Copyright 2016 by Kenneth Van Camp, all rights reserved.
“Most people assume
it is far more risky to cross oceans on a small boat. In fact, it is
the bigger boat, with its lethal swinging spars and highly loaded
lines for sails, anchors, and towlines, that is more likely to maim
or kill you.” - James Baldwin, Bound for Distant Seas
Hanging on to a capsized Hobie Cat
with my ankle stuck three feet above my head was not quite the way I
expected this sail to end. The ropes that hold my ankle in a secure
grip are chafing with each passing wave, and I'm beginning to lose
feeling in my foot. Thankfully, I am wearning a life jacket and I am
in no danger of drowning. A passing sailor has gone for more help to
try to right the Hobie, which will hopefully free my foot.
My survival instincts kick in, along
with my pride. I want to untangle myself and emerge, saying, “no
big deal,” and “I got this.” I pull myself up, searching for
the end of the rope that is holding my ankle. I feel for it with my
hand, but it is nowhere within reach or sight. There is nothing to do
but wait for help to arrive.
It all started with a beautiful girl,
a boom to the forehead, and a ride to Southampton Hospital with the
Bay Constable... but that was 35 years ago, so maybe that's going
back a little too far.
Today's adventure began on the
unthreatening, Caribbean beach of the Sandals Grande Antigua resort,
with my even-more-beautiful wife of 31 years decourously lounging on
a beach chair while I confidently strode to the water sports desk to
take out a Hobie.
The wind was initially light as I
took off from the white sandy beach without a care in the world. With
the warm turquoise waters passing harmlessly beneath my pontoons, how
could there possibly be any risk? As patches of darkening ripples
preceded the occasional puff of wind, I leaned out farther over the
side and hooked my foot under the hiking strap. The Hobie was really
beginning to fly now.
A big gust brought the windward
pontoon high above the water, and I realized the boat was
overpowered. I've been sailing small sailboats all my life, so I know
the first step is a quick jerk up on the mainsheet to release it and
spill wind from the sail. Of course, this isn't my boat. On the
Hobie, the mainsheet block is reversed, so the jerk to release the
mainsheet has to be down. Or should I say, the jerk pulling
the mainsheet the wrong way was me? Lesson one: know your
equipment.
The second step when sailing all
alone on a small boat like the Hobie in a non-hostile environment, if
you can't spill wind from the sail, is to try to climb over the
windward side of the boat before it passes the 90 degree tipping
point. When I was a kid sailing a Minifish, I had gotten so used to
the feel of my boat capsizing that I could almost always get a leg
over the side and onto the centerboard before the sail barely touched
the water.
But this, of course, was not my boat
and I didn't know the feel of it well enough to anticipate the
capsize. Lesson two: see lesson one.
The worst part was the foot hooked
under the hiking strap. This foot was now supporting my weight as it
slipped down the trampoline-like material I was sitting on and came
to rest in the center webbing that held the two halves of the tramp
together. The hiking strap, meanwhile, was now over my shin. As the
boat passed the 90 degree mark, my last thought was, “Something's
going to break, and I doubt it will be the boat.” My ankle and
tibia seemed the most likely candidates.
Fortunately, the Hobie design is
forgiving. The trampoline material stretched, and although my ankle
became firmly gripped between the tramp ropes and hiking strap,
nothing broke as I tumbled into the water. After spending the next
10-15 minutes in the water with my foot extended a few feet over my
head, the Sandals “red shirt guys” quickly righted the Hobie, I
was able to extricate my foot before all feeling was lost, and I
escaped with nothing worse than an ugly bruise and minor abrasions.
(Those of you who are Star Trek fans know the “red shirt guys”
are expendable, and one of them got trapped momentarily under the
Hobie because he was trying to pull me up at the same time he righted
the boat. I saw him come sputtering to the surface moments later.)
For me, I'm not sure which was
bruised more: my ankle or my pride. The nurse's recommendation was to
keep the foot elevated, out of direct sun, and a warm bath in the
evening. (“Uh honey, I'd get it myself, but the nurse said...”)
Could've been worse. Actually, it could have been a lot worse.
Lesson three: never underestimate the importance of your support
network. We all need help sometimes.
The next time I took a Hobie out, I
brought my “movable ballast” to help keep the windward pontoon
down on the water. Lesson four: Don't call your crew “movable
ballast”, even if it's preceded by, “Honey, in all the Caribbean,
you are by far the most beautiful...”
