Close Calls!

[DanaVin]

Thought this might be a good time to see if anyone wants to admit or tell of a close call they had.
Mine occurred a few years ago in San Diego Bay as we were approaching the Coronado Bridge. A great deal of activity was going on at the time on dozens of Navy ships just past the bridge. Whatever they were doing, they were doing it night and day. Literally hundreds of lights were all around and of course in all the colors of the rainbow.
We were headed back to south bay for the evening. It was quite dark, no moonlight at all. We were motoring as the bay was absolutely flat and calm. Weather was warm and perfect.
We had the boat on auto and were looking at all the welding sparks and lights moving around on board the Navy vessels ahead of us when all of a sudden a huge spotlight shown on us from ahead and way up in the sky above.
At first I thought it was a security helicopter trying to see who this was bearing down on the fleet. But then my eyes got adjusted and saw that a huge sea going barge was headed straight towards us. The light was actually from the huge tug behind the barge.
Since we were just out of the main channel, I immediately kicked it off auto and went hard to port. We cleared the barge by several dozen feet, to be sure, but it was close enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck, to say the least. That barge was the largest and longest one I've ever seen. And of course with absolutely no lights on it.
And why he was out of the channel at that time of night I have no idea.
Later, when retelling the story to a licensed captain (she owns a marine bookstore with a good friend of mine) she told me the same thing happened to her one time except her encounter was with one of the many small dinner cruise ships that ply the bay. At night, against the thousanfs of beautiful lights of downtown San Diego, it is often difficult to make out any vessel. She sails an Ericson 38, I believe it is, and said she just didn't see the dinner boat until she was almost on top of it. Having been on the sea her entire life I couldn't see how this could have happened to her but, as she explained, sometimes the eyes just do not put things together as they should and lights easily blend in with land lights.
Same thing happened to a friend of mine as he was entering Dana Point one time. He mistook a light on shore as a boat anchor light and changed course only to discover his error and narrowly missed the dark jetty.
Anyone have any stories to tell or are we out here on the West Coast just crazy?
DanaVin

[Carter Brey]

I remember one time when I nearly left the mooring without beer in the ice box.

It was years ago, but the horror of the memory is still fresh.

CB

[Didereaux]

Carter, Shame on you...the thought of no beer in the ice box is gonna cause nightmares for Neil, til at least next OktoberFest!

;)

[barfwinkle]

I remember one time when I nearly left the mooring without beer in the ice box.

I feel your pain brother!!!!! It is not an enviable position in which to find ones self!

[Clay Stalker]

Never happens on Yankee Lady....engine won't start unless there is cold beer in the icebox....rigged it that way myself so I would never end up like Carter!

CS

[barfwinkle]

Never happens on Yankee Lady....engine won't start unless there is cold beer in the icebox....rigged it that way myself so I would never end up like Carter!

Pics or wiring diagraphs PLEASE???

[Neil Gordon]

Carter, Shame on you...the thought of no beer in the ice box is gonna cause nightmares for Neil, til at least next OktoberFest!;)

Not to mention mightmares about missing AprilFest, MayFest, JuneFest, JulyFest, AugustFest and SeptemberFest.

Speaking of which, I was watching the History Channel and about German POW's in the US during WWII. Seems they got a beer ration... one bottle a day per man. So they buddied up into groups... that way one in six days each could enjoy a six pack's worth.

[RMeigel]

The year was 1979, two weeks before the ill fated Fastnet Race. I was invited to be a guest on a short cruise from Cork, Island to Plymouth, England - stopping at the Isles of Scilly, a horseshoe shaped group of islands, open to the south, where the fair passages through the northern edge are few, possibly only one.

We were slated to approach from the north, ETA mid morning, and pick our way through the northern passage marked on the chart by a "castle".

I had the 2 AM to 6 AM watch, and had just turned the wheel over to the captain during breakfast. It was foggy, we were under full sail and hissing through the water at 7 knots. We were following a strong radio signal direction finder and the water was plenty deep, with no appreciable reduction in depth that would otherwise indicate approach of terra firma.

