Conference unifix::sailing

    ....the time we sailed back from Block Is. to Newport in a peasoup
    fog.   We DR'd to the bell off Pt. Judith, and headed for Brenton
    Reef.   When we first heard it, it was some distance north of us
    so we changed course and sailed about 2 miles north.  Our depth
    sounder went from 120' to 10' just about the time my wife (lookout
    on the bow) turned and began waving her arms.  I turned hard to
    port. As we rounded up I saw the rocks at the beach head of Beavertail
    Pt (Conanicut Is) about 30' beyond where I started the turn.
    
    We didnt consult the "Lights" book for the Brenton Reef fog signal,
    and were probably only a few hundred yards north of it when we heard
    Beavertail point and mistook it for Brenton Reef.  Apparantly Brenton
    Reef horn is pointed south and quite directional.  Also the northerly
    set of the incoming tide was stronger than I calculated, which put
    us a bit further north than I thought I was.
    
    From that we learned to always consult the book for light or sound
    signals. We also opted to install a Loran C unit to back up the
    DR plot.  Finally we learned that it is often wise to wait out a
    fog and remain in harbor (there were two serious collisions and a 
    grounding with damage in the area that day).

    Walt

    Which reminds me when...
    
    We left Portland in the fog for Portsmouth. Made the hooter outside
    Portland and saw/heard nothing for several hours. Wind variable
    and finally came onto the 'Maine floating buoys' (lobster pots).
    Started listening for the horn on Boon Is, heard it off about 2-3
    miles, updated DR plot and started in a bit, picked up more pots
    and heard horn off Portsmouth about 2 miles off. Re-adjusted DR
    plot and headed 'up channel' into Portsmouth. Never saw the next
    'reds' and proceeded until saw a lobsterman. Continued on until
    hailed in a Maine accent; "You're a'headin to'a sho-a". Turned back
    to his pot(s), I altered 90 deg. Passed him again: same comment;
    You're a'headin to'a sho-a". Again, same 90 deg etc. Consulted chart
    and luffed... Turn out we managed to get in behind the CG lighthouse
    near the ship docks (This is a 270 deg basin! But plenty water).
    Talk about confused for a few minutes. When this all finally dawned
    on me we set out for the lighted/bell off CG lighthouse, picked
    it up and went on into Kittery.Jeesh.. Anchored and consoled ourselves
    with a few. When the fog lifted (naturally!) we were surprised to
    find ourselves surrounded by boats. We had managed, somehow, to
    avoid hitting anything and even found a decent anchorage out of
    the current.
    
    However if one keeps ones head and uses what ever hints (!) available
    one can navigate by the seat of ones pants in heavy fog but boy
    can it be terrorizing (well exciting anyway..).
                
    Pleasant Sailing! Ed

    We were on a run heading from Newport to Cuttyhunk (unusual NW wind)
    in our previous boat (O'day 25 with fin keel and outboard rudder).
    It was clear and although I was headed toward sow and pigs reef,
    I felt I could squeeze a little more distance before I had to turn
    toward the harbor.  We got ourselves into a vertiable forrest of
    pots and I was cutting them pretty close.  Needless to say, I cut
    one too close and the float line wrapped on my keel and stretched
    the pot behind us.  The line was absolutely taut and right beside
    my rudder so I couldn't turn to port or starboard.  The draw slowed
    us down quite a bit, but we were locked on a run heading right for
    the reef.  My plan was to take the sails down (hopefully before
    we hit bottom) and then go over the side with a knife.  Fortunately,
    as soon as I got the genny down the pot slipped off the keel and
    we were free.
    
    My wife loves to tell this story around our sailing friends.
    
    Encore un ete

    I've been sailing for nigh onto 25 years and have so many confessions
    that I don't thon the system has the capacity or anyone the interest
    to read all of them.  For a glimpse of the fiasco I had on my way
    to Bermuda last season read NOTE 372 and the replies.
    
    Every venture out to sea is a new experience with new and different
    situations that we all must face.  That's probably why we keep doing
    it.
    
    Happy sailing,
    Jeff
    

    Upon arriving at Ilfracombe in North Devon after my 'interesting'
    night sail (see: .0) I thought my troubles were over.  Boy, was
    I wrong.
    
      o  Crew chucked 90 foot of chain over the side to moor in 6 foot
         of water, just as the gear cable broke and the boat got
         stuck in reverse.  We charged astern towards the pier and just
         stopped as the anchor bit in !!

      o  Forgot about the rise of the tide when mooring (for the second
         time) and awoke in the morning to find the boat almost inside
         the pier.
    
      o  Due to tiredness, engaged forward gear and rammed the
         aforementioned pier at around 3 knots taking a chunk out of
         the bow.  
         
    And why, oh why, when you are coming into moor at a tricky location
    do all those heads appear in the companionways?  Nothing like
    having a good laugh and hoping the newcomers mess it up, 
    thinking 'there but for the grace of God', eh ? :-)
    
    Good Sailing.......
    
    P.S. I am safer now and have not had any real problems for quite
         a while.  This I put down to more sea miles under my belt
         or are the disasters piling up, ready for a big one ?

    in the Port Huron to Mackinaw race about 1964, we had a boat alongside
    covering our every move- we couldnt shake them. After a dozen or
    so tacks the skipper again hollered 'ready about' then whispered
    'sit still'. we banged the deck, rattled the winches, then put a
    hand over the green running light and turned on a red flashlight.
    Our 'friends' quickly tacked to cover us and sailed off into the
    night. We never saw them again and spent the rest of the night
    peacfully sailing our course. 

