Ship’s Log Records Single-handed Sailing Mishap

Puffed by ocean breezes, the billowing sails of numerous sailboats in summer dot the Fogland seascape, bringing patches of color to these blue-green ocean waters. There is a certain kind of freedom unleashed in sailing, but there is also risk involved.

“Oh God thy sea is so great, and my boat is so small,” exhorts the Breton Fisherman’s Prayer.

Relying solely on the wind for transit, the sailor trusts in his skill and the seaworthiness of his boat to propel him on a great adventure or in some cases, misadventure.

My brother is a sportsman and adventurer. He is a pilot, scuba diver and experienced sailor. He and my father have spent countless hours gliding up and down the Sakonnet River in his tiny 13-foot sailboat. But my brother was always the captain of the vessel, my father the crew. That meant that the usual hierarchy between them was reversed. My brother gave the orders aboard ship, and my father followed them.

On one windy summer’s day when my brother was away, my father decided to go sailing without him. He had never sailed solo before, but he had plenty of hands-on experience under the watchful eye of my brother. He had also passed the written course administered by the Coast Guard Auxiliary, and there had been one chapter devoted entirely to sailing.

So my father set sail from the Fogland State Beach Ramp into the wild blue yonder. The little boat skimmed the waves, and when he tacked, the boat turned in a perfect arc, the sail fluttering wildly in the stiff sea breeze.

My father had assured my mother that he would take a little spin around the bay and return promptly, but instead he sailed down river, heading around the peninsula. My mother took my children swimming. She figured that my father knew what he was doing and would return as soon as he worked sailing out of his system.

A few hours later, he was still nowhere in sight. My mother was frantic. She wanted to alert the Coast Guard.

My husband and I arrived on the scene and began the trek to the other side of the bay, where we found him. He had just been towed in by a friendly boater.

Later, my father tried to explain to us what happened. It seems that when he tried to go starboard, he went port, right around the peninsula. When he turned, the boat filled with water from the breaching waves; and he hadn’t taken anything along to bail the water out. Fearing that he’d capsize, he pulled up the centerboard to protect it. This, in turn, promptly caused the boat to flip; and he climbed on the hull. He must have been a strange sight to see, straddling his sailboat down the river. And he went riding that way for a couple of hours, since the boaters, who passed by from a distance, thought he was trying to ride some sort of sailboard. Finally, he alerted a boater trawling nearby and was towed in.

My father was badly shaken by the incident but glad that he survived to tell the tale. My mother was relieved that she hadn’t been widowed but was angry with my father for putting her through so much unnecessary anguish. When my brother learned of the mishap, he reprimanded my father and stripped him of his command. Not only had my father boarded the vessel without permission, he has lost the rudder due to his poor seamanship.

Slipping into their scuba gear, my brother and a fellow scuba diver searched for the rudder, retracing the underwater path of the errant sailboat, but it was never found. In retribution for the stolen and lost property, my father was further ordered to pay for a new rudder from the local marine supply store.

To this day, my father has never attempted to sail solo again. Rudder or not, he prefers to steer clear of sailboats.

ABOUT SEA, SKY & SPIRIT: Drawing from the many seasonal faces of Fogland, Linda Andrade Rodrigues paints vignettes about nature and spirituality.