanted me to get some rest. My practice with the
chartplotter
would have revealed our course taking us dangerously close to the
reefs on
which we eventually came to grief, and we could have pinched up,
rather than
doing our broad reach, or, even, simply tacked off in the opposite
direction, to take us away from where we were.

The final straw was what the locals characterized as a real stinker of
a
storm. Visibility was nil, waves were very high and breaking over the
boat,
and in Boot Key Harbor, normally the best hurricane hole in the Keys,
people
were staying up on anchor watch (which is how the first word of our
rescue
reached the Morgan group - someone had heard the entire exchange
between us
and the CG, following them all the way to Key West and their eventual
two
refusals on previously chosen landing spots, on their VHF. So,
already
perilously close, we were blown off course.

Any of the prior decisions, had they been different, might have saved
the
day. However, up until the end, all of them might have worked out
well.
When we were under tow into Keys Boat Works, at dead low tide, not
once did
we touch, let alone ground, on our course behind the towboat. So, the
path
is eminently do-able. We just weren't quite on it...

I'm glad to say that Lydia's recovered and is ready to get back in
the
saddle again. Of course, our insurance company may have other thoughts
on
the matter, because once they've decided it's a total loss, there's no
going
back, other than to buy it from them for salvage - and our bank
account
won't stand it (I know what it will be, because I helped someone buy
another
M46 out of insurance salvage from the owner who was willing to take
the
reduction on the expectation that my friend would buy it for an
immediate
profit).

So, your prayers and thoughts are encouraged on our behalf. Some of
you
already know about Hayden Cochran's web site - an Island Packet owner,
no
less! - at http://ipphotos.com/FlyingPig.asp. A poster in rec.boats
cruising has pictures up of our boat on the hard, before we even did
(http://www.geoffschultz.org/Flying_Pig/index.html) - though we'll
soon have
pix of our extraction up, and later the gory details on the damage
which -
since it's just some of the exterior, Geoff's pix can't really convey.

Thank you all for your support. It truly has been overwhelming,
literally
hundreds of mails, the office at Keys Boat Works (700 39th Street,
Gulf
Marathon FL, 33050 305-743-5583, where we can receive
mail, brownies, cookies, or anything else) has been inundated with
calls,
and all the other things too many to mention which show how our
amazing
sailing/cruising network responds to someone in distress...

That's all I can manage for right now, being sleep deprived in the
extreme.
Thanks for all the love...

L8R

Skip and Lydia

PS for those seeing this event for the first time, extensive
discussions
have taken place in the sailnet Morgan, west florida and livaboard
lists,
the rec.boats.cruising newsgroup, and to a lesser degree, the
renegades and
lats and atts forums, if you'd like to catch up. Of course, you could
also
look at our log lists for a compressed view, without all the chatter
on the
event, of the sites above

Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery!
Follow us at http://groups.google.com/group/flyingpiglog and/or
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheFlyingPigLog

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you
didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail
away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.
Explore.
Dream. Discover." - Mark Twain
m

Skip,

Thank you very much for posting that.

One of the great safety resources of aviation was collective learning from
analysis of accidents. Boating could use more of it. In aviation however, we
seldom had to worry so much about the feelings of our friends during these
post mortems. Due to the nature of the activity they were more apt to be,
well, post mortems.

I know you have more than enough knowledge and character to translate
everything that has happened into experience. You don't need any help from
any of us with that. I've learned a lot from following this however and
discussion may help others as well as further increase the value of what
your hard lessons pass on to me. I'm planning on heading out next summer,
with a companion who has almost no experience, on the most extensive and
challenging sailing of my life. We're close to your age so I've really been
thinking about all this.

So, the rest of this is not addressed to you, Skip, but to myself and the
rest of us.

The lesson for me in these events is how a philosophy can interfere with
accomplishing critical tasks. Aviation invented the term CRM, Cockpit
Resource Management, when it learned that the culture and philosophy of the
Captain being an unquestioned authority was interfering with the crew's
ability avoid fatal mistakes. This looks like a CRM accident to me.

