Long Island; Late July 2005
It was a bright, sunny day in Long
Island as our Mainship “raftup” came to a close. We had enjoyed 2 great days with our good
friends and fellow Mainship owners, and we reluctantly said our farewells as
the clock approached 4 o’clock. Ours was
the second in a raftup of four boats so extricating ourselves was a bit of a
maneuver. The owner of the boat on the
end decided he would take everyone remaining as we pulled away on a “tour” of
the local waters. We separated the raftup
into two-plus-two boats and then everyone else climbed from our boat over into
the boat tied to us, disconnected the lines, and waved goodbye.
The captain, my husband, charted
the course for home with a fuel stop before leaving Long Island via Fire Island inlet.
While fueling, I took care of a few odds and ends like washing and
stowing my dirty dishes with the now engine-heated scalding hot water and tying
up the garbage for disposal upon reaching home.
Fueling was very fast because the station where we stopped is used by
fishing boats with super huge tanks. Our
100 gallons was nothing compared to that and we were done in no time. We cast off our lines and were once more
underway.
We quickly came to Fire Island
Inlet as we followed the channel guiding us out into open waters. We passed 2 or 3 chartered fishing boats and
a few smaller craft as we moved along.
Suddenly the boat started to roll back and forth and be tossed around
quite severely as the seas became rougher and rougher. Waves crashed into the bow as the captain
turned the boat to take them “on the quarter”.
As we ever-so-slowly moved away from the Long
Island shore, I became aware of being alone. Where were those fishing boats? Where were all those other small boats normally
seen out in the water on a sunny, Sunday afternoon? I looked back and saw them fading in the
distance. They never came through the
inlet. We were on our own heading out
into the ocean with no other boats around to keep us company.
Feeling very much alone in the world,
we made our way to the Fire Island Channel marker as we were tossed about on
the rough waters. The captain assured me
that it was just the inlet that would be rough and definitely things would
settle down when we got far enough out.
As we waited for that magic moment, we realized that the sea’s behavior
on that particular day did not match the norm.
The waters were not calming. We
continued to be tossed side-to-side as we made our way out into the ocean
headed for the Jersey Shore – Sandy Hook.
The captain and I rarely wear life
jackets. In the 16 years we’ve been
boating, I can count the number of times on one hand. Generally we have them handy and ready to put
on, but we rarely wear them. As I sat on
the bridge being tossed in what felt like
a toy boat, the thought “life jackets” popped into my head. I suddenly wanted very much to be wearing
one. I mentioned my thought to the
captain, and he must have been having similar thoughts because he immediately
said, “Here, you take over. I’ll go
below and get them.” I took the helm and
he worked his way – hand rail to hand rail down to the cabin to retrieve
them. Soon he returned wearing his life
jacket and helped me get into mine as I continued to try to hold the boat on
its course.
I gladly handed the helm back over
to the captain and sat back on my seat.
I had my work cut out for me simply trying to hold on to the boat as it
thrashed back and forth. As I took a
look around me, I noticed a couple of disconcerting things happening. First, the seat cushion on the port side
lounge-style chair had come lose and with the severe winds looked like it was
ready to fly away at any moment. Second
the dinghy, secured to the boat railing with its ¼” lines, was straining so
hard against the lines, it too looked like it would soon be leaving us. I yelled to the captain to grab the seat
cushion and he shoved it back into place as I made my way to the stern of the
boat to see what could be done with the dinghy.
I was able to take some of the strain off the lines by kicking the
bottom of the dinghy towards the starboard side and allowing it to lie a little
more flatly.
I made my way back to my seat and
sat down only to see the seat cushion on the port side struggling to leave us
once again. I decided to move to that
side and keep it in place by sitting on it.
Even though the boat is over 13 feet high, water repeatedly splashed
over the fly bridge as the boat plowed through the waves. The port side was the wetter of the two
sides. The seat cushion was already very
wet but then again so was I. A wet seat
was better than no seat, so I sat down.
The first couple of times the water
splashed over us was a shock as the cold water hit us in the face, but we
laughed it off as we wiped our eyes on a nearby shirt or towel. After a while though, it becomes a miserable
experience as salt water collects in your hair, splashes into your ears, and
runs down your back! “This wouldn’t be
so bad”, I say, “if we had up the full enclosure.”
“Well, I’m not doing that right
now”, retorts the captain, and I laugh as I picture the precarious balancing
act he has to do when he puts it up. I
worry about his falling when we’re safely in dock. No, he’s not putting up the full enclosure
right now. I once more huddle over with
my lone towel wishing to be someplace dryer and start to fiddle with the seat
cushion. Thankfully I manage to get one
of the snaps to close – well one snap is better than none.
