Spooky Stories: Misty's Unfortunate Visit to Happy Island

Another very close call

Story by John Hughes

You ask the most intriguing questions… kindling up memories (many of which are best left to smolder).  

I sit here on a tiny balcony in Agios Nikolaus, Crete overlooking the Aegean Sea after an 82 nm crossing from Sirna Island, just south of the Small Cyclades (helping a bud move his boat down Croatia into Montenegro and then from Athens to Greece). I’m watching trawler after trawler coming in with too much bottom paint showing above the water line… igniting an ever growing concern about tripping points, and what we’re doing (done) to this planet.  I saw but four pods of dolphins crossing the entire Aegean (this is a big sea), and they were small family pods at that. They, like us, are apex predators and will show a problem sooner than it might be perceived other wise. Might remind some of our struggling Orcas in the Northwest—but, shoot, that  wasn’t your question.

We all have scary memories that our avocation brings us to. Sorting through them, to reply to your request, leads me to one that (life threatening as it was) shouldn’t have ever happened… for that surely is the greatest of all tragedies. I was in a wonderful boat, Misty, a Ranger 21 EC running, solo as usual… heading out to the San Juan’s to meet some buds with a plan to head further north into the Gulfs. I came up the inside and was transiting Deception Pass to round up into Guemes Channel and meet a friend in Anacortes before jumping across Rosario.  Currents aren’t tides… and Guemes was due to shift against me after passage under the bridge so, granted, I was pushing the timing a little bit.  I entered Decepetion Pass against a current of about 2 knots (and diminishing).  Most of us would feel this was safe and prudent with a reliable diesel cruising at 6 knots.  

So… I’m just entering into the zone when I see a HUGE motorboat rounding the bend way down by Hope Island and think No Problem.  Checking him out at regular intervals I see him gaining ground at an alarming rate and with a bow wave the likes of which I’ve never witnessed. Understand, I’m going 6 knots against a 2 knot current for a short period of time with this vessel miles behind me. I’m certain that, if need be, he’d just back off slightly, let me make passage through the narrows under the bridge, and then blast on by me to points unknown.  

Ok, now we’re at the good (bad) part. The guy must have four BIG engines in that thing because it was at least 50-60 feet long and closing like Captain Kirk on a mission. I stepped out of the wheelhouse to the cockpit area and gave him the “arms up”/“what’s up” universal signal, and returned to the wheelhouse to manage my boat under the bridge. I picked up the VHF mic to contact him but got a “sense” of impending doom. I turned over my left shoulder and all I could see was white fiberglass, his top sides towering over the rear window… and then I saw the first of the impending problems—his bow wave. He was traveling at at least 25 knots through a current against him and throwing a wave off his bow at least 10’ high and projecting out that far as well.  He was maybe 5 feet from me as the bridge's shadow crossed over us.

I reached down with my right hand and slammed the throttle further than it had ever been. I looked over my shoulder to see his bow wave completely fill (ok maybe half fill) my cockpit (that’s a big cockpit on a Ranger 21)… I now had a bath tub for a boat.

As I had slammed the throttle forward I’d reached for the stainless steel post Ranger thoughtfully placed through the middle of the wheel house and turned the wheel as fast as I could to starboard, so at very least not to be broached on his bow and stern waves, flip over, and disappear into one of those infamous whirlpools that were swirling around everywhere. I looked up—out of the forward windshield—and the last thing I saw was three women with their hands over the mouths, aghast at what was to become of this little boat below… I remember thinking that may well be my last memory.

So Misty became a surf board and I rode two sets of waves directly toward the steep cliffs of Deception Pass (if you’ve stood on that bridge you know what I mean). As the last wave passed under her hull I slammed the throttle down again, threw the wheel hard to port and a struggling Misty climbed back over those breaking waves just ahead of the cliffs. Luckily it’s deep right up the the edge in that canyon.

Epilogue:

I’m a happy man. I survived a death defying incident… but one that had never even come into the calculation. I, of course, got on the VHF and asked the coast guard if they had a boat or a plane that could run this guy down because he was a maritime disaster waiting to happen (I think my exact words were he should be charged with attempted murder), but they had nothing in the area. Luckily (well, kinda luckily) he nearly swamped a buddy of mine (Montgomery 17) in Poe Pass a couple of hours later (again overtaking him in a narrow current strewn pass) so I have his name for all or you to beware of when you happen upon him. The stern waves were far too big for me to get a name. The boat’s name was Happy Island. If you ever see him tell him I’m the guy he almost killed in Deception Pass and I’d like an apology… although I’m certain he won’t remember the incident because, unfortunately, there have probably been too may more in between.  

Regardless of your boat’s size or means of propulsion, let’s be careful out there folks, and respectful of all of us.