The captain peered forward through the fog and shouted, "Oh S__T, a ROCK!!!!". Directly ahead, less than a mile away, appeared through the lifting fog what appeared to be the sheer face of the Rock of Gibraltar. We were close enough to hear the sound of waves crashing on it and adjacent rocks.

The boat was a 42 ft Alden design Nordfarer wooden yawl, built in 1958 in Holland. It is for sale at the website below if ya'll have any interest. Old fashioned in every wonderful way, and not something you tack on a dime. The captain handed the wheel to me saying, "Stay the course until it is time to turn" and he and his two crew raced forward to make all the adjustments. To this day, he says it is the fastest he's ever tacked Mistral, but, as I steered directly to the rock (with lighthouse perched on top), the time seemed like an eternity.

When we did make the turn and started to look for the "castle", the fog completely lifted to reveal an entire perimeter of rocks. Whew.

In those days, before GPS or LORAN, you had dead reckoning and the radio direction finder and whatever the bottom contour could tell you. We had arrived ahead of schedule.

Other adventures of the s/v Mistral, may be enjoyed by reading the owner's history and comments section in the brokerage listing:

http://www.cppyacht.com/wood.html

Finding the castle was another thing. I was looking for the Tinkerbelle special, complete with turrets and moat. The captain found what he was looking for and committed the boat to a narrow passage. The "castle" was little more than a cylindrical rock formation, with a slit for a crossbow and room inside for the midieval sentry. I crossed myself as we aimed for the passage (no more than 150 feet wide) - I wasn't convinced that we were looking at a castle.

Robin Meigel

[Oswego John]

Robin's tale remimded me of a similar story. About seven or eight years ago we were port hopping in Bermuda. I do remember that it was the first week in September and the skipper was keeping a weather eye (and ear) on the forecasts, since it was the onset of the hurricane season.

Now I've been hung up on a sandbar a few times and nudged into mud more than my share of times, but what I saw in Bermudian waters "shivered me timbers".

While approaching Hamilton, I noticed the nastiest, ugliest, black, rock formations , some jutting above water level and others just submerged and creating wavelets. Hmmm, something to pay close attention to. God bless buoys. I often thought of how pirates and other early seafarers managed in uncharted waters such as these.

After a few days, we sailed out to the North East end of the island to St George. While there, we got word of a tropical storm heading West and, in a few days, it was predicted to pass South of where we were. It was now time to depart and put some nautical miles between us and the approaching disturbance.

As we were leaving St George, the wind was piping up a bit. We were being hit broadside aport. We were moving nicely with reduced sails. Out of nowhere, we hear steady, repeated horn blasts from a giant cruise liner bearing down on us from astern. I don't know if you've seen one of the modern liners.They remind me of a fifteen story, or more, floating apartment house.

This liner was going at least twice our speed and bearing down on us at a fast clip. We pulled to stb'd as much as we dared, but so did he. I then realized that he was catching much more side wind than we were and was losing control. The horn kept blasting. We could hear the liner's bow thruster roaring.

The radio was on. I can make myself understood a bit in some foreign languages. What we heard was a tongue that I'd never been familiar with, interspersed with a few words in broken English. If we moved much farther to stb'd, we'd be out of the channel. I have to tell those who aren't familiar, this waterway isn't a narrow passage by any means.

I've been told that at times I have more nerve than brains. Was I aprehensive of the situation? Hell, no. I was flat out scared. Oh those big rocks, those big, black, ugly, nasty looking rocks breaking up above the surface.

Well, the ship passed us but we caught the swell. We swung to port to nose into the wake. The skipper noted the ship's name and registry. (Don't they all seem to be Liberian or Bahamian?) Nothing became of the protest that was lodged.

In time, we arrived home safely. In retrospect, the liner might have been a 1/4 or less of a mile away when it passed, (not in my mind's eye). Till the day that I pass on to glory, I'll still envision looking upward at this 15 story apartment building crabbing over toward the seemingly tiny cockleshell that we were on. And oh, those rocks, those nasty looking, ugly black rocks.

O J

[Bob B.]

