The Boy Scout motto: Be Prepared

The first sailboat I set foot on was a flat bottomed, 14 foot long, plywood contraption my father and I built in our garage. We painted it a bright, glowing, “Coast Guard” orange. No one could miss it.

I remember her maiden voyage well. I thought we were prepared. We stepped the mast, slid her off the trailer, and the wind blew her sideways and immediately splintered a dagger board on the launching ramp. Evidently someone forgot a mooring line. Another thing I remember, it was a long quiet drive back to the garage.

I cut my sailing teeth on a small lake, on that small boat, forty years ago. After that, I graduated to Sunfish, Day Sailors, and Flying Scotts. Those types of boats didn’t have engines. So, I had to learn how to either sail, or paddle back to the dock.

Years later, my father upgraded us to a 24 foot “trailer sailor” with a not too reliable outboard. Often times we sailed through the harbor with the lifeless engine dragging its little white propeller through the muddy water. I still had to paddle when the wind died.

Today, it is very rare to see a boat around any popular sailing area without an engine of some kind. But, what is not unusual, is to see a skipper behind the wheel of a completely unprepared vessel. What I mean by ‘unprepared’ is, not ready to sail, or anchor, or cope with a potentially dangerous situation.

Ask yourself:

What would I do if my boat was suddenly disabled?

What if the engine overheated due to a failed impeller?

What if it stalled, or somehow ran out of fuel?

Could you drop an anchor before you drift into a dock, or run aground on some rocks, or collide with another boat?

Could you unfurl the sails and get out of a busy channel and into safe water until help arrived?

Could you actually sail back to your slip?

This past weekend I sat out in our cockpit with my little camera and studied the awareness level of the skippers going out and coming back in. I observed more than one boat moving around the marina unprepared. No jib on the forestay. Nor any sign of an anchor on the foredeck. The mainsail completely missing, or buried under a cover, which, often was spiral wrapped with an old mooring line. Protection from last hurricane season I guess. The boat drags a collection of different size fenders through the water. (I can’t believe the number of people who don’t realize that this maneuver ranks equal with walking out of the marina bathroom with 5 feet of toilet paper dragging from your topsiders.)

I glance at the trickle of water and puff of steam bubbling from the transom and wonder if he is a member in one of the local towing organizations. That guy is going to need all the help he can get real soon. I can say this without offending, because… I used to do the exact same thing.

Years ago, I was invited for a boat ride one afternoon by a friend of mine with a big, modern, shiny boat. The inboard diesel was thumping away at idle when I arrived with the ice chest. Yet, my buddy spent another 30 minutes primping and prep’n. He checked the jib sheets. He removed the mainsail cover, and attached halyards. He checked the bilge. This went on and on.

Previously, I was an impatient little ego maniac.  I was a “know it all“!  I wanted to get out on the water and drink some beer. My theory back then was… if everybody is on board, let’s get underway! We have a thirty minute ride out to “sailing” area anyway. We could rig the darn boat while we motor. I thought of it as a sort of multitasking.

The first year after I purchased our beloved SOEL, I used to engage the autopilot in the channel and run forward to raise the sails before we passed the marina breakwater. I had become so complacent, I was downright dangerous. I got SO good and SO fast at loading up, starting the engine and, peeling away from the dock, that once… I actually forgot the dog!  Seriously!  A loud, attention getting “BARK”, and I turned to see our big Boxer standing on the dock with that “what tha…?” look on his mug.

I never claimed to be the brightest bulb on the front porch, but let me share something else with you. Here are two different results from the same situation:

1: One morning I saw a boat drift aground at Redfish Island. I guess the skipper never thought of the anchor up on the bow, or the two perfectly good sails furled up on the stick. The motor died, and this guy just sat behind the wheel and drifted until he hit the rocks. I rowed over in the dingy to offer assistance, but the guy told me he had help on the way. The three people aboard climbed off and sat on the islands rocks for hours waiting for assistance. Every wave from the passing ships broke her up a little more.  By the end of the day, the little Hunter was a total loss.

2: At the 2007 Harvest Moon Regatta, when the big J-boat Premier crossed the finish line and the skipper turned the key, nothing happened. The starter failed to crank the engine. The crew safely sailed the big 45 footer all the way into a slip at the Port Aransas City Marina, without the use of an engine. Not a scratch.

Which outcome do you like better?

Of course, every vessel is different. Each skippers prep list will be unique depending on, experience, the crew, the activity, the type of vessel, the length of time you plan to be away from the dock, etc. I am not qualified to give anything more than suggestions on any subject, but, whenever we leave the dock, the main is uncovered and a halyard attached. A headsail, appropriate for the current wind conditions, is selected and attached to the forestay. Jib sheets are tied and led aft, complete with ‘stopper knots‘. An anchor on the bow is always ready to deploy. This is just the “short list” of things I consider important to the safety of our boat.

The point is: making sure you are ready will tip the odds in your favor. The chances of completing a cruise successfully increase dramatically as your level of preparedness advances. And, every time you can fix something yourself, without having to rely on outside help, your self-confidence absolutely soars.

A good place to start your preparation is the Water Safety Digest available from the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department which includes:

Your registration and “TX numbers”

a Personal Floatation Device for each person, plus a throwable

Sound Producing Device

working Navigation Lights

proper Fire Extinguishers.

Your own checklist for a sunset sail could be customized to include:

Drinking water

a Cellular Phone (To contact that towing company)

Personal Sun Protection including hats, sunglasses, and sunscreen.

After starting the engine, do you check for cooling water squirting out of the exhaust?

Where is that boat hook?

Before you leave the dock, do you make sure all sail control lines are untangled and unwrapped?

Are the sails ready to raise?

Do you have an anchor handy?

Any boat list has the potential to become very lengthy. These are just some very basic suggestions that may keep you out of a sticky situation.

Allow me to share another true story with you.

We were on the east coast of the Yucatan peninsula with a fifteen knot trade wind blowing towards shore, and three to five foot waves rolling in. The shore at this particular area of Mexico was made up of an unforgiving, dark grey coral rock with holes throughout. It reminded me of a huge cheese grater. It is so jagged and sharp, you literally could not walk on it barefoot without sustaining serious injury. I shudder to think what it would do to any disabled boat.

We shoved off from the dock and motored out of the narrow, rocky entrance early in the morning.  This time, SOEL was properly prepared for sea.  The mainsail cover removed - halyard attached - an appropriate jib was at the ready - sheets led aft with stopper knots - harness - jack lines - the works.  Good thing too, because, less than a boat length past the end of the jetties,

the trusty diesel engine stumbled,

and sputtered,

and slowed to a stop.

Uh Oh!

I had left the valve on the fuel tank in the “closed” position when I changed the filter. (I told ya’ll I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.) The engine ran only long enough to use up the fuel remaining in the filters. Suddenly, we were directly in the teeth of the cheese grater.  Disabled 50 feet from a lee shore.  The Sailors worst nightmare.

“Baby, grab the wheel for a minute while I get the sails up,” I said calmly, “I know what the problem is.”

I dashed up on deck, as calmly as possible, and heaved the green halyard hand over hand. The mainsail was up before we even lost steerage way. Elizabeth fell off the wind slightly, to a more southerly course. We regained some speed and skirted the hazardous coastline for about 20 seconds while I secured the main halyard and went around for the jib halyard.  On my signal, she spun the wheel and I hauled up the number two headsail as we tacked. SOEL simply sailed away from that treacherous lee shore. Luckily, that frightening situation turned out well. However… it could have easily been a disaster on the rocks that day if we hadn’t been prepared.