Noted for its world-class diving sites, the “drier” side of Bonaire is many times forgotten. The salt mountains of the south, the largest pink flamingo sanctuary in the Caribbean and the wild and barren Washington Slagbaai Park in the North all contribute to a side of Bonaire that some mistakenly overlook.

Though diving is what comes to mind when thinking about Bonaire, we were expecting non-diving guests and needed to plan activities that were not water-based…somewhat of a challenge for a sailboat moored next to an island…but hey, we’re good hosts! After a day of wandering around downtown Kralendijk…clean, bright and alive with shops and restaurants…we checked out possibilities for island exploration at the tourist information office, rented a van and set off to explore.

The island of Bonaire is shaped like a boomerang. The northern part is rough, hilly, arid terrain and the location of Washington Slagbaai National Park, our first day’s endeavor. Equipped with a picnic lunch and lots of water, we left mid-morning in our non-air-conditioned van and headed north along the leeward coast. The whole island is only 24 miles long by 7 miles wide max and much of the road we traveled was one-way. Our chances of getting lost were drastically diminished.

View from the turnout at Gotomeer

Our first stop was Gotomeer, a large salt pond and pink flamingo sanctuary. There’s a small turnout for vehicles above the lake that affords an impressive panoramic view. There are twice as many pink flamingos in Bonaire as there are people and you can easily distinguish the hundreds of slender pink bodies contrasting with the blue lake water below. In addition to the view, the turnout area was the home of countless iguanas, birds and whiptail lizards, which were obviously used to handouts. The entire pack hustled towards us en masse as soon as stale crackers were offered.

Traveling through Rincon, the oldest town in Bonaire, a smaller well-signed road leads to the entrance of Washington Slagbaai Park, a 13,500-acre game preserve. The uniformed rangers were pleasant and knowledgeable, but cautioned us seriously about exiting the park no later than 5PM.

“What happens if we’re late?” I asked.

“We lock you in.” was the simple reply…no smile.

We opted to have lunch at the park entrance under a large dividivi tree, which provided both shade and seating. The whiptail lizards with their iridescent turquoise tails, backs and feet, provided endless entertainment. There were hundreds of them and they weren’t shy in the least, insisting upon their share of the lunch. These toothless beggars clambered at our feet for any snacks available and with very little inducement, would climb up our arms or legs for a proffered treat.

The park roads are not paved and provided a challenge for the driver and test of endurance for the passengers. The 34 km ride took more than 5 hours including several stops to view the scenery and rest our bones from the bumpy ride. There are blowholes, a lighthouse, outstanding scenery, a climb up to Brandaris (the highest point in Bonaire at 241 meters) and a multitude of beaches to explore. We could have spent the entire day at Playa Kokolishi with its large rock formations and natural coral “benches”, but the clock was ticking and we kept moving.

Without a doubt, the best part of the park visit was the host of animals we saw. Lizards, iguanas, goats, parrots, trupials and a myriad of other vibrant birds delighted us throughout the visit. The iguanas are colorful, numerous and large…about 4-5’ long from their snouts to the tips of their long, striped tails. They’re herbivores and enjoyed our banana peels as a snack. Knowing they were herbivores, however, did not preclude me from shrieking and beating a hasty retreat when one became a bit too aggressive for my comfort level.

Iguanas, though herbivores, weren’t my cup of tea.

The park map, provided by the rangers, showed both long and short routes. After a couple of hours, we keyed in on the “short” route without hesitation. We entered the park just before Noon and barely made it out a few minutes after the aforementioned 5:00pm. The disgruntled rangers were waiting for us to close the gates and politely accused us of “lollygagging”…a first in our cruising careers. Exhausted and dehydrated, we returned to the boat for cocktails and sustenance and planned a day for heading south.

Salt mountains dominate the landscape in the south.

The southern terrain is low-lying with wetlands and mangroves. The most distinguishing features are the enormous mountains of salt piled along the shore. Many of the islands we’ve visited once produced salt, however Bonaire is the only one that continues to do so. Cargill Salt is one of the world’s largest salt producers and manufactures about 2,000 tons/hour for export, primarily for use in water softeners and ice control applications. As we drove along, the blue-green of the sea on one side contrasted sharply with the rust-red water of the saltpans. Modern windmills, used to pump water from one saltpan to another, dot the countryside and seem incongruous with their surroundings.

Remnants of the past are profuse in Bonaire. Slave huts, constructed in the mid-1800s, line the beach opposite the saltpans. Built to provide minimal shelter for the slaves who worked the salt ponds and collected the salt, they remain standing as an integral part of Bonaire’s history.

Donkeys, once used to help cart the salt to the waiting ships, run loose. They’re everywhere and are also considered a part of Bonaire’s heritage. Observing the “Watch Out for Donkeys” street signs (written in local Papiamentu), we stopped frequently to let donkeys cross the street in front of us. Many times they waited at the window in hopes of handouts and we learned to save apple cores and banana peels for just such occasions.

Donkeys aren’t shy in Bonaire.

The Willemstoren Lighthouse stands sentry at the most southern point of the island before the solitary road turns north again allowing a view of the windward coast. Unusual sculptures line the shore, a combination of imagination and the endless supply of jetsam. Pink flamingos are plentiful. Wild donkeys and goats comb the scrubby landscape for food. Midst this flat, barren setting lies Lac Bay, a mecca for windsurfers. Whether you opt to participate or just sip a cold beer and watch, the scene is colorful and lively. Across the bay at Cai, a long, bumpy, dusty ride away, mountains of conch shells line the beach. A sign reminds visitors to leave the shells in tact…these, too, are part of the heritage Bonaire is striving to maintain.

Two full days to explore Bonaire was barely adequate and we could have taken closer to a week if time was not an issue. Unquestionably, diving is extraordinary in Bonaire, but the “drier” side is not to be missed.

©2004 Marcie Connelly-Lynn

This article was excerpted from Marcie’s new ebook: Caribbean Stories.

About Marcie Connelly-Lynn

Marcie Connelly-Lynn and her husband, David Lynn, have lived aboard their Liberty 458 cutter since 2000 when they sold up and sailed off.

Since that time, they’ve put over 70,000 nautical miles under the keel and visited 30+ countries on five continents. Their philosophy of “just a little further” has taken them from the Caribbean, twice across the Atlantic, around four of the five Great Southern Capes and across the Pacific with lots of stops to explore along the way. They’re currently cruising in Australia.

“Living on a boat gives us a different perspective on travel. We’re able to visit places that are inaccessible for many. We spend lots of time at sea, but we make the most of our land time, too. We’re not on a 2-week vacation. This is our lifestyle.”

Marcie and David both write extensively about their travels and life aboard Nine of Cups and are regular contributors to Good Old Boat and Ocean Navigator. They’re also active members of Seven Seas Cruising Association.

Their blogsite, Just A Little Further (www.justalittlefurther.com) is updated daily and they also maintain a comprehensive website about their travels at www.nineofcups.com.

Marcie’s new e-book, Caribbean Stories is a compilation of stories, some previously published in Caribbean Compass magazine, and others new stories never published before.

It’s full of color photos and anecdotes that will allow you to experience the beauty and thrill of sailing in the Carib.

Nine of Cups’ Caribbean Stories, is available for sale on their blogsite, website and at Good Old Boat.

Read also on this website

• Boat jobs: Pink or Blue? Marcie Lynn comments
• What Marcie Lynn Likes Most About Cruising
• Marcie Lynn’s Galley Advice

My husband was pretty sure I was serious about selling up and going cruising when I returned the gold watch he had given me for our anniversary (“She’s even too crazy to be a cruiser,” I hear you gasp). However, what really convinced him was when I parted with my (shamefully vast) collection of “Cottage Living” and “Victoria” Magazines.

Yet, for a while after moving aboard, it was I who found myself questioning my own commitment, as I still continued to yearn for those cozy cottagey images. Was I really a closet landlubber masquerading in fowlies?

