Every year when the boating season is in full swing, I start to count the number of accidents, hoping that they’ll be lower than the year before. It’s a shame that people don’t learn how to enjoy this fantastic experience, being on the water, without making it disastrous for family and friends.
There was a boating accident reported in Miami last week. Apparently one or two dead, several missing. There was no other information, it’s under investigation.
Probably the biggest contributor to marine accidents is alcohol related. Normal, rational adults, who would never think of drinking while they’re driving their cars, seem to change when they are in a boat on the ocean. I’m sure they say, “look at all this open space, what could possibly happen?” Unfortunately, a lot, and it comes upon you so quickly, that there’s almost no time to react safely, especially if you’re not functioning one hundred percent.
Several years ago, I was chatting with a young man who was working at a marina. I found out that besides his marina job, he had two others, one working overnight, which is always difficult, since your internal time clock is always screwed up, and you’re always tired. On top of that, he was a licensed boat captain, and was starting his own charter business. It took me several months to finally convince him to stop working overnight. The consequences of being overtired, commanding a boat with paying guests would have been catastrophic. Water is too powerful not to be one hundred percent in charge of your facilities, it’s not forgiving. I should know, having made an error of bad judgment on the water.
When I think back at the incident, I can’t believe I allowed myself to get into that situation. It was back in the mid-eighties. I had my weekend house with its forty-foot dock for my sailboat, and my small motor boat. The boat was up at the marina, a mile from my house. All I had to do was launch it, and motor a half-mile in Great Bay to the marked entrance into the wetlands, and then motor to my dock. The mast was lashed to the deck, covering the anchor well. I had stripped the boat before I put it up, so the radio, and all the survival equipment was neatly stored in the house. It was a partly sunny day, warm for April, so I was only in a t-shirt and shorts. I walked to the marina, and figured that after the boat was in the water, it would be a half-hour the most before I was back at my dock. What could go wrong?
Now at this point in my life, I had extensive training in 0water related problems. I was a Red Cross Water Safety Instructor, a Divemaster, and rescue diver, had taken a certified sailing course, and had sailed my boat for at least seven years, including going through a Northeaster, off of New York. Obviously, I wasn’t remembering my training, as I should have.
Once in the water I motored into the bay, and turned east, running close to the shore, which was all wetlands. The entrance I was looking for had a flashing light on the entrance sign. I just happen to turn around to the west. There, coming toward me fairly fast was the blackest sky, that I’ve ever seen. I gunned the engine hoping to out-run the storm. If I could only get to the entrance to the wetlands, I would be safe. Unfortunately, it was not to be. The storm, with high winds, driving rain enveloped me. To make matters worse, lightning was now striking the water, and I was the highest point. I was soaked through and through, I was cold, and I knew hypothermia would set in. If the anchor was available, I would have dropped the hook and gone below. I couldn’t see the shore, even though I was close. Then all of a sudden, all I saw before me was land. I swung the rudder hard to starboard, and the storm pushed the boat into the soft wetlands. The engine stopped, so I went below, and stripped off my wet clothes, and waited for the storm to blow over. When it did, and the sun came out, I found that I had missed the entrance by twenty feet.
I was lucky, no damage, just a lesson learned the hard way. Now when I go onto a boat, I have my complete set of foul-weather gear, including my boots, auto-inflated life jacket, complete with an integrated safety harness, and basic survival equipment. When asked why all the gear, my answer is, “you don’t really want to know.”
