Severance and the Squall

Joy and suffering is all in the context of life. One, very often defines the other. For some of my friends and acquaintances, a goal is to live life looking for joy or to live life avoiding suffering. With context comes understanding. My history defines me but I define how I perceive my history. In such a way, I define that I have had many joyful moments that might be perceived as suffering by another. Conversely, I have had many suffering moments that might be perceived as joyful by another. I’ve found that it is better to live now and decide later whether I was with joy or with suffering.

Sailing can provide moments of fear and exhilaration. Often, it is difficult to discern who will feel what from the same event. Heeling over at 30 degrees with the wind whipping past your ears might generate fear in one person and generate exhilaration in another. On my boats, I’ve been afraid and I’ve been exhilarated. My fears are generally not about personal injury but instead, they are about control. Driving my boat into the muck and silt of Chesapeake Bay and requiring help to get unstuck provides me that kernel of fear that builds to a terror. It all stems from being out of control. Once recognized, the fear and anxiety subsides, my heart rate returns to normal and I accept the situation. I remind myself that the notion that I ever was in control is only a joke. Then I can relax.


The same series of thoughts flash through my mind when I’m in a crisis situation. I feel the fear, I recognize it for what it is, and the fear dissipates like water draining from the sink. Calm and peace return though the initiating situation may still exist.

I owned Severance for all too brief a time. I didn’t recognize the joy of that boat until she was gone; so clichéd but true. We had many experiences together and I bonded with her like no other boat in my life. Those bonds started on my first sail, strengthened through the friends that joined me, and could not be broken even when I took pictures of her on the hard in preparation for sale. With many experiences in such a short time, there is a day with her that I should never forget. This is the story of that day.


Often, I sailed with a variety of crew, never really knowing their capabilities or skills. There were days when I wanted to sail alone and days when I needed company. My wife, Kathy, was never fond of me sailing alone. She saw it as dangerous while I saw it as bliss. Rather than have her worry, I offered the opportunity to sail to my cohorts at work. Sharing pictures of Severance, hearing the tales of my adventures easily led to invitations readily accepted. The office incubated my rookie crews.

I invited 5 people for Friday but in the end, only three could get time off or wanted to take a vacation day. The night before, I verified the wind and weather at Thomas Point Light (TPLM2) observatory. Sunny day, the wind was predicted at 12 – 14 knots with a potential for thunderstorms in the late afternoon. The forecast was the same in the morning. It is the same throughout most of the summer on Chesapeake Bay. I sailed a forecast like this hundreds of times.


Leaving from Northern Virginia, I met Nick at Starbucks, got my coffee and we headed east toward Wasfi’s condominium. He folded his long legs into the backseat with a sleepy grin and then fell asleep within five minutes of leaving his parking lot.

Fighting through the Washington DC traffic, we got to the marina around 8:30 am. Norman rounded out our crew and was a little late. We took turns teasing him. The mood was light as I brought them down to Severance. I grabbed a dock line and pulled her over to the edge.
She gleamed in the early morning light. At 33 feet, she was the perfect bay boat. Her fiberglass hull was a radiant white with hunter green highlights, green sail covers and white dodger and bimini. Built in 1983, she was a solid and beamy boat that had no problem with the waves of Chesapeake Bay. I had recently waxed her hull and at over 20 years old, she still looked gorgeous.


I made them comfortable by giving them tasks. Get the ice and the food in the cooler. Take the sail cover off the main sail. Get safety seat cushions from down below. Get the cockpit cushions from down below. Through this they began to learn the basic terms such as cockpit, boom, galley, fore, aft, starboard, port, sheet, mainsail, jib and more.
While they scurried about, I started Severance’s diesel engine. It kicked a little black smoke and I heard her throaty purr. That was her start; a tiny puff of black smoke and then smooth and soft purring.

She’d been mine for only five weeks and the boat inspection showed that her steering linkages could be tightened and that the engine oil could be changed. These work activities had been planned several times but each time I got near her, I just had to sail her! Neither issue was critical according to the inspector but he termed it “necessary maintenance”.

With the food stowed away, I took my three guests on a tour of Severance including what to hold on to and how to use the marine head. While doing so, I inquired about their experience.

