Suddenly Overboard Read online

  But this doesn’t mean their stories are any less dramatic or emotional than the classic storm-battling incidents we’ve all learned about. Any incident involving a confrontation with mortality holds human drama—too often, tragedy—and demands our respect. And we learn from them just the same, or perhaps more so, since few of us will confront great storms, while everyone who gets on a boat, dinghy or cruiser, on a lake or an ocean, is every time in the same circumstances as the sailors in these stories.

  Sources of the Stories

  All the stories included here are true and have been documented. In the United States, the Coast Guard maintains records for all boating fatalities and reports on most rescue attempts. Equivalent agencies in Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand do the same, often conducting extensive investigations. Other groups such as sailing associations also frequently investigate fatalities. Sometimes, as in a dramatic storm or race disaster, these are reported in sailing magazines and the popular press, these being the stories sailors do hear about. But for every disaster that makes headlines, like the WingNuts fatal capsize in a 2011 race (see Chapter 1), there are literally hundreds of other sailing disasters we seldom hear about.

  I discovered that these stories too can be found when you go looking. Small-town newspapers post online stories of local incidents that can be searched out. Boating fatalities in the United States are required to be reported to state agencies, typically law enforcement, that then provide reports to the U.S. Coast Guard to be included in national statistics. Such statistics often do not include much detail about what actually happened in the series of events that resulted in a “death by drowning.” To understand—and learn from—the original causes and other factors involved, we need the details from witnesses at the scene, investigators, and journalists.

  With an average of about 700 boating fatalities in the United States every year, and hundreds more reported in English-speaking areas around the world, that’s a lot of stories. Add to this the literally thousands of incidents of rescues and injuries and near fatalities every year. Fortunately for sailors, sailboats are involved less frequently than other types of watercraft, yet there are still hundreds of incidents a year. Those stories, from all those sources, form the raw material for this book.

  Again, these are all true stories, and I have recounted them as truly as I can. In some cases there were hundreds of pages of information related to a single incident. In some cases I’ve spoken to survivors or others with knowledge of the incident. But in other cases, such as when a solo sailor went overboard without witnesses, I could tell the story only through what documentarians call “dramatic reconstruction,” based as faithfully as possible on the facts but still, of necessity, partly speculative, based on my knowledge of similar events.

  A final note on the sources and the retelling. Most U.S. and international government agencies attempt to preserve the anonymity of victims and survivors in their public reports. Names and specific identifying information are redacted. Not only does this respect the privacy of the individuals involved, but it also helps maintain a climate in which people are not hesitant to report details they might otherwise not want to share for fear of public embarrassment. In many cases, as I read those anonymous reports, I recognized the incidents and knew the names of the people involved, as printed in local news reports at the time. Nevertheless, this book follows the same principles of anonymity. A story is just as true without the person’s name, and there is simply no compelling reason to include identifying information in these stories, except in a few cases already somewhat famous in the press and therefore identifiable. So most names and some other specifics of identity have been changed to maintain that anonymity.

  What the Stories Show

  While there are hundreds of incidents every year, there are not hundreds of conclusions to be drawn. The more stories I read, the simpler the “lesson” seemed to become.

  First, a few statistics. While numbers are often ultimately less convincing than experiences, they provide an interesting and useful backdrop for the stories.

  Here’s a quick overview of the most recent year’s statistics available from the U.S. Coast Guard. Of all fatalities involving sailboats, the cause of death in 83% of cases was drowning. That number is even higher if hypothermia caused by water immersion is included. No surprises here; water is not the normal human environment, and our bodies are ill equipped for unplanned immersion in deep water. Nor is it greatly surprising that in 89% of sailing fatalities by drowning, the victim was not wearing a PFD. And in all sailboat incidents, the most common contributing factor was classified as “operator inattention.”

  This much is perhaps obvious—if you end up in the water without a PFD, you’re at risk for drowning—but it doesn’t tell us much about how the victims ended up in the water and why they weren’t wearing a PFD.

  For a start in that direction, we can look at other Coast Guard studies and surveys of boater behavior. Now it gets more interesting. Only 22% of adults in all sailboats say they wear a PFD all or most of the time. The rate is higher for those in small daysailers but is only 12% for sailors in cabin sailboats. Further, despite many boating safety campaigns and other efforts to increase the use of PFDs (including emphasis on more comfortable and less bulky inflatable types), in the 12 years since the Coast Guard started these studies, the percentage of boaters wearing PFDs has actually decreased.

  Data comparing sailors with other classifications of boaters adds an interesting dimension to this picture. A higher percentage of sailors (over 62%), compared to other classes of boaters, have taken a boating safety course. So why then are sailors less likely to wear a PFD? Another interesting statistic is that a higher percentage of sailors know how to swim than other groups of boaters. Could overconfidence when on the water be a factor here?

  Just a few more numbers. Regarding what victims were actually doing with the sailboat at the time of an incident that resulted in a fatality, only about 50% were actually sailing. The other half were at anchor, docking, motoring in the harbor, swimming off the boat, etc. Again, these are times when many people might not be wearing a PFD because they didn’t perceive they were in a risky situation.

