So fess up - what was *your* worst F...

[CapnK]

...Foul up? Ever come close to losing the boat? Or got real lucky and were just get mightily embarrassed by a decision (or not) that you made (or shouldn't have)?

I bet you have at least one tale to tell. I know I have one. Or two... or more... :)

Welcome to the Dirty Laundry thread... ;D

[CapnK]

BTW - I've got two and maybe more stories for this one. :D

[Bubba the Pirate]

No ones brave enough, huh?
I bought that Bayfield 29 in July. Bobbing at the dock, she looked fairly clean along the waterline, but I knew that she'd been sitting there at least a year.  I failed to dive on her right there at the dock and took off for Wilmington. I could not get the boat to get over 3.5 knots. The trip from Little River to Southport should have been about 7 hours but took 13. At Southport, I hired a diver on a Sunday morning to clean off the prop and the hull. It was like having a different boat after that. 

[Godot]

I survived youth. I'm not sure how. Keeping stories to sailing (my worst stories involve flying and climbing), here is number 1:

When I bought my first, ahem, "big" boat (Seafarer 24), I had to get her out of the marina I bought her at on April 1st. There were SCAs going. The motor was a challenge to get, and keep, running. But I had read a lot and thought I was prepared. Left, got into the bay, and found out the jib sheets were too short. Every tack (single handed) I had to go forward and grab the new sheet, so I could sheet her in. I didn't have an autopilot, so as often as not the boat would fall onto the original tack and I'd have to do it all again. Waves were regularly crashing over the boat. I looked below at one point and there was six inches of water over the cabin sole (back siphoning through the bilge pump). Scared the poop out of me.

I made very little progress, just tacking back and forth across the bay into wind that I recall as being well into the thirties. Eventually night set in.  It got harder in the dark. I didn't know where to go, or what to do. I had exceeded my experience and decided right then and there that if I lived through the night I would give up sailing forever. I went to anchor in some shallowish water, again with waves crashing over the deck, and found that my anchor chain was badly fouled (it broke free at one point during the day and I dumped the anchor and chain in the forehatch to get it out of the way). It took half an hour, down below, in the dark (I don't remember why; but the cabin lights weren't working), with water sloshing across the sole and the boat doing all sorts of really ugly things while unattended, to get the anchor free. Back on deck, back into shallow water, and the anchor was down and happily set on the first try. This was not an anchorage. I couldn't fight my way into any of those (well...maybe I could; but it was dark, I had lost my confidence, and I was scared and exhausted). I just anchored on the side of the bay in a baby gale, crawled below, and crawled into a ball on the settee and, somehow, fell asleep in the washing machine that was my little boat.

The next day was sunny, hot, and calm. I pumped out the boat, and had a leisurely 30 mile or so motor to my marina. I didn't have much fuel, so I motored slowly (I still managed to run out of gas about fifty feet from my slip...sigh). I felt much better and decided that maybe I didn't need to give up sailing after all.

A list of mistakes in no particular order:

Mistake 1: I didn't sea trial the boat at all. I didn't know the lazy jib sheet was going to be too short to make it back to the cockpit. I didn't know the bilge pump would back siphon. I didn't know the anchor wasn't well secured. heck, I didn't know anything.

Mistake 2: General inexperience. I shouldn't have pushed myself to take the boat out for the first time in any kind of weather event. Really stupid.

Mistake 3: I didn't bring enough fuel. Heck, I though there was plenty of wind, what do I need more than five gallons of gas for? It opened day two up to more trouble. Why didn't I just pull into a marina and get more gas? For some reason I was convinced it would just take too long. I was really frazzled and not thinking right.

Mistake 4: Overconfidence. One does not learn everything from a book. And my sailing up to that point was in much smaller boats.

Mistake 5: I should have brought someone more experienced with me. I just didn't have any sailing friends in the area back then.

Mistake 6: Once it was clear that I was in over my head, I really should have aborted right there. Too much pride, I guess.

