Humorous Sailing Disasters

Many years ago during my uni days some of my uni mates and I used to crew on my dads yacht on Lake Macquarie. One Saturday afternoon as we are heading out to the start line for the race one of them was assessing the clouds building in the south and commented that it was looking a bit ominous. Me, being the most experienced sailor amongst us and having spent my life sailing, took a look at the approaching weather and made my assessment - "nothing I it", I say.

Approximately 15-20 minutes later the front rolled over us. As is the way with such things, we went from easily cruising along with a No1 headsail and full main to being knocked flat whilst we all attempted to hang on with one hand and get the sails down with the other. For an enclosed waterway it was pretty full on. When we got ourselves together we were down to a storm jib and 2 reefs.

To this day any time somebody makes a comment on a weather change on the way one of these mates is very happy to remind me that "there's nothing in it". Needless to say I keep my weather predictions to myself now.

Another tinny one.
I saw this happen.
In the late 80's, before Scotland Island in Pittwater was "Gentrified" (If it is now???), the Island locals would get together at Church point for a few beers before jumping in their tinnies & going home.
The waterways police got onto it & they were starting to get a few DUI's.
The water Police would hang amonst the moorings then pick them off on the way to the Island.
So the Islanders would send a sober person off first in a fast tinny & they would head off at speed up the western side of the Island, with the cops chasing them.
When the chase was out of sight they would all jump in their tinnies then head off around the eastern side, to their jetties. By the time the cops got back to church point , there was no-one there.

Something a little different.

I was taught to sail by my Uncle Phil. He was a pretty tall, very manly type of bloke with a keen sense of humour and great repartee. He had a Bluebird in the 60s and 70s and crewed quite a few of the high end boats to Hobart in his time. Phil passed pretty young for such a healthy bloke, and I'm proud to say he and I shared a brilliant days sailing on the harbour not long after I bought the Top Hat. He got a cut from the traveller during an unintentional gybe and was more worried about blood on the cockpit floor than the pain or discomfort. He'd not been sailing for ages and all he said was, "Got any metho to wash it with?" It was the last time he went sailing.

At the funeral, my Aunt asked whether I might take her and the family out to sea to scatter Phil's, and his dog's ashes. Of course I agreed and a date was set. It was a glorious day with a really lovely South Easter, good and fresh. We had my wife, my cousin, his wife and son as well as a good mate of my cousins and my Aunt. A full house for a wee 25 footer. My cousin and his mate were both racers, so they soon had Dulcamara trimmed and flying..... well as fast as a Top Hat can go with ratty sails and seven on board. My Aunt was commenting how much Phil would have loved the day, it was "his kind of sailing".

We headed due east from Barrenjoey until we were about 3 miles off shore. My Aunt was in her favourite spot, windward side at the front of the cockpit, tucked in and enjoying the ride with the leeward rail just dipping occasionally. When we agreed we were in the right spot we tacked back toward the shore on a fairly level broad reach to level the boat out. My cousin started to undo the urns in preparation for the scattering. It took a little longer, because the dog's urn was sealed with silicone and he got a cut from the knife trying to open it, so we had his blood on the cockpit floor as well.

So now we have the urns ready. Cousin and his mate have positioned themselves so the ashes blow in the right direction and I recite "Sea Fever" by John Masefield. Just as the urns are being up ended, the wind gusts from due East for just enough time to blow the ashes not into the sea, but into the boat and over all of us. In our drinks, in the food and some people were gasping, so got a mouthful as well. Then it went calm for just a minute or so whilst we all looked at each other in abject horror at first, which very quickly turned to uproarious laughter. My Aunt was laughing so much her sides were hurting and once the South Easter settled back a bit further to the East we settled in for the run back to Barrenjoey. My Aunt reckoned he'd done that on purpose, just so he had the last laugh.

We waited until we got to the Basin to clean up a bit, but I think even to this day there are bits of Phil in the occasional nook or cranny on the old Dulcamara, and I don't care. He's bled on it and scattered on it and I'm happy to have him aboard. :-)

Not sailing, this occurred about 20 years ago in my old 16 foot plywood fishing boat. About 4am one morning, we set off from the boat ramp at Garden Island and headed down the Port River to our favourite snapper spot. It was still dark and we were racing to get there for the change of tide. The water was like glass, and my brother-in-law Terry was at the helm testing out the outboard he had helped tune up.

I was showing my mate my new fancy gps and checking the speed, thinking close to 25 knots is a bit fast for a pitch black night. even though there were some lights from the industrial area along the shoreline. I was just about to suggest that we slow up a bit, when WHAM! - we stop dead in the water with a wave of water coming over the bow. We were all thrown against the bulkhead, bruised and battered.

I picked myself up, trying to check the damage of boat & crew., and looking for what we hit. Terry couldn't talk as he had cracked a couple ribs and had the air severely knocked out of him. It appeared there were no life-threatening injuries and the boat was still watertight, but there was no sign of what we collided with. No boats, no buoys, nothing floating in the water. Eventually, Terry managed to convey that it was just a huge wave that came out of nowhere. We were miles from the river mouth; there were no boats, big or small to throw a wake; it was a mystery.

After refitting the battery and fuel tank and other dislodged gear, we decided not to head out to the snapper spot and slowly circled around to head back to the boat ramp. It was then we noticed the big industrial complex of the Australian Submarine Corporation, and I remembered reading in the paper about sea trials beginning for the new Collins class submarines. I can only guess that orders were given to DIVE, DIVE as we approached at a reckless speed, resulting in a huge wake.