  Finally, I developed my own analysis of the circumstances of sailors in the water, based on all reported fatalities over the last 4 years. Only about 25% of victims were in the water because the boat had capsized, mostly small daysailers you’d expect might capsize in a gust and therefore should be prepared for. In another 15% of cases, the person was deliberately in the water, swimming or for another reason. And in a perhaps astonishing 40% of cases, sailors drowned with the boat still upright and usually nearby after unexpectedly, for a variety of reasons, ending up in the water.

  Okay, that’s lots of numbers, and still they don’t really show exactly why most fatalities occur. What they do demonstrate, however, is that the most dangerous time for sailors is the least dangerous time. That is, the sailors about to become victims perceived no significant danger or risk at the time. Life was going well, the sailing was good, it was just another day on the water. In perhaps only 5% of cases would the sailor about to die have said he or she felt any danger.

  What Sailors Can Do About It

  The Coast Guard and every boating safety course urge all boaters to wear PFDs at all times, and obviously this would make a huge difference in the fatality statistics. But as we’ve already seen, saying it doesn’t make it so, and that change alone still would not completely solve the problem and ensure sailors’ safety.

  My own view is that staying safe on a sailboat begins with an attitude of thinking ahead about anything that can happen at any time on the water. Again, this means not just simply being ready for storms and having lots of gear on the boat for emergencies, and not just the traditional seamanship skills of navigation and boat operation, but always thinking ahead and asking yourself “what if” this or that happens right now. If you know the odds are greater that you’ll die after falling
overboard on a calm day in the goofiest of circumstances (and you’ll know that after reading these stories), then you’re more likely to wear your PFD and take other actions in such circumstances.

  Unfortunately, it’s hard to teach an attitude in a boating safety course. And you won’t read much about it in the safety or seamanship chapters of most sailing books, which often focus on skills and equipment and emergency preparations. Indeed, in a survey of dozens of such books I found only one expert directly confronting this issue of attitude and how it may be formed. Don Dodds, in Modern Seamanship, a now-out-of-print 1995 book, wrote the following in his introduction to a chapter on common emergencies:

  [Most] accidents are the result of bad planning, poor judgment, or failing to think. Not much can be done about poor judgment, but something can be done about bad planning and failing to think. . . . Talk is cheap, consumes little time, and attracts little attention. Take a little time to talk about fire on board, people lost overboard, and other common emergencies. It can be done at lunch, over a cocktail, or anytime the crew is gathered and there is a lull in activity. Detailed discussion will encourage each crewmember to think about emergency procedures ahead of time. Thinking fast is a myth. Show me a person who thinks fast and I’ll show you a person who has thought the situation through beforehand.

  Exactly! Now all we need to know is what those “common emergencies” really are so we can think and talk about what to do if they occur. A fire extinguisher is important, yes, but fires account for less than 1% of sailboat incidents; what else should we be talking about?

  In short, what accounts for the 99% of disasters? What really happens out there on the water that leads to so many incidents and deaths?

  Read the stories.

  NOTE ON IMPERIAL VS. METRIC UNITS

  This book includes stories from around the world, most of which include descriptions of measurements such as boat length and weight, water and air temperatures, distance, and so on. Including both imperial and metric units for each measurement would in many cases have introduced errors because of customary rounding. For example, in the United States a 26-foot boat may in reality be 25 feet and 8 inches or even 26 feet and 2 inches, yet it is still referred to as a 26-foot boat. To add its metric length (7.9 meters for 26 feet) could therefore be incorrect, as the number 7.9 implies a level of precision that may simply be false. In the United Kingdom this boat may or may not be referred to as an 8-meter boat. Yet to refer to it as a “26-foot (8-meter) boat” would be mathematically incorrect.

  For this reason, and to avoid the intrusiveness of giving two numbers in every instance, the units used in these stories are those mentioned in the source materials, whether from Coast Guard and Marine Accident Investigation Branch reports or journalists’ accounts.

  Following are standard (approximate) conversions between imperial and metric units appearing in this book:

  Nautical miles (n.m.) are used for all distances on the water. Boat speeds are given in nautical miles per hour (knots).

  1 n.m. = 1.15 miles = 1.85 kilometers (km)

  Example: 120 n.m. = 138 miles = 222 km

  Water and air temperatures in Fahrenheit (F) and Celsius (C) vary in part because 0°C (the freezing point) is 32°F. Each degree F is approximately 5/9 degree C, but the 32° must be added or subtracted when making the conversion.

  Wind speed is generally given in nautical miles per hour (knots) in the United States, and according to the Beaufort scale (Force) in the United Kingdom.

