I’m reposting this from 1991. If you have read it, then you probably remember to wear your life jacket. If you haven’t, then you will!
Before I got Cambio, I sailed Sharks for about 30 years. This is an account of my first adventure on my Shark, Humbly the Magnificent Champion of the Universe.
Today, my friend Sue asked me if I could swim. Her young son was playing at the water’s edge near us. I said yes, but this whole story came flooding back into my memory.
I sailed out past the breakwater to begin a long downwind ride across Lake Ontario. All morning, the weather stations had been reporting west winds at 30 to 40 knots and up to 3-meter waves. This was playtime for Humbly, my 24′ Shark sailboat. We had been out many times in these conditions, and Humbly always surfed along downwind under the main and storm jib at exhilarating speeds ahead of the crests.
For about an hour, Humbly went faster than she had ever gone before. She surfed down 3-meter waves, and in the gusts, the pressures turned into humming in the hull and vibration on the tiller. There was tremendous pressure on the mast and rigging. The rudder was kicking up a rooster tail. It was thrilling, but the power of the storm was undeniable, and the thrill was tinged with fear.
At about 4:00, we were between 6 and 8 miles from the south shore.
Then, the mother of all waves picked Humbly up, turned her sideways, and heeled her almost 90 degrees. The wave slammed me over the leeward coaming, and in the tremendous rush of water, I lost my grip on the tiller. The next thing I remember is hanging in the water on the port side, grasping the tiller with my right hand.
The boat tilted to windward, and I lost my grip and went underwater. When I surfaced, the boat had righted herself and was about six feet away. I swam for it, lunging for the motor, but missed by inches. Humbly sailed away towards the south shore, leaving me alone in the storm.
Rage surged through me, and I screamed, “You dumb country fuck!” The rage passed quickly. I was alone, floating in Lake Ontario, with only a farmer John wetsuit and a Mustang floater coat for protection. My biggest danger was hypothermia, so I hooked up the beavertail attached to the floater coat to try to reduce heat loss.
I could see the far shore when the larger waves lifted me. Even though the boat was only a few hundred feet away, I started cheering her on. Humbly was headed south on her drunken course. I imagined that when she hit the rocks along the shoreline, there would be a movie-style explosion with flame and smoke that would attract attention and help.
Until then, my choices were to either curl up and float to conserve heat or to swim towards shore. I decided to swim. My fragile game plan was to swim towards the shore. When Humbly’s sails disappeared, I would know she had hit the shore, and I could fire off the last two flares, and then rescuers would come out and get me. Simple!
First, I had to learn how to swim again. The floater coat kept my head above water but wouldn’t allow a normal swim stroke, and the neoprene wetsuit bottoms kept trying to flip my legs up and put my face in the water. The best compromise was a combination of the breaststroke and pedal kick, which kept me moving forward very slowly and somewhat upright.
Stroke, stroke, watch Humbly stagger towards shore, stroke, try and remember anything to do with survival, stroke, sputter, and stroke. The boat moved further away, but the shoreline didn’t seem any closer. I was drifting east in mountainous waves and swimming south.
After about an hour, a seagull floated effortlessly above me. It struck me that this was not fair, and I yelled to the gull, “Hey, gull! Go and tell them where I am, and I’ll give you a fish.” He floated there for a minute and then wafted away. I told myself he could see that I had no fish.
The sun sank lower to the west, and I realized for the first time that I would be out there after dark. I could still see Humbly in the distance, and it was alarming how far the boat was going and how small the sails were getting while the shore didn’t seem to be getting any closer.
The sun went down, and I started getting cold. Every little while, I had the urge to speed up, but slower was better. This was difficult. I have always had trouble pacing myself in anything I have ever done, but this time there was no choice. Now that it was completely dark, waves were sneaking up from behind and clobbering me, leaving me sputtering and indignant.
A blue flashing light caught my eye off to the left. I waited for the next wave to pick me up for another look and saw the light on top of a large yellow vessel with a black hull floating about a hundred yards away to the southeast. I reached for the flares in my floater coat. It seemed to take forever to get them out, put one back, unscrew the end of the flare, point it up, and pull the chain. The flare arced up, over, and doused downwind. I was disappointed at how quickly the light show was over. I waited a few long seconds.
Suddenly, the boat accelerated to the west. They had not seen me! I quickly pulled out the other flare and fired it in an arc in front of the boat. It did not reach the boat, but it arced nicely and doused off its starboard quarter. I watched the boat’s direction. No change… no change… no change. The boat kept going and disappeared to the west. I yelled; I screamed; I cursed its wake.
When I calmed down, I realized I was upset because I now had a long way to swim. I decided I was still going to make it swimming, but I didn’t want to. I wanted a ride. “OK self, you have no more flares, and there is a blind madman in a forty-foot rescue boat driving up and down the shoreline at high speed. Just my luck he’ll come back and nail me in the head.”
I settled into a slow routine of stroking and started to daydream.
Strokes. More strokes. More strokes.
I tried body surfing and caught a few waves that turned into exciting and long rides, but I realized they took too much energy.
Things were going well enough. “What can possibly go wrong?” I could hit a cold patch in the lake. I could run into a current where a stream empties into the lake just in front of me. I could get hit by a bugs-in-teeth rescue boat driver. I worried about getting ashore. I didn’t want to be bashed against the rocks along the shore by these huge waves.
More slow strokes. I was getting close!
I was about twenty yards from the breakwater when panic set in. I was now close enough to the rocks to use them as reference points, but I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. How could I come this far only to get pushed away by a current? I ran out of breath, rested, collected my wits, and went back to the slow stroke, stroke, game plan that had worked so far. A few minutes later, a wave picked me up and deposited me gently on a large flat rock.
I considered it a last gift from the Lake.
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