Editors Note–Although BOAT DIGEST is focused on power boating on the Great Lakes, a good sailing tale and survival yarn is tough to beat no matter where you boat or what type of boat you own. I especially enjoy this one since it's written by my dad. (Hey, a little nepotism never hurt anyone.) He spun the tale many times over dinner and a few beers and was even able to find a funny side to the entire debacle. I remember the events like they were yesterday, especially the day or so that we knew something was wrong and they were going to abandon ship, but then we lost contact. Since the Great Lakes can certainly whip up some rough seas too, you may enjoy a few of the lessons learned as well. ���George Sass Jr.

Motoring south towards Norfolk, Virginia we were passing Thomas Point Lighthouse, a landmark 5 miles south of Annapolis, Maryland. John, our designated ���navigator��� who lived aboard his Grand Banks a few miles away, stuck his head out of the companionway and asked, ���Hey, what���s that?��� I should have jumped overboard then and saved myself the coming ordeal.

Five of us were aboard Wild Wind, a 40-foot sloop ruggedly built by Cape Dory and designed by Chuck Paine. Peter, the owner and captain, had invited me to join his crew of childhood friends to help sail her to Bermuda. It was 18 years ago, and at the time I was an avid sailor with a 37-foot ketch of my own. I had a moderate amount of offshore experience, some of it on Wild Wind, sailing between Annapolis and Maine. This was a chance to get more experience and hopefully learn enough to captain my own boat on a similar voyage.

Because this 600-mile voyage was more ambitious than I had ever undertaken, I started asking Peter a number of questions weeks before our April departure. Being a boat nut that read most sailing magazines cover to cover, I wanted to know about the heavy weather preparations first. ���Do you have a set of storm sails?��� I was told not to worry, the main could be triple-reefed and the genoa���s roller furling had just been checked and serviced. ���Do you have a large sea-anchor?��� I was assured that Wild Wind had plenty of long lines that could be towed as warps to slow us down if need be. Since I had not mastered celestial navigation, and 1987 was pre-GPS technology for the recreational boater, I also inquired about the crew���s navigating skills. ���Don���t worry, John���s an electronic wizard as well as an experienced navigator,��� I was assured. Maybe I should stop worrying. But I had just one more question. ���How much sailing experience do your friends have?��� I was told to relax, that they had all been sailing since they were kids. OK. I was probably over-thinking all of this.

The wind was out of the south the day we left Annapolis, so we motored down the Chesapeake Bay arriving in Norfolk the next morning. Here, we topped off our fuel and water tanks and checked the weather before jumping offshore. It was early April, and the Gulf Stream was very capable of kicking up her heels if the wind shifted around from the north.

While I had little chance to witness the sailing experience of my fellow crew members on this first leg, I did discover that John the ���navigator and electronic wizard��� was in over his head. Having grown up building my own ham radio gear, I knew a little about electronics, and I nervously watched him trying to install a new SSB transceiver and a secondary loran unit at the nav station as we motored to Norfolk. This was no time to be installing new gear, and besides, how could he not know where Thomas Point Light was? Uh Oh. I was starting to have a bad feeling.

As we were readying Wild Wind to depart Norfolk, John told us that NOAA weather was reporting that a gale off Hatteras would be well past us by the time we were offshore, so we departed under favorable conditions and high hopes. Winds were out of the south to southwest at 15 knots, and the sky was clear. But things started going wrong immediately.

As we motored out of the main channel, we noticed the temperature of the Perkins diesel to be 20 degrees higher than normal. Once out of the channel, we set sail, and topped off the coolant. But because of the choppy seas and position of the exhaust, it was difficult to see whether enough cooling water was being discharged. This problem eventually became our Achilles heel.

That afternoon we enjoyed a glorious sail, and as we found our sea legs we also began to get to know each other. John was a doctor living on his boat near Annapolis. Peter owned a chain of retail craft stores in the Washington, DC area and had owned Wild Wind for a couple of years. Larry was an attorney from New York, and Bruce was a surgeon from Arkansas. I owned an advertising agency, and Peter was one of my clients. But soon I discovered that the ���sailing since childhood��� experience of the crew was nothing more than playing around on a Sunfish in summer camp.

