A Wild Day on the Sea

Last week I finally got what I wanted: a day of sailing my own boat on the open sea.  Winds were predicted to be about 15 mph and skies clear; perfect sailing weather!  I spent the morning getting everything fastened down so things wound't be tossed around so much when I put up the sails.  We pulled out of our cozy harbor in Pensacola Beach at about noon and headed for the inlet to the Gulf at Santa Rosa Island. We checked the tides and learned that the tide would be rising, so we could expect some current through the inlet; but with the winds blowing out of the Southeast, we should have some wind in our sails to help the engine push us out past the current. The sailing was great on the way there. It took about two hours to sail from the harbor we had been in for a few days to the inlet and the winds were perfect.  I had both sails up and the boat was moving along at a nice clip of about 6-7 mph.  The bay was dotted with other sailboats as well on this Memorial Day long weekend.  I noticed however that there were no other boats heading out to sea.  Hmmm Do they know something I don't know?

I turned into the inlet and despite the wind in my sails, the boat slowed from 7 to 4 mph as I pointed toward the sea. We also began to feel some ocean swell that wasn't there in the bay.  I was excited and a little scared as Happytat pointed toward the open sea.  It was a similar feeling to standing on the launch at Lookout Mountain, looking at the open sky that I was preparing to launch into.  Or the feeling I always got when I was putting my raft or kayak into a white water river.  I started up the Iron Sail (the diesel engine) for support and pushed through the current.

The farther I got toward the open sea, the more ocean swell Happytat happily sailed over.  After about thirty minutes and 2.5 miles of following the channel markers and chart plotter out toward the sea, I finally turned left and sailed back toward Pensacola Beach .  Yee Ha, I was under canvas on the open sea! My goal was to sail to the Pensacola Beach pier and the beach we swam in the day before. I set the direction of about 090 magnetic. The sails caught the wind, heeled the boat over from 10 to 20 degrees and sent us along the water at about 6 mph.  All I had to do then was sit back and adjust the wheel to keep us at 090 and parallel with the coast, but not too close.  If I got too close to the coast, there was shallow water that could cause Happytat to run aground.

We were on a course that was just about 15 degrees off the wind, so it was close hauled up-wind all the way. The swells were maybe 2-4 feet and coming from my starboard bow.  Each wave raised Happytat up, then back down with a splash.  It was like what I imagine being on a bucking horse would feel like.  At first it was exciting, like a white water ride.  But after about an hour of riding this wild horse, I began to get tired.  It was a struggle to keep Happytat on course because the wind and waves were constantly trying to force her toward the coastline just 2 or 3 miles away.  Alison soon began to feel disoriented and went down to the cabin to lie down.  I offered to turn back if she wasn't feeling good, but she insisted that we go on.  I wasn't having any symptoms other than the beginnings of fatigue and hunger.  And the waves kept coming and Happytat kept riding over and through them.  After an hour and a half, I decided to "hove to" for a few minutes to get some rest and something to eat. A boat that is "hove to" is parked at sea, neither going forward or backwards.  I eased the bow toward the wind, let the jib sail cross the wind to the starboard side without releasing the sheet and turned the wheel toward port .  It wasn't a perfect position, but the boat slowed her forward movement and the waves calmed down a little and allowed me to release my death grip on the wheel for a few minutes.  I went below and got a snack and some water and checked on Alison.  She was still feeling "swimmy-headed" but not sick.  I evaluated her condition, my fatigue and made the decision to turn back toward calmer waters, forsaking the original goal of reaching the Pensacola Beach and pier.

Turning back put Happytat on a down-wind course. The wind was now coming over our back port quarter and the waves were coming from the same direction.  The feel of the boat was very different now.  The motion was not one of crashing through waves, but rather being pushed by the waves.  The boat rocked back and forth and up and down.  Each time a wave lifted the stern of the boat up, it changed our direction by 10 or 20 degrees and I had to wrestle the wheel to get us back on course.  After only a few minutes of this new motion, I began to feel that old familiar queasiness that precedes sea sickness, and I still had about an hour and a half of sailing back toward the inlet before I could get any relief from the relentless waves.  I have been sea sick several times and it is worse than just being nauseous and feeding the fish.  It is a malaise that makes you want to curl up somewhere and die. But I couldn't curl up and die because someone had to pilot this boat back to safety and Alison was already out of commission.  When I used to fly small airplanes I understood that once I was in the air, if something went wrong with either the plane or myself, there was no pulling over to the curb to fix things.  Now I realized that it is the same with sailing.  I couldn't just stop sailing and make the boat be still until I got better, I had to sail on, no matter how I felt.  So I sailed on, feeling worse with each wave.

About an hour and a half later I finally reached the buoy that marked the inlet back to the calm bay waters.  I turned the boat toward starboard 90 degrees and headed toward safety.  Now the waves were directly behind me and the motion was even worse than before!  The swells had grown larger and more malevolent.  They rolled under my stern, lifting it four or five feet, then rolled under me toward the bow and, turning me 20 or 30 degrees, dropped me between two waves.  When Happytat was sitting in the bottom between waves, the water was all around her at the level of her rails.  Then another swell raised the stern again, starting the process all over again.  I hadn't vomited yet, but was very weak.  It took a determined force of will to remain in control of the boat and myself.  Because the boat was being tossed around by the waves and being turned back and forth with each wave, I was only making three or four mph toward land. So I started up the engine and pushed the throttle nearly to full speed.  With both sails up, a strong tail wind and the engine roaring I still was only able to average about 5 mph because the waves washed Happytat back and forth between them.

It took the longest half hour ever to finally make it past the entrance of the bay and calm waters.  I found a nearby beach and headed for it.  I desperately wanted to rest.  As I approached a likely spot to drop the anchor, a man on the beach began making angry gestures toward me to keep me away from his fishing lines.  I motored a little farther and found a place to drop anchor.  Exhausted as I was, I still had to muster the energy to push the 44 lb anchor with its chain overboard and make sure it held before I could rest.

The boat was never in any danger of being swamped or sunk.  It was just a miserably uncomfortable ride.  And the waves were only 3-5 feet!  That's not even a big storm or anything and I couldn't wait to get back to safety.  I remember telling someone back at Sale Creek that I thought my white-water experience might have prepared me for the ocean and that it might even be fun to sail in some big seas.  I was an idiot!  There is no comparison between the Ocoee river and even a mildly active ocean.  And to think that I was looking forward to an open ocean voyage!  Ha!  I couldn't even tolerate a 3 hour day sail with winds only in the 20 to 25 mph range! The sea can throw a lot more wind and wave at me than that and do it for days and nights on end!  I had to wonder how I would have managed if I had been days away from a safe bay or harbor with the wind and waves pounding me like they did today.  I don't want to find out.

thanks for reading this.
Larry