Wasfi had never sailed and limited boating experience. He put his bottle of rum, which he thought apropos of a sailing adventure, in the cooler with the Coca-Cola. His bright and broad smile played across his face as he explained that Rum and Cokes would be for later.
Nick sailed once before and had some motorboat experience many years earlier. Norman’s resume included sailing small boat, 19 feet and under, many years earlier.

By 9:30, with the dock lines tossed aside, we slowly motored out of the marina winding our way along Tracey’s Creek out to Herring Bay. I slowed to 2 knots in a light breeze and gave Norman the wheel.


“Keep her straight into the wind,” I called while climbing on the cabin top to the main sail.

Wasfi, Nick and I released the main sail and I guided them in cranking the winch to get the main to the top of the mast. The light flapping of the main in a gentle breeze always gets me flush with anticipation. We ambled back to the cockpit and Norman gave the controls back to me rather quickly. Apparently, he’d been nervous behind the wheel.


A moment or two later, we had the roller furling jib fully extended and I killed the engine. Quiet enveloped us. A few birds called out in the distance and small waves lapped the side of Severance. Suddenly, we were able to hear each other and the wonders of the bay around us.
The wind was from the west-southwest, perfect for a tack heading south. A light breeze stirred up and filled the jib and then the main. The gulls passed overhead, we heeled slightly and picked up speed.

In my sailing life, I have loved that feel of the sailboat surging forward as the wind builds in the sails. I relaxed and sat back giving guidance to the crew on adjusting the jib sheet or the main sheet or the wheel to capture the most out of the 10 knots we had. We eased along gently around the marker by Herrington Harbour South and headed out toward Chesapeake Bay.


With our new point of sail, the wind was now just aft of our starboard beam giving us an easy broad reach. The wind increased as we cleared the murky point of Herring Bay. Severance galloped to 6 knots as the wind built to 15 knots. The jib and main filled as she plowed through the 2 foot swells toward Chop Tank River, 8 miles across the bay. I looked around at the crew and each was smiling and then grinning and then laughing. We were sailing while everyone else was working. With wonder across his face, Wasfi stated softly, “How fantastic is this?”

The morning passed as the sun rose higher. The breeze cooled our skin and someone brought out sunscreen. Each took turns tending to the jib, the main, and the wheel. Faster than I could imagine, each was comfortable at all of those stations. The tension slipped from our bones to disappear into the rhythm of the waves.


We talked softly and kidded each other as Severance took us on an undemanding trip across the bay. Work never entered our conversations though we talked and listened intently for hours. Like most things enjoyable, time hurried on without our watchful eyes. The wind seemed to calm as we entered the mouth of Choptank River. A few puffy clouds came and went and I set the sail configuration into a heave-to. She sat in the water slipping sideways at just over a knot. The guys looked at me wondering what was next. Grabbing a 100 foot line and tying a buoyant fender to one end, I tossed it off the back and watched it pay out.

“Who’s going in?” I asked.


Their looks ranged from incredulous to exultant. Norman was most hesitant. Even so, no one jumped overboard. I asked Norman to stay on board until I got back. I dropped the ladder and dove off the stern into the cool brackish water. It was refreshing and I quickly grabbed the 100 foot line. Wasfi joined me soon after. We laughed and joked as the line pulled us along.

I climbed back aboard. Nick was tempted but Norman jumped first finally followed by Nick. Wasfi asked Norman what size fish were in the bay. They laughed and teased. Wasfi and Nick got all the way to the end of the line where they pretended to fall off and cry for help and then grab the fender and pull themselves forward again.


They tired and eventually climbed back aboard Severance. I secured the ladder and pulled in the line stowing it below. Nick and Wasfi made lunch as I looked across the 9 miles we had come since leaving Herring Bay. There hadn’t been any barges or container ships on our way east but as I looked back, I could see a slow stream of barges and ships making their way north to Baltimore Harbor.

We ate a splendid lunch. Wasfi pushed rum and cokes at us and we all declined. Victor and Norman chose beer instead. Normally, I’d have a beer while sailing and if it were a long sail, I might even have two. While Wasfi was on his 3rd rum and coke, I considered an ice cold brew but eventually declined without a concrete reason. It was just a feeling I had.

