What Would You Do?

’What ’s On My Mind’, Compass Oct. ’19.

 

     A tropical storm was approaching.  We had been watching this new system closely since yesterday.  The midday forecast would be time enough to decide whether to go into our hurricane hole.  It looked like a close miss to the north — we were near the southern edge of the “warning” area.  Or at the northern edge of the “watch” area, take your pick.  Our forecast said “watch”.

     A friend who manages a small fleet of yachts and I had been consulting on the threat since yesterday.  This morning we had decided not to move our boats into the storm hole pending anything dramatic in the noon forecast.  His boats were stripped and on secure moorings, my boat had its oversized working anchor buried out of sight.  Our information on the storm showed that its south half, the so-called “navigable semicircle”, was weak.  So I was waiting for the noon forecast before my final decision, just because I had the time.

     Then suddenly, late morning, there was a big yacht well inside of my anchor.  They hadn’t said a thing; they were just there.  I hailed that they were too close.  They answered that they knew.  Then the guy immediately launched into the bullshit routine: how much scope did I have out?  “No!” I replied, then pointed out where my anchor was (in a visible spot of sand right beside their bow), told him that it was buried out of sight, so I could count on it holding, and said that they were way too close and a hazard even in current conditions — with which he agreed.

     So then he started a routine that I should move into the storm hole.  “No! My anchor is staying right where it is!”  And they would have to move forward for me to pick it up anyway.  I said it was they who should move into the storm hole.  He replied that the engine didn’t work.  Get a tow, I told them — a dinghy with an outboard would do the job.  (Made snug to the yacht’s quarter is my method.)  At least ten boats had already been towed in.

     But they said they were staying right where they were.

     They continued their crap about how I should move.  On my third emphatic declaration that my anchor was set so I could trust it and was staying right where it was, a woman got in the dinghy and came over to talk to me.  She explained the trap they had already captured me in.  Her man was gone, she’s alone aboard with a baby, the couple with the other dinghy were helping her set up.  The boat’s engine didn’t work.  She was going to leave the boat — there would be nobody aboard.  And they were not going to move.  Then she played the small-boat card on me — my boat is little so it’s not a problem for me to move.  It’s not the first time that’s been tried — someone’s got a big boat so I should do the work instead of them.

     She made a useless gear offer and said she could have someone help me.  Crew?  I know how my boat works and how to set her up for weather, they don’t.  And they have already demonstrated that their interests are contrary to mine.  At this point I regard them as dangerous clowns.

     I’ve found out more since, but that is what I had to work with at the time.  What were my choices?  Could I seek help from the authorities?  (That’s just a joke.)  Should I threaten them?  How?  Violence?  Against them or their boat?  Should I just accept that I have been screwed out of my secure position and move?  (It would have to be into the storm hole — I wouldn’t want to trust a fresh set of the anchor against our 30-percent chance of a hit.)  Or should I simply stay, regardless?

     I wish I had chosen the latter.  Instead I moved into the hole.

     Had I stayed put, perhaps they would eventually have shortened scope to prevent damage to their own boat.  If not, it would be a long and possibly dangerous night regardless whether we had any weather.  I have survived long and dangerous nights.

     I would be aboard.  Having competent crew aboard during weather dramatically increases the vessel’s safety.  Much can be done.  We have two extra anchors that can be set from the dinghy to kedge away from danger.  In this case, fending off of their boat seemed likely.  Developing problems can be spotted and dealt with.  Damage control might be necessary.

     But all of this begs a question:

     In the heat of hurricane season, the end of August, a man leaves his woman and her new baby alone aboard their yacht with a failed engine while he goes off to Europe to race.  A tropical storm approaches, for which we are under a watch, never a warning.  The woman, quite rightly, decides that she and the baby should be ashore.  Her man, thousands of miles away, tells her to put out all 70 meters of chain.  Are they entitled to an exclusion zone the length of their anchor chain that displaces yachts already established on moorings or at anchor?