Photo www.anoregoncottage.com

But then I found it. Lined up on the cruisers’ book swap shelf in a Mexican marina was a copy of “Cottage living”!! Could it be that a fellow yearner lurked among the masts and fenders? It was my epiphany. If another boater shared my love of the quaint and cozy, then there must be some link between boats and cottages.

Now, after years of living aboard and cruising I have come to see that there is such a link and that it is, in fact, vital to our emotional well-being to make our boats into homes we love and not just to regard them as floating tool sheds.

Esthetics is not something that comes up very often in conjunction with talk of cruising. The lines of the boat and the upkeep of the bright-work and varnishing seem to be the limit of the discussion. However, one spends an awful lot of time not only inside the boat, but in very intimate contact with everything inside the boat.

I think the physical appearance of the interior and of the furnishings play an enormous role in how happy you are on your boat. I am not advocating aspirations to the sleek homogenized interiors of the vessels hawked in the magazines; I am talking about a personalized, pleasant space that gives you joy to look at and live in. However, if sleek and homogenized is what you need then the lack of it may be just what will dampen your cruising spirit.

One of the joys of being around other boaters is that house-pride goes very quickly out the back hatch. Everyone knows that everyone’s boat is always a workshop, galley, school room and living room in a constant state of occupation and use (and usually in that order). That is a given, and everyone is always welcome and drop-ins are what makes this life so rich. So I am not advocating the adoption of landlubber sensitivities to domesticity but rather a reminder that the space around us does affect our mood. Whether you are a Martha Stewart or a Rachel Ashwell you need to enjoy your diminutive domain and make it somewhere you want to live.

While I do believe esthetics plays a big part, I am also talking about making a home that works. That means minimizing clutter and only having equipment that serves useful purposes. The safety and weight reasons for this are obvious but the aggravation caused by constantly heaving things out of the way to get access to other things can make tempers flare.

Visual decluttering created by identical storage bags

Not only beauty but the ability to organize and access your belongings does have an impact on your psyche. I have not been so successful with my cabin and it becomes very dispiriting. Storage on our boat is very rudimentary, making use of plastic crates on shelves. Many is the time I have been unable to access clothes because I have stacked too much or hung too many bags in front of them to allow me to get further than the top layer. Consequently I feel frustrated when an occasion calls for a slightly dressier look and I settle for my daily uniform instead. I curse the boat but it is actually my cluttered living style.

With space at a premium, we all have bizarre stashes of supplies in odd corners, so it is not just important for the psyche to have some system of order in your personal belongings. When you are freezing cold or fainting from heat and need to find that item of clothing in a hurry, you don’t want to be heaving at boxes of confused possessions. Develop a system whereby you can reliably locate items. It might be those drawer dividers or sets of hanging drawstring bags you make yourself.

While I am the last to advocate what can be the characterless look of matchy décor, there is a visual decluttering that can be achieved with identical containers or bags and it certainly makes stacking easier. I had a series of nautical bags embroidered with family members’ names so that they could be hung for storage and ready access to hats, gloves and other gear. I am still working on an effective solution to the lost shoe partner, and the pretty outfit that remains so buried that it never sees the light of day. Part of that problem lies in my own failing of still having just too much to store.

Cruising is certainly about the enjoyment of making do and living simply but we have to remember that in order to be self-reliant we need reliable tools. This, too is important to the psyche. When we tour the boat shows we can become entranced by the ingenious sets of saucepans that nest into a space the size of a tea cup with light little handles that unclip to store. But when it comes to actually cooking rather than storing, what you really want is one of those exquisite sets you saw in Williams Sonoma on your last trip to visit the family.

Rather than selling off all your good quality household effects for pennies at a garage sale (mea culpa, mea maxima culpa) establish which of them you use all the time and take them aboard instead.

Clare’s Birthday in Puerto Vallarta – Hungarian Jerbo Slice, with coffee made in her new French press.

The saucepan you always used because it was the perfect size for pasta or the frypan that never burned or the trusty sharp knives that you invariably reach for will continue to serve you and make your boat a home.

The same goes for equipment like can and bottle openers. They must not simply work well, I would add that they should be a pleasure to use. When the sole is up and the contents of all the cupboards are ranged on every surface and all you can prepare for lunch is a can of beans, that can opener had better roll smoothly or it will be the last thing your crewmate sees flying past his head.

Think long and hard about those appliances or heavier pieces like Dutch Ovens, too. If you have always started your day with a smoothy, you are always going to miss that blender. If you had mastered the art of artisanal crusty loaves in your Dutch Oven (teach the rest of us) and try to find a corner to stow it.

The same is true of your crockery and silverware. Tin spoons and eating out of the can are part of the adventure of camping or weekend sailing, but for long term living they can get you down. We started out with a mismatched collection of utilitarian mugs and plastic cups that, frankly, got rather depressing and could never be stored in an orderly fashion.

Now, whenever we find dinnerware or mixing bowls of similar colors to our settees (see below) we add them to the galley, with the result that we have created a mood lifting medley of co-ordinating equipment that I just love to see in my dish drainer or stacked neatly in the cupboard. It is quite remarkable (and, frankly, ridiculous) what an uplifting impact it has on me. Do not think of it as self- indulgent to have utensils that make you happy to use them. Think of it as the mental health insurance policy that keeps you sailing; Mood enhancing mugs.

Mood altering mugs

If you are an avid quilter or yarn artist there is still room for your craft aboard your craft. Hanging quilts make great dividers and draft insulators when you have no real cabins. Even without a full makeover you can spruce up the décor you have.

The settees in our former racing boat are covered in the fabric used on London’s buses and Underground system because it can stand the abuse of thousands of commuters (or a few kids) and still look bright. It is extremely practical, if somewhat garish. Rather than try to beat it I have embraced it by slowly knitting cushions with even more garish stripes.

Knitting cushion covers to match the décor

Crochet lends itself to all manner of truly useful boat items as well. A narrow hanging tube can be made to fit a range of jar sizes for flowers or sprouts and will stay level as the boat heels or bobs. Covers for pans or tea pots are useful for stopping clanging and ware. There is no end to the practical or whimsical that can add to your floating life and the lives of those you meet.

My daughter fashioned a crocheted fender cover out of rope core, made mistletoe to hang at Christmas, created a parrot for her pirate costume and endless outfits for fellow cruising kids’ toys.

The Christmas stockings my daughter knitted.

A discussion of décor and happiness aboard a boat would not be complete without a discussion of sleeping quarters. If cruising is to avoid resembling camping, the place you lay your head must be more than make do. On our boat we had to convert racing pipe berths into wooden bunks and we have made them so supremely comfortable that we cannot wait to get back to them if we have had a period of staying in hotels.

In setting them up we adopted the “Princess and the Pea” model of sleep comfort. First we laid down a sheet of anti- fungal carpet underlay an inch thick. We chose it because it could be cut to fit all the odd curves of each bunk. On top of that we placed an air filled ground mat (OK camping kudos there) followed by a layer of memory foam. Since standard sheets will neither fit nor stay put I made a sheet mat for each bunk using sheet fabric and pre-quilted fabric bound around the edges with wide bias binding. This has enough body and inertia to stay in place and does not end up bunched into a wrinkled sodden ball in sweatier climes. It has even become the top sheet of choice in the hotter latitudes because it stays clear of the body and allows for air circulation. We use sleeping bags as duvets because they fit the bunk width better and can be converted from double to single layer as the temperature requires. Like food, good sleep is the key to good morale, health and safety.

None of this is to advocate any particular style of décor or living, but rather to make you sensitive to what makes you happy. I want to encourage cruising women and potential cruisers to understand how such apparently insignificant features of life aboard can actually make the difference between miserable sufferance and joyful fulfillment, especially when the motivation for cruising comes more from the other partner or when you (or he ) have been just a little bit too gung ho in the abandonment of your previous life.

