Winter Reverie

[Bob Owens]

The forlorne image yesterday of a handsome sailboat sunk in the mooring field of our yacht club (It drifted in from somewhere else and ran aground) for some reason prompts recollection of a funny, sort of scary little incident a couple of winters ago. Late on a cold February Saturday I stopped by the boatyard to do a quick check of my CD27. There was only one other car in the lot, and no human life visible. Seeing a can of fuel stabilizer I had forgotten in the cockpit, I opened the port cockpit locker to set it temporarily on the fuel tank until next trip. But as I reached in, I accidentally dropped the can onto the sloping floor by the engine compartment wall. With a full stretch I reached it, but then dropped the thing again as I started to pull up; this time it rolled farther down past the seacocks. "Shall I take time to go unlock the companion way and pull out the steps, or leave the stupid thing (maybe to rust and get forgotten)?" Laziness and stupidity prevailed. “Nah, you can get if from here!” I reached farther--pushing myself, winter parka and all, through the locker opening. Not quite--a little farther--a little farther--Got it! Victory! But then I realized I was stuck. Energetic squirming and pushing up with hands did not budge things a bit (No traction for hands again that sloping hull, and feet could not touch anything topsides.) More strenuous squirming and turning every possible way; still no luck. The bulk of the parka and its big exterior patch pockets had me stuck tighter than Pooh in Rabbit’s hole. This is funny, I thought. This must be quite a ridiculous picture from the outside: two legs sticking up in the air from the locker. Good thing my wife is not here to see this. But then reality gradually set in. I am upside down in a virtually abandoned boatyard, two hours of daylight left, temperature a little above freezing. A call for help from my mouth down next to the engine won’t carry far (I tried it). Even if someone does walk through the yard today and looks up at the right time, will they see my legs above the gunwales? How long will I stay conscious almost totally upside down? If I pass out, how long before a heart attack, or hypothermia? This is serious! I admit to having thought a time or two about how good it might be to die in my boat when the time comes some day, but this is not at all what I had in mind. I guess the ludicrous image of gradually dying upside down activated adrenalin, because a burst of really frantic energy came over me and wild pushing and thrashing of legs finally tore the coat and me loose from that small rectangle. I sat on the floor of the cockpit for quite a while to recover from the light-headedness. Morals of this story? (a) Don’t ever let this idiot Owens close to your boat. (b) Somehow our boats manage to find ways regularly to show us how thin is the veneer of competence and control which we usually manage to get in place by mid-life. If we are lucky, this comes mostly from joyfully experiencing the liveliness of the never-fully-predictable interaction of boat and wind and waves. But part of it too is our boats’ uncanny ability to find ways to expose our limitations, to show us that we never completely get past being little kids who still fall down and skin our knees. I take that as a gift--but I will never again so much as look as a cockpit locker with my coat on! From grey New York, where rain is threatening to turn into snow. Bob Owens

[Mike Johnson]

Thanks Bob for your story. I am sure many of us have gotten stuck in small spaces while working on the boats in our lives. I had an MFG Pintail, a 14 foot sloop that I was trying to change the centerboard control line in. I wedged up into the cubby, under the forward seat, on my back and became wedged. Unlike the conditions you were in which were much more serious than mine, I was in my garage with no one home. I couldn't get myself out and had to wait till I heard the neighbor talking outside, some three hours later. I was able to shout loud enough to have him find me in my mess-up and he helped me out of the jam (pun intended). though he promised to keep it quiet, that lasted till he got out of my garage. Needless to say I get constant reminders of my blunder.

[Oswego John]

Bob,

Well written. Interesting. Sobering. Food for thought.

Thanks,
O J

[Paul D.]

Bob,

You're not the first, and you won't be the last. I once was at the top of the mast working on something. I usually tie the halyard onto my rock climbing harness to both remove a link from the system and do away with the halyard shackle opening up.

I was just thinking how much smarter I was than other sailors I have seen at the top tied up in different, less secure ways until I noticed that I had tied my bowline wrong. It was fine for the moment but any big load may have pulled it through. After taking a few turns round the mast with webbing and then retieing myself in properly, I quietly apologized to those 'other sailors' I had just scoffed. Being an old climber, I should have known I was asking for trouble.

One never knows it all!
Paul

[paul marko]

I have also been stuck in Lazarette of my CD 28 under similar conditions, winter, late afternoon, freezing weather. Only in my case I was totally inside and the lid slammed shut, the out side hasp caught in the closed position. I yelled, beat on hull, all to no avail. I escaped by beating on the area around the hasp and since this area is quite flexible I was able to dislodge the hasp from the catch and lift the lid. The moral of the story is that whenever I go into the Lazarette to work I tie a line to the lid so it can't close.

Paul M

[Carter Brey]

Nice post, Bob.

A couple of years ago you asked me about alternatives to the YC's on City Island. I've found a nice one for my "new" boat. Email me offline if you want to discuss it.

Cheers,
Carter

[Dick Barthel]

Bob,

Two springs ago, I was attempting to hook up my battery cables without going to the trouble of actually climbing in when my 6'2" 220 lb hulk became hopelessly stuck in the opening of my port lazerette. I had similar thoughts - first humor and then ultimately panic. It was late in the day, my boat was on the hard and even if someone was around, my lungs were constricted so a loud yell wasn't an option. As in all emergencies at some point you have to calm down and think which I did. After several attempts to free myself, I decided it was hopeless. So I mustered up the courage to just go all the way in head first...and that solved the problem.

I'm lucky the cover didn't fall at that point because as past threads indicate, that's another disaster. After I managed to free myself I remember being thankful that no one saw me. I avoided another boatyard addition of "you're not going to beleive what happened to Dick."

Perhaps some newbies will benefit by reading these posts and realize those seemingly "benign" lazerettes are worthy of your respect.

Dick

[Dean Abramson]

On the 25D, the portside locker is the only one a person can get into. Just this past season, I finally (after many close should-have-been-wakeup calls) attached a piece of shock cord with a single hook to the lifeline forward of the stanchion, so it isn't on the part that collapses when the pelican hook is released. The hook secures to the edge/underside of the hatch when it is open. The cord just stays permanently on the lifeline, attached by passing through its own loop; when not in use, the hook secures to the other lifeline, out of the way. Use white shock cord and hook, and it doesn't blight the landscape too badly.

And here I thought that I was only protecting myself against smashed fingers and concussions!

Dean