This may seem a strange sort of article to be appearing in the DCA Bulletin - dinghy cruisers simply don't do things like that. Only racing people indulge in capsizes, you may think. Or you may think that, even if you were foolish enough to take risks, or unlucky enough to be caught in a situation resulting in a capsize, that you would be able to cope because you had thought it all out or practised it, or whatever.

Maybe.

If so, you are very experienced and very careful, or very lucky; but who knows….. Anyway, it is for the others that I put forward a few thoughts of mine resulting from bitter experience.

Yes, I have capsized in cruising dinghies - twice actually. Some people never learn! Once close to the shore and once a few miles out to sea. Both situations resulted in my almost drowning, so although they were quite different technically they were equally serious.

On the first occasion we had decided to go up the river at Conway in North Wales, exploring really. A peaceful sort of thing to do on a peaceful sort of day - sunny, light winds, and so on. Three of us in a 12' Tideway, including Jonathan aged 10, and we had our tents and gear with us; not stowed particularly carefully because we weren't going to do anything exciting. We also towed a two-man inflatable Campari. Some friends were coming with us, but we were ready first so we set off slightly ahead intending to anchor just above the bridge and wait for them. We could generally tidy up and stow things while waiting. Oh, and we could put our life-jackets on then too. So off we went, up with the flood tide. I forget what the wind was doing but it was gentle. The tide was quite strong though, and took us up quickly. A slight miscalculation meant we caught the tip of the gunter spar on the underside of the girders of the bridge, which was rather unnerving. But all was well - no damage - and we carried on, looking for a place to anchor.

There was a bight just upstream of the bridge on the left bank and we made for that. Lots of overhanging trees on shore and the land rose fairly steeply. I began to get the anchor out - a 14 lb. CQR with nylon warp. The end of the warp was tied to the mast thwart but not yet to the sampson post on the bow. The tide was taking us up faster than we realised. In fact, it must have been 5 or 6 knots in the eddies and whirlpools which now caught us unawares. We lost steerage way in the light winds and looked at one point to be in danger of hitting rocks near the shore. I was exhorted by the helmsman to get the anchor out quickly. I didn't need much urging and threw it over the side - but too soon, and before I had made sure the warp wasn't tangled or fouling anything. It caught my leg as it went over. The anchor bit instantly and the warp became bar tight, pulling my leg over the side in the process. Being attached to it, I went over too.

There was no slack in the warp so I couldn't get it off my leg or around the sampson post. At one point I was suspended between anchor and boat, about l0ft. away from the latter, under water, with my leg in a loop of bar-tight anchor warp. I have the rope burn scars to this day. And I thought my sailing days (and all other sorts of days) were over. Gear was falling out of the boat and floating away. The sails and halyards and warps and sheets were all over the place. I swallowed an awful lot of water. Jonathan seemed to be taking it rather calmly and was on top of the boat hull putting on his life-jacket. The eddies seemed to get worse and the boat was yawing all over the place. Fortunately, one of the eddies finally brought the boat round and slackened the warp enough for me to get my leg free, and I floundered back to the boat. It was very frightening still, even though we were probably no more than 50 yards from the shore.

In the end we decided to get into the Campari and row ashore. We couldn't untie the painter because the end was under the Tideway which was more or less upside down. We cut it and set off, across several whirlpools, for the shore. A lady awaited our arrival anxiously and explained that it was very dangerous there an hour or two before high water (which is what it was) and that some friends of hers had drowned there a year previously in very similar circumstances.

We rowed back to the Tideway an hour or two later in a flat calm with no current to speak of and towed it back to the shore. It still wasn't easy to right it while afloat. I forget quite why. Perhaps it didn't float with any freeboard; or that what gear was left was all on one side, or that the mast and spars contributed to the difficulty. All the sheets and halyards were under water and we decided to tow ashore rather than fiddle about in the water again. We had lost quite a lot of gear, including the rudder which had floated off at some stage.

Lessons I should have learned:

1. Never be complacent. Always assume the worst (to the point of taking into account far-fetched possibilities) and prepare for it, 2. Wear life-jackets at all times on the water. Even if you are a good swimmer the extra buoyancy you get will enable you to devote your energies to more important things than just trying to stay afloat, e.g. righting the boat. If you are in the water a long time you will need to conserve all the stamina you possibly can, 3. Stow gear neatly and out of the way of people in the boat, and out of the way of important gear and halyards etc., 4. Tie on all important gear and equipment, e.g. rudders, bailers, etc., 5. Always have the anchor ready for immediate use, with warp coiled where it can't be caught in feet, and check this before throwing anchor out, 6. Make sure the crew (and yourself) know all the ropes; also discuss what to do in an emergency, 7. Remember that conditions can go from good or fair to bad or terrible very, very quickly indeed, 8. Things can be dangerous inshore as well as at sea. Currents can be as dangerous at times as wind and waves.

