Konza Sailor, March 2004, page 4

I just read a sailing article about a young couple with very little money who was trying to escape from the Middle East during the Gulf War. They had never been on a sailboat but thought that an exciting adventure would get them away at a cheap price. So they bought a very old wooden sailboat that, by everyone's admission, should have been set on fire for the salvaged hardware. (That sounds familiar) They departed not knowing how to sail or make boat repairs. (That sounds familiar also) They described their first day at sea: "Twelve hours out the boat began to sink at roughly the time that engine quit. Free from its mountings, the saloon table tore loose from the cabin sole, two 6.5 gallon diesel jerry cans spit apart, all 4 storage lockers burst open, tipping our personal possessions into the diesel and bilge water, two sails and 300 feet of anchor rode washed overboard, the 35 pound CQR anchor swung against the hull, splintering the wood, the wind hit gale force and excrement from the toilet splattered all over our clothes." The article went on to say that the young couple still has the sailing bug.

As I put down the magazine I was reminded of ANOTHER MEMORABLE SAIL that still lingers in my mind.

The last day of November 2003 was a great day for sailing on Tuttle Creek Lake. There were just two BVYC boats heeling in the delightful wind and 60-degree temperature. Toward the end of the day the wind began to build so we considered tying in a reef, but instead, decided to call it a day. As we entered the harbor the building northeast wind must have been a bit stronger than we realized for we rounded up short of our mooring ball. On the second pass we were also a bit short and I had to reach far over the bow to grab the pickup buoy only to have the pickup staff break off in my hand. On the third pass we rounded up properly and I reached into the dinghy, grabbed one of our three mooring lines and secured it to the bow eye of our sailboat. The sails had just been taken down and centerboard raised when we noticed that our boat was nearly broadside with one of the few remaining boats still moored in the harbor. Our mooring line had broken from the shackle on the mooring ball and we were adrift!!

I knew that the outboard was low on fuel so our best bet was to quickly get the mainsail raised. But, alas, the sail

caught in the spreader so we were forced to maneuver under partial sail between the buoys until the ship finally pointed into the wind and the sail was raised to the top. Now, with the helmsman screaming that the boat was out of control, we made another pass at the mooring. In spite of the control problem, we rounded up to the ball nicely where I grabbed the dinghy and fumbled for another mooring line that had been tossed into the dinghy. The helmsman shouted that we appeared to be adrift again. "Not so," I said, for I had a good grip on the dinghy not knowing that it had broken loose from the mooring ball and that our sailboat along with the dinghy was indeed adrift. Perhaps it's time to crank up the outboard?

With extreme difficulty (The frenzied helmsman still insisting that the boat could not be controlled) we were able to tack back and forth to the northeast part of the harbor where we fueled up and tried the outboard. The circus had been going on for so long that the other BVYC sailor had moored his boat, saw our distress and was now in his dinghy at our mooring ready to lend a hand. He prepared to cleat our one remaining line that was still attached to the broken pickup buoy as we made yet another pass. By this time, the distraught helmsman turned the tiller over to me and under both sail and power we made our approach toward our mooring and our friend in his dinghy. And, we approached at breakneck speed as the tangle of lines and sheets wrapped in arms and legs held the sail broad onto the now very heavy wind. There was no doubt that the boat was out of control as it collided with our friend nearly spilling him into the cold water when our dinghy flew over his, our outboard nearly missing him while snarling the lines, dinghies, outboards etc. When the mess had been cleared and we discovered that a popped up rudder (and no centerboard) had been the cause of the erratic control, our panic subsided. Actually, the look of panic had been transferred to our friend who now regretted that he had come to our aid but still was ready to attach our mooring line on the next pass even though he did not know what to expect. There was a feeling of relief by everyone when we were finally secured to our mooring.

Like the young couple from the Middle East, we're still hanging in there and can't wait for the sailing season to begin. We hope the BVYC rescuer has short memory and still has the sailing bug.