I am going to recount the details of, and the events leading up to, the ignominious end to my day's outing in and around the Ventura harbor.
I started the day preoccupied with reducing the amount of time it took me to launch my West Wight Potter 15. The day started off badly immediately. I couldn't get the parking permit dispenser to accept any of my dollar bills, and so 5 minutes of my record setting attempt was blown before I even started. Nevertheless, I consoled myself with the thought that my ingenious mast-stepping routine (as yet untried) would recoup some of the loss. Dream on. Not only did my idea not work (for reasons I will not enter into here), but I couldn't even get the mast up using the normally accepted manner. I struggled and struggled. The mast would not go on the step. By the time I figured out what was wrong, another 15 minutes had gone down the tube.
Did any of you ever use that bottle cork that comes with the boat, the one used to plug the cockpit drain? Well, if you do, don't knock over an open can of coke, because the plug works, and your coke won't drain out. If you are a thorough person, as I am, you probably rammed the cork home quite hard (after all you don't want it to leak, do you?), and the small amount of cork left protruding is rather difficult to get hold of. You will not get it out using fingers alone. You won't push it out from the other side using your little finger (the only one small enough to go in the hole) either, because it is not long enough, so, unless you have something long and thin to put in the hole (as the actress said to the bishop), the cork stays.
Anyway, back to my story. Everything else worked great though, and I finished up motoring away from the ramp exactly one hour after pulling into the parking lot. My plan was to sail to Channel Islands Harbor and return, a distance of some 12 miles total. The weather forecast had been for 4 ft swells with interval of 14 seconds. When I got outside Ventura Harbor, I started having second thoughts. The swells were, in my estimation, about 6 ft, with intervals of about 8 seconds, on top of which the occasional one had a breaking crest. These are swells?
The Potter was happy enough though. I, however, didn't feel comfortable continuing, since I am still getting to know the boat, and it appeared that conditions would worsen rather than get better. Consequently I chose to return to the harbor and just potter about. I tied up to a floating bait platform and enjoyed my lunch, taking advantage of the time to spill my coke. By this time, the breeze had freshened noticeably, and I thought I would take the opportunity to sail in the harbor, pushing the boat to a good heel. After a while I decided that I would venture one last time outside the harbor to experience something a little more exciting, then I would call it a day.
As I approached the mouth of the harbor, it was apparent that conditions had worsened somewhat from earlier in the day since waves were constantly breaking over the breakwater. That was when I made a bad decision. I decided to sail on the protected side of the breakwater instead of going outside. This is an area that I have sailed many times before; indeed I had been sailing there only 3 weeks before with no indication at all of any problems. The depth had always been approximately 6-10 ft.
Here is my situation. I have the keel locked down and the hatch board in place (because I had been planning to go outside in fairly rough conditions). The wind was fairly light in the shadow of the breakwater, and as far as I knew there was nothing to be concerned about. Then things started to go wrong.
I HAD hit bottom! It was ironic that the keel was lashed down (since I am very aware of the danger posed by an unrestrained keel, and also, as I have mentioned, I had been planning to sail outside the harbor, in fairly rough weather). Since the keel couldn't lift, it needs must stand on the bottom - not a very stable platform for a boat and its occupant. The boat was in effect trying to perform a balancing act, like a drunk standing on one leg while being given a sobriety test.
Now, if you were a boat, teetering on one leg, which side would you choose to fall toward? I would fall to the side where the center of gravity was (the same side as my human occupant)! Said human occupant was sitting on the windward side (having retained that amount of sailing lore from learning to sail in Sidney Sabots in Ventura harbor in 1973 under the tutelage of Leo Robbins, and having received a certificate to that effect), so, the boat leans to windward. At the time of said leaning, I had still not realized that I had hit bottom. As far as I knew I was serenely cruising in at least 6 ft of water. I think most people would find this a little disconcerting. In my case, being of an orderly mind, and being a firm believer in Newtonian physics, I was completely disoriented. Let me put that another way...it blew my mind!
Within seconds though, I was smart enough to figure out what was happening! What to do? Get keel up. First get hatch undone and open so can get in cabin so can get at keel gear. (Cabin all nicely closed up because of previous anticipation of going outside.) Get to keel gear, frantically undo lashing, pull on line, keel won't budge. Always has done before, won't now. Should do! Won't! Don't believe this! Pop out of cabin, mean rocks...UGLY rocks. Got to get keel up, start motor, get away from nasty, nasty, horrible, mean rocks! Back in cabin, haul viciously on keel line, keel comes up, why? Why not before? Didn't it realize I was in a hurry?
One part of brain trying to process all the things that have gone wrong and shouldn't, trying to come up with explanations, however unlikely. Another part of brain wallowing in self pity at the immense unfairness of it all. Biggest part of brain useless, overwhelmed by panic, emotion! Awful, awful rocks, leave my boat alone!
Grrrind, raaaasp, bang. That's my boat! It felt like the rocks were raping my precious. Everything had an air of unreality. Somehow I found myself on the bow, sticking my legs through the pulpit, and thrusting ineffectually at the rocks with my feet. Complete waste of time. A jump in time...I'm on the rocks (that is, me personally) shoving on the pulpit. Don't remember getting off the boat, or how. Remember thinking "if I do push the boat away, how do I get back on it?" Didn't have to solve that problem, boat was under impression that rocks were nice and had partially climbed up on one. Was happy to grind up and down, but not back off.