Mistake 7: Not keeping the anchor in working order.

Mistake 8: Oh, for crying out loud. I think I've listed enough.

The good news is that I came through it just fine. Over time my seamanship has improved fairly dramatically (I'm not shy about pushing my limits...although I sometimes push a little too hard). I still make plenty of mistakes; but from what I learn each time, it makes me more prepared for the next event. Every year there is less and less drama onboard. Either the sea gods are looking kindly upon me, or I'm actually learning something.

[Godot]

I have other stories to tell. But someone else has to confess first.

[CharlieJ]

well, I've had a couple. Two from my days on my Cross 35-

Built and launched the boat in Jacksonville Fla. Docks were wide  places, with narrow walkways between.  with a ripping tide past them. About the third time I took the boat out, as we were returning to the docks, turned and ran down tide for the dock Did I mention the space ended in  a low bridge? anyway, coming back in,  misjudged and put the port outer hull completely up onto the dock. After we alll settled down, took about 6 guys to push it back off !!!

Second, same boat

We had run up the ICW across the St John's river to an inlet with nice sandy beaches. Intent was to beach, scrap and paint bottom. Do one side  one day, sit out a tide cycle, turn boat around and do other side next day.. All of that went beautifully, and made ready to go back to docks. Wife says-should we put some fuel in tank? I said nah-- got plenty. So we left

This section o f water is known as Sisters creek and runs under a draw bridge just before the River. Going  under bridge was slow, as we were bucking a full incoming tide Tide range there is about 6 feet. At any rate, as he was lowering the bridge, when we were not quite to the river, the engine just quit!!! We began moving backwards towards a now closed drawbridge. The tender sounded alarms and started stopping traffic, as i raced to the bow and dumped anchor over, and  left chain run . Thankfully it grabbed as I was standing looking up at the bridge tender who had all expectations of us wiping the masts on his bridge- we were less than 20 feet away.

I got the fuel can, poured it into the tank, bled the engine (diesel) and got it running, we hauled anchor and motored on back to the docks

Wife never said a word- she knew I was saying to myself- DUMBASS- DUMBASS :)

I should point out- the boat was our only home at the time !!

[DavidCrosby]

Many years ago, I had bought a derelict 1975 Morgan Classic 300 for next to nothing and spent 18 months of Saturdays resurrecting her.

Late in the first season of sailing her, I was at the lake by myself and spending the night onboard at the marina. It was early October in southern, IL and quite chilly out (The lake water was still quite warm). At about 11:00 pm, I had gone out on deck to a crisp, clear night with a full moon. The marina's flag was just lightly fluttering. I decided on the spur of the moment that I would go out for a nice, slow moonlit sail down the lake a ways and anchor out for the night in one of the protected coves.

My restoration was not fully complete. I had no place at the bow to secure the anchor while under sail. My transmission on the rebuilt Atomic 4 was not 100%.  Something was not quite right with the adjustment and it would slip out of gear easily. And I did not have a lot of experience with this particular boat.

I laid the anchor and rode on the fore deck in preparation for use. I hanked on the 150. My plans were to just pull up the jib and drift down the lake. I did not even bother with uncovering the main.

Leaving the marina, you hang a quick right and track along the dam until out into the open lake. The marina is very protected from the north by a peninsula that jots out into the lake.  So, as soon as I cleared the marina entrance, I pulled up the 150 and started drifting along. As soon as I cleared the peninsula, all heck broke loose. The wind speed picked up dramatically and the waves were 4 - 5 feet. The boat heeled over hard and the anchor was sliding and banging all around the deck. Just to my starboard side was the rock rip rap of the dam. I had to tack and I needed to do it quickly. I put the helm over and we turned into the wind and stopped. I could not get her through the eye of the wind with just that big jib up.  So, I quickly fired up the motor and put it in forward and applied throttle. Thankfully the motor started immediately. I tried tacking with the motor and with the revs I needed to get through the wind, the transmission kept slipping. I had not dropped the jib.  Just wanted to tack.  But till could not get through the eye of the wind. By now, I am getting extremely close to the rocks. I was on the verge of losing my boat. I knew I had to get that jib down to have any hope of turning through the wind. My fear with dropping the jib is that I would then end up with the jib sheets in my prop. And if not the jib sheets, the anchor was on the verge of going overboard in a location that it would not possibly be of any help.

