Suddenly Overboard

by Tom Lochhaas

  On a little gust Mike felt the starboard hull start to rise, and he immediately turned more to port to flatten the boat. “Spill some wind,” he told Jerry, who was controlling the mainsheet, “at least until we see what the wind’s doing.”

  Within minutes they were several hundred yards off the beach, closing on another boat ahead.

  “Having fun, guys?” he shouted at the kids.

  “Yeah!” Christine yelled back, and Josh nodded.

  Experienced sailors righting a Hobie catamaran. (Henrik Dalgaard)

  Then it was time to tack. Mike explained to the kids what they were about to do, again emphasizing that their main job was just to hang on. “Once you get used to it,” he promised, “I’ll let both of you help steer.”

  When everyone was ready, he shouted, “Helm’s alee!” and he and Jerry ducked and scrambled under the boom as he turned to starboard.

  It wasn’t the most graceful tack, Mike thought as he headed up on port tack, moving toward the lake’s western shore. But they hadn’t lost all their speed and had jumped on the new course quick enough. He looked back over his shoulder at the other Hobies and noticed that one with red sails had gone over. As he watched, the two sailors in the water flipped it back upright and climbed aboard.

  “Let’s do it again,” he said. “Ready to tack?”

  Maybe he should have waited until he heard Jerry say “Ready,” or maybe Jerry had just gotten hung up with the sheets or wasn’t paying attention. In any case, when he turned sharply and slid across to starboard, Jerry didn’t follow him. Mike’s steering was perfect; within a couple seconds the sails filled and shot the boat forward as the starboard hull rose and he felt the reduced control as the starboard rudder came out of the water. Then, before he could correct the helm or shout at Jerry to release the sheet, a gust knocked the boat over.

  Mike catapulted into the water clear of the boat. Because of the flotation bulb at the top of the mast, the boat floated mostly on its side and canted only slightly past vertical with the starboard hull in the air above him. Christine floated in the water a few feet from the port hull, apparently okay, but Josh had managed to hang on to the starboard rail and was dangling with his feet a couple feet above the water. He looked terrified.

  “Josh! It’s okay to let go!” Mike shouted as he breast-stroked back to the boat, his motion hampered by his life jacket, which rose high on his shoulders. “Just let go, buddy! I got you!”

  Jerry was at the aft end of the port hull by the rudder, keeping out of the way.

  Josh let go and splashed into the water just as Mike reached him. In a moment he was bobbing alongside Christine, his small face grim between the wings of his life jacket, which was floating high up on his body. “Okay, buddy?” Josh nodded. “See, it’s not so bad. I guess I should’ve told you that could happen, but I didn’t want to scare you.”

  Christine had managed to paddle over, fighting her life jacket, and put one hand on Josh’s shoulder, holding his life-jacket strap. “What do we do now, Dad?” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Now we get the boat back up!” he said. “I want you two guys to stay together on this side. Don’t come close to the boat, and keep away from the mast. Jerry and I are going around to the other side, and we’ll climb up and pull the other hull backward into the water. You guys just watch, okay? Just stay together, and I’ll come back and get you when the boat’s ready.”

  “Okay, Dad,” they said in unison.

  Mike and Jerry worked their way around the hull to the other side. Jerry looked up at the hull, which seemed an impossible height above them. “This is easy in a Laser,” he said. “You just stand on the centerboard and lean back. But I’m clueless what to do with a cat.”

  Mike studied the hulls and the frame and bottom of the trapeze. “It’s the same principle. We just climb up there and grab the hull and lean back to lever it over.”

  “Climb where?”

  “Well, I haven’t actually done it before. But how hard can it be?”

  For the next 5 minutes, they struggled to right the catamaran. It was tiring work. The float at the top of the mast kept the cat from turning turtle, but it was difficult to climb up on the lower hull and then stand to reach the high hull. Their feet kept slipping, and Mike’s arms were getting tired from pulling himself up repeatedly.