Hold desperately to boat, legs flailing trying to get a foothold on a rock, any rock. Find one, slip off. Keep trying. Got life vest on. Look like a cork with legs. Finally get both feet planted on a submerged rock. Hope springs eternal...I bent my knees, got under the gunwale, and optimistically pushed in the fond hope that I could right the boat. Look you guys. When I was talking about the cork being hard to get out, it was a joke. It was hard to get out but I did, really truly. But I don't think I and a forklift truck could have righted the boat. Gave up trying after one push.
Climbed higher on the rocks, clutching the end of the painter. Stood there forlornly, adrenaline rush fading, becoming aware of being wet through and cold wind. Start to look around, no boats in sight. Wave comes over top of breakwater, gets rid of whatever heat I had managed to build up. Hey, great, let's really get into this! Maybe we could have an earthquake or something.
Though there didn't seem to be much prospect of help being forthcoming from that direction, I am not averse to clutching at straws. I gesticulated vigorously toward the harbor - a kind of up and over movement with my hand - meant to convey the idea that they should go up the rocks and over the top toward the Harbor Patrol building. Though there wasn't the slightest chance of my voice reaching them, I shouted anyway: "Harbor Patrol! Harbor Patrol!" For a moment, a faint glimmer of hope burned because they both started back to the park, but at a pace that could only be described as a slow amble. Although their legs were definitely moving, they were making very little progress.
They certainly didn't evince any sense of urgency. Then it dawned on me! They must have thought that my gestures meant I was putting on more of a show, pretending my hand was an airplane, and seeing my mouth moving, took that to mean I was making the appropriate plane noises. They probably figured that wasn't much of an encore and so they might as well leave. After what seemed like a couple of days or so, they disappeared over the top of the rocks, without so much as a backward glance. Don't think help coming from that direction.
Look other way. Power boat, maybe 20 ft long, approaching from north! They have obviously seen me and are approaching cautiously. One guy kneeling on bow, holding a line. They get close enough for us to communicate and want to know what I would like them to do to help me. I want my boat off the rocks in the worst way.
Anyway, for whatever reason, I felt that my only option was to suggest that he connect to my painter and thus pull on the bow sideways to the breakwater and gradually swing the boat around, pivoting on the stern. This they did, and perhaps this is when the mast got broken, I really don't know. They seemed to have a remarkably difficult time towing the boat, and all I could think was the reason was the mast ends were digging into the bottom like a glorified anchor. A bloody expensive one!
Guys still struggling with my boat, have been gradually working north, AWAY from harbor! Look back at mother ship. Unloading one of those blowup things with a motor on its stern. Bloody 'ell! Here comes Jaques Cousteau??? No. Just a nice young fellow, but he starts cruising past me. I think he was more interested in what was going on with my boat rather than me. Turns blow up thing around and comes toward me again..Gets fairly close, figure better say something, Shout " How about a lift? You are going my way!" He knew I wasn't joking though. Like I said he was a really nice chap, didn't ask for tricks, brought inner tube right up to rocks and helped me off.
Right about this time, the Harbor Patrol boat comes racing around the corner. More nice fellows! If boat wasn't being beat up, and I wasn't freezing cold, I would have enjoyed it all! We take off after Harbor Patrol boat, first two guys figure they have done all they can and take off. Wave thanks. (Nice fellows.) Harbor patrol boat and we in blowup thing take up where they left off. There is a 1/2 inch, 25 ft. dock line loose in the water close by. I grab it, and we inch up to the boat. I lean out as far as I can (nearly fall in again), try to tie to cockpit cleat. No good. Tie to motor mount instead. Hand line to Harbor Patrol guys. They pass over a lovely big thick blanket for me.I get wrapped up and we take off to mother ship. The mother ship is actually the California Fish and Game Department's boat, Yellowtail. I really don't know how big it is, I'll make a wild guess at 50 ft.
By this time the salvage efforts had drifted further north, almost to the end of the breakwater, where the waves were heaping up as they came around the end of it. The skipper said that he thought he should go over and maybe he would be able to help in some way. Of course, it wasn't possible for him to go behind the breakwater, so he had to go around it on the weather side. The waves were really heaping up in the harbor entrance, and they looked pretty scary. He pointed the bow directly into them and powered ahead. We had an exciting ride just getting to the other end of the breakwater, constantly shipping waves over the bow, and right over the cabin windows. It was amazing how that large boat was thrown around.
The Potter was by no means pumped dry but was emptied sufficiently to where we were able to get it on the trailer. I pulled the boat out of the water but still on the ramp so that the incline would assist in further draining. At this point I removed that cute little cork and also the bilge drain plug. I had the heater on in the car, so I sat in there in relative comfort while the boat drained. I couldn't believe how long it took! By this time, my saviors were ready to leave, so after taking my name, et cetera, and getting my heartfelt thanks, they took off.
Regards to you all,
Bernie Johnson,
WWP 15 #2357, HMS Pinafore,
Santa Paula, California