A family’s unplanned evening swim
Issue 101 : Mar/Apr 2015
Every third week our weekend sailing routine was interrupted by . . . work. There I’ve said it. I know you’re not supposed to use such language in a sailing magazine.
It was May 25. My wife, Lisa, was working a Saturday shift at the pharmacy. We were a little disappointed, but resigned to it. We would have to forgo our weekend time on the water. As the day marched on, I kept thinking of reasons to be on the boat. I noticed that we would have a full moon that evening and called Lisa to see if she would be up for the hour and a half drive to Lake Murray to enjoy a nice evening sail to watch the moonrise. As expected, she was all in, and shortly after she got off work we were headed toward Lexington, South Carolina, with our 10-year-old daughter, Haley.
Even though it was May in the Deep South, the evening was cool enough for a light pullover and long pants. At the dock, we were a little disappointed to see that there was only a slight breath of wind, but we decided to board our 1984 Helms 27, The Swamp Fox, and motored out to enjoy the evening as it was. We had bought our Helms a little over a year before and were in middle of refurbishing her. We couldn’t help but notice we were the only ones out that evening. We had the whole lake to ourselves. Nice.
After about 20 minutes, I checked my watch. It was 9:30, approximately 30 minutes until moonrise. As we were in about 100 feet of water and a good half mile from any shore, I cut the engine so we could drift, relax, and appreciate each other and the beautiful moon that was about to show itself above the tree line.
Lisa and I leaned against the port lifelines staring at the stars and listening to the sounds of the night, trying to set an example for Haley in the art of being quiet. After having many questions ignored, Haley asked if she could sit next to us and all three of us settled back to wait for moonrise.
Splash!
There are times in our lives that we find ourselves caught between reality, confusion, and disbelief. So it was in the instant when the lifeline we were all leaning against snapped. The moment changed — from our reality of peace and contentment, to the confusion of falling backward heels over head, to our shock and disbelief as we plunged into the cool deep water.
The first thing I saw as I broke the surface was Lisa holding Haley with one arm and hanging onto the busted lifeline with the other. Fortunately, we have a standing order that kids have to wear life vests while on deck, so Haley had hers on. Unfortunately, we don’t have the same order for adults, so Lisa and I were treading water.
We made sure everyone was OK and slowly assessed our situation. The freeboard was way too high for us to reach the deck. The only way to get back in the boat was via the swim ladder on the transom. While Lisa was reassuring Haley that everything was fine and we would be back aboard in no time, I swam to the stern and grabbed the swim ladder that was, of course, stowed away.
Going into superhero mode, I decided to simply pull my 200 pounds, plus an additional 25 pounds of wet clothes, up the stainless-steel ladder hand over hand. After two wholehearted yet feeble attempts, I abandoned this plan of action. As my thoughts began to wander to alternative ways of getting out of this mess, I figured I needed some help from the crew. I called Haley over and asked her to climb up on my shoulders while I held onto the swim ladder. She quickly climbed my back as she would an old tree and clambered aboard. With a little instruction, Haley dropped the ladder and Lisa climbed aboard, followed quickly by me.
We took stock: we were going to have to make our way back to the dock in wet clothes. I fired up our diesel and we started chugging home. All this had taken place in less than 30 minutes and, as we motored along, as an afterthought I glanced over my shoulder to see a glorious full moon easing over the trees to the southeast. Not to be denied, we turned back, if only for a while, to enjoy the view.
Eventually we docked and, as we secured The Swamp Fox, we accepted the fact that we had no other choice but to make the long drive home in wet clothes. With everyone safe and sound, Haley slept while Lisa and I talked and laughed and relived the event as we drove home. An old adage shared with me by a racing friend came to mind: “We don’t sail because we love it, we sail for the stories we can tell.” For us, this would become one of those stories.
Art Martin was introduced to sailing in the early 1980s but did not become an avid sailor until the mid-’90s. He learned to sail on his first boat, a Helms 24, on Lake Murray in Columbia, South Carolina, and by crewing on different boats in the Charleston Ocean Racing Association. Art and his wife, Lisa, now enjoy renovating and sailing their Helms 27 on Lake Murray.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
