[The story above is the only P-19 turtle tale I have read although I've heard rumors of one other incident - possibly in Long Beach, California - but I could not confirm it and have no details -- HLG]

I've only recently become a web user, and even more recently located the Potter resources on the net. I subscribed several weeks ago, but have been holding back on the discussion for fear of looking silly and not having enough sailing experience to offer much advice. But the recent inquiry about the couple who turtled their P-19 was one I recognized immediately -- it was our boat, at the time unnamed (that'll teach us) on Canyon Lake in Arizona.

While I certainly agree that not putting the centerboard down is human error (which is why we didn't immediately sell the boat and give up sailing altogether), it was a frightening, harrowing experience that gave me nightmares for weeks afterward. The "what-if's" were dreadful.

I believe that many new Potter owners are first-time sailors. Here's what happened. If you want more details, I'd be happy to share them. This was a learning experience not EVER to be forgotten.

My mother bought us a P-19 from California and had it shipped to Phoenix. We always wanted a boat, but had never sailed or powered one of our own. We hired an experienced sailing instructor to take us out on launch day, and it was a helpful experience. He made a list of things that he would modify on the boat, and we dutifully took notes. There wasn't very much wind at all that day, but it was hot (July in Phoenix) so we just enjoyed the experience of being out on our own boat on the water.

Next weekend, we thought it would be nice to share our new-found joy with our daughter, son-in-law and two and one-half year old grandson, Andrew. We drove to Canyon Lake which is, like most lakes in Arizona, man-made. They filled up a very high mountain canyon with water which makes for deep water and spectacular surroundings. We heard that the lake wasn't particularly noted for good sailing (the mountains on both sides either spoil the wind or create tricky moments), but the scenery is breathtaking and we liked the crew.

After a morning of motoring around a lot and dragging a tow line for swimming, we located a small patch of sandy beach. Smugly pulling up the centerboard to take advantage of the 6" draft, we spent a few lazy hours sunning and eating a picnic lunch. Andrew played on the beach collecting rocks and pouring sand into his bucket. It was a peaceful, lazy, idyllic summer day.

About 2:30 p.m. we noticed that the wind was clearly picking up. Finally, some sailing weather! We quickly gathered up our stuff and hopped back on the boat. We were stern in to the shore, so it was easy to just push her off and hop aboard. My husband, James, went to the bow and my daughter, Angela, stood on the cabin top hoisting the mainsail. Andrew and I stood in the cockpit -- our rule was that someone would always be within one foot of Andrew at all times, no exceptions. My son-in-law, Britt, stayed in the water. He intended to let the boat pull him along by the tow rope that streamed off the stern. He was wearing a PFD and the lake is fairly narrow. If he got tired, he would just let go and blow his whistle. We were confident in our brand new 5 hp motor; we could easily go back to pick him up. The water was warm and inviting -- the temperature in Phoenix at that time of the year is always above 100 degrees.

We literally did not even think about the centerboard.

Angela hoisted the mainsail and tied it off. My husband prepared to hoist the jib. In a matter of SECONDS, however, the boat began to heel in very, s-l-o-w motion and I remember thinking to myself, "Wow, this is going to be some good sailing." Microseconds later, it dawned on me that the boat was going to continue to heel and was in fact going to go all the way over. I didn't see my husband when he hit the water from his position on the bow. I only remember my daughter falling backward into the water and the mast fell parallel with her. There was a combined look of surprise and horror on her face. I instinctively grabbed Andrew's little arm (yes, he was wearing a good PFD). We slid into the water as the cockpit rolled to a 90 degree position, but the force and speed temporarily pressed us under the surface of the water. The boat was going through a starboard roll. Holding tight to Andrew's arm, I let us just sink in the water and kicked away from the overturning cockpit.

Angela surfaced after her fall -- uninjured -- and, not surprisingly, went into a sheer state of panic at not immediately seeing Andrew. We popped up like corks just a second later, but not before she was nearly hysterical. Britt was frantically swimming toward the spot where he saw us go under. Andrew was fine; he didn't even swallow any water, but Angela was screaming and crying and in shock. We all stared open-mouthed and in silence at the perfectly formed overturned boat hull bobbing on the surface of the lake. We were in about 70 feet of water.

My husband is nearly blind without his glasses, and they fell off as he went overboard. Remarkably, my boat shoes and sunglasses stayed on. We counted heads and made sure everyone was okay. No one was injured. We then turned away from the boat to wave our arms at anyone who might have seen us. Thankfully, the crowded lake was full of boaters and they rushed to our aid. Angela calmed down a bit once Andy was aboard another boat happily eating a cookie. She and I swam around grabbing items that instantaneiously floated to the surface.

Make no mistake about it, the positive flotation in the P-19 works. For almost 90 minutes she floated upside down while power boaters helped us dive to take the sails off and to loosen the shrouds. The men hooked lines around the hull so that a powerful motorboat could flip her upright. Since the centerboard was securely up in the cabin (and did not come loose while upside down to hit the cabin roof) there was no way to right the boat by putting weight on the centerboard. We also could not dive into the cabin to lower (raise) the centerboard into its intended position outside the hull, due to gravity of course.