I spent a couple of years aboard an intercoastal tug,first on the deck and then in at the wheel, and had a couple of situations that were a little harrowing. We pushed some big loads up the East Coast and it was difficult to stop and steer around smaller objects sometimes.
One time, about two in the morning, I was pushing a light load up around Palm Harbor, FL and saw a strange blip on the radar. I moved the searchlights forward and looked carfully. I slowed a little and then, with the binoculars, saw a dark hulled ketch anchored in the middle of the channel. I noticed no anchor light or anything. If it didn't have a light deck, it would have been a bad situation. I steered around it, being as it was high tide, and puttered on my way.
Another time, we were traveling up near the Wando River just south of Charleston. The turn there is a little tough and the sailboat approaching me radioed for instructions on where to be as I rounded the curve. I told him that if he would just stay put and wait for me to come by that would be the safest. I rounded the turn and swung over the location where he would have been. He realizing this, told me how relieved he was to have had the foresight to call and discuss the passing.
The other time, I was on the other end. We were traveling up from Oriental to Ocracoke at about four in the morning in our CD 27. I noticed a group of lights ahead and thought that it was the lights at Maw Point. It turned out that about an hour later the lights were much closer and it was a large tug. We passed the tug and then pulled toward cutting behind it and then noticed a long line of dredge pipe, small incandescent lights on each link, and we were about 100ft from it. A little too close for me.
Tight spots happen but patience, communication and being aware are the best prevention.

Take care and happy sailing.

Bob B.
CD 25D Tiva

[Ed Haley]

Before GPS made it easier to keep a course, an old friend of mine and I were sailing my CD28 to Henderson Harbor on the northeastern side of Lake Ontario. We were participating in a Hospice Race at Henderson Harbor Yacht Club (HHYC) the next day. We started out from Clayton and headed SW up the river at 10;00 am, having been sidelined for a few hours by a pea soup fog.

The sailing was OK, not fast nor slow, and we steadily headed for HHYC. As the day wore on, we knew we'd be coming into the harbor after sunset. We were confident we'd be able to spot the Lime Barrel Shoal buoy at the pass between nasty shoals and the mainland. However, nature decided not to make the effort easy.

It was already dark and just as we rounded the point and steered ESE to head for the buoy I looked to the west and saw the darkest sky I've ever seen. I said to John, "We better rig for bad weather" just as the sky opened up and the rain poured down. I can remember looking at the water beside the stern and seeing the raindrops floating as speres of pearls on the dark water's surface.

We were a couple of miles from Lime Barrel Shoal and started looking for the light even though visibility was only 100 yards or so. Then the lightning started. I think everyone has been in lightning storms before and rather than fear it, we just put up with it. That would have been fine except a lightning strike took out all the lights on shore. We were completely in the dark except for the occasional burst of lightning flashes when we were able to see the surrounding land masses as the rain let up and we closed the shore. We kept yelling at the Lightning God to send another bolt so we could make out the Lime Barrel Light. Finally, we saw the buoy and then its light and headed through the reef channel, which is only about 100 feet wide.

Still in the dark, we threaded our way through the moorings and into the HHYC, where we were greeted by revelers at the pre-race party. They informed us the bar was still open and the beer was still cold. With a sigh of relief, we tied up and began to relax not yet off the highs of the voyage.

[Andy Denmark]

I'm sure many ICW travellers can relate to this if they've gone south of Charleston on the ICW. A mile or so past the James Island Bridge is a narrow channel connecting Charleston Harbor to the Stono River. This is Elliott Cut. The tidal differential here is such that a sometimes serious current runs through the cut which is about the width of the paved part of a 4-lane highway with steep bulkheaded banks and lots of rip-rap on either side, making the outside edges of the cut absolutely non-navigable. When I say "serious current" I'm talking whirlpools, rips, and standing waves. (Ollie Wendelin can verify this as he lives less than 1/2 mile north from the cut).

One beautiful fall morning I was delivering a Pearson 35 south with her new owners who were moving to St. Augustine from Baltimore. He had retired and she was going to teach at a college for a few more years while he built their house. These were great folks, relatively new to big boat sailing but eager to learn all they could and they soaked up this sort of travel like sponges. These folks are what I consider to be ideal delivery clients.

