posted 10-20-2008 11:16 PM ET (US)        

I think this could be a good sharing of knowledge about things to do or not to do in an emergency.

posted 10-21-2008 01:11 AM ET (US)         

We could make about 6 knots into the big head seas and continued to Secret Cove. The next day was the same, and on our way down to Gibsons we heard about lots of problems with other boats. One memorable one was a 49 Meridian that lost its tender. Interestingly the only other boats we saw out were also small, a 28 Protector and a 27 Grady, and none of us were moving fast.

posted 10-21-2008 05:39 AM ET (US)            

I've since built a proper backup tiller that lives under the
console.

posted 10-21-2008 02:12 PM ET (US)            

I know it wasn't as dramatic as some of the other stories but it did leave a nice little boo boo!

posted 10-21-2008 04:52 PM ET (US)            

Story goes, I had 4 people (me included) and gear in our Montauk and I had a bit of no wake to get through to get to the open water. If the plug would have been pulled during that time there would have been a lot of in the cockpit. In fact we never ran that boat with the plug out. I still leave the plug in when my Newport is in the water. Running out the the landing area the water was fairly calm and we got to the destination, anchored in a cove out of the wind and waves, unloaded, and hiked around the island. now it was time for me to head back however, the wind had shifted and now the once protected cove was getting large rollers coming head on into it. I decided to leave everyone else there and head back to the harbor myself. Everyone else would just walk back across the island to the harbor. After sitting at anchor with waves crashing over the bow the cockpit had a lot of water already in it. I would say 6 - 9 inches. So I jumped in, started the motor (thank god the battery was mounted up in the console), and tried to lift anchor. While I was trying to get the anchor up there were a few waves that rolled over the bow into the cockpit. So, once the anchor was in I ran back pulled the plug and began to motor out. The boat was very unstable and now full of a lot more water. I had to keep the boat going into the waves and the bow up so it would not roll. On the way out I took two more waves that rolled into the cockpit and now it was really flooded. To the point that when I tried to power on to plane all of the water rushed to the stern and some even went over the transom. The bow went straight up in the air and the motor started to go under. I backed down and kept the bildge pumping overboard while still taking on water every once and a while. Fortunately the bilge was able to help dewater quicker than it was coming in. I know the thru hull alone would have not been able to dewater as fast so, that is my case for a bildge pump in a 17 whaler. Once most of the water was out I was able to turn between the wave crests and run with the waves home. I have never been that afraid in a boat as i was that day. It was also the day that truly sold me on the safety of Whalers. While most boats would have just sank the Whaler kept going. It took a lot of work to keep it going into the waves and keep it right side up but, it did it.

posted 10-21-2008 05:38 PM ET (US)            

http://continuouswave.com/ubb/Forum1/HTML/009687.html

http://continuouswave.com/ubb/Forum1/HTML/013113.html

A few years ago, in the fall, I wanted to see what the 18 could do. The weekend before, I had been fishing on Lake Michigan in 5-6’ waves and generally enjoyed myself, despite the fact that my feet got wet and I caught a lot of spray on the canvas shelter and windshield. So I set off for the river mouth at St. Joseph. By the time I was at the base of the piers, the boat was already riding on about 4-6 foot surge that was steadily marching in between the pierheads. I held position there for some time, just evaluating if I wanted to go or not. I called my brother and told him I’d call him in an hour – if not, to call the coast guard station in St. Joe. I then steeled myself and pressed onward. The forecast was for 10-12’ waves, and I don’t think they were wrong. When I exited the pierhead, I was climbing towering waves and plunging down the back. The waves were moving very fast – on each successive wave, I was burying the nose of the Whaler past the smirk to the gunwale and usually a 2-3 inch thick stream of water was coming up alongside the shelter and sloshing against the windshield. The flags snapped to attention on the top of the waves, and the canvas rumbled…white diamonds of water sparkled in the sunlight and then I plunged into the shadow of the next wave. It was frightening – I had made the decision to go out in this to test my skills, and now the Lake was delivering a humbling lesson. I even sensed I had to pee. (I’m not making this up!). Anyway – I persevered and managed to get the boat turned around in a smaller set of waves, and then surfed the back of a swell about halfway up the river mouth on the way in. The boat was soaked and even my feet were wet from the water that had come in UNDER the shelter and poured down the deck. Thankfully I had kept all plugs out before I went out there – there would not have been any time to do so and I’m sure I shipped more than a few gallons of water, but the drain plugs slowly drained it out while I was focusing on piloting the boat.