After cleaning up lunch, we set the sails and the course. The wind had shifted and was coming nose on from the west-northwest, exactly where we needed to go. At 1:30pm, we close hauled, heeled over at 12 degrees and tacked our way toward the bay channel, mindful of the barges, tugs, and container ships.


Severance is a beautiful “Bay Boat” meaning that she takes the short waves well but is not exactly a speedster. The wind increased and she cut through the water at 6 knots but our angle of approach was not very good. With the wind coming right from Herring Bay we were not making very good time getting there. It was not that we were in a rush but it was likely we were going to be close hauled all the way there. This is known as “beating” and the name was fitting as we crashed over and through the waves. Spray splashed up on deck and some of it even joined us in the cockpit.

Around 2:30pm I noted a pretty wooden sloop off to port. 28 feet with the clean lines of an older boat but very well maintained. They were beating into the wind hard with the jib flapping as they tacked. She had low lines and though she was sleek, she wasn’t making much more headway than we were.


The crew was doing fine with the close hauled approach. It felt like we were flying! Severance was heeled over and the rail was buried in the waves as we cruised through each trough. I had the helm and it felt comfortable. The sails were fully extended and filled. The wind was whipping by us at 18 knots. It was the most wind I had been in with Severance. I thought it couldn’t get any more exhilarating than this!

It took work but we were crossing the main channel. There wasn’t much commercial traffic and the only nearby boat was the sloop which stayed 100 yards to port. Wasfi was sleeping right through the increase in wind and the heeling of the boat. He had collapsed on the cabin top right after the lunch as the rum and cokes had their effect. Earlier, we had joked that he might slide off the cabin and into the water. Norman wondered if the splashes would wake him. They didn’t.

I looked west and saw the blue skies turning dark gray. A storm was approaching. It did not take long for the winds to increase to 20 knots. I could see that the water under the storm was getting whipped up. Considering the crew and my new boat, I chose to start the engine and drop the sails. The diesel purred to life. Suddenly I was appreciating that purr even more. I gave the helm to Norman while going forward with Nick to drop the main. Wasfi was still asleep. We stepped around him.

We stood on the cabin top at angles as Severance healed. The rain started when the main was halfway down. The drops were large and cold and bounced on the cabin top. Wasfi awoke slowly and grabbed his towel and rushed back to the cockpit to get under the bimini.


“What can I do?” he asked through sleepy eyes. We all chuckled.
“Get below and secure anything that was left out from lunch. We could be in for a rocky ride,” I replied while ensuring that main was in her lazy jacks.

The wind shifted suddenly and instead of heading into the wind we were broadside. The main was secured only by Nick and I holding on. We quickly lashed the sail ties around the sail and the boom and secured it tightly but the jib was full of wind again and heeling us over. I gripped the shrouds, clinging to stay aboard as Nick hung from the boom. The sudden heel had Norman yelling apologies and I realized that the wind had increased enough that we were yelling to each other. I sent Nick back to the cockpit and he found refuge under the dodger. Wasfi joined him a few moments later. They were out of the rain as it pounded the cabin top, the dodger and the bimini. Norman relinquished the helm to me with unnecessary apology for the sudden heeling.

Severance was back into the wind a few moments later and I loosened the jib enough to take the pressure off the sail. Knowing that it was best to keep Norman, Nick and Wasfi busy, I told them how to winch in the line controlling the roller furling. The sail flapped back and forth and smacked the shrouds several times. Wind was now at 24 knots. “Howling” seemed to be too tame a word to describe the noise level. We were doing all that could be done to secure all lines and sheets on the boat. By the time my explanation was complete, the jib was successfully rolled up at the forestay. These guys were good!

The gage read 26 knots. We were driving directly into the waves and taking them well. The end of the storm was no where in sight. The waves peaked at 4 feet and Severance surged over them without issue. I looked over at the sloop, now 150 yards away. The man on the boat was edging from the cockpit to the bow as the boat pitched through the waves. A woman on the boat was at the tiller. The main had been taken down but now that we were all in the teeth of the storm, their hank on jib was still up. They had waited too long. The jib sheets were flogging the boat out of control. The man edged forward holding onto the handrails and the shrouds as he got struck by the jib sheets.


“Boys, we’ve got to ease on over to them in case they get into trouble. If that guy falls off, we’ve got to be nearby. It means that we’ll be taking the waves on our starboard bow for a while so it might toss us around a bit.” They nodded that they understood.

