How to miss the other guy

ONE OF THE THINGS you learn fairly quickly at sea is never to assume that an oncoming ship is going to miss you. At first sight, it might appear that there will be no problem about a collision, but other vessels often make seemingly random changes of course for reasons known only to them or their autopilots.

It’s important to keep an eye on them until they’re safely out of sight, and even more so at night, when they are even less likely to spot you among the big ocean swells. There are many recorded instances of big ships coming well within striking distance of small sailboats in mid-ocean  during the day, but at night the chances are even greater.

I was once sailing through the Bahamas at night, en route to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, when I noticed a vessel gradually creeping up on us from astern. From her lights, I took her to be a tug, so I called on the VHF radio. I learned two things. She was indeed a tug, and no they hadn’t seen me. Still couldn’t see me, either on radar or by eye, although my stern light was shining brightly. She was about 400 yards astern when she veered off to one side and slid past us with a large barge in tow.

A question always arises in cases like this: How do you attract on VHF the attention of the specific ship that’s worrying you? It’s pointless calling: “Vessel overtaking me, this is the sailboat Moonbeam. Do you read?”

What you need to convey is a distance, a direction, and, if possible, a description of the other vessel. So you say: “Aircraft carrier about two miles northeast of me on my starboard bow, this is the sailboat  Fancypants . . .”

Now they know they should look southwest and set their radar range for two miles if they haven’t seen you already.

You can also call “Deepsea vessel,” or “Blue-hulled seagoing freighter,” or “Large container ship” — whatever might alert  them to the fact that you’re addressing them.  And always on Channel 16, of course.

If you have AIS or a DCS-equipped radio, you might even learn the other vessel’s actual name and other important information, but don’t count on it. David Burch,  director of the Starpath School of Navigation in Seattle, once wrote, in a booklet on Practical Navigation for the magazine Cruising World:

“On one occasion, in mid-ocean on a clear sunny day, flying a brightly colored spinnaker and blooper, we had to drop the blooper and alter course to avoid a ship that did not respond to the radio or alter course or speed in the slightest. It was a totally unmarked rust bucket some 300 feet long, without a soul in sight anywhere, and it still passed close enough for us to have recognized  faces on board, had there been any.”

It’s at times like this that you wish you had a couple of thunderflashes to lob on board the other vessel as she comes past. I know it’s naughty, but it would be quite justifiable in my view —and very satisfying.

Today’s Thought

He is safe from danger who is on guard even when safe.

— Publilius Syrus, Sententiae

Tailpiece

A limerick packs laughs anatomical

Into space that is quite economical.

But the good ones I’ve seen

So seldom are clean,

And the clean ones so seldom are comical.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Manners makyth boaters

IT HAS BEEN SUGGESTED to me that I should write a column about radio etiquette for boaters.  You know, how to be politically correct on your VHF radio. I have rejected the idea because it is so boring.

I mean, everybody knows you don’t tell your mates on Channel 16 how you’ve just pumped out your holding tank in the middle of the yacht basin. Everybody knows not to ask the Coast Guard for a radio check, because it makes them so mad. Everybody knows you never end a conversation with “over and out.” If it’s over it’s not out. Jeez, make up your mind.

One thing that might not be so well known is that you should hold the microphone about two or three inches from your lips and talk briskly in a deep, gruff, macho voice.  You see, the same VHF channels that you use are also used by loggers, fishermen, rum runners, tugboat skippers and Somali pirates.  These are tough guys, and they can hear you when you’re calling your yacht-club friends anchored nearby on Happy Daze to come on over for sundowners. You don’t want those tough guys out there to think you’re effeminate, or a pushover, or unable to resist a boatload of hairy party-crashers. You need to sound tough, too.

I can’t vouch for this, but a macho voice on the radio might also just dissuade the Coasties from boarding you for a potty inspection. When they call you on Channel 16 and say they’re going to board you, ask the nice officer if he once signed a statement swearing to uphold the Constitution of the United States. When he says yes (because they all have to, you know) ask him why he’s contravening the Fourth Amendment, which states that he can’t board and search your boat without a warrant from a judicial official; and that your right to be secure against unreasonable searches and seizures shall not be violated; and that he needs probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, describing the boat to be searched and the persons or things to be seized. Says so right there in the Constitution, officer.

They’ll board you, of course. At gunpoint, if necessary. They don’t worry about contravening the Fourth Amendment because they have the backing of the Pentagon and those bums in Congress, who will knowingly ignore the Constitution when it suits their own ends and when the negligible number of votes from the yachting fraternity is not going to affect their chances of re-election.

Apart from that, all I can add is that you should never mention on Channel 16 the name of any boat called M’Aidez.  When I was young and naive — well, that is, even more naive than I am now — I named my racing dinghy M’Aidez.  I thought it was deliciously chic, not to mention absolutely hilarious. (I told you I was naive.)

We raced offshore in those days, and the results of races were sent to the beach party from the committee boat by VHF radio.  It didn’t take long for everyone to discover that whenever my boat’s name was mentioned in the results, every marine radio operator within listening distance pricked up his ears and prepared for action.

God knows what would have happened if I’d ever needed to be rescued and somebody had broadcast a Mayday for M’Aidez.

Today’s Thought

For as laws are necessary that good manners may be preserved, so there is need of good manners that laws may be maintained.
— Machiavelli, Dei Discorsi

Tailpiece

 A Hollywood film unit hired a public relations officer for a movie they were making in Africa.
The director explained: “Your job is to promote goodwill.  So be sure to humor the locals. If they say Africa is bigger than Texas, don’t argue. Agree with them.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)