I LOVE THE USCG

We've invited a lot of people to come down and sail with us and I've gotta say that yesterday, I was glad we were alone.  It pains me to write this post and I feel a bit like a dog with it's tail between it's legs, but who knows - maybe some of you sailors will read this and learn from our mistakes (and boy have we made them!)

It started out like this:

MARIANNE: "Hey Matt, what do you think about taking the inside route? The winds are going to be high and maybe it would be better to travel down Estero Island on the inside passage before going offshore."

MATT: "Yeah, maybe. You can get through that way? That would be good because we would exit the pass with the wind instead of fighting against it to get out on this end."

And so, we take a quick look at our charts, walk out to the beach to assess the swell and talk to a few people in the marina to confirm that we can indeed travel through on the inside route with our 4 foot keel.  The locals seem to think it's a good idea, so we do too.

Mistake number one - Not looking ahead and verifying with gps.

Mistake number two - trusting a local opinion without question.

The winds were high and there was a small craft advisory in effect, but I mean, we aren't a fishing boat, (Mistake number three) so we decided to head south through the snaky inside channel towards the Bascule Bridge at the south end of the island.

After an uneventful sail down the inside channel, we approached Big Carlos Pass. The bridge operator stopped traffic and lifted the bridge and we headed into the Gulf of Mexico heeding the only advice given to us - to continue past the red marker before making a turn to the left to avoid the shoal.

We are well past the red marker and I am studying the gps while Matt is at the helm beginning to make our turn. It's blowing hard and we're in an area marked 3.9-5.9 feet on the gps, but we aren't overly concerned because the gps lies to us all the time when we actually have plenty of water, and besides, even if that were to be accurate, we are at hight tide adding an extra 2.5 feet. Furthermore - wouldn't one of the locals have said something if the channel was THAT shallow? Who knows, maybe we were talking to power boaters.  Too late now, we were in it.  Suddenly, our depth sounder begins beeping like crazy, telling us we are in less than 5 feet of water. Oh, and it lies to us all the time too. Is it lying this time?

Mistake number four - not getting that fixed.

Somethings not right, the waves are suddenly breaking all around us. I look to my left and see a wave that looks a little too upright and gives me shivers and not three seconds later CRACK! We have hit bottom HARD. Matt and I look at each other as a wave rolls our boat almost tipping us over and I grab Wookie with one hand and the boat with the other and scream like a girl (because I am a girl).

We don't know which way to go. We can't turn around and we can't get off the shoal until another wave picks us up. CRACK- we hit hard again and I'm seriously scared for our safety. This is bad, this is really bad. CRACK, I'm certain this is the worst situation we have been in and don't really know what to do about it but hold on and get Wookie somewhere safe. Matt is trying to turn the boat into the waves and get us out to sea.  The engine roars at full throttle, the reefed jib catching 25 knots of wind.  The boat comes around slowly and it looks like we might make it, but then CRACK another hit and Matt announces that we have completely lost steering and it dawns on me then how truly bad this is. CRACK, the boat again heels over violently past 50 degrees. Matt calls in a Mayday - (I have to say, I never actually believed we would ever have to call mayday - FOOL!)  We are now utterly at the mercy of the sea.  Without a working rudder, all we can do is hold on as the waves slam us into the shoal and communicate our position to coast guard.  As we do this, another big wave comes under us, this one lifting the boat up and freeing it from the shoal,  Matt kicks the motor into gear and the boat miraculously shoots off and into deeper water.  We're free, but the boat sails aimlessly out to sea.  It appears to be holding course, and after some minor sail/motor adjustments we are able to point 270 degrees at about 3 knots, away from shore and into deeper water. We're sailing on a beam reach and getting beaten by the swell pretty bad. Our cabin looks like a bomb has exploded in it and we are getting thrown around.  I talk to the coast guard on the radio who asks if we are taking on water, if there are any injuries and if there are any children on board. I tell her there were some children, but we threw them over board to lighten the boat and get off the shoal (just kidding, I didn't say that). She contacts BOAT US to come and tow us out of there but can't give us an estimated time of arrival.  After about 15 minutes, a lone officer from the Sheriff's department arrives on the scene in a boat about half the size of ours. He tells us more officers in a bigger boat are coming, but he says he will stay with us until they get there. What a trooper! I've never been so happy to see law enforcement in all of my life.

The bigger police boat arrives and relieves the small one. They begin to circle us, staying fairly close so that we are not alone if we start to take on water and develop bigger problems other than just bobbing like corks getting pushed out to sea. We discuss anchoring over the VHF but everyone feels it's too dangerous to drop an anchor in the current sea state, so we just keep sailing out into the Gulf and updating BOAT US with our coordinates. The officers have no idea that they will be with us for hours to come.