I turned 25 degrees to port and the waves started smashing our starboard bow. As we cruised down the troughs, they landed on the cabin top spraying the cockpit with the brackish water of the bay. The diesel continued to hum but I thought back to the marine survey and the steering linkage. Was I stressing the linkage? Would it hold?


The sloop was battling the waves well. The woman at the tiller had done a great job of keeping her nose into the wind and the waves. The man was standing at the last shroud and trying to grab the flapping jib over his head. Windspeed was now at 28 knots or 34 miles per hour.

Visibility was getting worse by the moment. Suddenly, the hanks let lose ripping up the jib like a zipper. There was only one hank holding the jib onto the forestay. I thanked the previous owner of Severance for installing a roller furling!


The jib sheets were flailing and slapping all the way back to the cockpit. The woman was ducking the sheets as the flailed overhead. We debated whether the sheets had hit her or not. The man moved onto the forward decking. There was nothing for him to hold on to.

“Shouldn’t he have a life jacket on?” asked Norman.

I just nodded slowly as I watched him stand on a deck that was rising and falling 3 ½ to 4 feet with every wave. I pointed at our horseshoe lifesaver. “If he falls off, I’ll keep the wheel and bring us closer. Norman, you rip that out of its container and point at him. Keep pointing at him until we get close enough and then throw the horseshoe lifesaver to him when I tell you. It has a line attached and we’ll pull him aboard. Wasfi get the 100 foot line and the fender from down below as a backup. Nick, please get the boat hook from the cabin top just in case.”


At the peak of a wave, he jumped. It was a crazy thing to do but it worked. He grabbed onto the sail and pulled the one hank that was left. He unclipped it. The rest of the sail had gaping holes in the edge of the sail.

He threw the sail into the cabin and fell into the cockpit head first. He got up ok and she guided the sloop further south than we wanted to go and I resumed our prior course toward Herring bay and into the wind.


The 28 knot winds were the most I had ever seen while on a sailboat. Severance handled the 4 foot waves well. Though two of the sail ties flew off the main and the sail flopped around some as a result. We suffered no ill effects from the higher winds. We had bounced through the waves and suffered through the rain but overall, we had done well and had been ready to perform a rescue if necessary.

The gray sky cleared leaving bright blue behind it. We scanned the bay to the green trees on the distant shoreline where Herring Bay awaited. Nick was clapping Norman on the back as a congratulatory gesture. The wind speed declined back to 17 knots. Smiles were all around and I barked out as a joke, “Time to get this beast back sailing toward the marina!”


With that, Nick and Wasfi climbed up on the wet deck and untied the rest of the sail ties and raised the main as I steered into the wind. The main flapped a bit. Norman let out the roller furling and pulled in on the jib sheet. I fell off the wind and the sails filled. Severance powered up and I shut down the diesel. She was galloping over the 3 foot waves easily and comfortably at 7 knots. We heeled over and each wave buried the rail. The sun was back out and shining down upon us. Wasfi let out a yell and once again the joys of a galloping sailboat painted smiles on each of our faces.

We cleared the west side of the channel after several tacks. Severance was handling the waves, the wind and the close hauled point of sail well. The crew stood at an angle as we heeled and buried the rail.


“This is a good boat, a really good boat, Jack,” said Norman. He patted me on the back, “she took us through a bad storm and we survived very well.”

We tacked more but were making good progress toward the marina. With our feet up, we settled in as the wind and the boat did the real work. In the distance, the shoreline was a bright green oasis in the sun. A moment later, the emerald green was rapidly disappearing. Three miles away and it went from green to white as if a ghostly sheet had been rolled down across the landscape. It didn’t look good. All of Herring Bay was gone, replaced with a shapeless cloud only inches above the water and we were headed straight for it.

The sloop was well clear of the squall to the south. For us, the winds were more favorable to the north. “Let’s make a run to the north and see if we can use the storm’s wind to get us there!.”


I changed point of sail and the crew adjusted the sails to attempt to out-run the storm by heading north. I hoped that the increased winds would drive us around the storm. I had read about this in a sailing magazine but had never put it into practice. We were now going 8 knots North- Northeast with the wind at 19 knots from the west. Severance was screaming through the building waves. She leapt at the crest and plowed into the trough. It was both exhilarating and scary.

