2-Foot Seas: a short, true story

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.”

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.”