When Topsy becomes turvy

One of the biggest concerns on the minds of small boat sailors is capsizing; how to prevent it, and how to recover after it happens.

   Some small sailboats are designed to be self-recoverable. Some, such as trimarans, are designed to be almost impossible to capsize.

   I’ve never had either one of those.

   In my 54-year career of small boat sailing, I’ve capsized twice.

   That’s way too often.

   The first time was in my first boat, a 15½-foot Windmill sloop, "Skipper" (named after our Cocker Spaniel) that my grandfather, Pawp, built for me. The Windmill is an open boat with no deck to keep water out. Once it goes over too far, it becomes a bathtub.

   I was 18, a young skipper. My crew was my Mom. We were sailing on a brisk winter day in Lake Logan Martin. The years have made the memory mercifully cloudy, but the way I remember it went is as follows:

   The breeze was stiff and increasing. Still a novice, I was growing anxious. The manila mainsheet jammed, making it impossible to release the wind’s power. I steered the little boat head to wind, to take the pressure off the sails. At the same time, I rushed forward to take down the sails, whose halyards were cleated on the mast.

   The Windmill is a tender (tippy) boat. Putting weight in the bow decreases the boat’s stability even further. I uncleated the main halyard and yanked.

Nothing.  The mainsail was jammed in its track in the mast. I tugged furiously, not noticing that the rudder, now untended (my Mom knew even less about sailing than I did) allowed the boat to head downwind. The boat continued heading further downwind, until the wind caught the other side of the sail, jibing and throwing it violently over to the other side -- and throwing me and Mom into the water with it.
  The cold water took my breath away; but oddly enough, after the initial shock, the water felt warm -- at least for awhile. The boat was lying on its side. Mom and I paddled around, trying to salvage what we could and keep equipment from floating away.   

   We slowly drifted to shore, where, luckily, help was waiting. Some men had seen our plight and arrived to take us ashore for warm showers and change of clothes. They also towed the boat back to dock for us.

   It’s good to be able to count on the kindness of strangers.

   My second capsize was June 26, 2015; skipper now age 68 -- more years, but still not wise enough. My current boat is a Sea Pearl 21 -- not as tender as the Windmill, but not immune to capsize. The two-masted cat ketch Pearl is partially decked to keep out spray, but if it goes too far, it also becomes a bathtub.

    Pride goeth before a fall. I had criticized the participants of the ill-fated Dauphin Island race for not paying close enough attention to NOAA reports. I always pay close attention to weather reports. The weather was nice, and storms were not expected until after midnight. However, as I sailed down the lake, there came a report of a strong thunderstorm near Fort Payne, AL, miles away. I sailed on, still paying close attention. Then I saw a jagged lightning flash in a cloud bank in the south. I immediately turned tail, but was still a couple of miles from home. A few minutes later NOAA mentioned the second storm, near Albertville, moving northeast, and could affect Guntersville.

   I kept a close watch. It looked as if the cloud would pass to the east of me. Positive thinking didn't help. The wind picked up slightly, but not alarmingly. The clouds were still quite far away. Then it picked up considerably -- 15-20, so I made for the lee of a point.

   That was my big mistake. I should have used those few seconds to completely furl both sails and throw out the anchor. Within seconds, a sudden blast of 50-70 hit. I hadn't realized such powerful winds could be that far ahead of the clouds. Although I let both sheets fly, it wasn't enough. Even with both sails flapping, spilling as much wind as possible, the ferocious gust just laid her over.

   I was swimming the next instant. The wind intensified even more, making choppy waves. I tried to keep items from floating away (I had been too lazy to take the advice of seasoned Sea Pearlers to tie everything down -- I have since learned my lesson). I made my way around to the windward side of the upside down hull, but attempting to right the craft was futile. Both masts were firmly stuck in the mud. The lake water in June was comfortable; no need to worry about hypothermia.

   I made my way back around to the lee side. The chop increased. One of the waves knocked off my prescription sunglasses, even though they were attached with a string. My “water resistant” VHF proved not very water resistant. My GPS made no such claim. It was also a goner. Nothing to do but hang on.

   Eventually the storm passed. I was close enough to a campground that I could shout for help. A lady onshore heard me yelling and sent her husband out in a motorboat. He picked me up and brought me back to his camp, where his wife gave me dry clothes and liquids.

   I was anxious to go back out and retrieve the boat, but another storm was coming, so we had to wait. I called my wife and told what had happened. Someone called the marine police. After a long wait, the marine police showed up; but their mission is to save lives, not property. They advised me to call a towing company, then headed back to their base.

My  current boat, a Sea Pearl 21

   My new best friends then took me back out to the scene of the accident. We put two lines around the boat and started backing toward shore. The mainmast came up out of the water, but the mizzen stayed stuck in the mud. I had either forgotten to put a stop knot in the mizzen sheet, or it had come undone.

   Once we got the boat into shallow water, it was just a matter of bailing it out. We called my wife, and she and a neighbor showed up with the Subaru and trailer.

   The next day, this incredibly generous friend went back out and retrieved the bottom portion of the mizzen mast along with the torn mizzen sail, and brought it to me. Grateful doesn’t begin to describe my feelings.

   Total loss: mizzen topmast, torn mizzen sail, slightly bent mainmast, prescription sunglasses, GPS, VHF (still functions as weather radio), cushions, sailbag with various sundry items.

   At a local marina I found two masts that fit, and a Sea Pearl friend sold me a used set of sails. I got off very lightly. I don’t intend to be caught napping again -- live by the Sea Pearl mantra, “Reef early and often.”