As I sat there wet and somewhat
miserable being continually tossed about and holding on for dear life, I heard
a very unusual sound that sounded just like glass breaking. Then almost immediately after, another sound
from down below that sounded like metal sliding across the cockpit floor. What the heck? I looked at the captain, he looked at me, and
he says “take over”. I took the control
of the vessel as he went below to investigate.
I watched my course line and tried
to continue to take the waves on the quarter to have the least effect on us,
but as I sat there wondering what was going on down below, my imagination
started to get the better of me. “Did he
make it down below or did he fall overboard?” I asked myself. I looked back over my shoulder numerous times
– each time half expecting to see the captain bobbing in the water waving for
me to come back and get him. Well, at
least he was wearing a life jacket! Just
then, a big wave hit the boat and we rolled way over. CRASH!
Something has obviously be thrown against the inside of the boat – but
what? Was the captain alright? Had he
hit his head? Was he lying down below
unconscious or in a pool of blood? I
kept repeating “Please come back. Please
come back!”
Then, to add to my worries, I heard
the Coast Guard on the VHF radio, “Small vessel 2 miles off Fire
Island. Come back.” “Is that me?” I wonder. Surely we are more than 2 miles off by
now. Haven’t we been out here a lifetime
already. Then again, . . “Small vessel 2
miles off Fire Island. Come back.” Oh
Captain, where are you? What’s taking
you so long? I decided not to answer
their call. It must be someone else. “What
if they’re calling us to tell us it’s not safe out here?” I worried. Regardless
of all that, I decided to check with the captain whenever he got back up top. I convinced myself that I was just paranoid
and that the Coast Guardy couldn’t be calling me.
Finally, the captain came back and
as he took the helm he said, “You don’t want to see what it looks like down
there?” “Why is that”, I asked as calmly
as possible. “Well”, he says, “whatever
hadn’t already fallen off the counters I took off and put on the floor. It’s pretty messy down there. The metal scraping across the back was the
outboard for the dinghy. It fell over
and slid. I decided to leave it lying on
its side.”
I had returned to my wet, miserable
job of holding my seat in place with my hands gripping the hand rails and my
feet braced against the captain’s chair.
The boat hit a big wave and yet another bucket of cold water poured over
my head and down my back. I suddenly
realized that I had an urgent need to visit the head. “How do I manage this one?”, I asked
myself. I told the captain my plans to
go below, reminded him to watch the seat cushion, and grabbed the wet slippery
railing in order to make my way down below. Fortunately the boat is designed
with a grand staircase instead of a ladder, so hand-over-hand I made my way
down the stairs to the salon. The salon
is designed with a ceiling hand rail down the center of the boat. As I made my way hand-over-hand to the front
of the boat, I kicked the debris the captain had warned me about this way and
that so as not to step on it.
Finally I got to the head. Now the next challenge – getting my soaking
wet shorts down without falling over or smashing into things in the boat. Somehow I managed the maneuver without crashing
into a wall, but then I just couldn’t face pulling the wet, horrible things
back up again. New challenge – find the
suitcase, find dry pants, put them on.
Whew – another challenge managed, I decided that rain gear and a bunch
more towels were needed up top. A long
time ago I discovered the convenience of plastic grocery bags. I donned my coat. Stuffed the captain’s coat in one bag and 4
towels in another, hung the bags over my arms to have both hands free, and
prepared to make the long journey back up top.
When I got there, I lunged for my
seat, got myself resituated, and handed the captain his coat. Then I noticed something odd. The spare propane tank was sliding around on
the port side of the boat with the captain attempting to hold it prisoner with
one foot. “What happened with that?”
“It came lose from its hitch on the
port side and decided to visit the starboard side of the boat. I’m holding it
in place so it doesn’t go any further.”
“Pass it back this way when you get
a chance, and I’ll watch it”, I offered, so he slid it over when he had a
respite from the wave action for a few seconds. I tucked myself as far into the
corner as I could, had one hand on the hand rail, feet braced against the
captain’s chair, and the other hand now holding the propane tank. With each wave that hit us, the propane tank
became airborne until the boat came back up to meet it as it came back down
again.
We continued on like that. Long Island
didn’t seem to be moving away from us at any rapid rate. In fact it felt like forever and we seemed to
have gone a very short distance from shore.
I mentioned to the captain that I wondered just how big these waves were
and he said, “Let’s find out”. He
switched on the weather radio, and we heard, “… clear skies … two foot waves
with a four second period …” The captain
looked at me with a disbelieving look on his face and said, “2-foot, no
way. 4 seconds, I believe!”
“What do you think is making it so
rough out here?” I asked.
“Well I haven’t measured them but
these winds must be 20 to 25 knots. The
gusting is what’s making these ‘confused seas’ that we’re experiencing and
what’s tossing us about so much.”