I generally stay home if anything over 6’ is forecast – but I wanted to test myself to make sure I could handle it in case I found myself facing those kinds of seas without the comfort of a sunny day and near port. I think I passed the test, but really don’t want to deal with that again.

The next summer, one of our buddy boats was “caught” in the remnants of Katrina on Isle Royale. Lake Superior had been so rough that the ferries stopped running. The captain of the Voyageur Ferry said that there were 11’ seas and building. I probably could have run down to Chippewa Harbor to be with the other boat who was there alone, but chose to stay in port – I’ve faced those seas before and if I can avoid them, I will.

posted 10-21-2008 06:34 PM ET (US)            

About the time we passed the RA buoy, the seas let up, and I was able to do some damage assessment. All the fenders were gone. In my haste to leave port, I had left them tied to the railings, but tucked into the walkarounds. They were tossed over the side by the water and rough ride and then ripped from their lines. One stainless steel railing gate broke a weld and fell off the railing, but stayed on the boat. I can't recreate my exact route, but my best estimatation is that I swung wildly west due to the ougoing tide carrying me off course. However, due to the speed gained from the current, even with this detour, I crossed in 2 hours instead of the predicted three. The Whaler actually fared very well. It had only a small amount of water in it and the anchor and chain were thrown from the locker into the back of the boat.

posted 10-21-2008 09:30 PM ET (US)            

As we continued to drift I looked to the East of our location in time to notice the bay had a line across it and was moving at a very fast pace toward us. It was a squall line whipping up the water behind it like I have never seen. I told my bow fishing buddy to get back in the cockpit area. With that he stood up and was confronted by the wall of wind. He dropped the rod to the deck and grabbed as much rail as he could get his hands on. The boat seemed to get shoved about fifty feet sideways as we all held on.

The sky turned black except for the brilliant lightning that lit the bay and the deafening thunder that followed. We cranked up the engine and started our long, slow journey back to our marina. The waves at this point had increased to four footers only a couple of seconds apart. This was not the way to safe harbor. I swung the bow around and started towards Atlantic Highlands in the opposite direction. This decision was much easier on the boat and crew but was placing our safe port about eight miles from our marina. We would stay in a empty slip overnight if need be.

I was the only one that was relatively dry and announced that if my hair stood on end that the rest of the crew needed to hit the deck. As we made the final turn around the breakwater, the bow was once again into the wind. The air was rushing between the windshield and the canvas top causing my hair to stand on end. Needless to say the call "Hit the deck" came out of my mouth in a commanding scream.

My friends reacted so differently at that moment, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. One of the crew almost went through the deck boards and would have if he could. Another was making the sign of the cross. The third was looking at me for further orders. And the forth was holding the spotlight standing on the I/O engine cover and shining the light over the canvas screaming "what?"

After figuring out what really happened we laugh historically in relief of the whole ordeal, thankful to be in port. I raised Sandy Hook Marine Operator on channel 24 to place a call home to let everyone know we were safe. I finished the call when suddenly there was a very loud crack and blinding flash on a power pole only about 50 yards in back of the now safely tied up boat. It caused a blackout over the entire area for several hours afterwards.

The storm let up about 10:00pm and we made the decision to head back to our marina. We made very slow headway in the still four foot waves. It took up about two hours to run the eight miles back, but we survived.

posted 10-22-2008 10:16 AM ET (US)            

we had taken the outboard skiff out to get the rolls (for supper) from the shrimp trawler our dad hired, which was anchored in the harbor. the fiberglass skiff was about 16ft w/ a late model 70hp evinrude (tiller).

