(Learning to sail through near death experiences)
A couple of weeks ago, my companion Sharon and I set out for Strong’s Water Club in Mattituck inlet Long Island only to have the trip cut short by a torn main. I’ve since done a lot of review on reefing the main and I can see my original steps were flawed. Strong’s dock fee was nonrefundable but I had until the end of the season to use it. On Saturday, August 17, 2013, Sharon and I set off across the sound at 9am. With a strong breeze, we made good time hitting speeds as high as 6.2 knots. The seas ran three to four feet but our port tack had us taking the following waves off the starboard bow as Brisa cut through the water. From making way at Dutch Wharf Marina about a mile up the Branford River to tie up at Strong’s was just five hours. Actual sailing time on the sound was 19nm in 3.5 hours. That’s about as good as it gets!
Sharon is new to sailing and has taken to it well, so I couldn’t fault her when she foolishly made the comment that, “You must feel good about having conquered the elements.” I immediately made her take it back, literally forcing her to say the words, “I take it back.” I’m a practical man not given easily to superstition but I see no reason to tempt fate. I explained to her that all we can do is sail at Mother Nature’s mercy, humbly accepting good weather and suffering quietly when it isn’t.
Mattituck is a great port. Motoring up the inlet with its picturesque boats and buildings lining the shore and quaint homes along the hillsides, a wide cove at the end offers a quiet anchor. Because Brisa doesn’t possess many amenities – none really other than an icebox and a bucket – I often prefer to moor or dock. An easy walk brings you into the small village of Mattituck where a couple of great eateries exist. Try either Love Lane Kitchen or Amano’s. My goal though is not to write a travelogue. I recommend Mattituck as a destination but I write this story to be about sailing.
Our return rhumb line was 320. The next day, Sunday, Sharon and I awoke to a steady wind out of the NNW, exactly the direction we needed to go. We knew our return trip would not be accomplished as easily as our earlier sail. Our port tack pulled 370°, our cross tack pulling 275°. As the day lengthened, the wind shifted westerly and on a port tack, we were able to pull 330°, which with the incoming tide, put us on target.
Five nautical miles out from the Connecticut shoreline, I said to Sharon, “look – some of those large cumulus clouds are producing rain on shore.” With four nautical miles to go, the wind shifted back north. I now had a decision to make: (1) run deep into the shoreline on a port tack then tack to starboard parallel along the coast until I could make entry into Branford cove or (2), cross tack to starboard early until a tack into Branford cove presented itself. I chose to tack in to shore closing on the Thimble islands.
The Thimbles are a great sailing destination with homes perched impossibly it seems on the small islands dotting the entrance to Stony Point. It offers great anchorages and I go there often when taking someone for a day sail. It does however pose a greater threat to boating with its several reefs. Familiar with the waters, I did not feel it a concern. Tacking almost in to Outer Island at the southerly end, I took a starboard tack west and headed for Wheaton reef Buoy “3”. Fifty yards out I tacked back, heading for Inner reef south buoy “4”. Again, at about fifty yards, I tacked westerly between the two reefs and headed for passage across the top of Negro heads reef. I’m surprised this reef hasn’t undergone a name change.
As I passed between Wheaton and Inner reef, the front caught us! I had been so busy with the short tacks that I completely missed the thunderstorm forming on shore. With full main and Genoa close hauled, we went over quickly, broaching on the port side. It would not surprise me if our heel was in excess of 75 or 80°. “Oh shoot, oh shoot,” I stammered as the water curled perilously close to the bottom companion way. Brisa immediately rounded up and as she righted, I unleashed the Genny, letting it flap. Brisa broached to starboard and again the water swirled perilously close to the companionway entrance. I needed to get the boards in. As Brisa righted again, I lunged through the cabin door, grabbed the lower two boards and secured them in the companionway. On the next righting, I leapt to the mast holding tightly as we again broached to starboard. Looking around, I saw fishermen in a nearby motor boat, coming to our aid; but my more immediate concern was our position in relation to the reefs. Quickly spotting them, I was relieved to find the wind had blown us southeast and away from harm. At the next righting, I dropped the main and gathered it in – the violent broaching stopped. Sharon rode the whole experience out from the bottom of the cockpit, water to her chest, grasping the tiller.
Starting the motor, I had Sharon guide us further away from the reefs as I pulled in the Genny and better secured the main. Turning back to windward, my little 6hp Nissan outboard struggled to make headway against wind and wave but eventually, we reached the wind shadow from land and entered Branford cove.
Broaching suddenly with no warning was harrowing. I felt sure I was going to sink Brisa and put both Sharon and I in the water. Luckily, I own a Seasprite 23, a notably seaworthy vessel!
What I did wrong
This is a long list. Other than a few sailing lessons, I am mostly self-taught. When it comes to the ways of the open water, it has been all experience. I have no background of growing up learning to sail and there are dangers and pitfalls that a novice is subject to and will, no doubt, eventually encounter. I do a lot of reading about sailing and have learned much from the printed word about weather and offshore winds – but they are theoretical on paper. Whereas, laying your boat on its side as you watch water swirl inches from your companionway – that’s an exclamation point on the lesson!
1. When I noticed the storm clouds ashore producing rain, I failed to de-power right away. A double reef and a storm jib would have lessened the experience considerably. The books all say reef early and reef often – and you think you know what that means – but really, what it means is at the faintest hint of weather, depower! It’s the only way to be ready for an environment that can change almost instantaneously on you.
2. I sailed into land reducing my leeway. It doesn’t get any more reckless. I could have, with four miles to spare, set myself up for a straight tack into Branford cove. Nuff said!
3. By sailing into a complicated area like the Thimbles, I took away my weather eye as I navigated the tacks between the reefs. Further out from land with less to occupy my time, I probably would have seen the approaching front coming across the water and been better prepared.
4. I sailed with companionway boards not secured in place. This has come to mind before but I failed to act on it. The image of that water inches from flooding my cabin will no doubt stay with me a long time and force me into the habit of keeping the companionway shut while underway.
5. I should have eased the mainsheet when the front hit – it would have prevented any more broaches, allowing me to reclaim steerage on a downwind course. That is of course assuming I could’ve cleared Wheaton reef (see point 3).
6. Neither Sharon nor I had donned life jackets.
What I did right
This is a Short list.
1. I acted quickly. Perhaps my actions were performed incorrectly but they did lead to recovering control of Brisa.
2. The cockpit had been kept dear of debris and lines. When we shipped water over the side it drained quickly.
3. I made Sharon take back her proclamation that I had learned to control Mother Nature.