  Force 1 = 1–3 knots = “light air”

  Force 2 = 4–6 knots = “light breeze”

  Force 3 = 7–10 knots = “gentle breeze”

  Force 4 = 11–16 knots = “moderate breeze”

  Force 5 = 17–21 knots = “fresh breeze”

  Force 6 = 22–27 knots = “strong breeze”

  Force 7 = 28–33 knots = “near gale”

  Force 8 = 34–40 knots = “gale”

  Force 9 = 41–47 knots = “strong gale”

  Force 10 = 48–55 knots = “storm”

  Force 11 = 56–63 knots = “violent storm”

  Force 12 = 64–71 knots = “hurricane”

  CHAPTER 1

  The Storms We All Fear

  Storms: what sailors fear most, and what keep many from sailing offshore for fear of high winds and seas. With modern technology, forecasting, and better communication, however, few boats encounter hurricanes and typhoons, although even a passing thunderstorm or squall can still produce winds high enough to cause problems. Storms often pose a great threat for racers who may carry more sail, or attempt riskier maneuvers, or hesitate to heave-to or seek safe harbor, but even a cautious daysailor may encounter winds or waves high enough to threaten. A storm may threaten life by severely damaging the boat, although this is seldom the primary cause of storm fatalities. Most medium to large sailboats are built ruggedly enough to withstand a knockdown, and a prudent sailor has tactics such as heaving-to or using a sea anchor to prevent one. Even in the worst storms, it is most critical to stay on the boat and avoid injury from being battered by the storm’s violence. In the worst-case scenarios, safety gear, such as a radio, an EPIRB (emergency position-indicating radio beacon), a life raft, and so on, greatly increases your odds for staying alive.

  This is not to say there are no “acts of God,” only that storms themselves are a relatively rare cause of death of sailors and that, as these stories show, in most cases preventive efforts are, or would have been, lifesaving.

  Chichester Bar

  From the moment they’d met, there was something about the guy that William didn’t like. Generally easygoing, William put up with all sorts of boatowner personalities—it was just part of the job—but he’d have happily said no to Hank if it weren’t so late in the season and delivery jobs weren’t so scarce.

  In his experience, there were two typical types of boatowners who hired delivery skippers: the ones who admitted they were too inexperienced to sail their boat on their own to some other location, and the rich ones who just wanted to pay someone to move their boats for them. The former often made good crew and were eager to learn, and William was happy enough to teach, while the latter stayed home or at the office as he, also happily enough, moved the boat with his own crew.

  But this one, Hank, seemed conflicted and was arrogant to boot. He couldn’t quite admit he needed help to sail his 8.5-meter sailboat from Chichester Harbour in the south of England to Dartmouth for a winter refit, roughly 120 nautical miles. He acted almost as if he was letting William come along for the short voyage as a favor. He was too bossy for William’s taste. Well, he thought, as he signed the delivery contract after inspecting the boat, Hank also seemed the type to end up seasick down below, and William didn’t mind sailing by himself, not at all.

  It wasn’t the best forecast, but perfect weather was rare in the UK in November. Today the wind was supposed to be 15 to 20 knots southwest, so they’d have to beat their way west through the Solent. Tomorrow it might get heavier, but they’d deal with that tomorrow. There were plenty of good harbors to duck into if it got nasty. “Any port in a storm,” he’d said to Hank as they made plans, but the guy had only scowled as if to say he wasn’t afraid of weather, come what may.

  To top things off, Hank was late to their meeting so they missed the ebb when they left Chichester Harbour. It was late afternoon before they’d motored over the bar and made full sail, shutting off the noisy old diesel that Hank was having rebuilt in Dartmouth.

  The beat through the Solent was much the same as always, something William could do with his eyes closed. The little sloop did a lot of crash-banging nonetheless, but he was happy enough to be underway, even in the chill of November as the sun dropped. And he was happy that Hank stayed huddled under the dodger and kept quiet while William took the helm.

  “Ought to put on a life jacket,” he’d advised Hank once, eliciting that arrogant scowl again. To which William made a show of clipping his tether to the binnacle, which
he might not have done otherwise unless it got rough. But he always wore his PFD with a harness, which felt comfortable after years of wear. William had seen four or five life jackets and harnesses stowed below when he’d checked out the boat yesterday, but he preferred to bring his own.

  Hank took the helm for a while before dark, when William tucked in a reef for the night and the building wind. William didn’t care for how the man steered, however, heading up and falling off repeatedly, and soon reclaimed the helm.

  At ten o’clock he put in another reef and turned on the radio for the hourly forecast. Didn’t sound good: gales were imminent. Oddly, Hank didn’t even look up from his place under the dodger during the forecast. It was as if he was going to force William to be the one to say anything, since he himself was a masterful enough sailor for anything.

  “We have a couple options,” William said at last. “It’s pointless to beat into a gale all night and get nowhere. So I say we put in at Lymington or Yarmouth. Either harbor will get us through the night, and hopefully things will settle for a morning start.”

  In the dark Hank’s eyes were barely visible as he stared out from the dodger, but he didn’t speak.

  “I’d vote for Yarmouth myself,” William went on. “Better protected if the blow goes more southerly. But it’s your boat, so you decide.”

  Hank hauled himself out from under the dodger into the full force of the wind for the first time in hours. He staggered as he stood and watched the flickering lightning off to the west. “No,” he said slowly. “If you won’t go on, let’s go back to Chichester.”

  That made no sense to William. Why give up the 26 nautical miles they’d already made?

  But Hank offered no good explanation, and William soon got tired of talking about it. Boatowners! As if this tired old sloop demanded its royal berth home in Chichester. But he gave in and set a return course on a broad reach back toward the east.