BOAT VS. HYDRILLA

Stuck in the salad with no escape...

Story by Norman Stringfield • Art by Carolyn McLain

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On November 17 of last year I finally decided—come hell or high water—I was going sailing. I had not been sailing since February and decided it was time to go. I got out to the Venetia Cove Marina on Lake Harris in Leesburg around 11 a.m. The temperature was in the middle 70’s and the wind was blowing between 12 and 15 knots, right at the limit of my comfort zone. I waited around for a couple of hours hoping the wind would subside a bit. At 1 p.m. I decided to just go—I would test the waters and head back if I was uncomfortable.

Along with the wind I also had an issue with hydrilla growing right off the marina. I was told if I hugged the shore and kept Monkey Island to starboard I could keep out of the hydrilla.

Hydrilla, for the uninitiated, is an invasive weed that resembles ferns or a seaweed salad and grows just below the surface of the water. It can grow an inch or more per day. It originally came from Sri Lanka and was imported in the 1950s for the aquarium trade. It didn’t sell well, so some dealers dumped their overstock into the lakes and rivers. It quickly spread and has become a major nuisance and expensive to control. While Florida remains its primary residence, it has spread all the way to California. Although Lake Harris is popular for fishing and other water sports, the hydrilla spreads so rapidly in the fall it’s almost impossible to keep the lake clear. It will be February before the lake is passable again. Its tendrils wrap around a sailboat’s rudder and centerboard. It also will wrap around an outboard’s propellers and more than one outboard has been ruined by the mass of the plant that ends up on the props.

I sailed past the hydrilla and headed for the middle of the lake. The wind was picking up a bit but I felt in complete control. After about an hour the wind was really picking up and was a steady 20 knots with gusts to 25 or higher. Although I was still in control I decided it was getting late and the wind was still increasing. So I decided to head back to the marina. I tried to tack back around but for some reason the boat absolutely would not tack. After about ten tries with no luck I decided I could either continue sailing ahead until I hit the bridge in Tavares, or I could jibe the boat. I grabbed the mainsheet right at the boom and swung the sail over. The wind immediately snatched the line out of my hand and slammed the mainsail over to the shrouds. The boat then went over on its side and water started pouring into the cockpit. I swear it was healing 90 degrees! I quickly jumped to the high side and hiked out for all I was worth. Fifty years ago I thought this was great fun. Not so much anymore!

I did manage to get the boat back on its feet and heading back to the marina, about four miles away. The wind had steadied at around 20 knots and I was making good time. As I got to the edge of the hydrilla field I noticed I was being blown sideways into the mass of plants. Like the issue I had earlier with tacking, the boat just wouldn’t get closer to the wind and I was pushed right into the hydrilla…and there I was.

I was firmly stuck in the “Sargasso Sea of Lake Harris.” Trying to sail out away from the marina, I pulled the centerboard up but could feel I was pulling the weeds into the trunk, raising the possibility I might not be able to lower the board later. I tried paddling. Nothing. I was firmly embedded in the salad! I sat there for awhile pondering what I could do to get myself out. I couldn’t find my VHF radio to call for help, but I did have my cell phone, which (for once) was fully charged. I contacted the marina office only to discover it had been shut down due to Covid. (While there was someone in the office, phone calls were routed to government offices in Leesburg, Florida, and no one there could help me. Connected to the marina was Adventure Sailing, a boating club. I called them and asked if they could come pull me to the marina. At first they said yes, but then called me back and asked if I was a club member. When I said no, they explained their insurance wouldn’t allow them to tow me in. So now what? They gave me the number of Sea Tow. I tried a couple more times to free myself from the morass but could not. It was now getting dark, I had no lights on the boat (not that it mattered much, I was the only idiot on the lake that day!) and as the sun went down it was getting colder. So, I called Sea Tow, thinking it would cost me $100 to be towed in. Boy, was I wrong. It was $250 just to have the tow boat come out to see if they could pull me out, and then $125 an hour from the time the captain left his house to get me, to the time he got back.

