Never pat yourself on the back before the docklines are secure.
Illustration. Steve Haefele
I’ve been a powerboater for 65 years but took up sailing a few years ago. My wife, Kimberly, has been reluctant to join me, partly because she’s afraid of being becalmed in the middle of the lake. But she agreed to go if I put a motor on my 18-foot wood camp-cruiser sailboat. So I installed a cutting-edge electric outboard with remote throttle control. I tested it once and it worked fine, so Kimberly and I chose a good day to go sailing.
It was a nearly perfect day with moderate, variable winds. We sailed for three hours with no wind shear, accidental jibes, broaches, or groundings, so I was silently complimenting myself on a successful outing. However, I was about to learn why you should never pat yourself on the back before the docklines are secure.
My slip is alongside the T-end of a dock, bow to bow with another boat. I normally sail or scull in with varying degrees of success, but never a catastrophe. The trick is to stay on course until the rubrail is inches from the dock, then hook a cleat before ramming the other boat. On this day, I furled the sails and motored silently into the slip.
I held the tiller in one hand, the remote in the other, and had my stern line ready to deploy on the aft deck. I had just enough power to maintain steerage against the wind but not enough for a crash landing, and eased up to the dock at the perfect speed and position. I put down the remote and stood up to get the stern line on its cleat as we inched past.
Suddenly, the stern began to move away from the dock. I grabbed for the cleat, but it was out of reach. With my boat rapidly approaching its dock mate, I leapt onto the floating dock, but the stern line slipped from my grasp. My last option was to grab for the toe rail. Then, it happened: I became a plank – toes on the dock, fingers on the boat, and a rapidly growing expanse of water underneath. The next thing I knew, I was in the drink.
The sound of the crash was awful, but at least the boat stopped moving. While I pulled myself from the water, Kimberly said, “It sounds like the motor is running.” Sure enough! The remote must have knocked into gear when I set it down.
There was no damage to the boat I rammed, and I only sustained minor damage to paint, varnish, and my pride. Kimberly thought it was all very entertaining and says she’s willing to go sailing again. So, all in all, I received a relatively inexpensive lesson from a hilariously dangerous situation.