A cautionary tale

[Nainu]

Some time ago, I had cautioned someone who was planning on visiting Alaska’s Prince William Sound to be wary of the currents around the points near ocean entrances as they can be dangerous even in modest winds if those winds are against the currents. As a warning, I further related that I had nearly turned my boat over on one occasion. Others said don’t believe the horror stories and that, if you just use common sense, you will be OK. While this is largely true, the failure to understand how the currents run in a particular area can put you in a tough spot quickly, if the winds change or the current starts to run against the wind. My intent wasn’t to scare anyone but to caution them. I didn’t give any details of my experience a couple of years ago when this was a topic but threatened to write it up when I had time at a later date. So here is my cautionary tale, told as factually as I can make it. Perhaps if others have similar stories they may share them as well - call it a C-Dory version of Heavy Weather Sailing.

As a little background, I have a 22' Cruiser with twin Honda 45s. I had purchased it used in early 1995 and had spent a lot of time in it that first summer in both lower Cook Inlet and out of Seward. For the ten or so years prior to this time, I had done a lot of boating on the same waters, but on day fishing trips in my 18' skiff mostly with a little halibut longlining in a 53' vessel. Although I was new to the cruising aspect, I wasn’t really a newcomer to boating or the area. This is a story of me and my boat which I feel fortunate to be able to tell.

In late October 1995, my friend Pete and I had gone mountain goat hunting out of Seward. We had registration permits for Resurrection Peninsula which sits between Day Harbor and Resurrection Bay. When we started out the weather was relatively nice so we headed to the Day Harbor side. On the second day out, a Thursday, I killed a goat in the back of Killer Bay. I had killed it as the sun went down and had to climb down 1800 vertical feet of mountain in the pitch black (new moon and overcast). I had field-dressed the animal and left it to retrieve the next morning. The trip down the mountain could make a story in and of itself, but I won’t bore you with the details of that experience except to say that it took me 3 times as long to climb down by feel in the dark as it did up in the light.

We knew that a big blow was coming, so Pete and I started up after the goat the next morning at first light. Although we had hurried, we had just packed out the goat when a gale started to blow. From the time we got to the boat until we had loaded up and started to pull anchor, the little bay we were in went from flat calm to 3 footers. We gave up the idea of trying to get back around Cape Resurrection as the forecast for the day was 55 knot SE winds, and it looked like we were going to get it and quick. We retreated to the back end of Day Harbor in a little anchorage that is now known as Resolute Cove, where a friend of mine has a cabin. We tied up to his buoy and went ashore where we spent the next two days as uninvited guests in the comforts of his cabin. The winds were williwawing down from the top of the mountains behind us and spinning my boat around on the anchor like a top for most of that time. It was nervous anchorage, even though I wasn’t aboard.

The storm was a huge one. If I recall correctly, the barometer in the cabin registered a low of 942 millibars while we were there. When I returned, one of my friends who had been out with me the weekend before told me that the local news had run a story about the storm, including the fact that ships crossing the Gulf of Alaska had reported 100 knot winds.

We rode it out and by Sunday morning the wind had calmed and shifted to NE 15 blowing out of Day Harbor. We kind of putzed around during the morning, listening to the forecast which was N 20 in Resurrection Bay for that day and through the night. At about noon we decided to motor out to Fault Point and take a look to see what the seas were like and make a call as to whether we thought it safe to return to Seward. Since there was another huge low forecast to arrive the next day, we thought this would be our only opportunity to make the crossing for at least two or three more days. As my hunting partner and I both had jobs to return to on Monday we didn’t want to stay unless it was necessary. We were also a little reticent to call the USCG to insure that no search would be mounted if we didn’t return when expected (something I would no longer be reluctant to do).