We left Ashley Marina in time to make the 1000 opening of the James Island drawbridge along with several other boats. Our destination for that day was the anchorage in Toogoodoo Creek near North Edisto River inlet.

We had heard several VHF exchanges earlier about the adverse current in Elliott Cut and as we made the turn to enter the cut the current hit us hard on the nose. There was a fair amount of wind blowing, too, coming right down the cut. Ahead of us was an Ericson 32 with folks aboard who had been next to us in the Georgetown anchorage. We had dinghied to dinner with them in G'town and talked with them via VHF as we travelled through Cape Romain. They were experienced ICW sailors and their speed pretty much matched ours. Ahead of them was a 32 foot trimaran flying the Canadian Oak Leaf on her stern. This boat had a 9.9 OMC engine that was barely able to move them against the wind and current, despite the fact that the engine seemed to be at full throttle.

None of this is unusual. It's a given that Elliott Cut, when the current is running against you, will cut your speed (sailboats, anyway) to about one-fourth of your max. The tri was obviously struggling and the Ericson was coming up behind her. We were probably 150 yards astern of the Ericson and running about 10% over cruising rpm's, our speed matched to the Ericson's, both making maybe 1.5 kts over the bottom.

A few minutes earlier, just before the three of us (actually there was a line of boats but these two were the closest in proximity to us) entered the cut we heard a tug with one "on the head" open the bridge behind us. I filed that away because I was concentrating on negotiating this tricky piece of water and thinking that the tug was too far back to be a problem. The tug radioed again a few minutes later with a Security Call to any vessels in Elliott Cut but since we were about to be out of the cut I didn't respond. (Bob B. knows exactly what is about to happen here, I'll bet!)

The tri was struggling against the current and was having some difficulty maintaining course but was still making slow forward progress. Both the Ericson and our boat had slowed to give her plenty of maneuvering room. The tri was too beamy to be passed in the cut. Just as the tri was about to clear the south end of the cut her engine revved up sharply and shut down, the classic "out of gas" sound. She immediately stopped, turned sideways to the current and was coming down on the Ericson and us at an amazing rate, spinning laterally with people frantically scrambling around onboard. She took up all the navigable part of the channel, with no room at all for anyone to go past her. (Diagonally she was as wide as the channel)

The Ericson immediately hailed us on Channel 13 but before I could answer, the tug, who was setting up for his turn into the cut and past the point of commitment already, blew five blasts on his horn and advised "Security call, security call, vessels in Elliott Cut, this is the tug Captain Whomever, advising you that I canot stop or turn and you need to take extreme measures to stand clear of me as I only have on enough turns on for minimum steerage."

The "Oh shit" meter was pegged for everyone now! On the tri a gas tank appeared from somewhere with a guy leaning over the transom trying to unplug the empty gas line and attach the full one. The Ericson had gone to starboard some but couldn't go any further because there simply wasn't room. I had taken turns off the engine and also come somewhat to starboard, virtually hovering in the current, when the tri came flying past the Ericson sideways, missing her by inches, with a guy frantically pulling the starter rope. He had not pumped up the fuel line bulb!

The Ericson's keel hit something and she immediately turned hard to port, directly in front of us. The force of the current on her beam told me she was surely going to hit us but she revved her engine hard to try and miss us, and barely did. Our bow pulpit cleared her stern rail by inches and I had serious doubts about what was under our keel. Fortunately, the P-35 is a centerboarder and we had the board up so our draft was nearly 2 feet less than the Ericson's. I opened the throttle as far as it would go when we cleared the Ericson, knowing we had been very lucky and would get out of this mess okay if we could get some speed up. I was not so sure about the others.

All of this happened in less than thirty seconds!

The tug blew five blasts again as both the Ericson and the tri were coming downcurrent toward him. By continuing her hard turn to port the Ericson managed to go full circle and get her nose upcurrent again with black smoke pouring from her exhaust in full overload. Just behind her the tri somehow got the outboard going and also got turned around. I swear the bow wave of the tug was pushing that tri along and my fear was that the water rushing under the bow of the barge would simply suck her right under. The tug had obviously slowed considerably or she would have just plowed over the tri.