Capt Jones suggested we return to garden key asap due to an insane looking squall coming straight at us (real fast!). we took the rolls & jumped in the skiff ~ my sister untied us & tossed the line before i started the motor. so! of course, the motor wouldn't start.
by then, the wind was blowing approx 30-40mph and we were being blown directly toward that treacherous reef which borders tortuga harbor (off of bird key). the waves were breaking hard all across the reef & had grown to about 6-8ft. it was covered w/ white water!

as we got closer & closer to the reef, i was yanking on the rip-chord as hard as i could and that damn evinrude would not turn over! i could see Capt Jones watching from the safety of the 78ft trawler ~ the worried look on his face scared me even more than the rapidly approaching reef. by then we were both crying ~ we were stuck between a harbor full of agitated (breeding) bull-sharks and certain sinking on the reef.

i swear, we were withing 25ft of the whitewater when i figured i give it one more pull ~ thanks to a guardian angel, that piece of crap evinrude started, FINALLY!!!

we were still sobbing & shaking when we hit the beach. my pulling arm ached for weeks.

posted 10-22-2008 10:33 AM ET (US)            

http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o295/TheMaryAlice/Summer%202008/ ticestornado.jpg

posted 10-22-2008 01:02 PM ET (US)            

I got out the oars and started rowing; of course we were against the tide and the wind. There were white caps everywhere the weather got worse everyone was heading to shore. We went 2 feet forward and three feet back. We took turns, but I was the best rower having had all that practice. I continued for about 1 hour, but seemed like eternity.
I saw guy in runabout and asked if I wanted a tow. My pride was reduced to YES we would like a tow. The man towed all the way in I thank him so much

posted 10-23-2008 12:22 PM ET (US)            

The dingy (an inflatable) was DOA, so we had to paddle in to shore. Whoops, the oars were in dock box, so we made some with sections cut out of a 5-gallon bucket, mop handled and hose clamps.

Anyway, most of us onboard the boat (a 53-foot aluminum racing sailboat) head into the beach for some fun on the island. We were on the east side of the island, so we didn't see the changing weather to our west until fairly late.

We had taken two trips in to the beach to get everyone in, so the first batch of us hop in the rubber duck and start paddling back to the boat. As we got a little ways off shore, we could see what was coming - it was an evil looking grey line of clouds, sort of like an upside down wave, only a couple of hundred yards up. Our boat drew 8 feet, so were the boat that was anchored farthest out. We paddles like mad. When we were about 50 yards from the boat, we could see a line in the water where the squall was moving towards us. On one side of the line, the water was calm, on the other side, it looked like someone had turned on a blender. We got to the stern of the boat and just had time to get a line on, but not get everyone out of the dinghy when the blast hit.

Instantly, the visibility dropped so that you couldn't see the shore, and the wind blast was so strong that it literally laid that sailboat (a 38,000 lb, 53 foot boat) over on its side till the lee rail was in the water. Let me be clear, there was no sail up at the time - bare poles.

We came nose to wind, and it quickly became clear we were dragging our anchor - just a lunch hook.

We had an old diesel in that boat that required you to hold a glow plug for 30 seconds before you cranked it over. As I was sitting holding in the plug, I was getting pelted by hail the size of quarters, and I looked over at a boat anchored near us, and their dinghy - a 9 or 10 foot zodiac with about a 15 foot outboard - was 6 feet in the air - straight back from the stern pulpit it was tied to, spinning around. Then it ripped the stern pulpit off of the boat.

I got a little anxios, waited only part of the mandated 30 seconds, and the engine wouldn't start. The next time, I waited the full 30 seconds, and by the time I got her started we were thumping the bottom pretty hard in the troughs of the now 3-4 foot waves.

Someone else tied a cushion to the end of the anchor line and heaved it over and we motored out into the open lake away from the shore.

We had analog instruments at the time, and the needed on the anemometer was solidly pegged at 80 mph for several minutes. It had been under 5 as we paddled in.

Fortunately, it blew itself out within a half hour or so, and we were able to recover the rest of the crew.

I've seen squalls before, but nothing like that.