The underlying culture in this case was very different, almost the reverse,
of the captain as god, syndrome that created so many aviation accidents.
Still, an underlying culture and mindset obstructed proper navigation.

The captain in this case was being more his wife's husband than the master
of the vessel. The crew was more wife than watchstander. This may sound like
soft and fuzzy stuff but, when you get fatigued and stressed, the tendency
is to fall back on your underlying role. This is why pilots and others
engaged in hazardous activities practice so many drills, so that when
stressed, they will fall back on the drill instead of their normal selves.

When the watchstander get stressed here, she fell back in to the roll of
wife concerned with her husband's sleep. The husband may have wanted to rest
but the captain wanted his boat to remain afloat much more. I can see
similar dynamics in the husband's actions but there is no need to belabor
them.

All of us who have observed the all too common screaming docking evolutions
know that the roles can be take much too seriously. There's another side to
the coin, however. You have to look deeper than "just watch the chart
plotter and keep the little boat from going over the green places". The crew
of this vessel already knew that and everything else they needed to know to
complete this trip safely. You have to look for what obstructs that
knowledge and ability from getting translated into effective action.

This has also driven home something I've know but realize now that I've
observed more in talk than actual vessel management. Make fatigue part of
all your planning. The navigator's mental acuity is the most important
resource aboard. When evaluating your ability to transit a difficult area,
look forward to your likely condition, not your underlying ability. Could
you do it staggering drunk? If not, maybe it's not the appropriate ending
for a challenging leg.

I'm not preaching. I'll be sailing my own boat differently next summer as a
result of what I've learned from the "Flying Pig" grounding.

--

Roger Long

In article ,
"Roger Long" wrote:

The captain in this case was being more his wife's husband than the master
of the vessel. The crew was more wife than watchstander. This may sound like
soft and fuzzy stuff but, when you get fatigued and stressed, the tendency
is to fall back on your underlying role. This is why pilots and others
engaged in hazardous activities practice so many drills, so that when
stressed, they will fall back on the drill instead of their normal selves.
snip
This has also driven home something I've know but realize now that I've
observed more in talk than actual vessel management. Make fatigue part of
all your planning. The navigator's mental acuity is the most important
resource aboard. When evaluating your ability to transit a difficult area,
look forward to your likely condition, not your underlying ability. Could
you do it staggering drunk? If not, maybe it's not the appropriate ending
for a challenging leg.

I'm not preaching. I'll be sailing my own boat differently next summer as a
result of what I've learned from the "Flying Pig" grounding.

Some very good points here, particularly that after not too many hours
in those conditions, most will be "staggering drunk" and should include
that condition in their deliberations. Heck, just returning to the slip
after a full day of sailing on a hot day often demonstrates diminished
capacity.

Pat and I drill just about everything, sailing into and out of harbors
and marinas, turning around to pick up that piece of driftwood that
struck our fancy, backing around the marina, making a game out of the
exercises. We've been accused of hot-dogging, but when we had to do
those things in earnest, the necessary actions were second nature.

Still, I think we might have been caught up in that chain of events, so
we'll be trying to figure out what the drill should be. So far, the
only thing that comes to mind is "stop"; heave to, anchor or something,
get some rest or at least slow things down. We've waited out a few
Chesapeake squall lines anchored out in the middle of everywhere. Not
my first choice, but it's far from my last.

--
Jere Lull
Xan-a-Deux ('73 Tanzer 28 #4 out of Tolchester, MD)
Xan's NEW Pages: http://web.mac.com/jerelull/iWeb/Xan/
Our BVI FAQs (290+ pics) http://homepage.mac.com/jerelull/BVI/

I've been having much the same dialogue with myself over this that I used to
have with aviation accident reports.

"He didn't do this thing he should have done."

"Heck, I'm know enough to do that."

"He did this thing he shouldn't have done."

"Heck, I know enough not to do that."

