If the day ever comes when worsening weather finds you alone at sea on a small boat for the first time, you may discover one of life’s loneliest experiences.
It happened to me in the fall of 1979. I was three days out of San Diego and 200 miles offshore, on my way to Hawaii. The wind and waves had been steadily increasing all afternoon, as had my uneasiness about what to do next. Near sundown, a particularly large wave suddenly sent my little 23-foot catamaran surfing nearly out of control. The near-broach had my adrenaline surging and heart pounding as I quickly clawed down sail in the rising wind. Soon afterward, another wave crest broke heavily over the deck, taking one of my oars with it and leaving me wet and cold in the growing darkness. My sense of vulnerability and isolation were compounded by the stark realization that I didn’t have more than a vague idea of how best to handle the boat in these conditions. The next three days were to be some of the longest of my life, as the roar of wave crests collapsing into foam and spray was ceaseless and unnerving. By day I watched an endless succession of the largest seas I’d yet seen, and by night my fitful sleep was interrupted by cold seawater as wave crests broke across the deck and sprayed into the tiny cabin.
By day I watched an endless succession of the largest seas I’d yet seen, and by night my fitful sleep was interrupted by cold seawater as wave crests broke across the deck and sprayed into the tiny cabin.
That experience led me to abort my first attempt to Hawaii. Four months later I set sail again in the same boat, and three weeks into the trip found myself in similar circumstances 500 miles east of Hawaii. As before, the wind and waves had become too high to permit my lightweight craft to be safely sailed. This time, however, I knew what needed to be done and soon my little craft was riding smoothly and I was below resting and reading in the comfort of a dry cabin. While the cacophony outside was just as loud as the first time, the difference in comfort for both the boat and me was remarkable.
The contrast between these two experiences convinced me that there are few sailing skills that will go further toward building one’s confidence to take a small boat offshore than knowing what to do when you and your boat need a rest in rough weather. The best way to gain that knowledge is not the way I did, but rather by experimenting with your own boat in milder conditions, closer to shore, so you’ll know what to do when the time comes.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Small Craft Advisor to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.