The second capsize was a year or so later. This time two of us in a Wayfarer were going from Hoylake on the Wirral to Conway, a sea passage of some 27 miles and six to eight hours duration. We had to get up early (5 a.m. or so) to trail the boat to Hoylake, so it was going to be a very long day indeed. The forecast wasn't bad – “south-west force 3 to 4 increasing to force 6 later”. We 'phoned Valley Air Force station on Anglesey, who confirmed this and said that the "later" could be about 6 p.m. or after. This seemed ideal, and we launched at 09:00 in very light airs. We would put our life-jackets on later. We had forgotten the bailer but it wasn't going to be rough so that would be alright. The mainsail was very tight in the mast track and was difficult to raise but we got it up eventually. Reefing might be difficult but we probably wouldn't have to.

All want well during the morning. We had to change headsails down a size when the wind got up but it moderated later and we put on full (racing, not cruising, incidentally) sail again. It got quite rough later - wind force 4 and white crests to the waves, which were about 2ft. or so high. We didn't change sails this time, thinking the wind would abate like it did earlier. We were having to sit out at times now and were shipping a bit of water over the lee gunwale. Quite fun but hard work.

Great Ormes Head provided a welcome bit of shelter at about 14:00 so we hove to for sandwiches and coffee. Around the other side of the Orme the wind and waves were much fiercer, really quite 'hairy' now, and very tiring as we were having to sit out all the time. It had been a long hard sail. We took it in turns to helm. We had to ease the sheets every few seconds, but it wouldn't be long now before we were in the Conway estuary. We began looking for the fairway buoy, It seemed a long way to the shore, though; no other boats around anywhere.

One gust proved too much, combined with a large wave or two, and we found ourselves capsizing. Not particularly cold but very rough indeed. The boat turned upside down and then settled more or less with the mast pointing down at 45º. Perhaps the metal mast helped to keep it at this angle. It also floated very high out of the water. A lot of our gear floated away. I remember seeing the flares go by in their plastic bag.

I climbed on top and righted the boat in the style seen in films etc. It turned over again immediately in the wind and waves. We thought about dropping the sails but neither of us was anxious to leave the relative security (!?) of our positions - I at the centre plate and the jib sheet, and the helmsman at the stern and the mainsheet.

It really was windy now. The force 6 had arrived, and it was really rough too. Waves were breaking right over the hull, which was on its side. Neither of us dared risk getting tangled up in halyards and sheets and sails. Also it seemed as if the anchor had fallen partly out and was trailing. The mast seemed loose; perhaps a stay had parted? The boom was loose too, out of the gooseneck, and there was nothing to bail with anyway. The tide was starting to flood now, and that plus the wind would take us out round the Orme and out to sea. We were tired and cold - I never did get round to putting my life-jacket on.

I had one more try at righting the boat, and succeeded, only to have it blow over again. In despair I sat on top and we wondered what to do. I scanned the horizon and saw one or two minute fishing boats miles inshore. I waved my arms in traditional "help" fashion for about 15 minutes. "They must have seen us", but made no obvious attempt to come to our aid. One couldn't blame them as it really was rather nasty out there. We would have to rely on our own efforts after all. We had one more try at righting the boat, but this time it turned right over, and me with it, until I was trapped under the lee gunwale. I kept being inundated and swallowing water and getting colder and weaker by the minute. I simply couldn't summon up the strength to climb onto the hull again. I knew I couldn't last long and began to panic quietly.

To cut a long (it actually seemed an eternity) story short, a very small, 10ft. speed boat came in the nick of time, and with really excellent common sense and courage and first-class seamanship, rescued us and took us ashore. It was only a 2 man boat really and was itself in danger of being swamped all the time. Our boat was wrecked on the west coast of the Orme about 2 hours later.

What did I learn? Well, obviously quite a lot. In addition to the points listed earlier I would like to mention the following:

9. In a class boat used primarily for racing, consider modifications before taking it cruising, e.g. cruising sails, metal. centreplate and rudder, and there are many others, 10. Don't be over ambitious in the choice of length of cruise. One nearly always takes risks in order to try and get to one's planned destination. It is the hardest thing in the world to turn back, 11. Never leave repairs until "next time". There may not be one, 12. Don't set sail without some vital piece of equipment, saying "we won't need it this time". Chances are that you will, 13. Be careful about using jam cleats in heavy weather, 14. Change sails or reef before you think you need to - when you have to, it is already too late. 15. Always carry flares where they can be got at quickly and easily after a capsize. Some under each gunwale? Taped or tied, some on one's person? Could be some danger of accidental ignition or damage? 16. Carry a sheath knife, easily accessible, for quickly cutting ropes that get tangled round one, 17. Always listen to and believe and take heed of weather forecasts, 18. Finally, always assume you are going to capsize, or have a collision. or be caught in a force 8 and sink, and think (a) what can I do to avoid it - and do it, and (b) what can I do to overcome it, or get out of it, if it does happen, and then prepare for it.

Actually, it is best - no, essential - not to get into a situation in the first place where a capsize is possible, but that is easier said than done!