Then, I realize, so was he, in both cases and would probably be saying the
same thing if he was reading the report about someone else. More aviation
accidents happen like this, something causing the pilot's decision making to
dip far below his own normal, than happen because the pilot was simply in
over his head. The proportions are probably different on the water because
there are no regulations against taking a boat out bonehead stupid but Skip
certainly doesn't fit into that category. If there were yacht licensing
requirements, he could probably meet them easily. These things happen to
competent pilots and competent boaters. It's the reasons why we should be
thinking about and not tactical strategy for making difficult harbor
entrances.

It's not exactly on point but my long supressed memory of the closest I ever
came to losing a boat just came to mind.

My wife and I chartered the largest boat I had ever been in command of and
took a week long cruise with a couple who had never been on a boat before.
It was fun but a little stressful for me. A couple months later, we
chartered the same boat with another couple the wife half of which had grown
up in Marblehead sailing all her life. It was fun having someone on board
who could do everything well without instruction.

I gave her the wheel out in Penobscot Bay. It was October, few boats
around, wide open water, shore far away. I told her, "Keep her full and
by.", and went down to make lunch.

I looked up a while later from my cooking to see a large buoy passing very
close along side. It was also definitely the wrong color for the way we
were going. I reached the helm without my feet touching a single
companionway step and put the boat about seconds before we would have hit
the ledge.

She had just started bearing off bit by bit. The more she bore off, the
more the boat heeled and the faster it felt to her. The 20 - 30 degree
course change simply didn't register. She saw the buoy and figured, Roger
set the course, he knows what he's doing, it must be all right. It had been
about 20 years since she sailed a boat.

I would have been pretty hard to explain how I hit that well marked rock
that was just about the only thing within five miles that could have hurt
the boat.

--
Roger Long

"Roger Long" wrote:

I've been having much the same dialogue with myself over this that I used to
have with aviation accident reports.

"He didn't do this thing he should have done."

"Heck, I'm know enough to do that."

"He did this thing he shouldn't have done."

"Heck, I know enough not to do that."

Then, I realize, so was he, in both cases and would probably be saying the
same thing if he was reading the report about someone else. More aviation
accidents happen like this, something causing the pilot's decision making to
dip far below his own normal, than happen because the pilot was simply in
over his head. The proportions are probably different on the water because
there are no regulations against taking a boat out bonehead stupid but Skip
certainly doesn't fit into that category. If there were yacht licensing
requirements, he could probably meet them easily. These things happen to
competent pilots and competent boaters. It's the reasons why we should be
thinking about and not tactical strategy for making difficult harbor
entrances.

It's not exactly on point but my long supressed memory of the closest I ever
came to losing a boat just came to mind.

My wife and I chartered the largest boat I had ever been in command of and
took a week long cruise with a couple who had never been on a boat before.
It was fun but a little stressful for me. A couple months later, we
chartered the same boat with another couple the wife half of which had grown
up in Marblehead sailing all her life. It was fun having someone on board
who could do everything well without instruction.

I gave her the wheel out in Penobscot Bay. It was October, few boats
around, wide open water, shore far away. I told her, "Keep her full and
by.", and went down to make lunch.

I looked up a while later from my cooking to see a large buoy passing very
close along side. It was also definitely the wrong color for the way we
were going. I reached the helm without my feet touching a single
companionway step and put the boat about seconds before we would have hit
the ledge.

She had just started bearing off bit by bit. The more she bore off, the
more the boat heeled and the faster it felt to her. The 20 - 30 degree
course change simply didn't register. She saw the buoy and figured, Roger
set the course, he knows what he's doing, it must be all right. It had been
about 20 years since she sailed a boat.

I would have been pretty hard to explain how I hit that well marked rock
that was just about the only thing within five miles that could have hurt
the boat.

We came into Miami harbor after an overnight from the Bahamas - it was
late at night and we were tired - clear weather though and not a lot
of wind and Miami is very well lit at night. Bob handed the wheel
over to me (as he normally did when coming in to port), and started to
prepare the boat for picking up our mooring.

The first thing that happened was that I missed three little red
floaters at the turn down the ICW - they were on my port side. But
it was high tide so no harm no foul.