I turned into the wind, dropped the jib, allowing it to drop to the deck as much as possible and managed to get through the wind on to the new tack. I was done, I rolled wildly in the waves and scurried back to the marina.

I have seen these conditions many times since.  The warm water and cold air creates a temperature inversion and generates a lot of wind that runs the length of the lake (8 miles). On the south west end of the lake, the waves become quite large (for an inland lake).

[DavidCrosby]

This one is not an "almost lost the boat" story. It is not even a "small boat" story. And I really don't think it was an "F...up," but the owner of the boat seemed to be inclined to think so.

Summer of 2009, I crossed the Atlantic from St. Thomas to Azores and then on to Scotland as crew onboard a Beneteau Oceanis 473. 

We were in the final days of the leg from Horta, Azores to Oban, Scotland. We were skirting along the west coast of Ireland. Middle of the day, I was on watch, everyone else was down below. On the AIS, I see this gaggle of five ships out ahead and in our path. I am paying a lot of attention to them to determine what they are doing and if I should alter course. As I gain visual contact, I continue to watch.  Three ships are clustered together off to the left. Another is fairly far off to the right and remains fairly stationary.  The fifth ship is milling around in between, but seems to be headed over towards the three on the left. My desired path is directly through the gap between the four on the left and the one on the right. I decide, I am sticking with the course and will proceed with caution. (This is not a tiny gap - it is maybe one to two miles wide).

I never was 100% sure of what was going on with these five ships.  I am guessing that they were fishing vessels and the biggest was a mother ship and the others were probably there to transfer their catch.  At least that was my assumption.  The AIS info gave no real clear indication.

So, we are getting to the point of crossing between those on the left and the one on the right when I see this large black RIB with numerous men onboard all dressed in black, roaring towards us. I call out to our skipper / owner, "Bonnie, I need your help up here!" She pops up on deck, saying "What's up?" I respond, "We have company coming in fast."  She says, "Oh poop, David, what have you done?"  Our old sea dog Tim, comes up on deck, assesses the situation. Reaches into the lazarette and pulls out the American flag and nonchalantly drops it into its holder and unfurls it. With that one simple action, the RIB does a 180 and heads back to the mother ship.

All is well in the world and we proceed. What did I do?

[SeaHusky]

I have made two mistakes with my current boat.

1. I bought her in the water with all the gear that accumulates on a boat over the years included. I would unload and sort through it when I had arrived at my home port two days sail away. Had some rough weather on the way but enjoyed testing how she reacted with too much canvas and tacking against large waves.
The day after arrival I started going through all the stuff in the very large cockpit lockers. What I found was that there were no, and never had been, sea cocks on the self drains and the hoses were so old they were actually leaking through cracks in the rubber. I also found that the bilge pump was about the same...

2. I hauled out with the intention to only fix those things and then spend lots of time relaxing on the water.
This was four years ago. The boat is still dry...

[Frank]

2. I hauled out with the intention to only fix those things and then spend lots of time relaxing on the water.
This was four years ago. The boat is still dry...

Wow!!
On the bright side, you certainly have a "clean slate" to creat your personal interior! Share your plans, and your progress as you move along.

[Frank]

I don't understand about fessing up to screw ups?

I've never:
Gone aground
Been off coarse
Messed up docking (ever!)
Drug anchor
Had violent accidental gybes
Screwed up at the boat ramp
Lost expensive articles overboard
(like a computer years ago and new iPad recently)

Can't see what the problems are?