  He noticed the kids had drifted farther away from the other side of the boat and realized that he and Jerry needed to move more quickly.

  “My life jacket’s slowing me down,” he called to Jerry. “I can climb up better without it getting in the way.”

  They both removed their life jackets and looped the buckles around the trapeze frame.

  “Dad!” called Christine. “I can’t pull Josh back to the boat!”

  He looked again and saw they had drifted another 10 feet farther away. “Just a minute!” he called. “We’ll come get you in just a minute!”

  They climbed up again and grasped the upper hull to pull it back, but as he leaned all his weight back, Mike’s hands slipped and he fell back in the water. He felt beat. “Let’s go get the kids,” he called to Jerry.

  They pulled themselves around the lower hull and began swimming to the children. Jerry, the stronger swimmer, took the lead and reached them first. Christine was having trouble holding on to Josh, who was lower in the water as his loose life jacket rose above his thin shoulders. Jerry told Christine to try to tighten her own life-jacket’s buckles as he worked on Josh’s. When Mike finally joined them, he treaded water while Josh held on to his neck and shoulders as Jerry struggled to tighten the straps. He looked over once at Mike, whose face had gone blank as he moved his arms and legs slowly in the water.

  “Okay,” Jerry said at last. “C’mon, Christine, you hold on to Josh while I tow you two back to the boat. Make a chain.” He watched as Josh released his hold on Mike. “Mike,” he called, “follow us. Let’s go!”

  With Josh’s arms tight around his neck, Jerry started a slow breaststroke back toward the Hobie. It was slow going towing both kids.

  When he was 20 feet from the lower hull, he paused and treaded water a moment, looking back. He couldn’t see Mike; he simply wasn’t there. He pulled Josh’s hands from his neck and kicked hard in the water trying to rise higher to look over the waves for bubbles or any sign of Mike beneath the surface but saw nothing. Now Josh was panicking, crying and slipping down in his life jacket again, his mouth too near the water. Christine was frantically turning in the water looking for her father.

  He had to secure the kids first, he knew that. He grabbed Josh’s arms and wrapped them back around his neck, told Christine to hold on, and kicked for the boat, fighting the impulse to keep looking back. Finally they reached the hull. He helped Christine get one arm around the trapeze frame, got her other one to grip Josh’s shoulders, and swam back to where he thought Mike must have gone under.

  He dived beneath the murky brown water and stroked, rose for air, dived and stroked again, and again. Every so often he checked that the kids were still holding on. He kept at it, diving and swimming underwater, unable to see more than a foot or so through the murk, trying for expanding circles in his search, until he was so tired he could barely stay afloat himself when he surfaced. Finally he had to return to the boat and rest. It took a long time for him to get back to the boat, and his muscles were rigid and quivering when he reached it.

  A fishing boat finally came alongside and then radioed for help.

  Divers found Mike’s body the next morning. The coroner later ruled that he had drowned but could not explain why he had gone under so quickly.

  Briefly

  Connecticut, 2008. An 18-year-old sailing instructor was teaching three young children to sail on a 17-foot catamaran. There was no chase boat. When a gust capsized the cat, all four ended up in the water. The instructor was able to reach and hold on to two of the children, but the youngest, wearing a Type III PFD, drifted away from the capsized sailboat. By the time the in
structor got to the young child, about 10 minutes after the capsize, he had drowned.

  New South Wales, Australia, 2011. Five people were aboard the 17-foot Shark Cat catamaran when it capsized not far from shore in the early afternoon. The incident was observed by a nearby jet-skier, who managed to save one woman. A couple in their seventies and a 12-year-old girl were pulled from the water shortly afterward but could not be revived. Emergency officials searched for a fourth victim, a 47-year-old man not wearing a life jacket, but eventually had to call off the search after being unable to locate his body.