We established a 2-on-2-off watch system rotating every four hours, with John staying at the nav station. But as the sun started to set and the seas began to build, only Larry and I were able to take the helm, as seasickness incapacitated the others. Around midnight, with increasing seas and wind, there was a loud crack from the foredeck. I yelled that the headsail���s halyard had parted which instantly dumped the genoa into the sea. The response from my watch mate? ���What���s a halyard?��� Son of a bitch, this was going to be a long voyage.

Unable to sort out the tangled sheets and broken halyard in the dark, I was only able to get the genoa on board and lash it to the lifelines. I���d have to wait until daylight to replace the parted halyard. But as I took the helm again, I noticed the compass and running lights were unusually dim. Our house battery voltage had mysteriously dropped to 9 volts, so we started the Perkins to charge the battery. Within a half-hour the engine was seriously overheating and had to be shut down. Our situation was dim, indeed.

Because Peter and Bruce were terribly seasick, and John turned down my invitation to take the helm, saying he was suffering from vertigo, Larry and I stayed on watch throughout the night. When daylight arrived, I was tired but anxious to solve our three main problems���replacing the halyard, fixing the overheating engine and troubleshooting the discharged battery condition. Thankfully, Wild Wind had an extra halyard for a cruising spinnaker, so within minutes of daylight we had the genoa flying again. But the engine and electrical problems were another story.

The seas had built to 10-to-12 feet, and I quickly discovered how hard it is to work in a small space in such conditions. My main enemy in troubleshooting the Perkins was the lack of space around the engine���s raw water pump. After struggling for more than an hour and being forced to remove the framework for galley drawers built up against the engine compartment, I discovered that the pump���s impeller was totally shot���not one tooth was intact. While I replaced it, I could find only half of its broken teeth. Needless to say, this didn���t fix the problem, as the cooling system was clogged with impeller teeth. The engine could be used only in an emergency and only for short periods of time.

Next, I tackled the electrical problem and soon discovered the cause for the dead house battery. When installing the new SSB and loran, John had hard-wired both units to the house system and apparently caused a short. I knew I was tired from not sleeping, but now I was angry as well. At John for his incompetence. At Peter for believing John knew what he was doing. At Bruce for not being of any help. And mostly at myself for getting into this jam.

We discussed our situation and decided to continue towards Bermuda. Our sails were intact, we could use the engine for half-hour spurts, and the engine starting battery could power the VHF and ship���s loran when necessary. Everything else was disconnected or turned off. The bad news was that all our food would spoil. The good news was that only Larry and I could eat anyway. If only we knew what else was in store for us.

As the day progressed, the winds increased and shifted around to the westnorthwest, causing the Gulf Stream to rear its ugly head. By nightfall we found ourselves in 20-foot seas that continued to build with sustained winds of 30+ knots. Wild Wind was in her element, however, and behaved beautifully considering the conditions. But by 10 p.m., things were getting worse. I was too exhausted to continue at the helm, and Peter, in spite of still being terribly seasick, took over.

It didn���t take more than a few minutes for me to fall asleep in the aft cabin even with all the noise and violent motion. In less than two hours, however, I awoke to a horrible noise of crashing water, and I felt myself being pushed into the lockers above my berth.We had taken a knockdown.

Peter yelled from the cockpit that he and Larry were OK. I jumped up, put on my survival suit that was close at hand and looked around the main cabin in near shock. The interior of Wild Wind seemed to be inside out, and upside down. Books, dishes, bottles, spare parts, lamps, clothing, cushions, floorboards, food, batteries and charts were scattered everywhere. John had taken a bad fall and was injured. Bruce still hadn���t moved from the forward cabin.