PS
I'm practicing to be a politician 🤣🤣

[Godot]

...
I'm practicing to be a politician 🤣🤣

Too funny

[CharlieJ]

you know there are two types of sailors right?

Those who have run aground,, and those who lie   about it :) :)

[Frank]

you know there are two types of sailors right?

Those who have run aground,, and those who lie   about it :) :)

Lie about it!
Hence the "practicing to be a politician"  😄

Trust me.... I've done everything on my list there countless times!!

[w00dy]

Great stories all! So much to learn from each other. I can't wait to share mine when I get a chance to type for longer.

[w00dy]

Excellent thread, so I guess its time for me to share. I've made so many mistakes its hard to choose one. Some make for better stories though, so I hope you'll enjoy this one.

On my 23rd birthday, I drove down to S. Texas to visit my parents and brought my new girlfriend along to meet them. My mother had made plans to make a special dinner for me that night, but we had the afternoon free. It was a beautiful, windy spring day and I decided I would show my new lady friend the delights of small boat sailing, which was entirely new to her. We took my parent's decrepit old sunfish and headed down to the lake.

The water and air temps were relatively warm for early March, and we proceeded to have a blast, zooming across the choppy lake in 20 kt sustained winds. After a few hours, we had had our fun and not wanting to be late for dinner, I began to turn the boat back toward the boat ramp. We didn't transfer our weight quickly enough and as we gybed, the boat kept heeling over until we had spilled off into the water.

I had already discussed the potential for capsizing with Raylay and we had gone over the steps to right the boat and get underway again. I had also ensured that she was wearing a life jacket, though mine was neatly tucked away behind the footwell. At any rate, we never got the chance to practice righting the boat. Instead of flipping over completely upside down, Sunfish dumped us off, then settled, heeled over 90 degrees. At this angle, the forward part of the lateen sail was still above water, so it caught wind and sailed away from us at a high rate of speed, leaving us both floating in the middle of the lake.

I've never had a boat sink out from under me yet, but the experience of being far from shore, boatless, with nothing but the clothes on your back, is singular and sobering. We were approximately a mile from the nearest shoreline, though with the strength of the wind and chop, there was really only one direction for us to swim. I was a strong swimmer then, but even so I was faced with swimming a greater distance in open water than I ever had before. Fortunately, the water temperature in that lake in March was quite warm (70F?).

Raylay and I began swimming downwind, pacing ourselves and conserving energy. After what seemed like an eternity, we reached a part of the lake that was full of dead tree stems, sticking up above the water, left from back before the river had been dammed and the land flooded. We both climbed into the dead trees and took the opportunity to rest a bit. It was one of the more surreal moments in my life. After 20 min of waiting, we got into the water again and proceeded to swim the final distance to shore. It was with great relief that we both walked, barefoot into the mud and brush that made up the far side of the lake.

Now, we found ourselves on the far side of a large lake, which was not developed at all, but actually part of a large state park and nature preserve. We began to pick our way along the shoreline, trying to avoid having to walk inland, barefoot through the brambles, brush, and sharp grass. Slowly, we made our way back toward the boat ramp. Our adventures were not quite over for the day, though.

As we walked along, we came to a small creek, or tributary to the large body of water. This remote little backwater was the perfect place for an alligator habitat and we began to see them along the shore, in the water, and nesting in places.  :-\ It was at this point we had to decide whether to continue to walk along the banks, going further back into what was prime reptile real estate, or to cut straight across the creek, swimming through the brown murky water.

We chose the quick route through the water and emerged on the other side, unmolested. We didn't look back as we began to near the boat ramp, and saw my fathers car there, with him standing on the dock and looking out over the water. Of all the things we faced that day, surely the scariest was explaining to my mom why we were a few hours late for the special dinner she had made  :) My cousin took his fishing boat across the lake and found the sunfish washed ashore the next day. The boat was recovered and is still sailing around today.