Bob then told me (although he denies it to this day) that there
weren't any more markers and just to head for the Rickenbacker bridge.
I didn't think he was exactly right, but whatever. I WAS paying
attention by then though, so when I saw a green square almost dead
ahead reflecting my port running light, I was able to swerve so as not
to hit it. Which we would have done. I passed it almost paint
scraping close. It waked Bob up for sure.

I've also run hard aground at the beginning of a cruise where I forgot
that we were leaving the creek and the red should be on the port. I
put it on the starboard. It was sand, so it didn't hurt the boat,
but our guest down below fell and hit her head and had headaches for
the next couple of days.

The beginnings and the endings of a cruise are the most hazardous
times. (Just as they are when flying a plane, although perhaps for
slightly different reasons)

"Rosalie B." wrote in message
...
"Roger Long" wrote:

I've been having much the same dialogue with myself over this that I used
to
have with aviation accident reports.

"He didn't do this thing he should have done."

"Heck, I'm know enough to do that."

"He did this thing he shouldn't have done."

"Heck, I know enough not to do that."

Then, I realize, so was he, in both cases and would probably be saying the
same thing if he was reading the report about someone else. More aviation
accidents happen like this, something causing the pilot's decision making
to
dip far below his own normal, than happen because the pilot was simply in
over his head. The proportions are probably different on the water
because
there are no regulations against taking a boat out bonehead stupid but
Skip
certainly doesn't fit into that category. If there were yacht licensing
requirements, he could probably meet them easily. These things happen to
competent pilots and competent boaters. It's the reasons why we should be
thinking about and not tactical strategy for making difficult harbor
entrances.

It's not exactly on point but my long supressed memory of the closest I
ever
came to losing a boat just came to mind.

My wife and I chartered the largest boat I had ever been in command of and
took a week long cruise with a couple who had never been on a boat before.
It was fun but a little stressful for me. A couple months later, we
chartered the same boat with another couple the wife half of which had
grown
up in Marblehead sailing all her life. It was fun having someone on board
who could do everything well without instruction.

I gave her the wheel out in Penobscot Bay. It was October, few boats
around, wide open water, shore far away. I told her, "Keep her full and
by.", and went down to make lunch.

I looked up a while later from my cooking to see a large buoy passing very
close along side. It was also definitely the wrong color for the way we
were going. I reached the helm without my feet touching a single
companionway step and put the boat about seconds before we would have hit
the ledge.

She had just started bearing off bit by bit. The more she bore off, the
more the boat heeled and the faster it felt to her. The 20 - 30 degree
course change simply didn't register. She saw the buoy and figured, Roger
set the course, he knows what he's doing, it must be all right. It had
been
about 20 years since she sailed a boat.

I would have been pretty hard to explain how I hit that well marked rock
that was just about the only thing within five miles that could have hurt
the boat.

We came into Miami harbor after an overnight from the Bahamas - it was
late at night and we were tired - clear weather though and not a lot
of wind and Miami is very well lit at night. Bob handed the wheel
over to me (as he normally did when coming in to port), and started to
prepare the boat for picking up our mooring.

The first thing that happened was that I missed three little red
floaters at the turn down the ICW - they were on my port side. But
it was high tide so no harm no foul.

Bob then told me (although he denies it to this day) that there
weren't any more markers and just to head for the Rickenbacker bridge.
I didn't think he was exactly right, but whatever. I WAS paying
attention by then though, so when I saw a green square almost dead
ahead reflecting my port running light, I was able to swerve so as not
to hit it. Which we would have done. I passed it almost paint
scraping close. It waked Bob up for sure.

I've also run hard aground at the beginning of a cruise where I forgot
that we were leaving the creek and the red should be on the port. I
put it on the starboard. It was sand, so it didn't hurt the boat,
but our guest down below fell and hit her head and had headaches for
the next couple of days.

The beginnings and the endings of a cruise are the most hazardous
times. (Just as they are when flying a plane, although perhaps for
slightly different reasons)


That's why i keep all my Power Squadron and Chapman books. Sure helps to
flip through and refresh the old noggin on occasion.

"Rosalie B." wrote in message
...
"Roger Long" wrote:

I've been having much the same dialogue with myself over this that I used
to
have with aviation accident reports.

