Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I decided there and then that we may as well sail back to Martinique as our stay here in
Guadeloupe was cut short. I started the engine, which brought Paula out, and she inquired
where we were going. I explained that we might as well head back as it seemed futile stay-
ing for another night, and she sullenly returned to her quarters.
The dinghy at this stage was still tied up at the boat's stern, and I decided to leave it where
it was. I set sail and pointed the boat in the desired direction, setting the self-steering sys-
tem. We were sailing into the wind, and it was a pleasant fifteen knot trade. During the
early evening the wind picked up to at least twenty knots, and I eased off on the main and
jib sheets, spilling out any excess wind and pressure. I was sitting in the cockpit playing
with the kitten when I heard an odd sound. It was an intermittent, squeaking noise followed
by a distinct feeling of a jerk on the boat.
“What on earth could that be?” I wondered. I looked about in alarm and saw nothing out of
place. I thought it might have been one of the sail sheets and went up to examine both. The
noise continued and seemed to increase in sound and motion.
Suddenly, I looked out the back and realized it was the dinghy! All the while that we had
been sailing against the wind, the dinghy had been filling up slowly with spray from her
bow as she was towed through the water. As the wind had increased in strength and we
had sped up, so too had the volume of spray accumulating in the dinghy. What I now saw
turned my suntanned face quite white, and I leaped up to the stern taffrail to pull the dinghy
up towards the stern of the yacht.
The dinghy had completely submerged under the surface of the water. It was yawing back
and forth like a little submarine from port to starboard within the confines of the tortured
painter, which explained the odd sound and powerful jerking motion.
I tried unsuccessfully to pull the dinghy's nose out of the water, so as to lighten its load
of seawater. Fortunately, the oars had been stowed under the seat in the middle and were
floating about harmlessly. Déjà vu was sailing much too fast to allow me to pull the dinghy
up. I called out to Paula for help, and she appeared immediately.
“What the hell is happening?” she asked, seeing me bending over the stern clutching onto
the painter for dear life.
“Take the helm and head upwind to stop the boat so that I can pull up the dinghy.”
“Oh, OK, I see. Here we go then.”
The yacht's nose swung upwind, and her progress immediately slowed to a virtual stand-
still.