All told, we were very fortunate. A number of factors could have been changed and the outcome might have been very different. We also made quite a few good decisions, the best being not to panic. Raylay and I had never sailed together before that day ( she had never sailed at all). It may seem surprising that this first experience didn't send her running for the hills, but I think I think we both were impressed with each other and how we handled ourselves. In retrospect, after beginning our sailing partnership like that, nothing that came after seemed so scary.

[CharlieJ]

Geat story, and knowing Raylay  as I do  doesn't surprise me at all

[CapnK]

Love that "bareboat" picture: :D

My story? Where to start, and with which one? ;D When I flipped and due to tight shrouds turtled my first ever, very-own sailboat (Hobie 16) on the first day and first foray off of the beach with it - on my birthday? Solo?  :-[

Or that time I spent 3 1/2 hours neck deep on a sandbar in the middle of Winyah Bay at night because my Walker Bay 8 that I'd been sailing flipped and I didn't have a good way to bail it out and...

Run aground? Pfft - that's not a mistake, as I've mentioned here in years previous, I regard that as a "tactic". :D

Hit a dock? Well, yeah - but it was night, and it was a brand new dock on the very edge of the main channel, so new that was it was unlit and still uder construction, had no boats tied to it to give it away and besides that it was from my viewpoint hidden behind the genoa until we were on top of it...

Kinda like that unlit marker, a day shape in Little River Inlet, which jumped out from behind the genoa leech that night, so close it almost scraped the sail. Yeah, right - Sam Adams, Jimmy Buffett, and I all knew it was there the whole time...  ::)

One which really stands out for me was the first time I headed upriver in the Ariel to tuck away for a storm. At the time I had 2 Crewdogs, Molly and Buffett, and though I left a good 24 hours before the storm was due here, the wind was already piping at 25-30 with gusts when we took off. The first mile was downwind, no problems. Flew right by in ten minutes or less! It was when we made the 180 degree turn around the sandbar and into the wind that I learned the limits of a 6hp outboard pushing 3 tons of boat, person, and dogs...

Turning the corner, both wind and tidal current were now against us, and there was no way that the little motor could hold Katie head-to-wind. That was the exact direction we needed to go for about the next 8 miles of ICW, under the Lafayette Bridge first, before finding shelter in an old ricefield creek. I found that I could make progress, however, by 'tacking' - getting the wind on one side or the other of the bow, I could move at about 1.5 kts CMG to windward.

Took over an hour to do in this direction, what had taken 10 minutes in the other!  ???

But.. we were doing it, so I settled in and we slowly made our way up to the bridge. Just as we were getting within striking distance, a shrimp boat came up from behind up, passing well to port. I watched him closely to see how he was going to handle passing it. I was surprised when he went under the bridge between a set of pilings/abutments that were not the "main" channel part.

"A-ha!", thought I. I had been wondering how I was going to get thru the structure in the middle, main channel location, as that was where both the wind and the current would be strongest. By using a location closer to shore, I could negate some of those effects, so I headed towards the left/western side of the bridge, motor-tacking. On approach, I knew from kayaking that each abutment would create an eddy on the down-current side, and just like a big rock in a river, the eddy would pull the boat up towards the structure.

I timed it *excellently*, if I do say so myself. Turning to starboard at the lowest edge of the eddy, Katie was not only sheltered from the current, but also from the wind. We came up to within a couple feet of the concrete making a good relative speed of 3-4 knots. Just before hitting I turned the boat enough so that the bow was pointed on port tack now, aiming up a bit past the northern edge of the other abutment perhaps 150' away, where we would be free and clear to continue on our way.

A quick word about the CrewDogs: Molly was the sure-footed one, ever curious and fearless, a Black Lab with the agility of a cat. Buffett was a Golden Retriever, 55 pounds of dog love, and pure "boy". He was never as relaxed as Molly about moving around onboard, and generally stayed in the cockpit, doing a great job at holding down a locker lid. Both dogs were in the cockpit for most of this, but as we got close to the bridge, Molly went up to the bow so she could check out this big giant thing in the river that we were approaching.

