Reprinted from Bulletins numbers 97 and 66. These are offered as a timely warning of things that can go wrong. No comment is offered as one can gain much from considering oneself just how one could avoid or mitigate these experiences.

1. An Unpleasant Experience John Baden

In the last week of August I set off from Poole to Lymington with the intention of going on from Lymington to the Hamble to watch the Tall Ships parade in which my daughter, Susan, was taking part. It had been blowing quite hard in Poole Harbour in the afternoon where I had been dinghy racing and in fact the anemometer in my sailing club was showing winds between 25-35 miles an hour, although I believe this was an exaggeration. The harbour itself was fairly rough, so before deciding whether to set out or not I checked with the forecast, which was basically force 6 westerly with a touch of 7 but likely to decline, and went with my son, David, who was to crew me on this trip to look at the sea at both Sandbanks and Branksome Chine; in both cases the sea was reasonable.

We had a fairly rough trip across Poole Harbour under engine with a certain amount of spray coming aboard from the headwind, but as soon as we got through the entrance of Poole Harbour and set off eastwards along the coast, conditions became much better. We set up the jib and continued under jib and a certain amount of engine, with the wind almost dead behind us. Having left our mooring in Poole Harbour at about 6.30, we were off Bournemouth pier at about 7.30 and were aiming to cross Christchurch Ledge off Hengistbury Head at about 8.30 which should be just about slack tide (low water). There were a few white horses about and fairly big waves, but we had a dry and comfortable trip, only slowing down the engine so we were not going any faster than the waves, and we were probably doing about five knots, and surfing occasionally. I would estimate the wind at force 5.

We both knew from previous experience that Christchurch Ledge could produce a bumpy ride so, when approaching it, we moved offshore a bit so we could take it at right angles and, looking at the sea ahead, I chose a piece without any white horses for actually crossing the Ledge; I would estimate that we were planning to cross it about 1½ cables from Hengistbury Head. Having put ourselves at right angles, we then slowed the engine down to reduce speed, I told David to hang on and set off to cross the Ledge. Fairly shortly we were picked up by a breaking wave which we rode quite successfully and then a rather larger wave came up breaking behind us and picked us up. We rode it for a very short time and then started sliding down the front edge. As we reached the bottom of the wave, which was fairly steep and I would estimate about 8-10 feet high (David’s estimate is over 7 feet) our bows dug into the solid water and started swinging to starboard. I tried to control this on the rudder but she would not answer, and the whole boat was immediately picked up by the wave and flung over to port. I, sitting on the starboard side of the boat, was thrown beyond the boat and apparently hit David either on my way down or in the sea and we were then both in the sea. It all happened extremely quickly, and there was no time to react in any way — the first thing we knew we were in the water. My impression is that I went under quite deep which is quite possible because I went in head first, and I can remember being worried whether I was going to come up underneath the boat. In practice when I came up, I was about five yards from the middle of the starboard side of the boat which was upright, but full of water and a moment later David bobbed up beside me. Between 3 and 5 more waves broke over us while we were in the water, first taking us back to the boat and then while we were holding on to the boat, and when the last of these had gone through we climbed on board.

After the whole incident was over, we worked out that the boat must have rolled 360° over us while we were below the sea, and that it was at least possible that the main mast had broken by hitting the sea bed or Christchurch Ledge.

The boat was floating with the gunwales more or less level with the water which was now relatively calm, with the bows being the highest bit. The engine had, of course, stopped; the main mast was broken as was the mizzen mast support; various items were just floating about, in particular the floor boards which were a nuisance as they impeded our movements in the cockpit of the boat, and the petrol tank. Having checked that we were both unhurt we promptly set about stepping the mizzen mast where the main normally goes with the idea of sailing down wind to the far side of Christchurch Bay which was approximately one mile away. Having set sail, it was clear we were not going to progress very fast with a completely waterlogged boat so we agreed that the sensible thing was to call for the lifeboat. David got out a set of flares from a cubby-hole in the cockpit and while I held the sheet of the mizzen sail, David set the first flare off. This turned out to be an orange smoke flare which was not an awful lot of help in the circumstances as I pointed out to him, particularly as dusk was coming down. He then set off a second, flare which was a red maroon which went off very satisfactorily. Having set this off, we sat and watched before we sent off any other flares to see reactions. Fairly shortly we saw and heard the maroons over Christchurch Harbour and a police car with a flashing blue light turned up on the top of Hengistbury Head. At about the same time we found that our lead line was caught round a lobster pot, the line having floated out of the boat being on a wooden spindle, and we had to cut ourselves free from that. It did however demonstrate to us that the sail was taking us approximately due east though not particularly fast. David passed a comment to the effect that it hadn’t been my best ever idea to go out sailing that evening.

It was now clear that people knew that we were out there in trouble and would be watching, so David tried to set off a second flare. The first one he tried was a dud and did not go off and I held it for a time in case it went off later, while David started setting off a second flare. This duly went off satisfactorily and we could then be pretty certain that people were on their way to us and had a rough idea where we were.