     Aside from my situation, there were two unattended boats on moorings, stripped of windage for possible weather, within easy reach of that boat’s swing in winds that were, tropical storm or not, forecast to clock the compass.  Those boats were prepared for what was expected: a near miss or maybe storm force.

     Taking more space than is available is only one way to endanger neighbors who are otherwise prepared.

     Sigh.

     It is rare to get reader response to a Compass story.  But this piece did.

     [Reader’s Forum, December 2019]

Dear Compass

     I read with interest Jim Hutchinson’s article in the October issue of Compass [link to Compass article].  The question ”What Would You Do?” provoked an interesting debate aboard Galene.  I feel for the writer’s predicament: we all know our boats and the best way to prepare them for weather.  To be forced to change one’s plans because of another is extremely annoying.  However, I believe Hutch took the seaman-like approach when faced with the prospect of a situation that potentially could have caused damage to his boat.

     The mate on Galene saw things differently. ”She should ditch that fellow immediately,” was the initial response.  ”What sort of man leaves a woman and a baby on their own on a yacht with a broken engine at the height of hurricane season?”

     What sort of man indeed?  To leave your nearest and dearest, not to mention your pride and joy, to the vagaries of the hurricane season demonstrates a caviler rather than a seaman-like attitude.

          Richard Mayhew, S/V Galene  

Dear Compass,

     I have learned through the years that anything Jim Hutchinson writes is well worth reading, and 90 percent of the time, I agree with what he has to say.

     In the October issue of Compass, I read Jim’s article ”What Would You Do?”  He has made two mistakes.  A man leaving his wife and baby on a big yacht with no crew and a non-working engine is in my mind is not only inexcusable; it verges on criminal behavior.

     Jim’s article should have named the yacht and the man who abandoned his wife on the boat during hurricane season!

          Don Street, formerly of yacht Iolaire

[Editor’s  note]  Hi Don,

     Don’t blame Hutch for these omissions, if we were going to publish the guy’s name, to be fair we would have had to contact him to get his side of the story, and if we were going to publish the name of the yacht we’d have had to contact the woman as well, as it all might have been embarrassing to her.  But we had no means of tracking them down before press time.

     Now you can go back to agreeing with 100 percent of what Hutch writes.

          CC

     [I felt a need to respond to the responses with a letter that ran in the February 2020 Readers Forum… and a note to the editor saying that I’d be nervous about anybody agreeing with me a hundred percent of the time.]

Ahoy Compass,

     Here’s my reaction regarding the two December Reader’s Forum letters responding to my October article, ”What Would You Do?” 

     First, thank you Don Street for the compliment, especially coming from a man whose works I have used and admired since arriving in these islands in ’94.  And ”big up” for the Spirit of Classic Dragons trophy that you earned over decades (December ”Info and Updates”).

     Richard Mayhew’s (S/V Galene) letter was right.  I did the seamanlike thing, even though I wish I had stood my ground instead.

     Street is right.  I could have named them; perhaps should have.

     Compass was right not to publish the names – there had not been time for a response and Compass does believe in fair play.  Moreover, I did not send the editor names or contact info even though I had it.

     My story says, ”I’ve found out more since.”  The question, ”what would you do?” was asked using what I knew at the time.  An early draft of the story, which I sent to the woman inviting comment and/or correction (no reply) includes an after-the-fact interview I had with her.  What she told me did more to exacerbate than to mitigate.  The dead engine was a half lie.  It ran but leaked both fuel and oil and was declared ”for emergencies only”.  Yet she had said she was preparing the boat for hurricane conditions.  What is an emergency?  Was there an emergency?

     As for morality, I reckon (with hindsight) that I was dealing with a blend of arrogance, selfishness, ignorance and half a dozen other human qualities that we all share in varying degrees.  A friend who had talked with the woman about the weather earlier in the day thought her hysterical.

     As for the woman’s absentee man, I had no contact with him.  What I tell is what she told me.  I like Mayhew’s term, ”cavalier”.

     What did I want the story to do?  Maybe prevent one or more incidents that we will never know about.  This sort of thing might happen in any anchorage where there are weather threats.

 

          One Love, Jim Hutchinson, s/v Ambia

 

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