The entire coast was swallowed up and gone from view. The water before us was disappearing as the storm closed in. It was coming much too fast and it was time to call it quits. I turned the wheel over to Norman, started the diesel, and asked him to keep us directly into the wind. I proceeded forward as the wind climbed to 20 knots. The lazy jacks were helpful in getting the sail flaked properly around the boom. It was raining again and larger drops than before. The SPLAT sound they made disappeared with the wind. There were a few here and there on the deck. Soon, a driving rain pounded my head. Wasfi was bringing in the roller furling as sail ties 1 through 4 were applied tightly to the main. We didn’t have time to put on the green sail cover. The rain drops hurt my face even as I shielded it with my hand.


The main was secure and the jib was rolled up tight. The diesel hummed like she normally did and I ambled back to the relative safety of the cockpit. Norman quickly gave up the wheel. I aimed the bow at the incoming waves and Severance climbed over 4+ footers. Waves on the bay are very different from ocean waves. The distance between bay waves is much shorter leaving your boat to bounce from one wave to the other. On the ocean, you can climb up or down a wave. On the bay, you slam from one wave to the other.

The rain increased to a torrent reducing visibility to 20 feet in front of the bow so I sailed via the Raymarine nautical display. Drops danced on the decking as the wind threw the bounces into our faces. My glasses fogged up as the temperatures dropped dramatically. Frothy waves crested and broke onto the deck washing back toward us thankfully flowing out the sea cocks. We were well past the stage of white caps. White foam streamed by like blowing oak leaves in a fall storm.

Wasfi and Nick sat in the forward section of the cockpit under the dodger. Their legs curled underneath them in the fetal position.

“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Fine, really, fine,” replied Nick. “We’re just staying out of the wind and the rain!”

There seemed nothing left to do but survive as the wind intensified. I relayed the numbers as Norman looked on beside me, “24 knots, 26 knots, 30 knots! Winds are higher than the other storm!”


I had to yell to be heard though they were less than 5 feet from me. Nick and Wasfi nodded without much engagement. Their eyes alert but resigned to our situation.

“32 knots!”

Rain blew horizontally and straight into Norman and my faces. The waves that had been cresting were now getting their tops knocked down.


“35 knots! Crap!”

The sting of the rain reddened my face and my glasses no longer were for seeing, they were protecting my eyes. The wind speed stayed steady at 35 knots for several minutes. I had hopes that the worst was over. Certainly we’d made it through the worst! I kept Severance pointed at the waves and attempted to increase the throttle to the maximum but it was already there. My thoughts drifted to Scotty in the engine room of the Star Ship Enterprise … “I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain!”

36 knots popped up on the display. I said nothing. This was incredible. I looked at Norma and shrugged.


“What’s that in miles per hour?” I asked.
“Is it something like 1.15 miles for each knot?” he replied.
It took a minute, “That would be over 41 miles per hour.”
He nodded knowingly.
“What??” Wasfi yelled to be heard.

My face and arms were like pin cushions to the driving pins sent from the sky and each drop found a new place to sting. The GPS had the boat speed reduced from 6 knots down to 1 ½ knots even with full throttle. I was fighting the wind with the wheel. The bow was a high spot on the boat and we were pushed either port or starboard. The heavier the wind, the harder it was to get back on course.


I just shook my head and wiped the rain from my face and glasses more out of habit than usefulness. Some were doubling up. Foam and froth in the wind-flattened-waves streamed past us. I did a visual scan of the boat. How was she holding up? One of the sail ties had let loose and part of the main was flapping but it didn’t look to be a problem. The jib was still rolled up snuggly on the forestay. I looked at Wasfi, he was nervous. Nick was too. Norman chatted about nothing for a moment. Then he said how incredible this storm was and asked if he could do anything to help. There really wasn’t anything to do. We’d already secured everything below and topsides. Safety gear was all around us. Though, I couldn’t see where we were going, we seemed to be in good shape as long we didn’t hit a barge or container ship in the channel.

The steering! I wasn’t worried about the diesel but I was worried about the steering. We were now going ½ knot backwards though Severance had full throttle forward.