"He didn't do this thing he should have done."

"Heck, I'm know enough to do that."

"He did this thing he shouldn't have done."

"Heck, I know enough not to do that."

Then, I realize, so was he, in both cases and would probably be saying the
same thing if he was reading the report about someone else. More aviation
accidents happen like this, something causing the pilot's decision making
to
dip far below his own normal, than happen because the pilot was simply in
over his head. The proportions are probably different on the water
because
there are no regulations against taking a boat out bonehead stupid but
Skip
certainly doesn't fit into that category. If there were yacht licensing
requirements, he could probably meet them easily. These things happen to
competent pilots and competent boaters. It's the reasons why we should be
thinking about and not tactical strategy for making difficult harbor
entrances.

It's not exactly on point but my long supressed memory of the closest I
ever
came to losing a boat just came to mind.

My wife and I chartered the largest boat I had ever been in command of and
took a week long cruise with a couple who had never been on a boat before.
It was fun but a little stressful for me. A couple months later, we
chartered the same boat with another couple the wife half of which had
grown
up in Marblehead sailing all her life. It was fun having someone on board
who could do everything well without instruction.

I gave her the wheel out in Penobscot Bay. It was October, few boats
around, wide open water, shore far away. I told her, "Keep her full and
by.", and went down to make lunch.

I looked up a while later from my cooking to see a large buoy passing very
close along side. It was also definitely the wrong color for the way we
were going. I reached the helm without my feet touching a single
companionway step and put the boat about seconds before we would have hit
the ledge.

She had just started bearing off bit by bit. The more she bore off, the
more the boat heeled and the faster it felt to her. The 20 - 30 degree
course change simply didn't register. She saw the buoy and figured, Roger
set the course, he knows what he's doing, it must be all right. It had
been
about 20 years since she sailed a boat.

I would have been pretty hard to explain how I hit that well marked rock
that was just about the only thing within five miles that could have hurt
the boat.

We came into Miami harbor after an overnight from the Bahamas - it was
late at night and we were tired - clear weather though and not a lot
of wind and Miami is very well lit at night. Bob handed the wheel
over to me (as he normally did when coming in to port), and started to
prepare the boat for picking up our mooring.

The first thing that happened was that I missed three little red
floaters at the turn down the ICW - they were on my port side. But
it was high tide so no harm no foul.

Bob then told me (although he denies it to this day) that there
weren't any more markers and just to head for the Rickenbacker bridge.
I didn't think he was exactly right, but whatever. I WAS paying
attention by then though, so when I saw a green square almost dead
ahead reflecting my port running light, I was able to swerve so as not
to hit it. Which we would have done. I passed it almost paint
scraping close. It waked Bob up for sure.

I've also run hard aground at the beginning of a cruise where I forgot
that we were leaving the creek and the red should be on the port. I
put it on the starboard. It was sand, so it didn't hurt the boat,
but our guest down below fell and hit her head and had headaches for
the next couple of days.

The beginnings and the endings of a cruise are the most hazardous
times. (Just as they are when flying a plane, although perhaps for
slightly different reasons)

That confirms what I like about being an instructor. I treat every passage,
pass, harbour or anchorage as if I have never been there before. I may
have; my crew has not.

Jack


--
__________________________________________________
Jack Dale
ISPA Yachtmaster Offshore Instructor
CYA Advanced Cruising Instructor
Director, Swiftsure Sailing Academy
http://www.swiftsuresailing.com
__________________________________________________

In article ,
Rosalie B. wrote:

The beginnings and the endings of a cruise are the most hazardous
times. (Just as they are when flying a plane, although perhaps for
slightly different reasons)

The reasons aren't all that different, though running aground in a
cruising sailboat is somewhat less dangerous than in an airplane.

Either can make for a bad day, though.

--
Jere Lull
Xan-a-Deux ('73 Tanzer 28 #4 out of Tolchester, MD)
Xan's NEW Pages: http://web.mac.com/jerelull/iWeb/Xan/
Our BVI FAQs (290+ pics) http://homepage.mac.com/jerelull/BVI/