jackets begin to break out in the cool spring evening.

 

The sky was so clear that every star could be seen from our protected cove where ambient light was not a factor. I only wish I had been there in those conditions the night I searched for the comet.  

Our dinner was just superb. The chicken and corn on the cob was perfectly cooked, the salad just right and the cherry pie prepared in Cary’s oven was outstanding. Oh what a night to remember. The Merlot wine gave all our food a genuine taste of excellence.

 

After several hours of socializing, we, one by one, retired for a good night’s sleep and perhaps a nice cruise of the lake on Sunday. As we sleep, weather conditions began to change somewhat. Clouds began to form in the south and winds picked up, but not enough to awaken anyone. It was not until the wind had built to the point of creating some of those slow and methodical rollers that anyone became suspicious. A quick check of the lines tying us together and the broken clouds with a 10 knot wind suggested that all was well at about 2 a.m.

 

At 3 a.m. another check showed an increase in wind speed and a thickening of the clouds, but again, nothing to be overly concerned about. Then, at 4 a.m., all hell broke loose. I was awakened with the sound of Cary’s large fist banging on my deck. I could hear him calling my name, “Bob, Bob, get out here quick. We’re in trouble!” As I popped the hatch I could see Carson breaking away. I could see Dwight Segraves bouncing in a huge swell and at that moment I was nearly thrown to the deck by the crest of the same swell.  I quickly dressed and went on‐deck. The wind had built from 20 to at least 55 knots in only a few minutes. Our raft‐up of 5 with the second group about 50 yards behind us with 8 boats, all looked like toys in a bathtub filled with kids. As I regained my balance and crawled to the starboard side to meet Cary, I could hear the awful sound of fiberglass crunching under extreme pressure.

 

First, we attempted to re‐position the rafting fenders, but due to the violent tossing of the vessels and the 3 foot swells, the only thing we accomplished was almost getting Cary’s foot smashed between the crashing boats. Our only hope was to cut our lines and separate. With engines roaring, I pulled out my handy Gerber tool and informed everyone of my intentions. There was so much tension on the line that a slight touch of the blade resulted in a gun like sound as the line separated.

 

Rusty was trying, unsuccessfully, to untie his stern line as I cut the bow line causing the boat to swing around as though in an “out‐of‐control” jibe. I ran back to cut his stern line. As I did, I saw Dwight with a jammed line and floundering helplessly as Cary made way to release him. At last, in what seemed to be a lifetime, everyone in our group was free or at least swinging on one anchor. As I swung around, I saw the second fleet in as much trouble as ours, but it appeared some of the boats had gone aground.  Indeed they had. Five, to be exact, lie on their sides awash on the south shore of the island. I knew there were women and children on those boats, but even though I wanted to try to go to them, the wind was so strong I could barley make headway to clear the out‐of‐control boats. NO QUARTER had crossed our bow at a very high speed, 7 TO 10 knots, on just a bare pole. I learned later it had become impaled on the shore.

 

I could hear calls of help on the VHF, but could not leave my station for fear of losing what little control of the LADY LOVE I had. All I could do was hope for the safety of my friends and their vessels.

As I cleared the entrance to the cove, the wind began to diminish slightly. By the time I made it to the marina, conditions were almost calm. The worst was over and I knew those in the cove were safe. As more of us made our way back and word traveled to those who had wisely elected to return the marina the night before, rescue effort began to take form. Dodd Daggett commanded a crew who returned on the committee boat, Mime Robins called Eden Isle security guard Jay Quipt who notified marina staff, Rick & Ray. Terry Finn went over to the house boat dock and solicited assistance from Wayne Davidson, skipper of GATOR and the motor yacht TIGHT FIT.

 

I returned to the slip setting up communications and began to contact local authorities seeking their assistance. I might add a foot note here related to an emergency plan for our lake. “There ain’t none.” Or as near as I could determine. After checking with two agencies, there seemed to be a lack of knowledge as to exactly what to do in case of a disaster which did not involve personal injury or enforcement action.  Essentially, we were on our own. It all goes back to the age old rule, “the captain of a vessel is always ultimately responsible,” and sometimes, as in this case, alone.

 

During this time, Dodd Daggett had assumed the role of operations commander, and with an outstanding crew, a rescue operation system was put in place. The rescue went as smoothly as I have ever seen. I want to take this opportunity the say how very proud I am to be associated with all of the people who participated in making the operation a success. This is a true example of boater helping boater in a very true rescue situation. If not for the superb seamanship of Dodd and crew, a couple of our boats might still be sitting on the island. Cooperation between power and sailboat was apparent. I felt good when I saw grateful crews expressing their sincere appreciation. Everyone there realized the importance of being able to depend on one another in critical situations. All was well by 10 am, except for wounded boats, frazzled nerves and crews with only minor cuts and bruises. We were most fortunate to have survived the ordeal without injury. I have the Cleburne County Sheriffs Dept. in the process of forming a water patrol.

 

So what’s the bottom line, the moral to the story? Simple. Never take mother nature for granted. It “did” piss her off. Raft up and enjoy yourself in good weather, but never place yourself, your crew or your vessel in harm’s way in varying weather conditions. It is advisable to always have an escape plan foany close quarters situation. Always trust your instinct and take evasive action as soon as you make the consideration. If you wait for a “sign,” it will more than likely be too late. And most important, “always” place the safety of your crew, yourself and your vessel above all.

 

The flotilla made some basic mistakes that night. I don’t think I will ever go to sleep again rafted in a group. The last sentence in “Chapman’s Piloting” simply states, “When it’s time to turn in for the night, every boat should have it’s own separate anchorage.” Let us all examine this situation, learn from it, and because of it, strive to make better seamen of ourselves.

ENJOY THE LAKE MORE WITH GREERS FERRY LAKE YACHT CLUB