When we arrived at Fault Point, there were 15+ foot swells rolling by from the ESE, and about a 2-3 foot chop from behind us coming out of Day Harbor. I am guessing that the big swells were almost 100 yards apart from top to top. Occasional one of these swells may have approached 20 feet. I had been in similar large swells a few times on larger boats, and the size didn’t cause me too much concern. At our intended course, the swells would be a following sea off at about 20 degrees to the port side. So as it were, we decided to venture out in it to see what it was like, thinking we had plenty of room to veer back into Day Harbor if it was too much. Once out in it, I felt safer running at a speed slightly greater than the wave speed - about 13-15 knots. We trudged up the back side, over the top, and then coasted down the front of the swells. It was a little unnerving in the trough where you had water surrounding you and were sometimes out of sight of the mountains. But when up on top, you could get a clear view of the waves breaking against the sheer rock walls on the stretch of coast between Day Harbor and Resurrection Bay. Where the waves hit squarely, the water would plume up 300 or maybe 400 feet into the air. The spray seemed to take forever to fall back into the ocean. It was an incredible sight. Although it was 16 years ago now, it made such an impression I can still see it in my mind’s eyes like it was yesterday.

On the way across to Cape Resurrection, I had to stay focused and it was a little work steering, but we had little difficulty. Occasionally, one of the swells would break a little at the top. Once or twice we just happened to be going over the top when this occurred and came down into the trough pretty hard. Other than that, it was an uneventful trip, and was enjoyable in the rather perverse way that creeping close to the edge of a cliff to look over is enjoyable.

It took a little over an hour until we were approaching Cape Resurrection and Barwell Island. From previous experience, I knew that the current between the Cape and Barwell could be pretty strong and even with just a breeze the waves can get steep and confused. To avoid that stretch of water, I set my course to pass about a half mile to the outside of Barwell before turning to make the corner into Resurrection Bay. When we were about a mile off the SE corner of Barwell, I started to feel a little self-congratulatory about how quickly and easily we had made the crossing and thought that the dangerous part of the trip was behind us. What happened next was something I had not anticipated, and is what makes this a story.

Back in 1995, here in Southcentral Alaska, the marine forecast was updated twice daily - once at about 4 a.m. and once at 4 p.m. There were no automated condition reports or buoy reports given between those forecasts, like there is today. So when we approached Barwell Island at about 2:30 p.m., we were operating on the basis of the 4 a.m. forecast which was N 20 with 3 foot seas in Resurrection Bay through that night.

As we approached the S side of Barwell we ran into what I very conservatively estimate to have been a 35-40 knot wind from the NNE out of Resurrection Bay. I had no choice but to turn into it and head for the gap between the Cape and Barwell. Going was slow as we scratched to the NNW into a steep 6 foot chop. Although I recall that the big ESE swell was still washing up against the Cape, I do not really recall riding up and down the swells after getting into that steep N chop. I think the wind was strong enough that it moderated and lengthened the swells to the points they were not noticeable. The wind increased and the waves grew and steepened some as we moved through the gap between Barwell and the Cape. I could make little better than about 1000 rpms into the wind. At one point the bow was regularly dipping into the oncoming waves (those of you with a 22 know how short and steep the waves have to be to do this), even though I was probably making less than 1 knot. In the worst stretch it took maybe an hour to make a ½ mile.

Just at about the point where we had made it through the worst of it, while scratching our way to the NNE between Barwell and the Cape, something caught my eye and I happened to glance to my left (WSW) to see nothing but green out of the window. It was a fairly steep wave that I would estimate was between 7-9 feet in height. I do know it was bigger than the ones we were getting from the N. As it hit us from the side, the boat rolled severely and my hunting partner fell from the passenger seat into me. It felt like the boat had rolled 90 degrees, but in retrospect it was probably more like 60. Fortunately for us, the wave pushed the boat along sideways on its face until we rode up and over. I cranked the helm over and got the bow somewhat into the next wave, but it knocked us around so that the third wave hit us from the side and again nearly rolled the boat. I managed to turn into the fourth wave and give it more power so that we were able to keep our nose into them at that point. After maybe 3 or 4 more like waves, they were done and we headed back into the N chop. I am still at a loss to explain these waves coming against the wind except that we were in the pass and the current could have caused a standing wave of some kind. There was nothing to the SW from which a ground swell could have come. We saw no other boats the entire trip to Seward, so it could not have been a wake.