I have an Irish friend who emigrated to Australia with her husband after years of dreaming and planning. Her husband had built a shipping crate in which to transport all their possessions, including all the tools he would need to set himself up as a mechanic in Australia. In the final packing of all the tools there was no room for any of her things or the baby equipment they had been given as gifts. I sat with her looking out over the stunning white sand and turquoise water of Coral Bay in Western Australia as she wept, “If all we came for was this,” she sobbed, “ it would have been worth it, but I am just so home sick.” After giving it her best shot, they returned to Ireland. I truly believe that she would have been able to cope so much better with the transition if she had had just some of her familiar links to home. Cruising is like a permanent state of emigration. A free lifestyle and exquisite locales make it seem so irrational that we should need to cling to such material anchors but paying attention to that need may be more important than you realize.

About Clare Collins

Clare and her family have made their home on a 72 foot steel race boat.

Clare homeschools her children, studies online and tries to find time to knit, sew and work on refining galley friendly recipes. She is still a sucker for Country Living and crafting magazines.

More from Clare Collins, on this website

• Fighting Fears: Taking the Plunge (Feature article)
  The account of Clare family’s quest to fulfill their dream of sailing
• Staying pink in a blue world (Blog)
• First cruising adventure: Our best and worst moments (Blog)
• How I said farewell to the Southern Cross and got new eyes (Blog)

Related articles on this website

• Galley Advice from 18 Cruising Women (Feature article):
  18 cruising women offer tips and advice for setting up your galley and cooking aboard, discuss the gear that they couldn’t live without, and invite you into their galleys.
• Bedding (Admiral’s Angle #60)

Imagine your house.  Now shrink it down to your living room and kitchen.  That’s the size of the boat my husband and I lived on for two months with seven people as we sailed across the largest ocean on the planet on Llyr, a 53-foot steel ketch.  Now take that space and shrink it down to 40 square feet.  That’s the size of the space Rob and I shared for our 33-day passage between Panama and the Marquesas Islands, and for the weeks of prep-work at Shelter Bay Marina beforehand.  Currently, we’re sharing 30 square feet on a 43-foot Polaris bound for Tonga.

I know what you’re thinking … and, no, we’re not midgets, dwarves or leprechauns.  We’re just brave, or really stupid, depending on your point of view.

One year ago, we decided to start our sailing adventure by crewing on boats, rather than buying our own right away.  This allows us to:

1. Make sure we REALLY like the cruising lifestyle before dropping tens of thousands of dollars;
2. Learn more about blue-water sailing;
3. Test drive a variety of boats to see what we like best;
4. And travel much more cheaply through the South Pacific.

You can read reams of blog posts on how couples transition from living in comfy, spacious homes to living aboard a sailboat.  Our growing pains aren’t that different, really, except that we moved into one small part of someone else’s sailboat, rather than having a whole boat to stretch out into.  When we started planning for our “hitch-sail  around the world” adventure, I hadn’t really thought ahead to how crunching into tiny new spaces might affect Rob and me, individually and as a couple.

For instance: our bed aboard Llyr was the size of my two body pillows back home, and a far cry from the king bed Rob and I could each spread-eagle across.  To be fair, while I missed my body pillows dreadfully, Rob definitely suffered more, since he was a foot longer than the berth.  Our closet consisted of three tiny cubbies and two short shelves. Instead of our own room, we each got our own hook on the wall.

Our berth on LLYR – Small space for Rob

To be clear, Llyr had the NICEST sailboat berth I’ve ever been in.  Seriously. I was expecting one half the size, and was giddy with excitement that we had a big, breezy hatch to open, our own mini-desk, seven foot headroom, and … drumroll, please … a door to close!
Right this minute, I’m longing for Llyr‘s cushy berth as Rob sets up his settee (the quarter-berth on our current sailboat doesn’t fit two people unless one wants a bloody nose in the middle of the night).  But even the biggest sailboat berth is still small enough to create some angst between a husband and wife used to living very independently.

To compensate, we compromise.  A few minor sacrifices during our Pacific crossing maintained the greater peace: Rob let me have an extra pillow on the tiny bed, and a whole hook dedicated to hair ties.  I ignored the constant clutter on the desk, and his boxers hanging in my face from the improvised clothesline.  I got more cubby space since I have five times more clothing, and Rob got an extra shelf for his fishing gear.

It’s not just space we have to share now, either.  Our new lifestyle required downgrading material goods, since all our belongings had to fit in one big backpack each as we hop between boats.  This downgrading was unfortunately doubled one week into our adventure by “The Great Baja Theft” when one of our bags was stolen near La Paz.   Now, we have to swap the one iPod, the small laptop, the one red headlamp, the remaining water bottle, the guitar (since Rob’s learning to play), the single body lotion, the one beach towel, the only yoga mat. At least we still have our own toothbrushes.

Sharing the guitar

Back home in Montana, we didn’t own a huge house, by American standards.  But our 1,700 square feet nestled in the mountains felt luxurious. We each had our own room, or “chaos space.”  Mine was dubbed the ”earring room,” filled with jewelry, clothes, guitars, photos, my desk, and my books.  Rob’s was dubbed the ”gear room,” with his fly-tying station, 12 backpacks, packraft, fishing, hunting and skiing gear all on top of his paperwork and files.  As we crew on different sailboats, our combined clothes, papers, guitar, backpacks and recreation gear must all fit in our seven-foot by four-foot berth.  Oh, and we have to fit in there, too.

Rob on our one yoga mat on the stern deck of LLYR

For two extremely independent people who were used to having inherent boundaries of “my stuff” and “your stuff,” it’s been quite a transition to move onto other people’s sailboats.  The good news: we made it through our first anniversary. The other news: it ain’t easy sharing a tiny space with your partner, but it is possible with a lot of patience, solid communications skills, and an ever-present sense of humor.

Luckily, Rob and I are both communal people, used to sharing our home, our gear, our thoughts and our lives with others and each other.
The only tough part, really, were the up-front negotiations about who gets what when, not the least of which is a bit of privacy.  As long as I can occassionally spread-eagle alone on the berth with a book and he can tune me out with headphones and loud music, we seem to get along just dandy. Again and again, we prove that a deep breath, clear communication, and lots of jokes ease rough moments in our shared space.

Brianna dancing on sailboat bow

We’ve now lived on seven different boats in the past six months, and are pros at maximizing small spaces.  We reach around each other in a graceful and almost-effortless dance. All the sharing of space and possessions has made us a stronger couple.  We are more adaptable, more comfortable with each other, and more confident in our ability to weather all types of storms.

That being said, I still miss our king-sized bed.

About Brianna Randall

As comfortable in fancy earrings as she is in her ratty yoga pants, Brianna loves sailing, writing, snowboarding, diving, biking, hiking, guitar-playing, dancing and yoga.  Brianna grew up where the desert meets the mountains in Southern California, and then headed to the ocean to attend the University of San Diego (where she learned to sail).  She fled the traffic and smog of Cali to get her Master’s degree in Environmental Studies at the University of Montana, and decided the wonderful community and endless adventures in Missoula made up for the 8-month-long winters (but just barely).

Brianna spent 9 years directing policy, outreach, and grants at the Clark Fork Coalition, and has presented on water issues in Spain, China, Australia and across the Western U.S. She is also a freelance writer, and wrote a children’s novel about Montana.

After a decade of ”working like an adult,” she convinced her husband (easily) to try sailing around the world for a couple of years.
Brianna and Rob are “hitch-sailing” as crew in the South Pacific this season — follow their adventures at www.onthehorizonline.com

More on this website

• The Crew Quandary (Admirals’ Angle column #63), by Gwen Hamlin:
  When long passages loom, cruisers invariably wonder whether or not to take on crew. Here are some things to consider.
• Balance of power … afloat, by Jaye Lunsford

Cruising Life: The Best Stories from Caribbean Compass

I  first read Ruth’s article about going overboard when it was first published in the Caribbean Compass back in 1999.