As we continued on our way, moving
ever so slowly towards our destination, we saw Jones Inlet on our starboard side. I asked the captain if we could go in and
find someplace to wait for things to settle down. “I don’t fancy the idea of
trying to get back in one of these inlets with a following sea”, he replied,
and if he didn’t “fancy it”, I sure as heck didn’t want to think about it.
I looked around and for the first
time since we came out of Fire Island inlet, I
saw a small boat – much, much smaller than our 39 footer – scooting across the
water on our port side. “How can he do
that?” I asked in awe. “He’s so much smaller – how can he handle the waves like
that?” Amazingly he was well past us and
out of sight in no time at all, and once again, it was us and the waves and not
another sole to be seen. “Maybe I imagined him”, I thought. The captain later explained that since the
boat was much smaller and the period was only 4 seconds, the smaller boat was
skimming across the waves. The size of
our boat in terms of the wave frequency made all the difference.
The captain decided that maybe things
had calmed down enough to pick up some speed.
At 8 knots he calculated that it would take 8 hours to get home. Our original estimate at normal speeds was
closer to 4 hours. He picked up speed
and all seemed well until a rogue wave suddenly appeared from nowhere. WHAM! We were up and then we were down with a
hard slam. “Not good”, he says as we slam a second time. “Just how much of that can the boat take and
stay in one piece” was the prevailing thought that was in my mind.
“Captain?”, I said, “I think it
would be better to go slower and arrive in one piece. I don’t care how long it takes to get there
as long as we get there.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, “I know
you have to go to work early in the morning.”
“I’m very sure” I replied, so he
pulled back on the throttle, and we were once more back to 8 knots. “Three hours down and 5 to go” I thought to
myself as the boat rolled over yet more waves.
Four hours into the trip and it was
approaching 8 o’clock. The captain said,
“It’s going to get dark soon. You need
to go down and turn on the cabin lights so we won’t fall over the debris down
there in the dark later. You better
bring back snacks like crackers as well because we’re going to be getting
hungry.” I gulped at the thought of
making the trip down below yet again, reminded the captain to watch out for
flying propane tanks and seat cushions, took a deep breath, and grabbed the
nearest handrail to pull myself along.
Once down below, I once again
kicked things left and right and made my way forward. It suddenly occurred to me that I must visit
the head as long as I was that close. It
took some time to dig through layers of life jackets, rain gear, and other
clothing. When I was finally putting
myself back together, I heard a sound which sounded like the engines coming to
a sudden stop. “Now what?” I asked
myself and turned around to find the captain down below with me. “What’s wrong?” I asked certainly concerned
that now no one was driving the boat.
“I called you on the intercom”, he
said, “and you didn’t answer. I wasn’t
sure you were still on board so I came to check.”
“Well, I’m here”, I said. “Could
you please go back up and drive the boat now?”
He disappeared through the door and
I went about collecting the crackers I was sent for. I looked at the box in my hand and decided
that we needed protein to keep going – not just starch. Yet another challenge – the refrigerator.
“How do I get the cheese out of there without having all the contents strewn
across the floor with everything else on this boat?”
I timidly opened the door and slid
my hand in to prevent things from flying out and right then we rock real hard
again. The door flew out of my hand and
slammed into the counter. “The eggs!” I
screamed and looked to see what mess had now befallen me. Phew! The egg slots
in the door were doing their job and the eggs were unaffected by the sudden
slamming. My joy was short-lived as food
started sliding out of the fridge, and I felt like I needed at least 3 or 4
more hands to catch it all. I started to
dig down to find the sliced cheese somewhere buried towards the back and down a
few layers. I looked at the cheese in
the door and decided that anything requiring a sharp knife was definitely not a
good idea. I continued my juggling act
as I hunted for the evasive American cheese hiding somewhere in there.
At last I had what I needed, gave
things a final shove back into place, shut the fridge door as quickly as
possible, and latched it. I grabbed a handy-dandy plastic grocery bag, stuffed
the cheese in with the crackers, and set off on my trip back up top.
Back on top, I collapsed onto my
notorious cushion, tucked myself into the corner to avoid the worst of the
water that continually sprayed over our heads, in our ears, and down our backs,
and once again took over ownership of the propane tank. Always something new to deal with, I found it
rather difficult to serve cheese and crackers while trying to protect them from
the spray, guarding the propane tank from flying across the bridge, and holding
onto my seat. I finally managed to
assemble something and handed it to the captain. Instead of taking it, he opened his mouth so
I could feed him. Of course the action
of the boat made it extremely hard to find his mouth as his head dipped one way
and my hand went the other. Eureka! We connected and
I went back to “make” another one for him.
This hilarious and exhausting activity repeated itself a few times and
we decided to take a rest.
A short while later, I said, “Want
more?”
“Sounds good” was the unfortunate
answer that came back, and I was back to trying to catch his mouth as it bobbed
back-and-forth once more. Finally, he
was satisfied. The food bag was hung
over my arm to keep it from flying away in the wind, and I shoved it back to
one side and snuggled deeper into my corner with a towel draped over my upper
body to keep the ice water out of my ears.
