I happened to see a book review in the Annapolis Sail and Power Squadron’s publication Anchor Watch. Anthony D. Martin, AP, started his review with “Recently, I have taken to keeping a life jacket in the trunk of my car… It has to do with my having read Suddenly Overboard by Tom Lochhaas.” I read the article and gave it some thought. Then I saw the article repeated in the October issue of SpinSheet magazine. I decided to order a copy of the book from Amazon.
Now, I have serviced my self-inflating life vest and keep it in my car so I don’t forget it when I arrive at the boat with “boat stuff” to load. This book is full of true stories of people who fell in when they least expected trouble: at the dock, when anchoring, picking up a mooring, reeling in a fish, taking sailing lessons, dinghying to shore to get groceries… Because they were least expecting trouble, they frequently were not wearing a PFD.
I am thinking about getting on and off my boat a lot more these days. It’s now November, and the water is getting colder. The high water at the time of Joaquin made getting on a challenge. Dock steps didn’t help enough. Getting off, I’d get my pants wet sitting on the bulwark and stretching my legs down to the finger pier. I know people who were badly injured falling between the boat and the finger pier, because they hit something on the way down.
While in Camden, Maine, my crew mate got tired of waiting at the dinghy dock and decided to take the dinghy back to the boat herself. She ended up in the cold water yelling for help. Fortunately, two men were nearby, heard her, and hauled her up onto the dock. She was one of the lucky ones.
Fortunately for me, I have only fallen in the water once. Some years ago, I was sailing with my friends Bob and Debbie. It was Bob’s 36-foot sloop, and Debbie was invited along because she’s good company and a fabulous cook. It was early October, and we sailed to Oxford. We anchored and rowed over to shore in Bob’s fiberglass dinghy to get a good seafood dinner.
While we were dining, a fierce squall blew in. No problem, we just waited inside the restaurant until it blew over. Walking down the dock to where the dinghy was tied, I turned to Debbie at least three times and said, “Be careful! The dock is very slippery.” When we arrived at the dinghy, we saw that it had gallons of water in it from rain and wind blown waves. And there we were without a bailer.
I suggested that we haul it up onto the dock and turn it over to just dump the water out. We got the dinghy up on the dock; Bob took the bow and I took the stern. I was turning the dinghy over, when my feet slipped out from underneath me and shot out over the water. There I was, like Wile E. Coyote, suspended in air long enough to yell “oh s**t!” Then – splash!
I soon realized that I was alright. The water was actually warmer than the air. Due to light bones and lack of muscle, I float like a cork. In salt water, treading water is easy. I was a life guard when I was young, so I was trained to stay calm and assess the situation. I knew that marinas were required to have ladders, and all I needed to do was find one. Being down at water level, in the dark, I couldn’t see a ladder anywhere.
On the dock, there was pandemonium. Bob was running around in circles and Debbie was screaming “Help! Somebody help!” I tried to communicate with them, telling them that I was okay, just help me find a ladder. They couldn’t hear me over their yelling. Bob offered me the blade end of an oar, but the dock was too high for me to pull myself out with nothing to stand on. (No muscle, remember?)
Then, Bob jumped in to “help me.” This was problematic, as Bob never learned how to swim and had a hard time keeping his face above water. Finally, a live aboard couple decided to come out on deck and see what all the noise was about. I was able to ask them where the ladder was located. They pointed to a nearby slip, and I pushed Bob over there.
Well, I certainly learned a lot that evening. First, check the location of ladders when at a new dock. On my own boat, I have a telescoping ladder on the swim platform. I have tried it and it’s easy to use, even soaking wet. Second, don’t be shy about putting a PFD on before getting on a dinghy, as opposed to just taking it along.
I’m keeping my self-inflating vest handy because I know it works (sometimes it works too well, like going off in a damp locker), it fits, it’s comfortable, and I can put it on in the dark. In short, I’m more inclined to put it on while resisting those moldy orange ones. Third, be prepared to take care of yourself in emergencies. Other people may panic, not know what to do, or even make things worse. They’re human.
Forth, be more pessimistic and do more “what if” thinking. Being a boater, I’m naturally optimistic. Sometimes it seems that I care more about my boat than my own body, putting fenders, extra lines, and canvas everywhere, but griping about the cost of servicing an inflatable life vest. I’m human.
So, I highly recommend the book Suddenly Overboard to all boaters. I can read the stories and think “there but for the grace of God go I.” Tom Lochhaas has done a great service by collecting all these stories, for stories will go a lot further than statistics in getting people to actually wear their PFDs.
By the way, falling in wasn’t the worst thing that happened that weekend in Oxford. Oh no. We got up Sunday morning and found that there was no coffee maker on the boat. None. Nada. No percolator, no French press, no Melitta, no filters, not even a camp fire pot. So, Debbie and I jury rigged a drip coffee maker with a funnel, a wash cloth and an old pot. But… that’s another story.
by Beth Dumesco