It was an amazing story and I wondered if I could possibly be as resourceful as Ruth if something like that happened to me. Before I went cruising, I thought if  anything bad happened out on the sea, well, there is no way I could possibly cope.

Once cruising though I began to learn however, that occasionally the inthinkable does occur (as it does on land as well), and I started meeting people who had coped with all sorts of emergencies  and survived.

This knowledge of course doesn’t make you complacent, in my case it made me less panicked and more able to think: what is the best way to avoid a major problem, and how should we respond in an emergency.

We all eagerly await the monthly arrival of the Caribbean Compass in the anchorages down island, and it is a special achievement to have an article published in the Caribbean Compass. Probably nothing gives a truer picture of what Caribbean cruising is like in all its variety than  the articles that Sally Erdle, editor and former circumnavigator publishes in the Compass.

Thank you Sally Erdle and Rona Beame for putting together a book of all the best stories from the Compass! I am sure I have missed some of these stories the first time around, and others like Ruth’s, I was glad to have the chance to reread again and be amazed.

— Kathy Parsons, Women and Cruising

We were sailing our Morgan 41,  Sea Dream I,  from Grenada to Antigua. The Christmas Winds had arrived early and were in force. We’d had a truly awful  night sailing from Carriacou to St. Lucia — black as the inside of an elephant  with winds that never dropped below 30 knots, plus hourly squalls of 40 to 45  knots.

In spite of all that, my husband, Vern, and I  weren’t expecting what hit us just north of Martinique: a squall with 55-knot  winds and gusts to 60. It lasted only ten minutes, but felt like ten hours as we clung grimly to the wheel.

The main blew out and then, once the winds calmed  down to only 40 knots, Vern noticed a line trailing along the lee side of the  boat. I was upset to realize that it was all that was left of our Fortress  anchor. We had lost 100 feet of chain and 200 feet of rode. A lot of water must  have come over the bow during the squall, with enough force to lift the pawl  off the windlass gypsy and let the anchor run.

With the main blown, we needed the engine and  didn’t want any lines tangling in the prop. Vern said, “Be very, very careful!”  as I went out on deck and up forward to haul the line in.

I was sitting on the  foredeck with the windlass between my knees and one hand on the windward  lifeline — and them suddenly I wasn’t!  Sea Dream  and I had parted company. It’s a distressing  sensation being run over by your home, but somehow I managed to kick out from  under the hull before I got aft to the propeller.

Vern brought the boat around immediately and I  was expecting to be run down again, but managed to grab the trailing anchor  rode, which immediately pulled me underneath the boat again. Even with the  engine out of gear and a blown-out main, 40 knots of wind and six- to  eight-foot seas push a boat along at a fair clip and I couldn’t hang on without  being dragged under. The next time Vern came for me he threw the jibsheet over  the side. That was better, as I could let myself trail aft of the boat and not  be sucked under the hull.

The next thing I remember was trying to climb aboard using the rudder extension for the wind-vane oar. I still had the  figure-eight stop knot of the jibsheet tight in my right fist. Vern was  standing at the stern knotting a line to hand to me. I got as far as standing  on the rudder with both hands on the rubrail, moved one hand to grip anything  that wasn’t slippery with salt and away I went again. Seconds later Vern had  the line ready to throw — and couldn’t see me.

By this time it was 0900 hours, which meant we  were 12 or 15 miles north of St. Pierre, which we’d left at 0600. Vern put out  a “Mayday” on VHF channel 16, which was heard by at least two sailboats and the  girls at the reception desk of the Anchorage Hotel in Dominica. But two other  sailboats that were close to us heard nothing. (When they saw our sailboat  going in circles didn’t they wonder if there was a problem? At least with the  seamanship?) The two boats sailed serenely past, without changing course for a  closer look.

It occurred to me that I’d be more visible  waving a flag, and I tried waving my T-shirt. It’s a knee-length red beach  cover-up and, dry, would make an excellent signaling device. Wet, not so great.  Try some time waving a soaking wet T-shirt overhead while swimming in six- to eight-foot seas! It’s heavy, for a start.

I stretched it out between my hands and threw it  into the air as I reached the top of a wave, but I didn’t have much hope. A successful sighting would have required me being on top of a wave, Sea  Dream being on the top of a wave and  Vern looking in exactly the right direction, all at the same time. It didn’t  work. I decided to put the shirt back on for modesty’s sake.

Vern circled for an hour, searching for me. It didn’t take me long to find out that with the wind pushing it, Sea Dream was drifting off faster than I could follow, so I stopped trying. We’d joked once that if I fell overboard he should just carry on to the next island and I’d swim in, so I headed for Dominica. I’d lost my glasses in the fall overboard but could see Dominica. Martinique was lost in squalls and rain. I turned my back to the wind and swam.

Vern, meanwhile, was having a perfectly awful day. For one thing, it was the first time he’d single-handed in the nearly 12  years since we retired aboard. At least the winds hadn’t piped up to 55 knots again, but with the blown sail down to the reef point and having to stand on the cockpit coaming to reach the reefing lines Vern didn’t have much to hang onto. He was nearly overboard himself more than once. (Which would have been a real disaster as he has negative buoyancy, as do about three percent of all people. Unlike me, he carries no built-in flotation.) At last he controlled the sail and headed north (in Dominica they speak English) to organize a search. But all the way, he was trying to work out how to break the news to my family that I had drowned.

It took Sea Dream until nearly 1700 to get close to Roseau, when three local men in a boat came out almost a mile to welcome Vern to the island and offer help. He certainly needed it! In moments Brian, James and Darryl were aboard. Brian was on the radio to the Coast Guard to report my loss, since Vern doesn’t hear well and couldn’t understand the questions they asked. Darryl was right inside the chain locker reeving the second anchor chain through the primary hawse so the boat could be anchored, and James was on the stern preparing lines to carry ashore to a palm tree.

My day was much easier. I knew I was fine, and  could tell Vern was still aboard and coping because the boat was under control.

The funniest things go through your head when you’re swimming alone between islands. Mostly I was furious for making whatever elementary mistake let me fall overboard in the first place. All kinds of thoughts went through my head: “I guess I’ll never get those Christmas cards written after all” and “Don’t start throwing away my business-card collection,  Vern, because I’ll be back!” and “I suppose he’ll be spending our life savings on a helicopter search…”

A jellyfish tentacle wrapped around my arm and I picked it off and said, “Not now, I haven’t the time!” right out loud. A dolphin swam by 30 or 40 feet away and that was a thrill, finally to swim with a dolphin, even if it was only for a second or two. A small container ship came past about a quarter of mile away, heading west, then changed course to the north, going around me exactly as if I were a pivot.

Of all possible ways to die, drowning would be my least favorite, so I didn’t. Besides, Vern had his first wife for 32 years and I could scarcely demand equal time if I weren’t around. It was necessary to stay afloat.

I thought of all the things that I’d be leaving unfinished, and shrugged. There were no regrets except for the stack of unanswered letters; some we’d even taken to Canada with us and brought back still unanswered. I was glad I hadn’t skimped on telling family and friends I love them. I was glad I hadn’t been tethered to the boat, as I’d have been battered on the way over the side or dragged under the hull until I drowned. I’d taken on quite enough water just trying to hang on by the broken anchor rode.

Just at noon, I saw a sailboat heading my way and thought, “Can’t be Vern; he doesn’t have a jib out.” Soon the boat was so close that if a wave hadn’t smacked the bow aside I’d have been run over again!