My only other alternative was to wait until February when they sprayed the hydrilla and I would be free. If I did that I would miss Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas and maybe Valentine’s Day sitting on the lake. I had a fishing pole and enough cans of Vienna sausage to last me a few months, but I didn’t think it was a wise idea to just sit in the middle of the lake in an open boat. So I told them to come get me. I thought this was going to create another problem because they wanted my exact GPS coordinates. Now, because I was getting cold and hungry, not to mention testy and worried, I told them, “Look, I’m right in the middle of the lake about a mile from the marina in a blue and white sailboat—the only boat of any description on the lake.” They relented and said a boat would be dispatched as soon as possible, and I should see him in about 90 minutes.

The lake was now turning gold from the setting sun and absolutely beautiful except that I was guessing I might have to take out a second mortgage to pay for the tow. As it got colder, I wrapped myself in a canvas tarp used as a privacy screen when I need to tinkle. So bundled, I actually fell asleep waiting for the tow. After about 30 minutes I got a call from Sea Tow telling me the captain was on his way and would be there in about 45 minutes. I went back to sleep, dreaming of bankruptcy court. About 40 minutes later, another phone call. At the same time I see a red flashing light coming from the direction of the marina. Yeah, it’s him. He gets to the boat, hooks me up and away we go. He is pulling me around 10 knots, over twice the hull speed of The Lusty Slogger. Fortunately, nothing goes wrong and he nudges me into my slip. Has me fill out about 100 pieces of paper swearing that no matter what I will not sue Sea Tow. He also tells me that I should sign up for Sea Tow’s insurance, which would have cost me half of the bill for this one tow. Then, as he is downloading all this information, including my credit card, he remembers that since I am less than 18 feet and have no motor, they won’t sell me the insurance. I think maybe I should put a 2-foot bowsprit on the boat and get one of those $250 Chinese motors. Anyway, I am now $500 poorer but back on terra firma and the boat is in okay shape.

I have had two other death-defying incidents on the water. The first in 1968 while on a U.S. Navy destroyer that encountered a typhoon in the Pacific. The second was on a 20-foot sailboat in the St. Johns River in Jacksonville, when a storm came out of nowhere—blue skies, no clouds and then suddenly 30-knot winds and torrential rain. We suffered three knockdowns before we could get the sails down. But this was the first “incident” where I was in charge. I will say I did learn a few things.

1) Learn how to tack the damned boat! This has always been an issue with me—an inability to tack except in the most ideal conditions. Usually I end up either paddling around or use the rudder to scull over. And it’s not just this boat, either. I have had the same issue with all my other boats except for my Sunflower that would act like I had just jibed and it dunked me more than once. I need to have someone teach me how to tack the boat. I know the mechanics; I just can’t get them to work!

2) Keep your equipment close at hand, like a VHF for example. It may have done me no good, but you never know. I don’t carry a lot of gear on The Lusty Slogger—extra lifejackets, two knives, the radio, a boat hook, Shaw & Tenney paddle, air horn, tool box with extras, an anchor, extra battery for my auto bilge pump, and a urinal (I take Lasik for my heart and the urinal is as important as a lifejacket, believe me). But no amount of gear is helpful if you can’t find it, or you can’t easily access it when you need it.

3) I didn’t have any kind of light on the boat—no running lights, no flashlight, nothing. Because of the boat’s size I’m not required to have running lights but I’m supposed to have a white light to shine on the sails, to let other boats know I’m there. Since I never intentionally go out at night, I didn’t carry any lights. However, I know now you can easily end up on the water after dark.

4) Reef before you need to, not after. If you reef too early nothing is lost, but if you wait you could end up in the drink. Had I reefed coming back when the winds were at their highest I might have been able to keep out of the hydrilla altogether.

5) I learned the boat could handle more wind then I thought. At no time, other than during the jibe did I feel the boat was overpowered or out of control.

All in all it was an exciting sail and, as pilots say, any landing you walk away from is a good landing. So, I guess any return to the dock is a good sail! •SCA•

First appeared in issue #129