After we got through the pass, we worked our way to the lee of Fox Island. When we poked through Eldorado Narrows, we could see that the wind was blowing the tops off the waves coming from the N. I am not sure how hard it has to blow to cause spendrift along the wave tops but I think it has to be around 45-50 knots. We decided to tuck back into Humpy Cove for a few minutes to calm our nerves, get something to eat and fortify ourselves for what was sure to be a long and nasty trip to the Seward harbor. We got the updated forecast with a small craft advisory with winds of 45 knots (IIRC) from the N for Resurrection Bay about this time. It took nearly 7 hours of running time for the 35 miles from Fault Point to Seward - almost 6 of these were required for the 18 miles more or less from when we hit the wind at Barwell to Seward.

Upon arriving at Seward in the dark, the wind was still blowing so hard that there was a 2-3' chop coming out of the harbor entrance. When we docked at about 8 p.m. in the dark, I stepped out, got down on my knees, and kissed the dock. We left the boat tied to the float at the launch ramp and went immediately to the local bar where we drank until it closed. The fact that we have been out that day caused some mild amusement amongst the locals. However, in a town that produces people such as the neighbor to the cabin we stayed in that weekend, who once took a horse from Seward to the back of Day Harbor in a 13' inflatable, it takes quite a bit to raise any eyebrows.

Among other things, this taught me - (1) if you push things too close to the edge, no matter how confident you are, it does not leave you any room for the rogue wave or black swan event, which could cost you your life, (2) it is not usually one wrong decision that puts you at risk, but a series of marginal decisions that together converge to put you in a difficult spot, (3) the 22 C-Dory has a low CG and is very forgiving in a beam sea, (4) having some means of communication when traveling in remote places such as a Spot or sat phone is beneficial because you will not feel compelled to return because of family or work if the conditions are marginal, and (5) if I could get in this much trouble in a boat, I should probably give up the idea of getting my airplane pilot's license.

While you might question my decision to cross Day Harbor to Cape Resurrection in 15 foot plus seas, this actually had little to do with the difficulty I ultimately encountered. It was relying on the forecast of 20 knots and 3 foot seas that turned out to be my undoing. Even without the large swell, I would have had much the same difficulties when I arrived at Barwell Island.

The one benefit of having been through this is that now when people out with me get nervous due to sea conditions, I can tell them I have been in a lot worse.

So feel free to call BS or to flame away as you see fit.

[tsturm]

Did you ever get the pucker-bite out of the helm seat fixed???

[rogerbum]

Nice write up. Your point "(2) it is not usually one wrong decision that puts you at risk, but a series of marginal decisions that together converge to put you in a difficult spot" is worth repeating. Almost every serious boating "accident" or problem that I've had personal knowledge of or read about in sufficient detail to really understand was the result of multiple marginal decisions. The same can be said of most private airplane disasters. I had a student pilot license at one time in my life and the FAA would send out quarterly accident/incident reports. Reading those was most instructive.

I haven't personally had anything yet that I would consider a really close call in my boating experiences but I did crash a plane once that had an engine failure. That failure was a result of some seriously marginal practices by the mechanics at the place I rented from and in retrospect, my marginal decision was not knowing the rental agency staff well enough to trust my life in their hands.

That's something for all of us to think about if your someone was has someone else do your mechanical work (like I do). I've had some marginal work done at more than one local shop in the Seattle area in the first few years of my boat ownership. Once I started doing some serious offshore fishing out of Neah Bay, who I let work on my boat and the degree of care they take became a lot more important. There's a good reason I drive an extra hour each way to get my maintenance work done at EQ - they know that if I'm 20-60 miles offshore, I'm counting on their mechanical work to get me home.

[hambone]

What an adventure. Thanks for sharing..

H

[nordicstallion]

You da man!!!! Im going to the bathroom now. Vern

[20dauntless]

Interesting story and it sounds like your C-Dory took good care of you. I was out last Wednesday in a gale in the San Juans (30-40 knot winds with gusts higher) and can relate to the pounding along, barely making steerage way, and watching lots of water come over the bow. In my case it wasn't dangerous (limited fetch), but it certainly wasn't comfortable!