I yelled “Hey, can you see me?” but they already had. Anthony said, “There’s someone in the water!” and Justin had looked around to see who was missing. From there, the rescue was textbook perfect. Anthony never took his eyes off me as Justin managed the jib and brought Enchantress around to circle me. Her dinghy was out on a very long painter and they maneuvered it around so I could grab hold. I told them I was very tired, which was not strictly true, and would need a ladder to get aboard, which was true. I’ve never been able to climb out of the sea into an inflatable dinghy, so I just clung on to theirs until they put a ladder down. Then they towed the dinghy in, threw me a line to knot around my chest and towed me to the foot of the ladder. I was soon aboard and provided with a dry towel that was colour-coordinated to my red T-shirt.

Enchantress had a touchy transmit button on the VHF radio and so used a hand-held unit to tell their companion boat, Natasha,  that they’d picked up a hitch-hiker. On  Natasha,  Federica passed messages on to anyone who would take them — to let Vern know I was fine, to stop him initiating an expensive search, and to get him some help securing the boat in harbour. The message went through to  Sudiki, a Gulfstar 50 sistership to  Enchantress. (While Federica was on the radio, a female French voice broke in to tell her to get off channel 16 as it is for emergency and rescue! When I met James and “Freddy” later, I asked her what she had said in reply and got a flood of Italian. Though I didn’t understand, I suspect there is a Frenchwoman around with a blistered ear.)

Enchantress and Natasha were headed for Fort-de-France. I badly wanted to go to Dominica and nearly asked to be thrown back in, but common sense prevailed. As soon as we arrived, Justin took me ashore to ask about ferry times. No luck, as the depot was closed tight. Next it was back to the dock nearest the anchorage. He went off to find a policeman to report me to, and I went to Customs on the off chance that it might be open.

A lovely young bride was posing for photographs in the garden as I trudged through, barefoot, blowsy, tousled, salty and myopic — with luck I walked behind all the family cameras. Customs was shut, and I spent a frustrating quarter-hour with the French phone system, discovering that it’s impossible to find an operator. The only toll-free number to answer yielded a fireman who listened to my tale of woe politely in spite of my terrible French, and assured me he knew of no way to call an operator either.

Back I went through the wedding party, now photographing bride and groom with their youngest attendants. Soon Justin and a pair of police officers arrived; my final view of the bride was as she picked her way to her car, blocked in by the police vehicles, and past my disreputable-looking self being grilled by the gendarmes. The police left us with names and phone numbers to show Customs we’d spoken to them and assured us that someone would call Dominica’s Coast Guard and abort any search plans.

My rescuers fed me, put me to bed, and lent me the fare to Dominica. The next morning I got the sixth-last seat on a 350-passenger ferry.

Meanwhile, Vern was still having adventures.
Just at dark, he finally learned I’d been rescued, when Chris and Duff of Sudiki came by and told him the news. Later they collected him, fed him, let him talk and wind down, put a call through to Enchantress via cell phone, Crosma and VHF radio, and generally made it possible for Vern to sleep that night.

Next morning early, Brian and James, who had welcomed  Sea Dream  to Dominica, were back to check up on Vern and help him move the boat to a mooring since it was gradually dragging ashore, when the Dominican Coast Guard came alongside with three officers aboard. One stayed in the bow with a 12-gauge riot gun pointing at Vern, one managed their boat with an automatic rifle across its seat, and  the third came aboard  Sea Dream and got Vern’s attention by taking him firmly by the arm.

“You are under arrest,” he said. “Pack a bag, lock the boat. You may be away for some time.” Vern faced three charges, in this order of importance: allowing Dominican nationals aboard before clearing Customs, not clearing Customs immediately upon arrival, and doing away with his wife.

Once Vern was in the police boat there was no further chat. He was taken to the head office of the Coast Guard, which is also the police force, and helped ashore since the landing is difficult. It took some time to produce a statement. Partway through, the atmosphere became much more civil.

Afterwards, one officer kindly pointed out a bakery where Vern could buy a much-belated breakfast. Then Vern was bundled back into the boat and taken to the ferry dock, where he cleared in through Customs and Immigration. Without pausing to think, he put my name on the crew list. The Immigration officer crossed it off with a scowl, saying, “We’ll clear her in if she arrives.” IF!

Vern was still waiting on the dock when the ferry decanted me at 4 o’clock that afternoon — and I was very pleased to see him.

We’ve proved it again: it ain’t over till the fat lady SINKS!

This article first appeared in the April 1999 issue of Caribbean Compass.

About Ruth Chesman

Canadians Ruth Chesman and her late husband, Vern, cruised the Lesser Antilles island chain in the Caribbean for many years aboard their Morgan 41, Sea Dream I.

Back home in Canada, the Chesmans were active members of the Fanshawe Yacht Club of London, Ontario. Ruth was always able to see — and communicate — the funny side of sailing, even in a potentially fatal situation. Her stories have appeared in Cruising World and Scuttlebutt, as well as in Caribbean Compass.

This is the second half of a 2-part article by Daria Blackwell,
first published in the Ocean Cruising Club publication Flying Fish.
You can read part 1 here.

Photo: James Dagmore

Bizarre whale tales

Who can forget the photos of the 40 ton southern right whale (Eubalaena australis) that breached onto a 33ft sloop in South Africa in 2010, breaking the mast before sliding into the water with an ‘eerie groan’? Amazingly, Ralph Mothes and Paloma Werner were not injured and returned to harbour on their own, and a nearby vessel managed to record the whole incident on video.

YouTube video: Whale Crashes on Boat – Published by CBSNewsOnline.

It seems this was simply a case of being in the wrong place when a whale came up for air.

There are several additional videos on YouTube that show whales ramming boats or breaching onto them. So it does happen.

In 2011, a breaching humpback whale off southwest Washington smashed the mast and rigging of a 38ft yacht taking part in the Oregon Offshore International Yacht Race to Victoria, BC ‘leaving bits of blubber behind’, as Ryan Barnes told the Coast Guard. Ironically, the boat was called L’Orca. Her crew were in the cockpit and were not injured during the encounter.

YouTube video: Oregon Offshore 2011- Whale vs. Boat!

YouTube video: Sailboat struck by breaching whale near Astoria

In June 2012, Max Young of Sacramento, California, on the last leg of a circumnavigation, had to be rescued after a breaching whale struck his 50ft yacht 40 miles off the coast of Mexico just after dark. He was only about ten feet from the 55ft whale as it jumped about twelve feet in the air and came down on the bow of boat, lifting the stern clear of the water. The collision disabled the steering system and holed the boat, but he used a mattress to plug a hole, and four bilge pumps to bail water, while waiting to be rescued 5.

CruisersForum – www.cruisersforum.com – has a report of a man who left harbour in his new 27ft Bayliner just before sunset with two friends. They were off Santa Barbara Point ‘when a 30ft grey whale suddenly breached and landed on top of the boat. The weight of the whale crushed the cabin before it rolled off the boat back into the water… the beast came around and took another run at the Bayliner and slammed the boat with its tail’. This damaged the boat’s rail and broke one of the owner’s ribs, cut his hand, and embedded barnacles in his back. The whale made a third run at the boat, but just rolled one of its eyes out of the water and stared at them.

Then there’s the truly bizarre story from Australia of a humpback whale that grabbed a yacht’s anchor rode and swam off, towing the boat 1½ miles out to sea at night. It was joined by a second whale that helped along the way. The woman onboard managed to get a video of the encounter before they cut away the rode. The couple had called the Coast Guard and others for assistance but were not taken seriously.

Published studies of collisions

In 2001, researchers from the US and Europe conducted the first survey of reports of collisions between ships and whales (See Laist, DW, et al, Collisions between ships and whales. MARINE MAMMAL SCIENCE, 17(1): 35-75 (January 2001).)

They focused on motorised vessels, as collision reports first started appearing in the 1800s with the advent of steam power. They found that collisions increased as vessel speed increased.

A humpback whale lands in the water after breaching near Auke Bay, Alaska. Photo Aleria Jensen, Public domain NOAA/NMFS/AKFSC. NOAA Photo Library anim1037

Of eleven species known to be hit by ships, they reported that fin whales are struck most frequently and right whales, humpback whales, sperm whales and grey whales (Eschrichtius robustus) are hit commonly. The most lethal or severe injuries are caused by ships travelling at 14 knots or more, which eliminates many cruising yachts. Today, collisions occur most often with high speed ferries and racing yachts.