We appreciated it would be difficult for them to find us because the boat was completely waterlogged, we had a tan coloured sail: and it was now almost dark and we were sitting in water up to our waists. David had let go of the packet of flares he was using as he needed both hands to set off the flares, and the packet floated away. While I could have swum to get them back, it was felt unwise to swim away from the boat without being attached to a line, and while we were looking for a line to attach myself to, the flares floated too far away.

We had a further packet of flares in the back locker which we got out in readiness, but we felt it was more useful to operate one of the flashing white lights we carry for wear at night and we got one of these working to indicate to the lifeboat where we were. I held on to this while David was sorting out the various things that were still floating about the boat; we were still having to decide what we would hang on to and what would have to let go because we could not hang on to everything.

A few moments later the Mudeford inshore lifeboat turned up and took us on board. They then put someone into the waterlogged Drascombe Lugger and put a line on her and towed her into Mudeford. They were kind enough to use a spot light to look for my bag of clothes which we had let go and turned round to pick it up when they saw it in the light, but during the tow-in various other items did, quite understandably, float out of the boat so that the final list of items of equipment lost was fairly long.

The lifeboat crew were extremely efficient and could not have been more helpful, both at sea and when we got ashore when they helped us empty her out and find a mooring for her. We are both very grateful to them. They congratulated us on being so well prepared and doing all the right things.

Some lessons can clearly be learned from our experience but others are more problematical.

We were fortunate in having just sufficient light to be able to read the instructions on the flares. For the future I will always ensure that there is a torch with each packet of flares so one can read the instructions at night. We were fortunate in not having lost our flares in the main cockpit of the boat when we went over, though we did have further flares in the stern locker which we never actually used. In future I will attach them to the boat, as I will a flashing white light (we did have white flares with us as well).

While we cannot be absolutely certain, we believe that the boat rolled through 360° as otherwise we cannot understand why we fell over one side of the boat and came up the other, nor can we see why the main mast should have been damaged. In these circumstances, I am very glad that we were not wearing safety harness which we normally wear at night.

Neither of us were wearing life jackets, though we had one on board. Had we been wearing them it is certainly possible that they would have bought us up underneath the boat as she was turning over which could have been dangerous. Although we had never previously tested it, the boat was buoyant and while it is difficult to be certain, I do not think life jackets would have provided an extra safety factor.

The breakers on Christchurch Ledge were a complete surprise. Both of us, separately and together, had crossed Christchurch Ledge many times and neither of us had seen any conditions on the Ledge such as we met. We had both done the trip in rougher conditions without any problems. I suspect that the combers were caused by the fact that it low tide with fairly large waves and that when I picked the part of the Ledge to cross, the smooth water I was seeing was the back of the combers and that if I had gone one side or the other I might have been perfectly all right. The lifeboat men had the view that we might have been perfectly all right had we been 5 minutes earlier or 5 minutes later, but said that the waves had been building up over quite a number of days in the strong winds.

As far as the Drascombe is concerned, I have no complaints. I believe in those wave conditions many larger boats could very possibly have suffered the same fate. One thing I intend to do for the future is to tie the floor boards down because they were a real nuisance when they floated up and we had to let them float away; had they been tied down it would have been easier to do what we had to do and they would also have provided more buoyancy: the locker lids also tended to float away with the air underneath them, but these we did manage to re-attach.

I do not think it would have been possible to bale out the boat as she was so deep in the water, and certainly the experience of Webb Chiles when he had a similar experience in the Pacific with a Drascombe Lugger was that it was not possible to bale out. It strikes me, however, that if there was some form of buoyancy one could put in the side lockers, and possibly in the stern and bow lockers, that could be inflated in an emergency to give the boat sufficient buoyancy to lift the gunwales above sea level, one would then have a chance to bale the boat dry and start again.

Neither of us had any ill effects from our experience, and we never had time to feel frightened or worried — we just quietly and calmly did what needed to be done. It was probably a help that we both had experience of capsizing in racing dinghies so it was far from a first time. I would not, however, wish to repeat the experience.

2. Capsize off the Conway Brian Haskins

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, 5am or so, to trail the boat to Hoylake, so it was going to be a very long day indeed. The forecast wasn’t bad, ‘SW force 3 to 4 increasing to force 6 later’. We phoned Valley Air Force station on Anglesey, who confirmed this and said that ‘later’ could be about 6 pm or after. This seemed ideal, and we launched at 0900 in very light air. We would put on our life-jackets later. We had forgotten the bailer but it wasn’t going to be rough so that would be alright. The mainsail was very tight on 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 went 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, sail again. It got quite rough later — wind force 4 and white crests to the waves, which were about 2 feet or so high. We didn’t change sails this time, thinking the wind would abate as 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 Orme Head provided a welcome bit of shelter at about 1400 so we hove to for sandwiches and coffee. Around the other side of the Orme the winds 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 with the mast pointing down at about 45°. Perhaps the metal mast helped 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 centreplate 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 the top and 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, 10 foot speedboat 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 two 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.