February 17, 2008
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Heavy Mettle
While the nightly news continues to report about the “writer strike” and the latest drug-addicted popstars, some people are actually doing something I give a toot about with their lives.
I’ve been pretty busy in the hospital lately, but I had some time to check on Heather’s ship log, and was surprised to find that she’s delayed her trip.
Below is an excerpt from her ship’s log at http://www.solo-sailor.com/ShipLog.htm. I appreciate her honesty about what happened on her trip, as sailing experiences are always something from which one can learn so that one need not always be a guinea pig. For example, I know now to make it a point to ban those sliding latches on any part of my boats.
Matt was impressed by her actions, saying, “It’s situations like these that show you what you’re made of. [his poor grammar, not mine] You can’t have a tool for every situation, but if you can take one tool and find your way to safety, then you know you’ve got brains.” I agree.
Oh, and by the way, I’ve never been seasick to the point of vomiting. But, I have never been sailing in 15-foot waves, either! (Note to self: Always do a three-day shakedown cruise before setting off on a longer bluewater trip, if only to get one’s sealegs.)
Excerpt from Heather’s ship log — The Flight of Years
at http://www.solo-sailor.com/ShipLog.htm“. . . 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).