Since then other reports have been filed, including the 2009 report of an ExxonMobile tanker returning to port with a humpback whale draped over its bulbous bow. In Alaska, in 2010, an adult female humpback was found on the bow of a cruise ship owned by Princess Cruises – the third whale incident involving the company since 2001. Bizarrely, this same ship had had a similar encounter with a fin whale the year before outside Vancouver. Speed and visibility were considered factors in these events.

In 2011 Fabian Ritter, collaborating with noonsite.com, published a study which constitutes the first attempt to quantitatively assess collisions involving sailing vessels and whales on a global scale (Fabian Ritter. Collisions and near miss events between sailing vessels and cetaceans – MEER eV, Bundesallee 123, 12161 Berlin, Germany.)

A total of 108 collisions and 57 ‘near misses’ were identified between 1966 and 2010, the majority of which (75%) were reported between 2002 and 2010. He concluded that elevated vessel speed contributes to a higher risk of collisions, although it doesn’t correlate with likelihood of damage or injuries where other factors can prevail.

Ritter recommended three courses of action to protect ships and whales:

1. speed reduction,
2. dedicated observers, and
3. the shift of routes.

He also recommended publicising the International Whaling Commission (IWC) Ship Strike Data Base and encouraging sailors to report their encounters so the data can be collected and analysed.

In other studies, sound has been used to try to deter whales from crossing paths with boats. In one, it was documented that harmonics may actually attract rather than deter whales. So running your engine may not be a good way to ward them off.

In the Oyster magazine, Pantaenius Insurance reported research they carried out following the loss of a Formula 40 catamaran after it hit a dormant whale in 1991.

The advice their experts offered was for yachts to keep their depth sounders on during ocean passages, as a whale can hear the pulse emitted by the transducer.

What can you do?

Minimising risk of collision with whales is a goal of the International Maritime Organization (IMO). They are planning detailed guidance for all segments of the maritime industry, including cruising and racing yachts. In advance of the guidance, the Belgian Department of the Environment has released an information leaflet which includes advice about how to reduce the risk of collisions with whales and provides a link to the ship strikes database developed by the International Whaling Commission (IWC).

Their advice includes the following points:

• Plan passages to avoid high density areas
• Keep a close watch, reduce speed, and alter course for direct avoidance
• Report incidents to help improve knowledge
• Heed restrictions and seek advice from the IMO and national authorities
• Contribute to scientific research by reporting sightings and encounters

The IWC database contains 1076 collisions reported between 1877 and 2010. It includes the type of whale and the location of collision, though the IWC is quick to note that these reports are, for the most part, uncorroborated.

A humpback whale breaching near the Alaska Maritime National Wildlife Refuge. Photo Wanetta Ayers. Released into the public domain on Wikimedia Commons

The majority of whale fatalities occur off the East Coast of North America and in the Mediterranean. This is hardly surprising, as that is where shipping is most congested and where whales migrate. A recent study by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), however, has shown that whale populations are on the increase in California waters, adding to the risk of encounters. Multiple species of whale feed along the coast, including killer, grey, humpbacks and blue (Balaenoptera musculus – the world’s largest animal). NOAA has issued advisories to shipping to reduce speed along the migration paths.

What happens to the vessels involved in collisions with whales seems, in comparison, mild. Few ships have been reported holed, disabled or sunk. It has happened, but it seems – at least from our experience – that the benefits to cruising sailors of being out there outweigh the risks of collision – at least with whales.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

Herman Melville

About Daria Blackwell

Daria Blackwell is a USCG licensed Captain. She and her husband Alex, and cruising kitty Onyx, have crossed the Atlantic three times in three years aboard their Bowman 57 ketch Aleria, spending years cruising the Caribbean and Atlantic islands as well as the American and European coasts. They are now in Ireland planning their next adventure.

Daria is a proud member of the Ocean Cruising Club Committee, Seven Seas Cruising Association (cruising station for Ireland), American Yacht Club and Mayo Sailing Club.

The Blackwells are co-authors of Happy Hooking – The Art of Anchoringwhich has received excellent reviews in the sailing press. They periodically conduct their Happy Hooking webinar for Seven Seas University.

Their website is www.CoastalBoating.net, “the boaters’ resource for places to go and things to know”.

Further readings

• John S. Marshall: Calif. man tells of sailboat collision with whale
• Laist, DW, et al, Collisions between ships and whales. MARINE MAMMAL SCIENCE, 17(1): 35-75 (January 2001)
• Fabian Ritter. Collisions and near miss events between sailing vessels and cetaceans – MEER eV, Bundesallee 123, 12161 Berlin, Germany
• International Whaling Commission (IWC) Ship Strike Data Base
• NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration)- National Marine Sanctuaries: Reducing Ship Strike Risk to Whales
• Belgian Department of the Environment: Reducing risk of collisions with whales (PDF)

Also on this website

• Chance encounters between ships and whales – Part 1
• All posts about Nature
• More posts by Daria Blackwell:
  - Dancing in the Harbour
  - What I like best about cruising? Passages and anchorages: a world of your own

A fin whale preparing to dive beneath ALERIA’s bow. Photo Alex Blackwell.

Most sailors setting off on a passage dream of encountering wildlife at sea.

Yet ask blue water sailors about their biggest fears, and near the top of the list is likely to be ‘striking a whale’. It’s one of the events most likely to be catastrophic at sea. Today, we can usually avoid really bad weather, but can we avoid a sleeping whale at night?

And what is the likelihood of a chance encounter with a whale? It may not be as rare (or as common) as one might think, depending on location. The likelihood appears to be increasing as protected whale species increase in numbers, and like many cruisers Alex and I have had a few very happy encounters.

Fortunately, several lessons can be applied to reduce the risk and enhance the experience.

Magic at sea – the friendly encounter

First encounter with whales

Whale spy hopping on Stellwagon Bank.

Our first encounter with whales came while crossing Stellwagen Bank, a vast marine sanctuary off Cape Cod. We came upon a pod of northern right whales (Eubalaena glacialis), which started us off with a magical experience that would be difficult to top. We first sighted a mother and calf feeding near tour boats – she was ignoring the humans intruding on her brunch.

About an hour later we noted a rock where there should have been deep water.

After frantically checking the charts and keeping a close eye through  binoculars, we realised it was a whale with callosities, spy hopping and being  groomed by a flock of birds. Then the whale rolled and dived to show off his  fluke.

Soon afterwards a second whale appeared, much closer, then two more, and five more, until we were surrounded by scores of these leviathans.

As they came closer to get a better look at  us with those all-knowing eyes, our first thoughts drifted to the infamous line from Jaws, “we’re gonna need a bigger boat”. They were  about the same length as Aleria.

As soon as we realised they were just curious and respectful we  ghosted along beside them as we checked each other out. We were under full sail  in light winds with no engines running, and worried about them surfacing beneath  us after their dives. We kept a close watch, steered cautiously away from any ahead  of us, and avoided coming between mothers and their calves.

Whereas the experience was initially silent, suddenly the air filled with whale song. Not just one but a cacophony of voices, which seemed to be amplified by Aleria’s hull acting like a stethoscope. There were  long wails, short burps, moans, groans, and high pitched squeals of varied  duration and emphasis. We were taken aback, perplexed. We looked at each other to  make sure we were both hearing this. It sounded surreal. Then, we succumbed to the sheer joy of it. We sang back, jumping up and down, cheering and clapping like children. I don’t recall ever having had such a joyous experience in my  life. We were speaking whale! All fear was gone, replaced with sheer wonder. It  seemed to go on forever.

