The Rocket’s Red Flare

Position: 41°39’03.8″N 71°15’32.7″W

About a month ago we thought we’d join the Carib 1500, an offshore rally from Portsmouth, Virginia, to the British Virgin Islands. Our reckoning was it would be quick, we’d be in good company, and we were almost fully prepped for such an event. Almost… The organizers require each sailboat have at least two crew certified in World Sailing’s[1] Safety at Sea program. We had zero. Thus, not knowing anything about the course, we signed up.

Turns out it was brilliant. For $300 we learned far more than we expected and got a big dose of the willies to boot. (Hmmm, willies and doses aren’t good bedfellows. – ed.) So far my sailing instruction had included courses like basic keelboat and bareboat chartering, on up to advanced coastal cruising. But going offshore takes things to an entirely different level. We knew that. Or at least we thought we knew that. And yet, having the risks presented baldly, clinically, made it much more intimidating. We also learned that, just like everywhere else, bad stuff happens in the middle of the night. When you’re asleep, alone in your bunk, drifting at the mercy of nature… (Get on with it – ed.)  

Mortality

Heading offshore has its own boundary conditions. When I trained as a Wilderness First Responder, I discovered the skills I was learning were only applicable in the ‘wilderness’; a term that means you are 30 minutes from qualified medical help. If you’re 29 minutes and 30 seconds away from a paramedic you’re supposed to call 911. Our Safety at Sea instructor, Mark, pointed out that during the Newport to Bermuda race, an event covering some 650 miles, you’re out of helicopter range for at least two days. Two days when you’re on your own – facing the elements – finding out what kind of stuff you’re made of – with only your skills to save you – the endless waters of the wide Sargasso Sea, stretching ineluctably away as you ponder mortality… (Oh, please! – ed.)

Yet, so many of the biggest disasters at sea are somehow related to racing in really, really poor weather, that I take comfort in the fact we’re not racing. In most of these stories competitors carry on into the teeth of the storm, sometimes to their doom. Less sporting sailors suggest that heaving-to and waiting for the storm to pass will save both time and lives.

Bungs

We didn’t talk about heaving-to during the course, but we did talk about how to plug leaks in the boat (bungs). More practically, we jumped into a swimming pool fully rigged in our foul weather gear and lifejackets. Embarrassingly, Team Aleta had only a 60% success rate on the life jacket drill. Carol’s jacket half inflated and then busted a seam as it finally fully inflated. Chalk one up for the dumpster. Tai’s life vest sputtered and coughed and reluctantly inflated in spasms. Mine inflated like a champ and I bobbed around like a smug little cork as I deliberated on the consequences of crap technology.

Once wet, we learned how to clamber aboard a life raft – not easy when you’re schlepping an extra 50 pounds of water in your clothes. We also learned how to put out fires and how to draw attention to ourselves with various forms of pyrotechnics (see video).

In the final analysis a terrific time was had by all. Highly recommended!

 

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[1] World Sailing is the governing body for sailing as recognized by the Olympic committee. It used to be known as ISAF, the International Sailing Federation. Then someone pointed out there was an extra A that didn’t mean anything. In the United States the Safety at Sea course is administered by US Sailing.

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