David

posted 10-23-2008 03:53 PM ET (US)            

I had two clients out on a halibut charter. When we flew in at about 8:30 am, the wind was fairly light maybe 10-15, with 1 to 2' chop. This was marginal for us to go out, but that was because we fished a very large bay which was open to the ocean in a 16' lund v bottom skiff.
It didn't look too bad so we decided to go for it. We loaded up the skiff and ran down the shallow, glacial stream that we kept the boat in to the ocean. The tide was high. We banged around all morning, caught a few 40 lb chicken halibut and decided to take our lunch on a small island about three miles offshore. It was still breezy, and a steady rain had blown in, so I made a fire for the clients to warm up on the Lee side of the island.
About 1:00 we decided to go back and hit 'em again, but as we came around the island, out of the lee, we quickly discovered that while we were warming our hands the wind had picked up to steady twenty, probably gusting 25 or 30, and the seas had increased to three and four footers. As soon as I saw the conditions, I told the clients we were heading for the beach, NOW. We only had three or four miles to go, but it was in a strong following sea, and one of the clients sitting in front tips the scales at close to 300, so it was a mother keeping that tiller steered skiff straight. The seas and wind built steadily, and by the time we neared the beach, we were in five to six foot rollers and chop.
Up there, without another boat within forty miles, no available rescue from shore, an outgoing tide and 45 degree water, a capsize would have meant almost certain death for all three of us. I made sure we had our lifejackets on, but all that does is help them find the bodies.

That part was somewhat frightening, but it was nothing compared to what we were about to face. When we got to the mouth of the river, the tide was ebbing hard over the bar, and the seas were stacked close together and approaching 7 to 8 feet. We had to cross about three hundred yards of that, against the current. I kept watching my clients white knuckled grip on the gunnel of the boat. We took water over the bow, and we took water over the stern, and when we finally made it into the river mouth we were soaked and listing, but we made it. One of the guys was from North Carolina, and had a very deep baritone voice and a thick accent, and I will never forget him reaching one shaking hand back to shake my hand and say , "good job, boy, good job."

Not something I would like to have to do again, but fun to look back on knowing it came out alright. At the time I don't really remember being scared, so much as exhilarated. It was on the 1 hour flight back to camp that I really had a chance to think about the consequences if I had not been as lucky or skilled with the tiller.

posted 10-23-2008 06:11 PM ET (US)            

I'll match my stupidity with anyone's, anywhere, anytime, any station.

I was 19, crewing on a French ketch with two others on board, the skipper and his woman friend. I had a lazy 4-hour daytime watch running before the wind, staysail boomed out on one side and main on the other, mizzen furled, boat sailing herself, the skipper and squeeze asleep (?) below. It was hot as hell, and I got the wise idea to cool off by making a stern mooring line fast around my waist with a bowline and jumping overboard...truly an idiotic idea, since the boat was making maybe four or five knots and there was no way I could either swim fast enough or pull myself back to the stern. Scared the stuff out of me for what seemed to be hours (probably only minutes). I yelled for help without success, and later heard from the skipper, between curses in French and pidgeon-English, that it was blind chance (and a full bladder) that caused him to come on deck, freak out to see me gone, find me overboard being towed along like a piece of flotsom caught on the prop, and pull me in. (This was in the Red Sea, famous for many hungry sharks, and my watch wouldn't have ended for a couple of hours more.)

So now when I get pissed at either of my two teenagers for doing something that seems a bit stupid, I summon up this memory to put things in proper perspective.
_______________________________________

The older I get the stupider this seems. Man oh man...please don't start a topic on dangerous motorcycle stupidity.

Tony

posted 10-24-2008 01:24 AM ET (US)            

