SaylurMaine
Member
This was just posted on another forum by the guy who posted that video:
"Sounds about right. No warning from race committee. We were on a 39' monohull in the second division fighting for what we believe was a large lead over the rest of our division with just one other similar boat. Nearing our last tac towards the finish line, another crew member was checking radar on his phone down below while the two of us were making sandwiches, and he suddenly goes "uh oh.. that doesn't look good." I went above deck to see the boat owner and my father (who was skippering) looking at a nasty black mass of clouds on the horizon and saying "TheCrapIPutUpWith, you might look that way" pointing to the southwestern sky. We started to discuss putting down the sails and that's as far as we got when it was on us... It was maybe 3 minutes from the time we realized what was on the horizon. Suddenly 40-50 knot sustained winds were blowing us sideways. We were on a close haul, so the best we could do was to let out the sails and keep the boat pointed towards open water. The owner had the main sheet and jib sheets in each hand working them like a boss, while my father was wrestling the helm with all his might to keep us angled into the surf. The rest of us were keeping our heads low and looking for life preservers. Visibility was pretty much nill... although one crew member got a brief video from his phone and we realized when viewing it later that there was actually a vessel nearby that we never saw.
My father at the helm yelled "what's the in the water?!" (I was only 5 feet from him and barely heard him.) This was during the last part of the storm when hell really broke loose. Winds accelerated to what we guessed was 60-70mph. We looked up and realized it was three guys in the drink with no life jackets sharing only one horseshoe life ring. At that point we jumped up and tried to throw them our horseshoe and other life jackets, but they were upwind of us and the effort was futile. At that point we yelled for my father to come about and start the motor, but maneuvering with the motor would be impossible with the sails up in those insane winds. At that point lightning was flashing, but not going back for those guys was not an option. Another crew member and I sprang up to lower the sales while another started the engine. This is when my fear turned to courage, as I was at that point clinging to a giant lightning rod trying to release the halyards and pull down the main while the other crewman wrangled down the Jib on the bow (we don't use the self-furler as our sail goes down to the deck and gives better lift). We wrestled the sails down and got the jib pulled through the bow porthole and below. I finally got the main doused and another crewman helped pull it on-board and tied to the boom. My father got the boat turned. At this point things started letting up a little. After a few passes we spotted the three still in rough water. It took a bit to get them in the boat as they were pretty weak from fighting.
When the storm started clearing we realized a startling reality. We had been pushed sideways basically a good mile or more to only about half a mile from the DI Bridge.
We tried motoring back up to Dog River, but even after the storm passed, the current remained too strong. We gave up after 20 mins of basically treading water and motored with the current under the bridge to the DI marina After a couple of hours of sharing stories and recovering from our adrenaline rush, we left the boat there overnight, fetching a lift to our cars.
I'm very thankful that even though we did a lot wrong (when we saw those clouds, we should have immediately all put on life vest... also we should have had the main rigged for reefing...), the experience of our crew, a team that has sailed together now for over 20 years on this boat in this race, held us upright and safe. However, I would prefer to never to be on the water during a storm like that again. God be with the families who are missing loved ones right now. I can't imagine the losses they are suffering."
"Sounds about right. No warning from race committee. We were on a 39' monohull in the second division fighting for what we believe was a large lead over the rest of our division with just one other similar boat. Nearing our last tac towards the finish line, another crew member was checking radar on his phone down below while the two of us were making sandwiches, and he suddenly goes "uh oh.. that doesn't look good." I went above deck to see the boat owner and my father (who was skippering) looking at a nasty black mass of clouds on the horizon and saying "TheCrapIPutUpWith, you might look that way" pointing to the southwestern sky. We started to discuss putting down the sails and that's as far as we got when it was on us... It was maybe 3 minutes from the time we realized what was on the horizon. Suddenly 40-50 knot sustained winds were blowing us sideways. We were on a close haul, so the best we could do was to let out the sails and keep the boat pointed towards open water. The owner had the main sheet and jib sheets in each hand working them like a boss, while my father was wrestling the helm with all his might to keep us angled into the surf. The rest of us were keeping our heads low and looking for life preservers. Visibility was pretty much nill... although one crew member got a brief video from his phone and we realized when viewing it later that there was actually a vessel nearby that we never saw.
My father at the helm yelled "what's the in the water?!" (I was only 5 feet from him and barely heard him.) This was during the last part of the storm when hell really broke loose. Winds accelerated to what we guessed was 60-70mph. We looked up and realized it was three guys in the drink with no life jackets sharing only one horseshoe life ring. At that point we jumped up and tried to throw them our horseshoe and other life jackets, but they were upwind of us and the effort was futile. At that point we yelled for my father to come about and start the motor, but maneuvering with the motor would be impossible with the sails up in those insane winds. At that point lightning was flashing, but not going back for those guys was not an option. Another crew member and I sprang up to lower the sales while another started the engine. This is when my fear turned to courage, as I was at that point clinging to a giant lightning rod trying to release the halyards and pull down the main while the other crewman wrangled down the Jib on the bow (we don't use the self-furler as our sail goes down to the deck and gives better lift). We wrestled the sails down and got the jib pulled through the bow porthole and below. I finally got the main doused and another crewman helped pull it on-board and tied to the boom. My father got the boat turned. At this point things started letting up a little. After a few passes we spotted the three still in rough water. It took a bit to get them in the boat as they were pretty weak from fighting.
When the storm started clearing we realized a startling reality. We had been pushed sideways basically a good mile or more to only about half a mile from the DI Bridge.
We tried motoring back up to Dog River, but even after the storm passed, the current remained too strong. We gave up after 20 mins of basically treading water and motored with the current under the bridge to the DI marina After a couple of hours of sharing stories and recovering from our adrenaline rush, we left the boat there overnight, fetching a lift to our cars.
I'm very thankful that even though we did a lot wrong (when we saw those clouds, we should have immediately all put on life vest... also we should have had the main rigged for reefing...), the experience of our crew, a team that has sailed together now for over 20 years on this boat in this race, held us upright and safe. However, I would prefer to never to be on the water during a storm like that again. God be with the families who are missing loved ones right now. I can't imagine the losses they are suffering."