  Rehoboth Bay, Delaware, August 2011. A 63-year-old man and his friend were sailing in a small daysailer about half a mile offshore when it capsized in a gust. Neither was wearing a life jacket. The crew was able to stay with the capsized boat, but the older man could not hold on and drifted away. He was unconscious by the time emergency responders arrived and was pronounced dead shortly after. There was no sign that he had been injured in the capsize.

  Massachusetts, October 2009. A father, an experienced sailor, and his son were sailing their Sunfish near shore when they lost control of the boat in a gust of wind. The boat capsized, throwing them both into the water. Neither wore a PFD. The son swam over to the Sunfish, which was drifting away, and tried to right the boat. He was close enough to shore that he was able to ground the boat but lost sight of his father. He called to his brother on shore to call 911 for help. Shortly thereafter the harbormaster recovered the unresponsive man and began CPR, but he could not be resuscitated.

  CHAPTER 8

  No Way to Call for Help

  As we have seen in previous chapters, many boating emergencies develop quickly. A crisis can become life threatening in seconds or minutes, especially when someone is in the water. Other emergencies may begin with an unexpected but not immediately dangerous incident and then gradually become more serious over time, such as when a boat capsizes or a sailor is separated from the boat but is able to stay afloat with the help of a PFD or by hanging on to the capsized boat. In these cases, nevertheless, the situation can become life threatening if the boat cannot be righted or the sailor cannot be recovered back onto the boat or if rescue does not occur in time. Many sailors and other boaters fail to consider this possibility and do not carry a means to call for help. In that misfortunate situation, survival may depend on whether another boat happens by or another chance event.

  Voices

  She heard voices around her in the water, so she knew she was still alive. Wouldn’t it mean that? But she was so tired she could no longer open her eyes. Her mind kept drifting, floating, much as she was floating in the water. Was she still floating? Was she still in the water? There were splashes, she heard those too. She no longer felt cold. In fact, she couldn’t feel her body at all, as if it had floated away, except when something moved, like James’s arm around her shoulders. Yes. He was still there beside her.

  James. His strong arm. He must be holding her up, she thought, but then she couldn’t feel him either. His voice was so soft she wasn’t sure it was really there. “Hold on,” he said, a murmur in her ear. Was it really him? “You have to hold on.”

  Voices.

  “Is she still alive?” That was the boy. Farther off, the girl was crying, or maybe that was the waves. Were they still on the boat?

  “I’ll hold her up, Dad. You need to take a break.”

  “You have to hold on.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone come?” The girl, hysterical.

  But the sun was so warm. In the lazy heat of the afternoon the scent of flowers was overwhelming. No wind, and the dragonflies were flitting everywhere. The lake shimmered below the lawn, catching the light, and somewhere far off she heard the sounds of children laughing. How happy she was that James had brought her to this wonderful place! James and his silly boat; it took a windless day to keep him on land. They walked the shore arm in arm, like old married couples do. Not so old, she almost giggled.

  How old? What an odd thing to think, and for a moment she realized she wasn’t fully in charge of her thinking.

  He skipped stones over the flat water. Four, five, six skips.

  “Just hold on a little longer.”

  Something bit her ear, an angry bee from the flowers—no, it was cold. A wave? In the garden? That seemed long ago, as if there were still time.

  “Why hasn’t anyone seen us yet? Why isn’t anyone coming?” She heard panic in the girl’s voice, almost as if—as if someone was dying.

  Maybe she was just hungry. They hadn’t eaten yet. It was too bouncy to open the picnic basket; things would fly off every which way! Someone would spill the wine!

  “It’s the cold.”

  “No, the water’s not that cold. Not yet.”

  “It is.”

  James’s strong arm around her. Dancing—if only she’d known him when they were young. Dear James. How wonderful it felt to sleep in his arms.

  “Try your phone again—please, just try it!”

  “It’s not going to work. It’s dead.”

  There, someone had said it. But it wasn’t her, she must still be alive, she heard their voices.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Dad,” Was that his son, Carter? He spoke so seldom, she wasn’t sure he liked her. Or maybe he didn’t approve of her; it had been only a few years since his mother had died.