    Oh yeah... hows this for stupid?!! :-) 
    
    (such a good title for a note)
    
    One 5th of July, after staying overnight for the 4th in Newport
    harbor to watch the fireworks, we left for Marthas Vineyard to
    meet someone sailing there from the cape.  The fog was soup thick,
    but seemed to be burning off, so we figured the time we'd save motoring
    out past Newport Neck would be worth trying.  We followed about
    three other boats out past Castle Hill and past the first bell to
    port.
    
    The fog actually got thicker, and one by one the boats began to
    turn back.  The lead boat kept going, probably because *they* had
    a LORAN.  We decided to do a 180 and head back.  Disorientation
    came quick.   What "felt" North was not really North!  In this
    particular area the water is very deep close to the east shore and
    I made the incredibly stupid decision to try and get in close enough
    to follow the shore in.   
    
    I got just about close enough to see the surf break on a huge set
    of rocks before I wheeled her around. *Finally* coming to my senses
    I shut off the engine, listened for the bell, dragged out the chart,
    and believed my compass rather than my inner ear.  Radar reflector
    up the flag halyard and fog horn and bell out.
    
    MORAL:  1. Let bad weather meet you halfway, don't leave in it
    	    2. Believe your compass
    	    3. Stop (shut motor down) and listen in the fog every so often
            4. Get your bearings before changing course.
    
    A much more careful 
    
    Rick
    
    
    

    Dave's confession which started this (confusion between a lighthouse
    and bouy) is nearly the same as what happened to me.  After an evening
    rafted with friends at an island, I started for home alone at 10::pm.
    Even though I was completely familiar with the waters, I became
    confused when an extra red flashing bouy appeared ahead and to the
    left.  It seemed aways off, so I began looking at the chart to find
    out what it was (or where I was). As it appeared to get closer,
    I got more nervous, luffed to slow down and get reoriented, etc,etc.
    What was that light??!!  Then it disappeared.  I came up on the
    bouy (unlit) that marked a turn, went onto my new course, and shortly
    thereafter the flasher reappeared!!  It took another ten minutes
    to sink in.  I had seen Halfway Rock lighthouse (5 miles away) and mistook
    it to be a bouy 50 yards away.  It had been extinguished when it
    went behind an island.   I was glad that I was alone so that nobody
    else could see my embarassment.
    
    	Travis

Mine (latest(-:) was also a foggy tale, up off the West coast of Scotland.
Last year we were anchored in the Small Isles after a grim overnight
passage. The weather was lousy and, if it wasn't for wanting the
experience, or the nearest hostelry we would have stayed where we were by
popular vote. However, we decided we needed bad weather navigation practice
and set off in a heavy mist (ha ha).  Some time later, I was on watch as
Navigator and, having no modern electronic aids in the charter boat, I
decided that when landfall was made, I would know which way to turn to
achieve my objective (all textbook stuff...) 

Having run the calculated distance, we could not see the land and decided 
to keep going because the chart showed a clean coast.  Eventually we saw 
the land but it was not ahead but on the beam.  A quick look at the chart 
suggested we had sailed into either of two large bays and so we tacked out 
to open water again.  Knowing which direction we should go, we tacked along 
the coast, running out to sea and then back in again till we could see the 
coast.

I estimated we should be within sight of our objective, the Ardnamurchan 
lighthouse (so big, you should be able to see in in Canada :-)) but there 
was no sign of a loom.  We continued and everyone was eventually woken by 
the fog horn going off less then 100 metres from the boat.  Looking in the 
direction of the sound, we saw the horn and the houses below the light. It 
seemed we were so close as we could see the numbers on the doors. The light 
on its tall tower was way above us, above the cloud layer and we were under 
its beam so could not see the loom.  A quick tack saves us from parking in 
someone's garden and we sailed off for our next objective.

As we rounded the point and set off across the Sound of Mull, we heard
heavy multiple engines. Shortly after, we saw three warships pass us at no
small speed (No danger but had they seen us on Radar??? We were worried 
enough.) 

Shortly after, the sky cleared and we could see we were on course for our
next objective. We relaxed and had a beautiful night sail to our intended
anchorage. 

The lessons were that the offset landfall rule really works, providing you 
look for bays and the like that could confuse you, that lights from 
lighthouses can sometimes be above the cloud and invisible when you are 
close to them. and finally, the old instruments and manual methods can be 
relied on, even when you are disoriented.

If someone from the other watch reads this, I'll leave it to them to relate 
how they missed an island completely and were sailing in fog with a 
spinnaker up... Next stop Canada!

By the way, I can recommend the Western Isles as a cruising area if ever
you get over here. There are hundreds of small islands, many uninhabited,
with a wide range of flora, fauna, geological and historical interest. Most
anchorages, away from those associated with civilisation, are uncrowded and
often deserted. It's an area that really shows you what sailing is about.
If only the weather were more predictable... If anyone wants advice, give
me a mail/note. 

John

Several yachts were leaning onto the peer, the tide was out and
the harbor dry. The yacht beside us had put an anchor over the
wall on the other side of the peer attached to the spinaker
haylard to maintain the list toward the peer as the tide went out.

When the tide was comming in and he had refloated the haylard was
loosed from the cleat at the bottom of the mast.

Morning came; high tide came.
When he cast off and proceeded under engine from the peer the
haylard end sped up the mast until the knot in its end snaged
in the masthead pulley!
The 40 foot yacht listed heavily and the onlookers on the peer
dived for safety as the anchor came flying over the wall thru
the crowd. Luckily nobody was hurt but our skippers BMW was
not so lucky! The anchor hooked thru the rear pannel and ripped
off the bumper (trans. "fender").

This was the first recorded event in our club of a car/yacht
collision and the resulting Lloyds v. car insurance company
case was interesting!