“Offshore yacht racing is still an aristocratic sport, but I think a low-budget attempt on a homemade boat is possible. . . .

. . . I’m building this time in my carport and backyard in Tallahassee,
Florida. I began in mid-August. I bought some steel tubing, which I
welded into a platform fifty feet long and five feet wide. I cut all
the aluminum plates with a forty-dollar circular saw from Home Depot,
using a four-dollar wood blade with carbide tips. I bought a welder and
spool gun for $2,000, a chop saw for $90, a grinder for $70, and a
backup grinder for $30. A few clamps, pliers, measuring tapes, and
pens, and that was it.”

“. . . The first few hours were uneventful; I can’t say that I remember much after leaving the channel, except that it was terribly cold, the sailing was good, I was happy to be on my way, and I put miles in my wake.  Late in the afternoon I started feeling queasy, which isn’t unusual if I haven’t been out steadily…which I hadn’t.  But by early that evening I was violently ill, which was an entirely new experience.   I get a bit green around the gills sometimes, but never sick to the point of vomiting.  But vomit, I did, for two and a half days.

“The wind and waves kicked up suddenly a little before dusk and I had waited about 15 minutes too long before I took a reef in the main.  I struggled to hold on, my feet slipping out from under me on the wet cabin top, as I put in the reef.  I should have put in two.  “Reef early,” Dad always says.  I would have, but I was busy hurling over the side at the time.  (Not an excuse in his book, by the way.)

“The seas grew as the sun set and I became sicker than I have ever been in my life.  I threw up over the side, in the sink, in a sack (kinda sounds like a twisted Dr. Seuss rhyme!).  Not wanting to foul the boat, I crawled into the cockpit to lean over the edge and heaved into the rising seas.  I watched as my warm hat, raked off by the lifeline, floated away.  I had no idea until that moment that you could wretch so hard it would burst blood vessels in your nasal passages or that you could throw up through your nose.  Not my best look…no photographs, please.

“Funny thing, I can remember how beautiful the sunset was.

“I turned to clamber back into the cabin and found to my great shock I was locked out!  Inside the cabin there’s a common, sliding barrel lock, such as is on public restroom doors everywhere, with which you can lock yourself inside at night; the pitching and rolling of the sea had somehow locked it while I was outside.  By now, the waves were some 8-10 feet, and the winds strong enough to make it difficult to stand upright.

“I wish I could tell you I was calm about the whole thing; that I handled it bravely and rationally.  But I’d be full of it if I did.  I have to confess, at that moment, as the realization hit that I was deathly ill, incapable of physically tending to my own needs, let alone the needs of the boat, with no phone, no radio, and no way to get in to safety, the seas steadily growing worse, I was scared.  Part of my mind was rational: the boat was hove-to, I was attached to the jackline with my safety harness, I had on my foul weather gear…I could hunker down in the cockpit until it was over and then sail to safety.  I told myself this was nothing…10’ waves and 25-30 knot winds.  Quit being a sissy!

“The other part of me was scared stupid and HAD to get into the cabin!

“The only tool in the cockpit was the knife Dad had given me, which I keep with me, and I began trying to force back the lock without success.  Finally, with much prying and jimmying, I was able to break in, but only by greatly damaging the fiberglass, and breaking off a chunk.

“Once inside, I didn’t go out again.  Twice more in the night, with the tossing of the seas, the hatch again locked itself.  (Note to self: do something about that lock!)  For two days the waves got bigger and the wind got higher and I got sicker and weaker.  I couldn’t make it into the cockpit anymore; my once pristine stainless steel sink is now stained with stomach acid.  I didn’t know that could happen.  It took everything I had to make it from the bunk to the sink, where I would glance at the GPS to make sure I wasn’t being driven to land, and afraid there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it if I were.  Later I learned a nearby buoy reported Force 7 winds (51-62 km/h, 15′ seas).