The companionway door was open when the boat turned over, as was the hatch. Amazingly, we lost very little property while the boat was overturned. I kept picturing a shower of items streaming out of the boat and down 70 feet to the bottom of the lake, but the boat apparently filled to its maximum capacity with water and our belongings just sloshed around inside the cabin. The items we had in the cockpit all floated to the surface. The only belongings that actually sunk to the lake bottom were some silverware, a pillow and some food items. And, of course, James's prescription glasses. Obviously, we sustained water damage to some items that remained, including to medicine in the first aid bag, wiring, the battery and other minor items. Most amazing of all was the LACK of damage to the boat.

The mast stayed put and did not bend or sustain any structural damage. We recovered the sails, shrouds, cushions and floating tool kit. The lovely people who righted our boat did it very slowly, and with great care. The water was fairly calm; no monster waves on this man-made fresh water lake. It took monumental effort to tow the boat back to the launch area. Once upright, she was full to the cockpit coamings (including the cabin). My husband and another helpful soul stood in the cockpit baiing as much water as possible and she did not sink.

The local sheriff's office -- game and fish division -- came by, but were of little help. They were mostly concerned about injuries and about determining if alcohol was a factor. We had no alcohol on board. Fellow boaters were much more helpful and made useful suggestions about how to turn the boat upright. They really saved the day.

Our ordeal was not over even when we reached the safety of the launch ramp. A sudden summer monsoon came up, attempting to pound our swamped little Potter into the dock. Fenders and helpful bodies at the dock held her off. Dozens of hands unloaded our soggy cushions and belongings and spread them out on the deck. We were trying to get as much weight as possible out of the boat so that she could be lifted onto the trailer. The storm filled the boat with all the water that had been bailed. Battery operated pumps appeared and we finally got enough water out to put her on the trailer. It was 9 p.m.

First thing next morning we took the boat to the local sailboat shop (the one who mentioned our accident to the potential P-19 buyer). Because we didn't let the motor or boat sit around very long, the engine recovered just fine and only minor repairs were required to turnbuckles, etc. We had them perform a through inspection of the mast, rigging, engine, battery, sails, etc.

Before taking the boat to the shop, we removed everything possible. We immediately sprayed the cushions, headliner, carpeting and the sails with a solution of baking soda and water. This neutralized any battery acid that may have spilled on these items. Later, we entirely washed the interior with the same baking soda solution, from bow to stern. Next, we bathed it in Simple Green. The cushions dried out and are none the worse for the wear. We replaced the carpeting, but were going to do that anyway since the boat came with jute-backed carpeting.

We immediately signed up for sailing lessons and have earned coastal cruising certificates. We NEVER forget to put the centerboard down. I thought seriously about having a sign made to attach to the tiller which says, "IT'S THE CENTERBOARD, STUPID," but the memory of my daughter's anguished face as I surfaced with Andy in my arms is sign enough for me. We considered naming the boat THIS END UP, but decided she would be forever branded with a silly name that was entirely a result of our inexperience and stupidity. Instead, because she treated us so fairly and because we work in the legal field, we named her DUE PROCESS. This was clearly an accident that was our fault, not the boat's. I am astounded to this day when I read about people who put their centerboard up to sail in various conditions. We would rather give up a little speed than risk what happened to us at Canyon Lake.

We got tired of trailering and the brutal sun in Arizona, so we moved the boat to San Diego. We travel there at least once per month. I am scheduled to crew on a 48-foot sailboat next month when the owners begin their liveaboard experience with a trip to Cabo. We have great respect for the serious part of sailing a vessel, and the responsibility of protecting its precious cargo. We continue to learn from each sailing experience and will never minimize our accident in any way.

Our grandson isn't allowed to go sailing at all until he is a little older. I really don't blame his parents for that. We are learning how to handle our P-19 in all types of conditions while in the relatively safe surroundings of San Diego Bay. When we are a little more confident of our abilities, we'll take DUE PROCESS over to Coronado or Catalina and then, who knows?

The P-19 floats when full of water, both turtled and upright. She is a sturdy boat and is a joy to sail. The workers at the sailboat shop told us they admired our willingness to "get back on the horse after falling off." We never had any question about it. We goofed. The boat did not.

Our accident could have been much worse. We could have been in colder, rougher water. We could have been more isolated. Andrew could have been down below -- although with our rule about having someone with him at all times, we would have been more likely to have noticed the centerboard right there in the middle of the cabin. We learned some valuable lessons about hurrying, about over-confidence, about the necessity for establishing checklists and/or routines, about not having a designated Skipper who is giving orders. We also don't tow anyone behind the boat in San Diego Bay! James wears an attachment to his glases to keep them floating if they go overboard.

The experience shook us rigid, as my grandfather used to say.

Sharing this information is embarrassing and is likely to engender some snickers from old-timers who know this type of accident could "never happen to them." That's okay. If sharing this information prevents one NEW sailor from a similar mishap, then we'll take the ribbing.

I'm sorry this turned out to be such a long response. My grandson could have put it much more informally and much more briefly. When asked whether he remembers that day on Canyon Lake, he says, "Yeah, grandpa's boat fell over and Andy went for a swim!"

He sure did.