And so, I listened

Tropical Storm Beryl came ashore over the Memorial Day weekend with up to 70 mph winds and heavy rains. The epicenter hit Jacksonville, Florida, an hour south of our location on Saint Simons Island off the coast of Georgia. Winds here peaked at around 40 mph. Nothing drastic.

I headed down to the boat yard at 9:30 to help my buddy, Ken, rig his Hobie Cat and ran into the whole cast of East Beach characters. They are an eclectic group of men and women ranging in age from 40 to 70 and have long histories together; decades of friendships, romances, partying, business dealings and sailing. This morning the windsurfers scurried about excitedly, screwing up their courage to leave the beach and take a pounding in the whitecaps.

Up the beach, the Weather Channel set up to cover the storm. Jim Cantore, of Weather Channel fame, gathered a crowd of picture and photo seekers. It became a bit of a spectacle and the media hyped it for all they were worth.  

And so, for us, Beryl was no big deal. But for the two men on the sailboat that was towed into the channel the next morning, it sure was. I met the captain of the ill fated vessel at the bar at the marina a couple days later. He was around 60, lean, shaggy headed and spoke with a French Canadian accent. His eyes were golden brown and tinged with a glint of hysteria. Considering the ordeal he had just survived, that was certainly understandable. He was drinking a Guinness and seemed to have a need to tell his story to anyone who would listen... so I listened.

He hired on to captain the 50 foot Dufore sailboat from Florida back to the Canadian Maritines. It was something he had done many times before which may have contributed to the cavalier, careless behavior that almost cost him his life. He took on a mate in Fort Lauderdale. The mate had no sailing experience, just needed the work. The Captain didn't see that as an issue.

The Captain said he thought they could slip by the tropical storm developing off the coast and so, set sail. He said he knew he should have had "weather" on board but didn't, which means he didn't have a radio or satellite weather equipment, and so, sailed directly into a named tropical storm. And so....

The first weather band they encountered produced 20 foot seas and 40 mph winds. "That wasn't a problem. I could handle that," he explained. They sailed through that weather band unscathed and into sunny skies so the Captain decided to head out into the Gulf Stream to pick up some favorable wind and the northbound draft. For a few hours he sailed unwittingly directly into the mouth of the storm. His eyes clouded over as he talked about seeing the approaching wall of weather and realizing that he had trapped himself. He had no option other that to sail directly into the wind and waves.

This time he encountered Beryl at her worst. His eyes flashed fear and his hands twisted as he described the 40 foot seas and the 80 mph winds. Still he thought they were going to sail through it. But he was growing very weary after 18 hours at the helm fighting the storm. Finally he rigged a storm sail, instructed his mate, went below and passed out in an exhausted sleep.

He said he awoke to the sound of the mate screaming and the sight of a locker which had been bolted to the floor of the cabin flying into his berth as the 50 foot sailboat rolled over on the face of a 40 foot wave. The boat righted itself, but was now adrift having taken on water, being battered and blown with the storm. The Captain said the mate was hysterical and finally he was convinced to activate the distress beacon.

Within 2 hours the Coast Guard responded with a C130 which dropped them a portable pump which they were unable to retrieve. The Coast Guard offered to send a helicopter and air lift them if they would abandon ship. The Captain declined. Finally the weather settled down and a Sea Tow tug responded to the foundering vessel. They were towed into Saint Simons and tied up at the marina.

We walked down to check out the vessel, It was soggy, the engine not running, but the mast and the rigging looked OK. Gear, ropes, pillows, mattresses laid on the dock drying out. The hull looked undamaged. The mate had fled back to Florida. The Captain was at the bar sucking down beer after beer and telling his story to anyone who would listen.

And so, I listened.