{"id":1765,"date":"2018-10-18T19:10:56","date_gmt":"2018-10-18T23:10:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/?p=1765"},"modified":"2023-04-20T13:58:50","modified_gmt":"2023-04-20T17:58:50","slug":"the-rockets-red-flare","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aleta.life\/index.php\/2018\/10\/18\/the-rockets-red-flare\/","title":{"rendered":"The Rocket’s Red Flare"},"content":{"rendered":"
Position: 41\u00b039’03.8″N 71\u00b015’32.7″W<\/a><\/h6>\n

\"Safety<\/a> About a month ago we thought we\u2019d join the Carib 1500<\/a>, an offshore rally from Portsmouth, Virginia, to the British Virgin Islands. Our reckoning was it would be quick, we\u2019d be in good company, and we were almost fully prepped for such an event. Almost\u2026 The organizers require each sailboat have at least two crew certified in World Sailing\u2019s[1]<\/a> Safety at Sea<\/a> program. We had zero. Thus, not knowing anything about the course, we signed up.<\/p>\n

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\u2019t good bedfellows. \u2013 ed.<\/em>) 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\u2019re asleep, alone in your bunk, drifting at the mercy of nature\u2026 (Get on with it \u2013 ed.) \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Mortality<\/h6>\n

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 \u2018wilderness\u2019; a term that means you are 30 minutes from qualified medical help. If you\u2019re 29 minutes and 30 seconds away from a paramedic you\u2019re 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\u2019re out of helicopter range for at least two days. Two days when you\u2019re on your own \u2013 facing the elements \u2013 finding out what kind of stuff you\u2019re made of \u2013<\/strong> with only your skills to save you \u2013 the endless waters of the wide Sargasso Sea, stretching ineluctably away as you ponder mortality… (Oh, please! \u2013 ed.)<\/em><\/p>\n

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\u2019re 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.<\/p>\n

Bungs<\/h6>\n

We didn\u2019t 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\u2019s jacket half inflated and then busted a seam as it finally fully inflated. Chalk one up for the dumpster. Tai\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

Once wet, we learned how to clamber aboard a life raft \u2013 not easy when you\u2019re 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).<\/p>\n

In the final analysis a terrific time was had by all. Highly recommended!<\/p>\n

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