[Fast Forward 2 hours- we are nauseous and exhausted from being beaten by 6-9 foot swelll]

BOAT US finally arrives. He attempts to attach a bridal to our bow, but can barely control his own boat in the swell and tells us it isn't possible to tow us in. We find out later that he is retired coast guard and when he says conditions are bad, they are BAD. He apologizes and leaves the scene and the coast guard are our only hope.

They are out on another rescue mission, so it's two and a half more hours in the washing machine until they show up.  We are now 9 nautical miles from the shoal and in a partial hove-to (the best we can manage with a non-functioning rudder).  Meanwhile, a gigantic tub of shredded coconut has exploded in our cabin. Harmless until mixed with water, when it then becomes a waxy, slippery substance which sticks to the soles of your shoes and turns the already slippery deck into a skating rink.

Mistake number five - having shredded coconut onboard. 

A 41 foot Coast Guard vessel finally arrives.  They circle us and discuss options.  The first involves anchoring the boat, abandoning ship (god knows how?) and having a salvage pick it up the when the sea state improves.  Matt tells the coast guard he only has 100 feet of anchor line and the idea is dropped (THANKFULLY!).  Plan B is to tow us to port.  Matt tethers in and climbs to the bow to catch the tow lines from the Coasties yelling instructions at him. He is looking down at the cleats when the biggest wave yet reaches our bow and the coast guard screams at us to hold on. Matt and I see the wave at the same time and brace ourselves for the hit. Recovered, coconut shoe'd Matt returns his attention to the bridal and wraps them around our cleats - we are worried our cleats will be ripped out.  Now the real fun begins.

Our boat has become the wildest, scariest and most unsafe amusement park ride I've ever been on. Wookie is staring at me with wide eyes through the mesh of his crate and I feel overwhelming guilt for putting him through this. We are all soaked, seasick and scared. Matt tells me that everything will be ok now and though I am comforted knowing the coast guard is here I am also still being violently thrown around the boat as we hit wave after wave being dragged at five knots behind the coast guard's vessel. They check in with us on the radio and tell us we are in for a long ride - we had been drifting out to sea for over four hours at 3 knots and have a very long way to go. I need to hurl - badly. But I know that once you start you can't stop so I do my best to look at the horizon (whenever it is in sight over the waves) and I take deep breaths through my nose and think about getting to shore.

Matt continuously checks the bilge to see if we are taking on water and though we aren't, there is still a lot of water in the boat from the sea spray. Books and provision are strewn along the floor of the cabin and in between his own bouts of nausea, Matt picks a few things up at a time - keeping one hand on the vessel to brace himself against the waves.

Not one, not two, not three, but nearly FOUR hours later and the seas calm down as we approach the harbour. We switch the boat to a side tow and the full moon is absolutely breath taking. We tie up to a dock and I love the U.S. Coast Guard. I LOVE THEM! With their tickets and their rules and their boat inspections, gosh darn it! I LOVE THEM.

An Officer boards Maranatha and kindly asks for the routine paperwork. Matt and I brace ourselves for a substantial bill. The rescue effort has involved four boats, an enormous amount of fuel, and ten people - not to mention putting those ten peoples lives in danger. We feel heavy with guilt knowing that our mistakes have cost so much to others.

The CG officers wait until we've arranged for a tow to the nearest boat yard and then sweetly tell us to be safe out there and get on their way. We are astonished and grateful. Muther Effing Angels, if you ask me.

But they aren't the only angels we are to meet tonight.

We get towed to the boat yard and try our best to arrange the cabin into a less chaotic, coconutty state. We are still soaked and delirious, but feel really, really lucky. We have no idea what state Maranatha is in, but that is for tomorrow. Tonight, we need dry clothes and a warm bed. But we don't really know where we are.

We pack some bags and walk Wookie to the highway expected to see cabs, but there are none. We are at the edge of a big bridge that we think leads towards a more populated area so we start walking. We see a big sign for a hotel and think we are in luck, but the office is closed, as is the one in the hotel down the street. It feels surreal to be walking around Ft Myers Beach soaking wet and carrying our belongings. We finally get a cab.

A guy named Chris pulls up and tells us to all hop in while he calls around and somehow arranges a room in an overbooked town full of kids on spring break.  We are grateful once again.

As we settle in to our hotel room, we're worried about Maranatha taking on water overnight, but try to push it from our minds. We have minor cuts and bruises (especially our pride) but we know that we are so fortunate to be safe. Tomorrow we will thank our boat for being tougher than we are and assess the repairs so that she can sail again soon. (FAIR WEATHER ONLY!)