For an interesting read about rogue waves, check out Susan Casey's book titled The Wave: In the Pursuit of the Rogues, Freaks and Giants of the Ocean. A good chunk of the book is about surfing (interesting in its own right), but there's quite a bit on the science of big waves and their impact on boats and shipping.

On another note...

[Yellowstone]

Having been in conditions that at the most only approached half the seas you described, your story is a good one and believable. Thanks for sharing it with us. Handled with skill combined with luck, (emphasis on both words) the C-Dory is remarkably seaworthy.

Having said that, had (1) there been no pressing job to return to and (2)had there been no family worrying about you coming back within a certain time period, would yiou have risked leaving your safe harbor to head home when you did? Not asking a rhetorical question.

Your story raises many legitimate issues that any boater ought to consider when getting on the water. IMO, what you experienced needs to be readily shared, particularly with inexperienced boaters and even with those more experienced. You have the frame work for an excellent seminar on boat safety.

Yellowstone

[Sea Wolf]

Nainu-

Great story, well written, and with timely, well thought out advice. Thanks for sharing it with us, I'm glad I didn't have to go through it myself, but feel like I've been there!

If you ever present this story again, do it with an accompanying map, I was dying to to try to visualize all of these places in the story.

Joe.

[hardee]

nainu,

Thanks for the whole story. I agree, it is not the one major bad decision that can do you in, and well it might, but continually pushing the envelope past the safety limit can certainly have the same effect. Good reminder to all.

Harvey
SleepyC

[C-Nile]

Nainu-

What happened to you was akin to an aviator flying into a thunderhead; few people have survived to learn from the experience. I think you rightly illustrated that the common enemy for the boater is complacency.

Thanks for sharing your experience.

Rich

[Hunkydory]

To me this is the best story & thread I have read here in a long time.  From my own experience already knew to be wary around points, heads & capes just to name a few of the areas that can increase the many hazardous of boating  in coastal waters, but helps to have this reaffirmed in a good story.  Stories like this, local knowledge & a good cruise book are all very helpful when planning an extended cruise to a new area along with perhaps the most important of all "PATIENCE" in keeping out of trouble, but I know for sure if you cruise these kind of waters enough eventually an experience similar to this will occur, so what I got the most out of this is just how well the CD22 handled  these conditions.   

I too would like to hear more stories of this nature or just more on cruising in general.

Jay

[retnavy]

I have been on aircraft carriers when the waves were breaking over the bow in the north atlantic and on an LSD (dock Landing Ship) in the north atlantic with a full bell rung up with the ship making two knots to the good climbing up huge swells. The ARS (Auxiliary Rescue and Salvage ship) that I was on routinely went out in the worst weather imaginable to do our job. I never felt like my life was in danger on any of those ships but I actually felt nervous for you as I read that. Amazing stories like that should be paid very close attention to by all of us that have boats. No schedule is so important that we should ever put ourselves in harms way.

[colobear]

Thanks very much for posting this. I've been in what I consider bad water but never anything approaching that you describe (and never want to be!). Your story reminds us all that much c-dory style of boating, i.e., often in remote areas and big water, has real inherent dangers and that we must constantly be aware of the risks. It also reaffirms the wisdom of Roger Clark's (Dreamer) signoff "The most dangerous thing on a a cruising boat is a schedule."

[starcrafttom]

Nice story , glad you are around to tell it. I like that you compare boating to flying. I boat but my father, mother and brother all fly and I get to go with them a lot. They are all very active pilots and the folks have lived on a air-park for 20 years now. They have lost a few friends and even more friends of friends over the years. The biggest killer of all is the "gotta". That's the Gotta get there, gotta be on time, gotta take the best route, gotta meet what ever goal you have set. The Gotta's will lead you to make bad decisions in order to achieve goals that should not be your first consideration. Gotta live should be your first consideration.

Boating is the same way. 4 or 5 years ago I pulled a couple off a boat the was upside down because the "I gotta fish" was considered before " I gotta finish my boat projects" This followed by other bad decisions lead to two people clinging to a upside down boat in the sound in January with no one knowing where they were. They got lucking I was bored fishing that day.

How many of you will fish on opening day no matter how bad the weather is because, well its OPENING DAY? I know I have a few times.

[tsturm]