When I slid the companionway hatch open and looked out, I was in awe of the huge, breaking seas and the deafening roar of the howling wind. It was now blowing a steady 60 + knots and gusting higher. As I set foot in the cockpit, I heard a sickening, loud pop forward. The genoa, which had been furled into a tiny headsail and was the only sail that was set, exploded into ribbons, causing us to lose steerage.

Instinctively I tried to set a triple reef in the main so that we would have some control in these seas, but it was a bad decision. As soon as we fell off the wind, the sail was ripped to shreds. We were now virtually helpless with no sails, a useless engine and very limited battery power. Three members of the crew were terribly sick and dehydrated. One may have broken ribs. Our position was not quite halfway to Bermuda, and our vessel had been reduced to little more than a floating cork. There was little chance we could make landfall even if we tried to turn back. Again, we discussed our situation and decided to send out a Mayday.

At approximately 0300, our call was answered by a voice with a thick accent. It was the oil tanker Venture Independence, which estimated it was about ten miles from our location and was changing course to find us. While I shared the feeling of relief with the others, I also felt terribly defeated. How could so many things go wrong in such a short period of time? How could our situation become so desperate so quickly?

While the rest of the crew stayed below to gather their belongings, I found an unbroken bottle of dark rum and a couple cans of Coke and climbed out into the cockpit to try and make some sense out of all this. I was surprised to see how well Wild Wind behaved lying ahull with no help from her broken and dejected crew.

The surrounding scene was out of a movie���huge, breaking seas, screaming wind, and bolts of lightning striking all around us. And then in the distance, backlit by a flash of lightning, I saw the huge hull of Venture Independence���1,100-feet of black steel looming over the horizon. As she got closer I could see that even this 87,000-ton monster was being pushed around by the heavy seas.We agreed with the captain that it would be wiser to wait until daybreak before attempting a rescue.

Finally at 0600, the captain asked us to maneuver Wild Wind alongside to leeward. The sorrowful, abused Perkins did its final job, and as we approached the huge hull we realized how difficult the transfer of crew would be in these conditions. Wild Wind was being smashed against the tanker���s hull, rising and falling violently 30 feet or more as the ship���s crew lowered rescue baskets. But when they began to raise the ever-silent Bruce and injured John, the roll of the giant ship to leeward dunked the two for a surprising, cold bath. Up they came as the ship rolled to windward, spitting out the ocean, gasping for air.

Peter, Larry and I decided instead to climb the rope ladders hanging from the gunwales. Larry made the first leap of faith, and I soon followed, timing my jump to the apex of Wild Wind���s upward motion. But as I grabbed the ladder and tried to get my footing, one foot became entangled in the lifeline. Pain shot threw my ankle as Wild Wind began its 30-foot descent. Just as I thought I was going in, my foot was freed and I began my 100-foot climb with Peter right behind me. Suddenly I felt the ship roll away from me, the ladder staying vertical, hanging me over the ocean. As it rolled back, the ladder smashed against the hull, nearly knocking me off. I quickly learned to climb as many rungs as I could before bracing myself for another collision, while the crew above me was yelling in Spanish to hurry up and not look down. Finally feeling the hands of the crew grabbing my survival suit and climbing over the rail, I dropped and kissed the deck. Salt and a bit of rust never tasted so good.

The captain of the Venture Independence tried in vain to save Wild Wind, but the heavy seas quickly parted the tow bridle, and she disappeared in the roiling seas.

While the Venture Independence steamed towards the Azores on her way to Gibraltar, I had a few days of solitude to reflect on what went wrong and what I had learned. First, I will never go offshore with a crew I do not know. I am sure these fellows were all quite successful in their everyday lives, but I want to be able to rely on my shipmates when things go south. Secondly, I will not go to sea on someone else���s boat if I am not entirely happy with its preparation and safety equipment. And lastly, I will not go offshore unless I have personally checked the weather forecasts and I'm familiar with the operation of the on board navigation and communications equipment. If I have any doubts about the experience of the crew, the condition and preparedness of the boat, the forecast of the weather or the operation of vital equipment, I���ll pass and enjoy my rum and coke on the hard.