We wake up at 0500, get ready and head down to the stall to get the boat. Launch the boat and set off out of he Matagorda Harbor at 0630. We are heading out to the NOAA Weather Buoy that is station 60 statute miles out of the Matagorda Jetties. Anyways, the long ride makes the boys anxious to catch some fish. So we stop at a rig to try and catch some king mackrel, but the water is really off color due to all the heavy rain that we have seen in the previous weeks that has dumped into the Gulf. So we are back underway headed out to the buoy fishing weedlines and such working our way out. We finally hit a color change and the water went from a murky green color to a vibrant crystal clear blue that you only see in the movies. We finally make it to the buoy, tried to troll, but the seaweed was thick and scattered which ended up getting entangled in our lines. Although a 40 or 50lb. wahoo did follow and annihilate a Chaos lure that we offered. After that, we continued to fish and chum, trying to draw a strike but the fish thought otherwise. So then we are going to start fishing our way back in and hit a few wrecks. We left the buoy and started heading for a wreck that was in and east of the buoy about 10 miles. As we are about halfway there there is a storm that is brewing to the west of us. Back home is a North Westerly compass heading. We started to go back home instead of fishing anymore due to the inclimate weather. I began to see a few lightning strikes so instead of heading to Matagorda, I started to head to Sargent which is 30 miles up the coast. After a few minutes I decided that Sargent wasn't going to be as good of idea as I thought, so I pointed the boat towards Freeport, which is another 30 miles up the coast. Now the storm is as far as I can see west, north, and south. I stopped the boat, grabbed life vests for the boys and my self, got us all strapped in and gave them strict orders for them not to leave the boat if something happens. By now, the older one is as quiet as a mouse and the younger is scared and crying a bit. About that time, I could feel the first gales of what was to come. I started heading back towards Matagorda, then it hit. gale force winds, driving rain, and waves that were high and stacked together like cardboard. The only thing that I could do, but point the bow of the boat into the 12'to 15' waves. Every raindrop stung from be propelled by the 50 to 60 m.p.h. winds. As I got to the top of a wave I had to hammmer the throttles so I wouldn't nose dive into the next wave and fill the boat with water. At this moment all I could do was pray and keep going. I prayed to the Good Lord so that I could get those boys home safe. I'm sure that God got tired of listening to me. The first wave of storms, 12'to 15' seas, and pounding rain lasted for 90 minutes. We caught a little break from the rain, but the seas were still rolling, though not as high because the wind had layed quite a bit. After about a five mile run the second wave of storms set in and it was just as bad as the first. Only this time the waves were coming at me from the north, so I could point my boat towards HOME!!! This lasted much longer than the first round and the swells were coming from the north and the west. After 2 more hours of fighting that weather system we seemed to be in the clear. The sky was still a little cloudy, but for the most part clear. I began to assess the damage that was done and realized how LUCKY we are to be alive. My bow rail has come loose and was plopping around. I had a casting platform that was screwed into the deck portion of the bow. All 12 screws were torn out and the platform is resting halfway in my fish box. My console is totally busted loose and the only thing holding it on is the T-top. The T-top has busted some welds and 2 legs that were screwed into the deck have stripped the screw holes out and are loose. The forward deck is totally loose and all the screw holes are stripped from the weight of the console and T-top getting jammed around. I lost a speaker that was strapped on the t-top. I had to rip it from the wires so that it wouldn't hit me head during round 1 of this. The only thing that is still attached good is the leaning post.

posted 10-25-2008 10:29 AM ET (US)            

As everyone on the site knows I fish offshore (50 mile range) from a 210 Ventura. The worst experience I ever had was actually closer inshore.

My wife and I had decided to run about 15 miles south of Shallotte Inlet which is located on the east end of Ocean Isle Beach NC. The weather forecast called for temps in the 80's and no chance of rain or thunderstorms. We made it to our favorite wreck and started fishing around 10am. The day was gorgeous with light winds out of the south. The sea was flat and not a cloud in the sky. About 3pm we noticed some cloud buildup to the north so we decided to wrap it up and head in. About the same time our VHF radios started broadcasting a Marine Warning for the area we were in. We stowed all the fishing gear and secured everything and started in. About 6 miles from the inlet the sky turned this evil green gray as did the ocean. You could feel the heat and static electricity in the air. We stopped long enough to lower our VHF antennas to a 45 degree angle both getting sapped by the static electricity buildup on the antenna surfaces. There were three other boats around us all heading in at the speed of heat. About the same time the black clouds ahead of us started to tumble like a sandstorm I'd seen in the Persian Gulf years before while lighting started popping all around us. About a quarter of a mile from the Shallotte Inlet sea buoy all hell broke loose .... a tremendous down draft engulfed our Whaler pushing the bow of the Ventura down. The wind went from light and varibale to 60 - 80 mph in a matter of seconds. We were making about 35 mph good over the water when it hit. Luckily we heading bow into it. The wind darn near stopped us dead in the water. The ocean around us turned to an evil green spray driven mess that felt like rubber bullets hitting our faces. I was so glad that we had been smart enough to buy the water goggles at least we could almost see. There was another boat about 100 yards ahead of us adjacent to the sea buoy when all of a sudden lighting strikes the sea buoy. The buoy turned a brilliant orange and red color it actually looked like it exploded. Simulateously there was the clap of thunder the likes of which I had never heard beofre that left are ears ringing. My wife looked a me and yelled a couple words of which I won't post .... all I could think of was the boat next to the buoy. As we headed in we saw the other boat heading thru the inlet which at this point looked like churning white water. We proceeded thru the inlet holding on for dear life knowing the the Ventura would get us thru safely. The ride thru was exciting as we took waves over the bow and sides but the Whaler keep tracking straight a true. Once inside and in the ICW we dropped the anchor and waited for the strom to pass. The boat ahead of us lost all their electronics to the lighting strike on the sea bouy. Needless to say they were very lucky.