Feeling wet and miserable and only
wishing to be home, I was surprised to hear the captain say, “It sure is pretty
out here.”
I came out from under my towel,
pushed the hood of my rain gear back, and looked around. Sure enough – beautiful lights aligned the
South Shore of Long Island. Overhead I
saw a gorgeous red and purple sky as the sun set in the distance. “I wish I could enjoy it”, I said as I was thrown
back by the rocking boat and doused with water once more. I dried my ears with my now saturated towel
and went back into my “shell” peaking out once in a while to see the beautiful
skyline and sunset.
We continued on into the night as
it got darker and darker. Ever so slowly
we got closer to New Jersey and further away
from Long Island. As we got closer to Jersey,
we saw lots of lights on our port side. “Is that a hotel?” I asked, not
remembering any ever being on Sandy Hook in
the past.
“No, that’s a tanker”, replies the
captain, “and it’s going to present a new problem for us depending on where he
plans to go! I expect he wants to go to New York City, not New
Jersey, so we’ll have to cross over in front or in
back of him. It’s safer to pass behind
him.”
“There are more lights on the
starboard side”, I said.
“Yeah! Looks like a tug”, replied
the captain. “Question is – is he towing anything? We want to stay well out of
his way just in case.”
We continued on our way at our
measly 8 knots, and the captain said, “I’m having trouble making out what I’m
looking at because my distance glasses are somewhere down below. Is that two boats over there?”
I came out from under my towel and
hood and took a look. “No, that’s the very
large tanker I thought was a hotel a while ago. There are lights in the back
that I thought were the “hotel” lights because they’re so tall and then there
are dimmer lights up front. It’s so
close I can easily read the writing on the side of it.”
“Oh!” exclaimed the captain. “Now I
see. I thought it was two boats – not
one big one. I can’t go between
them! I better adjust our course in a
hurry.”
“I guessed that was your glass case
with your distance glasses that I saw below mixed in with all the debris on the
floor. I remember pushing it out of the
doorway with my foot as I tried to get into the salon.”
The captain suddenly slowed the
boat so that the tanker could pass in front of us on his way to New York. At the tanker’s current rate of speed it did
not take long. As soon as he passed by,
the captain sped up again.
“Now that the tanker is out of our way”, he said, “we have to avoid that tug. I’m going to cut in front of him because I’m pretty sure he’s towing something, and I don’t want to mess with that.”
“Now that the tanker is out of our way”, he said, “we have to avoid that tug. I’m going to cut in front of him because I’m pretty sure he’s towing something, and I don’t want to mess with that.”
Suddenly having company out there
seemed a bit more daunting than being on our own. I looked around and my mind started dwelling
on our situation. Several related
thoughts started going through my mind. “No one knows we’re out here. No one will miss us for days if something
happens to us. My boss might get upset when I don’t show up for work and might
even try calling my cell phone and leave me a message, but he didn’t know our
boating plans. He wouldn’t know to send
someone out to search for us. We see our
friends in Long Island rarely. They wouldn’t look for us or miss us for
weeks.” The value of Float Plans became
quite apparent at that moment. Someone
really ought to have known we were out there.
Seven hours into the trip. It was now almost 11 p.m. Seven hours of being tossed around like a
salad before being served and doused repeatedly with salt water until well
seasoned. I was tired. I wanted to
sleep. My head kept dropping down as I
tried to rest, and it bobbed around like one of those dogs people put in the
back of a car as we were continually thrown back and forth. I could have, maybe, enjoyed the ride a bit
more if I were down below and dry, but that wasn’t an option. I wanted to be near the captain as much as
possible. The two of us together make a
good team. One up and one down – not
such a good idea!
I continued to be miserable and, as
I had done off and on for the past 5 hours or so, I prayed that we would make
it home safely and get to see our sons sometime in the near future.
Finally, some good news. The captain asked me to look for the unlit
marker identifying the Sandy Hook
channel. “There’s a red one”, I shout,
happy to be so close to getting out of open water. We were right on course – thanks be to the
GPS and a good compass. As we continued
on to Sandy Hook 17, I realized that it was a little calmer. By the time we reached Bell 2, the roughness was just a memory.
“I’m going below”, I tell the
captain.
“You going to sleep?” he asked.
“No, to clean up” I replied as I
went below.
When we pulled into our home dock,
I had everything stowed in its proper place and all our bags packed ready to
take up to the house. Back to
normal! As I collapsed into bed finally at
1:30 a.m., I thought “In two weeks we’re going to Cape May. I’m sure we’ll go down ‘on the outside’, i.e
in the Atlantic Ocean. I wonder if the
captain will be willing to put up the full enclosure for that trip.”
