Dunkin' But No Donuts

On unexpected adventures by Norman Stringfield

I went on my very first sail in November, 1963, while attending St John’s River Junior College in Palatka Florida, which we students—in order to increase its status in the academic world—called  “Palatka University.”  That first sail was with a dorm mate, Billy Mains, captain of the PU sailing team, who asked if I might like to go sailing one day.  Having never been on a sailboat, I jumped at the chance.  Boarding a small 14-foot wooden boat docked on the St John’s River, we zipped across the river under somewhat breezy conditions.  I knew I’d have to hike out, so when the boat would heel and I’d hook my feet under the hiking straps and lean out as far and as low as I could to keep the boat on an even keel.   Well, Billy, being one of those souls who like to antagonize newbies, would then quickly come up into the wind, dunking me in the water as the hull suddenly flattened. This introduction to sailing went on for about an hour and I thought Man, this was fun, but next time I think I’ll wear a wet suit!  I remember the date of that first sail very well, since it was November 22, 1963

Fast forward three years to the summer of 1966.  Having moved to Pasadena, Maryland, to await my entrance into the U.S. Navy,  I bought my first sailboat—a forerunner of the Sunflower design. It wasn’t much, but it was MY BOAT, and I named it the Patty Ann and sailed in the Magothy River, off the Chesapeake Bay.  One day, just before starting active duty, I invited a friend to go sailing with me.  Suddenly, out on the water, my friend decided to play “Sea Hunt” by falling backwards off the boat.  I was sitting on the opposite rail and when he bailed out my weight flipped the boat over.  I had taken my glasses off (without which I could not see), along with my high school class ring and an expensive leather-bound cigarette lighter.  Down to the bottom they went.   I wasn’t wearing a life jacket but being young and agile, I was able to right the boat and climb back in with no problem. I didn’t have a spare pair of glasses so I had to report to active duty the next day unable to see, with no opportunity to replace my glasses until I returned from the scheduled  training exercise.  (I tried to tell training personnel that I couldn’t see, but they acted like I was a communist spy or a hippie trying to shirk my duty.  Anyway, I returned home and then on October 10, 1966 I was assigned to the USS Mansfield in Yokosuka, Japan.  While on active duty both Patty Ann the boat, and Patty Ann the namesake girlfriend, were stolen from me.  I’m still not sure which was the bigger loss!)

In 1977, home from the wars, I was back in Florida, married but boatless.  One day my wife was walking through the mall and saw a drawing to win a Sunflower.  On a whim, she put my name in and for the first time in my life I won something. I don’t remember what I named that boat, but I mostly sailed it on a pond near my house in Jacksonville.  The pond was only 15 to 20 acres and quiet…a good place to relearn my sailing skills.  One particular day I had a wonderful time sailing around the little pond, sneaking up on turtles and ducks, picking a spot I wanted to sail to and then doing it.  Finally it was time to come ashore and go home,  extremely proud of my sailing.  I landed bow-in on the shore and proceeded to step off the bow of the boat.  That was when I accomplished a perfect demonstration of “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,” with the boat shooting backwards as I did a face plant in eight inches of water. 

Then came a several-year hiatus from falling off boats.  I had a Lugar Leeward 16 and then a Buccaneer 22 but I never fell off either of those or even came close.  Then in 2009, after a move to Tennessee and about 10 years of not sailing, I was run over by a tractor trailer while riding my motorcycle.  That did it—I decided to go back to sailing and bought an AMF Sunbird 16 which I named The Lusty Slogger. (The origin of that name is long and involved; just know that it isn’t naughty). By this time and because of my injury from the motorcycle accident, I kept the boat in a lakeside marina in Jefferson City, TN.  I did something new with the Sunbird, adding a 55kw Minnkota trolling motor that pushed the boat pretty well.  I always used the motor when coming or going from the dock (creating a circus act on several occasions).  One day I decided, enough of this—I sailed for years with no motor so I will sail right to the dock by sail power alone.  I did just that and it started as a beautiful experience as I dropped the main and just touched the dock.

Grabbing the dock lines and stepping  off the boat, I had one foot on the dock and the other on the Lusty Slogger when a gust of wind hit the jib (which I had not lowered) and pushed the boat about three feet off the dock…and in I went.  My self-inflating jacket did not inflate; it was late in the season with no one was on the dock, and I couldn’t climb out of the water—either back on the boat or onto the dock. 

Fortunately, I noticed a boat two slips down with a folding boarding ladder.  Grabbing  the lines on the Lusty Slogger I swam over to the other boat, pulling the LS along with me.  I lowered the ladder, climbed aboard, pulled  the LS alongside and transferred over.  To hell with this macho stuff, I concluded:  I’m going to give up and motor back to my slip!

Illustration by Doug Korlann

The last dunkin (so far) came about from my “new” sailboat, a 1972 Helsen 22, the HenriLina after my grandchildren, Henry and Angelina.   A yearly ritual of the Cherokee Lake Sailing Club was a Labor Day weekend sail to a local cover where a bunch of us would have a cook-out and generally sit around telling lies. The first time I sailed there, I was told I could run right to the shoreline, plant my bow on the beach and tie up to some trees.  So, I did that.  But learning from the dunking in Jacksonville outlined above, I decided to step off the side of the boat rather than the bow.  Well, that might have been a wonderful idea, preventing me from pushing the boat backwards, but the bottom dropped sharply and rather than a few inches deep it was about ten feet to the bottom at the middle of the boat. So, in I went, again with no life jacket. While I was able to get out of the water quickly this time, it was not before I drowned my cell phone.

I’ve learned the hard way that it’s always good to wear a life jacket when you’re either on the boat or about to be on the boat.  I wasn’t wearing a life jacket when my friend decided to play Sea Hunt and dump us in the water.  Although it was easy for me at the time to climb back aboard, I could have hit my head on something or panicked.  A life jacket would have done no good falling off the bow of the boat into eight inches of water.  But falling off the boat as I was attempting to tie up at the dock could have been dangerous.  I had about 80 feet of water under me, there was no one else at the dock and I couldn’t climb back aboard.  If I was prone to panic that would have been the time to do so.  And, although, I had a lifejacket on, it failed to inflate.  The final time, although I was in about ten feet of water, I could hang onto the side of the boat and within a few feet  I was standing on the bottom.  And, while I was lucky I could scramble back toward the beach, I had an audience of about 15 people watching me, and I realized once again that it’s best to always wear a life jacket; always make sure it’ll inflate, and that it is properly fit.

The more I sail the more I learn, and the more I learn the more I want to sail. And at this point, having dunked enough, I’m finally ready to start wearing the darned life jacket any time I’m near the water, let alone out there sailing. —Norman Stringfield •SCA•