Like JB I had many chats with the Lord that day. The three boats that were around us that day made it to the dock safely. We were all extremely lucky. When we all finally got tied up and talking it was like we had known each other a lifetime. One of the captains said his pants were wet at which we all laughed.

Be safe out there and remember alwaya expect the unexpexted!

posted 11-02-2008 01:05 PM ET (US)            

1. Galveston Bay, Texas. Spec fishing a mile from the Houston Ship Channel. Drifting along with my 10 year old son when I noticed a 6 or 8 foot high breaking wave heading right for us. It swamped my Montauk 17 right to within 6 inches of the gunnels. Tackle boxes floating around but my son had a life jacket on so we were ok. I pulled plug and rigged up a bilge pump from my aerator on cooler and we were back in business in 10 minutes or so. Wake from oil tanker broke on shallow area where we were. Beautiful day otherwise. Lesson: These large ships and barges can impact even at great distances.

posted 11-03-2008 02:52 PM ET (US)            

Heading towards the Portland Harbor pushing two freight barges with 1800 hp Tug. The wind was reported blowing 30 mph.
No big deal.

As I arrived at my destination, making a routine landing, I heard a loud BANG...like a shotgun blast...behind me over the engine noise (screamin gm's). About twilight, I saw the bow of a 100 wide x 340 long x 90 ft tall ocean barge peeling off the dock and ship lines falling into the river. A gust of wind hit us. Im told it was 70 coming straight down the river )from the south). This gust got between the pier and this sea barge and literally blew it off the dock.

OK. I know the next stop for this barge would be the Burlington RR bridge.

We secured our barges. Checked the other barges in the area and everything was holding...so, young and brave, I cut loose and head out after this barge. This is the only time in my career I have ever called MAYDAY warning.

Well, it didnt take long and both the Tug and Barge were sailing down the river the same speed. One of the ship lines was dangling off the quarter, I asked Andy if he could grab it? The Tug wheelhouse is 45 ft high, Im looking at the deck level of this barge! Andy grabs the line and takes a couple wraps on the bow cleat...I start backing with all 1800 hp. Kort nozzles, split rudders I feel in control. The barge is not slowing down! I know it is going to crash and I dont want to be around.

Over the radio...OK ANDY, thats enough of this BS, cut er loose. Andy's knot was half hitched solid. I ask if he has a axe near....NO. OH MAN...HERE WE GO. I move up as close to this monster as possible and pull both throttles back full. I was either going to break that line or pull the cleat out of the deck. The bow raised up 4 FEET and by the luck of God, the line broke.

Dont ask me how.
Backing that hard kinda squared that barge up parallel with the brand new Port of Portland ship dock at the same time I ended up almost midships of the barge sailing downstream directly at the EXXON SAN FRANCISCO tied at the lower end. Another MAYDAY call. I sounded the horn.

Here is the part that is scary...instead of getting the hell outa there, I started pushing on midships and landed that barge parallel to the berth. Many rubber fenders on the pier sprung the barge back towards me...I pushed harder...it settled down but still moving towards the SF a high rate of speed...no way could I stop it.
Both vessels were completely empty.
K-BANG!! seemed to echo over all of the Tug noise.
I kept pushing, praying the SF was gonna hold. The SF crew called, their lines held and asked me to keep pushing.

The Tug Capt was now in the wheelhouse with me. Crew and Tug were fine. Oh thank God.
I ended up with commendations but Im not sure I would EVER risk my crew again. I know I wouldnt.

The barge hit the Exxon SF so hard, it broke the anchor shank in half.