  Those were not her thoughts. No. Carter brought them sandwiches in the garden. He shooed away the bees attracted to the wine.

  “Please, Dad, let me help!”

  No warmth, and she missed even the cold. Why was that? All these people in the bedroom, all that talking keeping her awake.

  “Look, I see someone on shore! Why don’t they see us?”

  James murmuring. Soothing. “Try to pull yourself up higher. Try to wave.” Who were they waving at? The neighbors across the garden?

  So tired. Perhaps she’d take a nap before getting ready for dinner. Then they were going dancing again.

  “I have you,” he murmured. “Just hold on a little longer.”

  She felt his strong arms. They lifted her, gently swaying, and she surrendered into them.

  These sailors were heading back across Lake St. Clair, returning home to Michigan after a few days’ vacation in Belle River, Ontario. On board were James, an experienced sailor not quite 60, his companion, Irene, 63, his son, Carter, and the two children of a friend, all of them wearing life jackets. It should have been just a pleasant day sail only half a mile offshore on a 23-foot sailboat that had withstood much stronger conditions. The wind was getting up but was not too bad, but then the water humped up over the shoals and a 6-foot wave caught them out of the blue and flipped the boat. They had no way to call for help, and no other boats were nearby. They were in the water for an hour and a half, clinging to the overturned hull, before finally they were seen and a good Samaritan on a boat rushed the woman, unconscious but still breathing, to paramedics waiting on shore. Sadly, 2 hours later she died in the hospital without regaining consciousness.

  Short Sail on the Sound

  Albemarle Sound on the coast of North Carolina is typically full of boats on a summer afternoon, and sailors in most areas seldom feel isolated. But when a thunderstorm threatens, most boats seek shelter and those caught on the water can find themselves terribly alone.

  Paul and Karen planned to sail their 14-foot Sunfish for only an hour or so to cool off on this hot July afternoon. The earlier forecast had included a chance of afternoon popup thunderstorms, but the sky was clear and the wind moderate so they weren’t worried. Besides, it would only be a short sail within a mile of the south shore, so it should take only 20 minutes or so to get back if they saw a storm building.

  At 3:30 P.M. they launched the Sunfish and took off out into the sound. The wind was hot and from the west and light as usual close to shore. But a west wind meant an easy beam reach north out into open water where hopefully the air would be cooler and the wind fresher. Still, with the late-July water temperature i
n the low 80s, they couldn’t hope for much of a cooling breeze.

  They wore only swimsuits. It was too hot and sticky for life jackets, which they stowed in the aft cubby space in the boat’s small cockpit.

  The Sunfish eased along at only a couple knots, Karen trailing one hand in the water and occasionally splashing herself in an effort to cool off. Paul kept dipping his cap in the water and pouring it over his head. Just another hot Carolina summer day.

  After half an hour of easy sailing they tacked the boat around to head back home. In the distance to the south the sky was the funny brown color of a dust storm. The wind had all but died, and as they bobbed in the small waves they watched the southern sky grow darker. Abruptly the wind came back but was now from the south—the direction they needed to go. Paul turned east to tack back toward home. Karen moved over to the starboard side to add her weight to his to counteract the heeling as Paul tried to turn more to the south. But the south wind was still building and he worried they’d be blown over, so he let out the sheet and spilled some wind. They were making no progress to the south at all. If anything, they were being blown north as they sailed east, farther out into the sound.

  They were startled by how quickly the waves were building from the south, making it even more difficult to turn toward shore. To keep the boat flat and under control, Paul had gradually fallen farther off the wind and was now on a broad reach northeast.

  Shortly after the first hard gust shook them, Karen heard a rumble of thunder from the south. This wasn’t just a wind or dust storm, they suddenly realized.

  “I really don’t want to be out here in lightning,” she said in a low tone. She looked around and couldn’t find another boat anywhere in sight.