The Expert Trap: A Sailor's Stormy Wake-Up Call
The most dangerous person on the water isn't the novice. It's the novice who blindly follows an expert.
Some months ago, I decided it was finally time for me to learn to sail. I live where the water is easily accessible, there's a club nearby, and I needed something to get me physically active again.
Growing up near the water and spending much of my 20s racing kayaks and canoes, I've always considered myself a decent waterman. But every experienced person has horror stories about how they gained that experience. Usually, it's through trial, error, and harrowing situations.
Paddling in the Panama Canal meant sharing transit ways with massive merchant ships. To them, we were cockroaches in their path—either we moved, or we disappeared. I remember the Canal police being hostile toward us paddlers. Now, later in life, I understand why. It really is life or death if you get yourself into a bad situation.
We learned this quickly. One time, a Post-Panamax ship—too big to cross the Panama locks—was anchored in port with its propellers still turning. Our rookie team, in our 30-foot canoe, passed way too close. I mean, less than 100 feet from the stern. We were instantly caught in the turbulence. Paddling became meaningless, and our balance vanished. How we didn't capsize is still a mystery to me. A miracle, perhaps.
Since then, I've learned a lot. We trained hard, and I won many races. That experience taught me respect. A deep, unshakable respect for the water.
Which is why what happened next is so baffling.
Back to my sailing adventure. I have been extremely careful about choosing my weather windows and not pushing things beyond my current, very basic skill level.
Yet, on a day where the forecast was stormy, the wind was unstable, and lightning was on the menu, I made the smart call. I had already gotten myself out of the water, unrigged my boat, and was packing up.
And then the expert showed up.
One of the experienced sailors told me he was going in for "just one hour." I thought, what better way to learn than to tag along? I completely forgot about the forecast, my gut feeling, and the sound decision I had already made and executed.
We left the shore and headed to the practice area. It didn't take a minute for me to realize my mistake. A dark cloud was building behind me. I was sailing into a recipe for disaster. He had promised we'd be back by 3 PM.
"Hey Mike," I asked, "do you think we should turn back?"
"No, no worries," he said.
I asked again two minutes later. "No, this is just rain. We worry if there's thunder."
Oh, boy. I knew the forecast. I knew thunder was on the menu. I just didn't have the courage to turn back alone. Two minutes later, a flash on the horizon. The rain was coming at us. I don't mind a storm, but lightning on a sailing dinghy that I can barely control? That scared me, fast.
Mike (a placeholder name to protect his identity) decided, probably correctly, to sail away from the storm. But it hardly mattered; the storm was circling us. The wind shifted, and we could finally start heading back to the club. As we did, the rain was on top of us. I yelled to Mike, "Just make sure I get back!"
He sailed on, and I followed. Soon, his sail began to disappear in the downpour. I grabbed my radio and called my local club. "This is Javier F. at location X. Not sure if I will be able to make it back. Is there anybody there to help?" No answer.
By this time, I had forgotten all my training. My sail trim was extremely loose from when there was no wind, but now the gusts were furious. My boat wasn't sailing; it was charging. I capsized. In less than ten seconds, I was back up, heart pounding. Okay, get serious or you won't make it back.
Then, another brutal gust. It dunked my sail into the water, and then under. My mast was going down. I climbed onto my daggerboard as fast as I could, but it was too late. I had turtled.
On the bright side, my mast was underwater, making me less of a lightning target. I was also only 150 feet from the other side of the Intracoastal channel. I could easily swim for it. But I didn't want to lose my boat, whose mast was now stuck in the mud. I was going nowhere as lightning broke all around me. I knew Mike would likely get his powerboat once he reached shore and come back, but would he? Did he even make it back? Would I get struck by lightning, paying the price for playing a stupid game when I knew better?
It was time to be that guy. The one who puts others in danger. It was time to call the Coast Guard.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday..."
After ten minutes of going back and forth with the Coast Guard about my location, they confirmed a unit was dispatched. And then, through the thick of the rain, I saw Mike's powerboat approaching. I radioed the Coast Guard to cancel the distress call and jumped into Mike's boat. We used his motor to recover my dinghy.
The ride back was quiet. I contemplated my life and thought to myself: You had already made your mind up. You packed your boat. You were walking to your car. You let someone else's confidence override your own hard-earned experience. I was back at the club by 3:06 PM
When I got home, I opened my sailing book to review the weather lessons. And there it was, in print: "Do not follow another sailor into tricky weather just because they are more experienced than you."
Sharing the story with my wife, we remembered something a captain told us just a few weeks prior. He said to her, "Women learn by reading and planning. Men just get on the boat and learn by trial and error."
Well, I certainly learned by error. I seldom make the same mistake twice, but once is more than enough to make you feel like a total fool for falling for it.
Until the next one,
JF