Belly of the Whale

The Flood

 

When I was hiking in the Alps I met a girl named Kim.  We hiked down from the Augille de Midi together near Mount Blanc.  Over the years we've kept in touch via the internet.  Now she is living in Santa Rosa, just north of San Francisco.   It has been years since we've been this close together.

This weekend she came down for a visit and a sail.  I hadn't sailed the boat since my arrival three weeks ago—I'd say I was due.   We hit the store for some lunch and prepped the boat.

I should say I prepped the boat, and not such a good job at that.  I was rushing about so she wouldn't have to wait around.  Eventually we started the engine and dropped the mooring line (I set a semi-permanent anchor.).

The wind was picking up and we could just barely handle full sail.  We really needed to reef, but there were boats all around us and we didn't really feel like we had the room.   So we headed out into the Bay, the tiller a bit heavy due to all the canvas, but we were howling along.

For some reason I continued to fight the urge to reef.  I am no longer sure why, be it that it was going to be a hassle, or I was simple lazy—I don't know.   The sail would have been much more relaxing had we reefed.  We didn't.

It seemed that the wind was still picking up.  When we were coming back to the anchorage and it was about time to drop sails, I realized it was time to do precisely what I had been avoiding—heaving-to.    I didn't have to, but for some reason I felt that Kim ought to experience it.  But with full sail and this much wind, we were going to get knocked down rather hard when the wind backed the sails.   (Why I didn't just have Kim point the boat up into the wind I have no idea.  That would be the normal way of things.)

But this day was just a bit odd.  I don't know what I was thinking through out it.

I told her it would be a bit violent.

And even to my surprise it was.  The wind knocked the boat way over, farther than it has ever gone before (I also didn't have the centerboard down).   Water spilled over the coamings, a first.  She took it well but was a bit surprised. 

I went forward and doused the jib and all went back to rights.  However, as I was forward with the jib, I heard Kim say, "Water is getting into the boat."   I could only assume she was referring to the water spilling over the coaming into the cockpit.  I thought nothing of it.

It was only after we had dropped all sail and were motoring toward the harbor that she again mentioned that water had come into the boat—through the port light.   I looked through the hatch and sure enough, to my dismay, the port lights were wide open.  In my rush to prep the boat I had over looked them.

It occurred to me that this was hilarious—I could visualize a firehose of water blasting in through the window and into the bilge.   What a gas!  Sure enough the bilge was filled to the brim. 

Amazing, what a numb-skull I am.  There are so many things to do to get ready to sail, and I botched it up a bit.   But I didn't reckon it was all that serious.  The water seemed to have went straight to the floor.

 

The rest of the day was fine.  We went out to a fine fine dinner, a Indian joint.   It was only that evening after Kim had left that I started realizing how "un-funny" my flood had been. 

The bottoms of many books were wet.  My tool locker was drenched.  Every map I had was saturated.  All my cds/dvds were soaked in salt.  This was going to be a drag to clean.  At first I thought I could simply dry them, but that would leave them covered in salt and they would scratch.  Each cd had to be bathed in fresh water, then dried.   The case itself was ruined.

For a while I was rather bummed, cleaning tools, cds, dumbing bucket after bucket of salt water out of my forward, non-draining bilges.   But it soon occurred to me how amazing lucky I had been.

If this event had occurred to my starboard side instead of my port side, as it had, I would have lost my computer, my two camera's, my inverter, my battery charger.   In short, everything electrical is on the other side of the boatl—and vulnerable.  I would have been wiped out in one stroke.

I had never concived anything like it.  I had no idea how vulnerable I was to total disaster.   I was so so near.  I am so lucky to learn what I have.  The cleaning has taken several days.  I have a new colony of flies.   But the lesson is well learned, yet the chances that need to be made are not yet clear.

Also the importance of an easy, clean reefing system are also appearant.  If I had had a reef in none of it would have happened to begin with, and maybe the lesson would never have needed learning.   But it seems it does.  Meanwhile, my bilges are getting a thorough scrubbing.  War is declared on the flies and the books and charts are drying in the sun and breeze.