Then, suddenly, they were gone. The whale song receded and the whales disappeared from view. We mourned their passing but  felt blessed to have met them. Alex described the experience as ‘prehistoric,  otherworldly’. We had been so dumbfounded that we forgot to take pictures. We  have only a few that Alex took as he sighted that first ‘rock’.

Occasional glimpses

As we left Nova Scotia to cross the Atlantic  to Ireland, we were followed out of St Margaret’s Bay by a lone killer whale (Orcinus orca). She swam along peacefully and we wondered if her reputation was deserved.  We didn’t see any more whales all the way to Ireland, but we sailed through thick fog followed by six gales. We know now that whales are sighted more often on calm,  clear days – if the surface of the sea is smooth, you’ll spot an unusual disturbance more readily.

We were next rewarded with a visit by a pod  of pilot whales (Globicephala macrorhynchus) while in transit from Tenerife to La Gomera in the Canary Islands. They are known to be resident there, so we kept a close watch.  Not much bigger than dolphins but black in colour, the pilot whales swam gently along  in company for some time.

A pilot whale off La Gomera in the Canary IslandsPhoto Martina Nolte / Lizenz Creative Commons CC-by-sa-3.0 de

During six months of cruising the Caribbean, where whales come to calve, we saw only one, breaching off the west coast of Antigua. From the shape and acrobatics it appeared to be a humpback (Megaptera  novaeangliae). In  certain islands, the Grenadines for example, fishermen are permitted to take  their annual quota of whale meat in the traditional way, and as we passed St  Vincent we saw a boat with a bow-mounted harpoon coming in with a cetacean strapped to  the side of the hull.

Whales galore

Crossing the Atlantic from the Caribbean to  the Azores, we encountered very light wind conditions. In fact, the Azores high overtook us until we were smack in the middle. It was on this leg that we learned the value of a flat sea for whale sightings and learned just how many of these creatures are en route through the area at any given time. No wonder the Azores were so prominent  on the whaling scene. Plentiful food, good weather – what’s not to like?

We had numerous sightings on one day – sperm  whales (Physeter catodon) and fin whales (Balaenoptera physalus), mothers with calves, juveniles and  elderly, in the distance and REALLY close by. In fact, one pod swam along in our bow wave like dolphins, except they were 60ft long fin  whales. They dove underneath and we wondered where they’d come back up. They  blew air which carried the scent of bountiful fisheries right beside us and  stared at us with those penetrating gazes. It happened to be my birthday – one I will never forget!

In all these encounters, we have never truly felt threatened – concerned about proximity, but not threatened. We rarely use the engine even in very light air, and we always keep a close watch. We are  respectful of the distance between us. We are respectful of their environment. We are  respectful of their intelligence and their place on this oceanic earth. I think they knew all  that.

Collisions between ships and whales

Struck by a whale off Grand Banks

The first time I heard about a sailing boat ‘encountering’ a whale mid-ocean was when a yacht, the 49ft  sloop Peningo, collided with a whale about 700 miles from the Azores while en  route from the US to the America’s Cup Jubilee in England in 2001.

The skipper wrote  about their ordeal afterwards, providing insight into the experience1. Although the story is entitled Struck by a Whale, from his description of the encounter it is more  likely that it was the vessel that struck the whale. The whale was severely injured and the yacht was rendered helpless with serious rudder damage. Luckily for those  aboard, the yacht remained afloat with no major water intrusion until a rescue ship  arrived to tow them back to Newfoundland.

The whale probably didn’t do so well.

The sinking of the Essex

This illustration from the Russel Purrington Panorama – a series of paintings intended to describe the workings of the whale fishery – shows the attack of the whale on the Essex

A most famous encounter is that of the  Nantucket whaling ship Essex, which was sunk by a sperm whale in the South Pacific2 in 1820. Herman Melville’s novel Moby Dickis based on this true story, told by the few  crew who survived. The whale struck the Essex with its head just behind the bow while the light boats were out hunting.

‘The ship brought up as suddenly and  violently as if she had struck a rock,’ recalled Owen Chase, the first mate. The whale had smashed through the bulkhead and water was streaming in. Chase set the crew to work  on the pumps and signalled the other boats to return immediately.

The whale,  meanwhile, was apparently badly injured and was leaping and twisting in convulsions  some distance away. Then suddenly the animal raced toward the ship again, its head  high above the water like a battering ram.

It stove in the port side of the ship and the Essex sank, leaving the crew thousands of miles from land in three light boats. (See Nathaniel Philbrick: In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex Penguin, 2001.)

In a scientific paper on whale behaviour by Carrier published in 2002, the authors note, ‘Head-butting during aggressive behaviour is common and widespread among cetaceans, suggesting that it may be a basal behaviour for the group. Although data is not available for most species, head-butting has been observed in species in each of the four major cetacean lineages’. They put forth a hypothesis that the spermaceti organ has evolved in whales as a weapon used in male-to-male  aggression and was used as a battering ram capable of sinking the Essex. (See Carrier, DR et al: The face that sank the Essex: potential function of the spermaceti organ in aggression. J Exp Biol 205: 1755-1763, 2002.)

Even without this, the sperm whale is the  largest-toothed animal alive today with some growing to more than 60ft in length and weighing 50 tons.

A mother sperm whale and her calf dive together near the Azores. Photo: Daria Blackwell

Whale attack! Yachts colliding with whales

During a passage from the Canaries to the  Caribbean we heard one of the boats in our SSB net report an attack by a whale.

She was a vessel in the 35ft range, heading back to Boston from Europe with two people  aboard. While under sail in light wind they sighted several whales, one of which  turned towards their boat and rammed it head on. It circled, and came back at them  repeatedly. They were terrified that the whale was going to keep battering until they were holed and sunk, then suddenly it swam away. They had the presence of mind to  take photos and were able to identify it as a false killer whale (Pseudorca crassidens). The net controller  asked what colour their hull was, as a crew member suggested  that whales tend to attack boats with red bottoms. Interestingly, they had just had their bottom repainted – and the colour they had chosen was red. Aleria’s bottom is green and her hull is white.

There are multiple reports of yachts colliding with whales, including two in the 1970s when British yachts were lost.

• Maurice and Maralyn Bailey were on their way from Panama to the Galapagos Islands when, at dawn  on 4 March 1973, their 31ft Auralyn was struck by a whale and holed. The Baileys  survived for 117 days and drifted 1500 miles on an inflatable liferaft before being rescued. They wrote an account of their ordeal entitled 117 Days Adrift(Staying Alive! in the US).

• Dougal Robertson left England in 1971 aboard Lucette, a 43ft wooden schooner, with his wife and four children. On 15 June 1972 Lucette was holed by a pod of killer whales and sank approximately 200 miles west  of the Galapagos Islands. The six people on board took to an inflatable liferaft and a solid hull dinghy, which they used as a tow-boat with a jury-rigged sail. They were rescued after 38 days by a fishing trawler.

Robertson wrote two books, Survive the Savage Seaand Sea Survival: A Manual.

• More recently there’s the 1989 account of a  pod of pilot whales sinking the yacht Siboney, after which owners Bill and Simone Butler awaited rescue in a liferaft. He documented their story in the book, 66 Days Adrift: A True Story of Disaster and Survival on the Open Sea.

• In October 2011 Yachting Monthly reported on a boat which had been attacked by a whale mid-ocean in the mid 1990s. The animal made three glancing blows before swimming away, and scientists whom the author spoke to afterwards suggested that she must have had a calf and was chasing them  off. They did not report the colour of their bottom paint, but noted that sections of  paint had been scraped clean in the collision. The vessel, an Oyster Lightwave, did not suffer any significant damage.

• Anecdotal reports on blogs include one by Paul J who reported being attacked by what may have been a sperm whale about 150 miles off the Great Barrier Reef. He posted a photo (right) on ybw.com of the bottom of his steel boat dented by the whale’s head – the bottom of his boat was painted red.