We made it into the Stono River, slowed to a crawl, and moved to the side. The Ericson pulled up next to us. The couple aboard was visibly shaken, their voices quivering. The tri came up to us and spoke something we couldn't understand in French and the tug came past him. There must have been ten people aboard the tri and they were all on deck now. Several of them had their Rosaries in hand. I wish I had a recording of the tonguelashing that tug Captain put on the trimaran. In his deep "Hoigh Toider" accent I think every word of profanity I've ever heard was used in one long, run-on sentence. Nothing I ever heard in the Marines ever matched that stream of verbage! The Canadians' reactions were interesting. They simply smiled, shrugged, said they were sorry to the tug and to us as we moved ahead of them again. We never saw them again on the trip.
________
Marijuana vaporizer

[Photo Chief]

Since I am a relatively new poster I am not yet aware of limitations on how long a post should be. I will rely on you friends to tell me If I am to long winded.

A reckless youth and a career in the military has produced many close calls that some probably believe are merely a "this is no sh**" story told around the campfire. I will press on however and relate two close calls that my youthful inexperience provided to add spice to my life..

I will begin with my second close call. In the early 1980s I was stationed at NAS Boca Chica near Key West. At the time I was operating a 21 ft deep vee fisherman and had grown weary of solely fishing in deeper waters. A shipmate taught me an unmarked route through the back water flats to another fishing area where bonefish and such could be tempted. There are no lights or markers in the flats that surround the Keys on the bay side. I liked to go out after work and fish until the next morning for an sunrise return. Well, as bad luck would have it, I was running late and found myself after dark still traveling at 30 knots through the flats heading for my favorite fishing area. I enjoyed fishing at night because of the excitement of never really knowing what you might hook up.

My hands gripped the wheel as I leaned forward peering into the inky blackness. My mind was replaying the tricky route which at times requires precise timing with sharp cuts to stay in water sufficiently deep. I considered the safe option of slowing but had to weigh the knowledge that the shallow water required me to stay on plane or risk running aground on the shallow flats. As I concentrated with all my might on the view dead ahead my peripheral vision catches a vertical shape which appeared to flash pass the boat. It was then I realized that I was 50 yards too far to starboard and had missed the only "marker" within miles. A lone "telephone pole" that someone had sunk into the bottom as their private waymark. I had forgotten about it because in the daylight I never needed to seriously consider it to navigate. I passed that pole at 30 knots with perhaps 20 feet to spare. Had I collided and somehow survived I would have been stranded in no-seeum country until and if another boat might see me the next day. At least it was too shallow to drown.

My first close call occured in the late 1960s on my first aircraft carrier, the USS Ticonderoga CV-14. I know these are not sailboats but the carrier's island had boucoo sail area.

While working the flight deck during flight operations I was distracted by an interruption in normal ops and began stepping backwards. After walking backwards perhaps 50 feet I was tackled, shoved, pushed, ... by a Chief Petty Officer who had seen me about to back into a turning propeller and had run across the deck to save me. (no jets on this boat). BTW The close call wasn't the propeller, it was almost being maimed by the chewing out I received from the Chief. I was 20 and too stupid to be scared of the airplanes.

Now that I have my first sailboat I am anticipating my next encounter with tempting fate. Of course, I am now old enough to be plenty scared and cannot truthfully claim youthful indiscretion.

OK, I am finished. Was I too long?

[Carter Brey]

Speaking of which, I was watching the History Channel and about German POW's in the US during WWII. Seems they got a beer ration... one bottle a day per man. So they buddied up into groups... that way one in six days each could enjoy a six pack's worth.

Neil, my Dad tells me that when he was a trainee in the Army Air Corps during WWII, he was stationed at a base in Texas which also served as a POW camp for Germans. He described being marched with full packs in the heat of high summer past the German officers' barracks. Looking into the yard past the barbed wire he could see the enemy officers lounging in dressing gowns while holding cool drinks!

[Oswego John]

Carter,

By any chance, was the AFB your dad was at, Reese/Lubbock AFB?

O J