Well, as soon as Katie nudged out of the eddy behind the abutment, wind and current grabbed us again and it was like the brakes were slammed on. Our 3-4 kts dropped right back to maybe 1, and my margin of error for passing that other abutment shrank quickly. Very quickly; in fact, I could tell right away it was going to be very close in the passing, if we could make it at all. but - in for a penny, in for a pound! Right?

I tried my best. I gave the motor full throttle, and angled about 45 degrees to wind and current we started across the gap. With the river being squeezed between the two abutments, however, the current was a little stronger than in open water, and as a result, our speed dropped off even more. We were clawing along at maybe 1/2 knot now, and the 200' or so we needed to transit was shrinking rapidly as we got close to the eastern abutment. It was when we got so close that there was no way I could continue a starboard turn and escape downriver, that I realized we simply were not going to make it. Nope, instead we were gonna crash right into who-knows-how-may tons of concrete very firmly affixed to the riverbed below, just a few feet short of where it ended.

I'd tried, and it just wasn't going to happen.

The only option I had was to hit reverse, stop our forward progress smashing the bow into the bridge, and let the current sweep us down and away to safety, so I did. Crash full reverse, and time slowed down. Waaaayyy down...

The motor, being small, and just as it couldn't propel Katie into the teeth of a strong wind, also couldn't instantly stop her 6,000 pounds on a dime. As I watched, the bow got ever nearer the concrete, until finally, when the bow was literally inches from scraping and the pulpit almost clanging into the concrete when we came down on a wave, she stopped moving forwards and began to edge back. Initially we were angled about 45 degrees to the abutment, and as we backed, the bow began to blow down. We had just enough backward speed that for 30' plus we maintained about 6" of separation between boat and concrete as she gradually swung to perpendicular to the wind/current, and then further.

Simultaneously, Crewdog Molly was fascinated, and close enough that she could have just about licked the concrete. Standing precariously there on the bow as the boat suddenly lurched and turned, the waves and water-slicked deck proved her undoing. I was yelling at her, trying to get her to come back to the cockpit, but, well, you know - dog.

One moment she was there, perched on the bow, and then a wave hit us, and in a scrabble of claws on fiberglass - she was off...

So now here I am in full reverse, and things have just become even more complicated. I'm a frantic multi-tasking blur in the cockpit, having to handle both boat tiller and motor tiller, while looking forward to be aware of what is happening, while keeping an eye on my overboard crew, having almost crashed my boat, and...

Letting go of tillers for a moment, I grabbed Buffett and shoved him down into the cabin - one less thing to deal with, worry about. Back on the tillers, I'm yelling for Molly, who by now is a couple feet from the bow and swimming in 2'+ chop. We've swung enough that hitting the concrete is no longer a concern, the bow now pointed downriver. Oddly enough, I saw that we were still between the abutments, when I would have thought we would have been swept out by now.

In fact, looking at the concrete on either side of us, I could see that we were actually moving! Stern first, upriver into the current and wind!

With the motor pulling instead of pushing, the hull weather-vaned behind, and the motor had just enough power that we were clawing along at 1/2 knot, maybe even 1. Miracle of miracles!

Molly was still swimming, though, and there was nothing I could do right away to help her, there between the abutments. So I shouted encouragement to her, while I steered with the motor and the tiller simultaneously, and we crept out from under the bridge. The boat was going so slow that she caught up to us just after we cleared the bridge, and I kept talking to her until we gained a little distance. Then, quick as I could, I scooped her out of the water and got back on the tillers, continuing in reverse until I figured we had plenty, plenty distance to execute a turn in forward and get headed back up river.

It has taken me probably 5x as long to write this, as it did for the whole of the events to occur there under the bridge. It sure seemed a lot longer, and for a few of those seconds I wondered what it was going to be like when I told people about the nitwit I'd been which resulted in crashing and sinking my boat.

That said, I did have to explain how I broke the starboard spreader off the mast on that same little trip, but - that's a story for another time. :)