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Have You
Helped a Powerboat Lately?
11/30/02
Blaine Parks
I was wide-awake at 3:00
a.m. again. This time we were
anchored in Beaufort, North Carolina.
The rigging was singing its familiar high-pitched howl in the
rising winds. Charbonneau showed her discomfort by yawing wildly, fighting
the ripping waters of the outgoing tide only to be tossed in erratic
directions when the wind and tide collided in stern opposition. Boats were sailing to and fro, over their anchors, and then
being jerked back again when they reached the end of their rode. One boat, a sport-fishing boat, was doing more than just
sailing around their anchor – they were dragging.
Experience has shown that the best way to determine if we’re dragging
anchor is to compare where we are versus where we were relative to the
other boats anchored around us. I
wiped the sleep from my eyes and took in the view from the cockpit.
After a few minutes of studying our situation, I determined that
three of the four boats anchored around us seemed to be approximately
where they were before we went to sleep.
The fourth boat, a sport-fishing power boat, was moving more
erratic than the others, obviously dragging on their anchor, and was
headed towards the cement docks across the channel.
I was at a crossroads on what to do.
It’s no secret that sailors and power boaters don’t always get along.
We both love our time on the water, but we think differently.
To generalize, sailors enjoy the slow journey to their destination
and power boaters enjoy getting there quickly.
Boaters traveling along the Intra-Coastal Waterway (ICW) are often
serenaded on the VHF radio by the emotional tirades of sailors yelling
about the powerboat that just flew by them while throwing a four-foot
wake. I’m surprised there
aren’t more reports of waterway rage resulting in personal injury.
These arguments are fierce. Janet
and I have had our share of bad experiences with power boaters.
In fact, we’d had a few on our way to Beaufort earlier that day.
Unlike the boaters described above, we don’t yell on the radio
– it only seems to make things worse.
But now, here was a powerboat dragging towards a cement dock and
they were sure to do serious damage to their boat unless someone warned
them. After all our bad
experiences, could this be how I get even, by watching them slam into the
dock?
There was a part of me that wanted to see them hit that dock, blaming the
situation on their lack of courtesy toward sailboats on the water.
This one powerboat embodied all the rotten captains that had roared
by us in the past. I easily
rationalized that they deserved the damage they were about to receive and couldn’t help but watch as they
dragged closer and closer to certain doom.
There was another part of me, the Good Samaritan part, that urged my
conscience to do something to prevent them from hitting the dock.
It was like having the little angel on one shoulder and the devil
on the other debating with each other, “save them, don’t save them,
save them, don’t save them.” I
didn’t know what to do. The
boat looked like they were still a few minutes from hitting the dock, so I
woke up Janet for a second opinion.
I explained my dilemma to Janet and asked her what she thought we should
do. She climbed up into the
cockpit to get a first-hand look at the situation.
What if I went over, banged on their boat to wake them up, and all
they did was yell at me for waking them up?
I’ve seen these guys. They’re
not always pleasant to us sailors.
My conscience was starting to get the best of me.
We ultimately decided that a boater in distress is a boater in
distress; regardless of what type of boat they’re on.
I summoned up my courage, put on my Good Samaritan face, and raced
over in our dinghy.
The boat was a mere twenty feet from the dock when I began knocking on the
hull. It took almost ten
minutes of knocking before I was greeted by the growl of the boat’s
captain, “Who’s there? What
do you want?” For a
fleeting moment, I saw that little devil on my shoulder saying, “Push
them into the dock. I told
you they’d yell!” Forcing
the thought from my mind, I meekly replied, “I’m sorry to wake you,
but you’re dragging anchor and are about to hit the dock.”
Suddenly, the yelling stopped, the doors opened, and I was greeted by a
sleepy, but grateful crew. I
explained that I was on the sailboat anchored in front of them and noticed
that they were dragging when I checked our own position as the winds picked up.
In their race to gather up their anchor and move away from the
dock, I could see confusion on their faces.
I didn’t understand the look until the captain looked at me one
last time and said, almost dumbfounded, “You’re on a sailboat?”
His facial expression added the words, “and you helped a
powerboat?” I just smiled
and waved as I headed back to Charbonneau.
We picked up our anchor early the next morning and made our way further
down the ICW, never having the chance to introduce ourselves to the
powerboat’s crew. The winds were still fresh out of the north, perfect
for sailing along our southern course.
We pulled out the sails and were quickly making six knots of speed.
As we enjoyed our sail, I wondered if my actions the previous night
might affect, in some small way, how the two diabolically opposed groups
of boaters, power and sail, might treat each other.
The powerboats that passed us that day all slowed down, waved, and
complimented us on how good we looked under sail.
Nobody yelled and nobody cursed.
Who knows? Maybe my
small effort to help a fellow boater, a power boater, was being rewarded
by reciprocal acts of kindness .
I’m not ready to put ‘Have You Hugged a Power Boater’ bumper sticker
on our boat, but I have tried to extend them the same courtesy I’d
extend to sailors. We’ve
always slowed when powerboats are trying to pass us.
By slowing to idle, powerboats can get around us without throwing a
wake. We meet quite a few
sailors who don’t understand that even though their sailboats travel at
less than seven knots, a powerboat can’t pass them without throwing a
wake unless they slow down. I’d
wager that 50% of the arguments on the radio are because the sailor
thought he slowed enough and the powerboat still rocked them.
If that sounds like you, try our approach – don’t slow, go to
idle and stop.
We’ve rarely had a problem since we began using this approach
three years ago.
Remember to thank those boats that give you a courteous pass.
We want to encourage that good behavior. And, I don’t expect you to run out and form a ‘Save the Power
Boaters’ support group, but
if you find yourself in a position to help another boater, even one of
those powerboats, do it. Extending
the olive branch of peace may be the key to eliminating all that yelling on
the radio. We'll
see you on the water.
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