In the same thread, two other cruisers noted encounters with pilot whales around their redbottomed boats, but no attacks.

Can whales see colour?

It has long been advised not to paint a boat’s bottom white because it looks like the belly of a killer whale. Other people advise not to paint it black, grey or blue because it might appear to be a competing whale or a  predator. Then the red question came about.

Yet scientists have long professed that  whales cannot see colour as they do not have the short wavelength cones in their eyes. That to me is short sighted (excuse the pun) as it assumes the human way is the only way to see colour. A study published in 2002 by Griebel suggests that cetaceans do indeed discern  colour, but in a different way than we do (See Griebel, U, Color vision in marine mammals. A review. Bright, M,Dworschak, PC, and Stachowitsch, M (Eds.) 2002: The Vienna School of Marine Biology: A Tribute to Jörg Ott. Facultas Universitätsverlag, Wien: 73-87.)

So it is possible that colour does make a difference to whales – we just don’t know for sure.

Speed is a factor

One certain trend is that more collisions are  being recorded as boats get faster (especially racing boats). A British sailing journalist’s blog looked back at some of the better-known collisions with whales, and  we have now added to the list. There are four reports of collisions during the  OSTAR (one in 1964, two in 1988 and one in 1996) the latter including one with Ellen  MacArthur’s Kingfisher in which the whale was killed and found wrapped around the  vessel’s keel. David Selling’s Hyccup sank as a result of a collision in 1988.

There were two reports during Whitbread Round the World Races, in 1989 and 1998; of  the second, Knut Frostad said, ‘It was like being in a car crash’. Delta Lloyd and Ericsson 3 both hit whales during the 2008/09 Volvo Ocean Race, with minor damage.

There were four other reports during races between 2001 and 2005 in which  boats were damaged, with rudders being particularly vulnerable.

That’s a total of twelve high-profile  collisions reported since the 1960s, but only one vessel (Hyccup) was catastrophically damaged.

And in the  2011/12 Volvo Ocean Race, Camper’s helmsman Roberto Bermudez managed to avoid  collision with a whale on Leg 7 from Miami to Lisbon –  all caught on amazing video footage

YouTube video: CAMPER Avoids Whale Collision – Volvo Ocean Race 2011-12

Next:
Part 2 of this article is here. 

About Daria Blackwell

Daria Blackwell is a USCG licensed Captain. She and her husband Alex, and cruising kitty Onyx, have crossed the Atlantic three times in three years aboard their Bowman 57 ketch Aleria, spending years cruising the Caribbean and Atlantic islands as well as the American and European coasts. They are now in Ireland planning their next adventure.

Daria is a proud member of the Ocean Cruising Club Committee, Seven Seas Cruising Association (cruising station for Ireland), American Yacht Club and Mayo Sailing Club.

The Blackwells are co-authors of Happy Hooking – The Art of Anchoringwhich has received excellent reviews in the sailing press. They periodically conduct their Happy Hooking webinar for Seven Seas University.

Their website is www.CoastalBoating.net, “the boaters’ resource for places to go and things to know”.

Further readings

• Dod A Fraser: Struck by a whale off Grand Banks
• Wikipedia: Essex (whaleship)
• Herman Melville: Moby Dick
• Nathaniel Philbrick: In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex Penguin, 2001
• Carrier, DR et al: The face that sank the Essex: potential function of the spermaceti organ in aggression. J Exp Biol 205: 1755-1763, 2002
• Maurice and Maralyn Bailey: 117 Days Adrift
• Dougal Robertson: Survive the Savage Sea& Sea Survival: A Manual
• Bill Butler: 66 Days Adrift: A True Story of Disaster and Survival on the Open Sea
• Yachting Monthly, October 2011: Whale attack! When a 6-ton boat met 12 tonnes of blubber
• ybw. com forum thread: Pilot whale attacks
• Griebel, U, Color vision in marine mammals. A review.Bright, M,Dworschak, PC, and Stachowitsch, M (Eds.) 2002: The Vienna School of Marine Biology: A Tribute to Jörg Ott. Facultas Universitätsverlag, Wien: 73-87.
• YachtingMonthly.com: Whale collisions a perennial risk, by Elaine Bunting

Also on this website

• Chance encounters between ships and whales – Part 2
• All posts about Nature
• More posts by Daria Blackwell:
  - Dancing in the Harbour
  - What I like best about cruising? Passages and anchorages: a world of your own

“What did we sign up for?!” I thought after our first day at anchor in the Sea of Cortez. We had spent the prior night and wee morning hours fighting through a 30 knot coromuel to get to the anchorage. Both us and the boat were covered with salt.

Alone at anchor in Puerto Don Juan

We took a pitiful shower in the cockpit with the already partially broken Solar Shower but without a watermaker we didn’t have enough water to clean the boat. Instead we walked around the deck spraying the hardware with a water bottle in hopes of preventing corrosion.

We had barely slept the night before and were expecting another sleepless night due to a repeat performance of coromuel winds.

After dinner I leaned over the  side of the boat to scoop salt water in to a 5 gallon bucket. The very bucket that I planned to use for the summer to wash the dishes in salt water before a fresh water rinse.

I don’t like doing dishes in the first place, and now I am doing dishes in a salty bucket? Looking out on the uninhabited island of Isla Espiritu Santo, my husband and I asked each other, is this seriously going to be our life for the whole summer? Is this really what we  signed up for?!

I don’t know if I can do this all summer, I confided that evening.

The next day we took a hike, walked the beach, and had the most magical sunset at anchor. It was as if all the wildlife in the area choreographed a magnificent performance while we sat on the deck eating dinner. I kept waiting for Ariel to jump out of the water with flying fish and manta rays as back up dancers and belt out “Under the Sea.”

From that moment on, we were undeniably hooked.

We would sit on the foredeck with a good  book and maybe a glass of wine and wait for the wildlife dance that took place  every night before sunset to begin.

Waiting for the evening wildlife “show” to start

Away from the comforts of the marina which offers free-flowing water,  electricity, and the ability to sleep through the night, we settled in for a summer of exploration, living off the sea, and self sustainability. After our  first 18 days in the Sea of Cortez we picked up a mooring ball at Puerto Escondido for a couple of nights to refill our water tanks, wash the boat,  change the oil, and refuel before we headed out for the islands again.

Fresh boatmade fish tacos

That was  the longest we had gone without visiting a restaurant since we each started  college. In fact, before we went cruising I cooked an average of one meal a  year for my husband. Obviously things had changed since our land life.

Six months in the Sea of Cortez led to lasting friendships, fabulous  meals on board, learning how to wash clothes by hand, and becoming intimately  aware of how to use our anchor, the tides, the moon cycle, and weather. Not to  mention a slight addiction with the game Baja Rummy. Most importantly we  learned about each other and ourselves.

“If you would enjoy a weekend alone with your partner locked in your apartment without power and water, then you will love voyaging together.”
—  THE VOYAGER’S HANDBOOK  by Beth A.Leonard

A ‘land  friend’ asked what it was like to spend so many uninterrupted days together. “Like we were on an extended couples retreat.” I answered. We had nothing but  time to laugh, play, explore, and talk.

Happy couple

By comparison, life is pretty easy in a marina. But we love the  adventure that comes with being at anchor in the Sea.

This article was published on July 3, 2012 in Lanea Riley’s blog The Voyage of Moondance.

About Lanea Riley

Lanea  Riley and her husband Conor bought an Islander 36, in April 2011 and within 15 days they decided to prepare Sausalito-based MOONDANCE for a southbound trip to Mexico. Six short months later, they left under the Golden Gate Bridge.

They have been enjoying Mexico ever since and spent 6 glorious months in the Sea of Cortez in the summer of 2012.

Lanea maintains a sailing blog at www.svmoondance.wordpress.com

More on this website:

• Lipstick sailor, by Lanea Riley
• Daria Blackwell: What I like best about cruising? Passages and anchorages: a world of your own