“38 knots,” I called out with more calm than I actually felt. When was this going to end?

Severance was occasionally shaking or more correctly, shuddering as a wave rolled along the sides of the hull. When I looked down at the Nav system, I realized we were being pushed back into the channel. There had been freighters there but not many. In looking down at the Nav system, I had taken my concentration away from the wheel. I could feel that we were taking the waves at the forward starboard quarter and not head on. She corkscrewed and slipped down the slope of the wave. I cut back over to straighten her out. I explained to Norman, Nick and Wasfi what I was doing. Actually, I purposefully kept talking to them so they would stay calm. How was I staying calm? Were we in mortal danger? What was the worst that could happen? We could get run over by a multi-ton vessel transporting cars up to Baltimore. Would they see us? Would we show up on their radar? I thought that over and decided that knowing the worst wouldn’t cause me to change my behavior. I got Severance back on course directly into the waves without overcompensating. Norman clapped me on the back but it didn’t make me feel any better.

“39 knots.” The GPS said we were going 1 ½ knots backwards even with full throttle forward.

Keeping her straight into the wind was getting more and more difficult. Again, I worried about Severance’s steering linkage. I thought how I should take some pressure off that linkage. My mind drifted for a moment to what it might look like below my feet where the linkage was housed. I imagined a cable, frayed to the edges and on the verge of breaking.

“We need to turn around,” I commented quietly. “We need to turn around and when we do, the side of the boat, the hull, will act like a sail and heel us over. So, be prepared and expect it.”

It was the best I could say. It seemed the right thing to do. Wasfi nodded and Nick affirmed that he understood. Protected by the dodger, they were pretty dry while Norman and I were soaked to the bone. I cleaned my glasses off again.

“What can I do to help?” asked Norman.
“Nothing that I can think of,” I responded.

Waves kept coming. The crests were further apart and nearing 5 feet. The tops were curling and crashing on the bow. The roar from the waves and the rain was deafening. I timed the turn through 3 waves to get the sense of the top of the wave. I really didn’t want to be broadside when the wave hit us. I looked at the transom and wondered about the waves hitting us from behind but then put that thought away. My mind was made up.

As Severance climbed up the next wave, I readied myself to turn the wheel. Near the top, I cut her over. She turned toward port and the wind caught the bow. It helped push us around at the top. We started our slide down the side of the wave and we heeled over. It was as if we had full sails up. Nick and Wasfi grabbed hold of the dodger. Nick slid down toward Wasfi. Norman gripped the stainless steel railings.

She was hard over but had stopped turning. We had lost momentum. Stuck! I looked to starboard to see the next wave preparing to crash down upon the deck. There was a litany of thoughts passing through my mind and I worked hard to flush all the negative ones. Time was passing and I didn’t know what I needed to do to get her to keep turning.

She was sliding sideways down the wave. Lots of ideas went through my head. Somehow I felt safe though I should not have felt that way. We were tilted at more than 25 degrees and sliding toward a wave that would crest over my gunnels and pour into my cabin and sink my boat! Why didn’t I put up the cabin rib doors? I forced the negative thoughts out again and took a breath. The wave crested and roared hitting the side of the boat pushing us further over. The low side of the boat was in the trough and the rail was 10 inches under. It felt like we were going over on our side. If water filled the cabin, my beautiful boat could sink!

I stepped up on the seat to maintain my balance. What the hell was going on? I took a breath and focus returned. We were stalled just like we were heave to. The water was no longer traveling along the rudder making it useless.


It was all instinct. I straightened out the wheel and felt the propeller bite and give us forward movement. She only needed a little. I cut her over again, her keel righted us and we turned just in time to take the next wave at our stern.

Wasfi yelled in triumph, “You – are - DA - MAN, JACK!”
Norman slapped my back and Nick nodded with a broad smile across his face. It felt good and I suppressed a smile. But we weren’t out of danger yet.


With the wind and rain at our backs, Wasfi and Nick started getting soaked underneath the dodger. With the mood lightened, Norman enjoyed making light of their attempts to shield themselves from the pounding that he and I had somehow gotten used to.

We had been going 1 ½ knots backwards, now we were going 8 knots forward but in the wrong direction which was west across the bay channel. I looked at the nav system and we were headed straight for Poplar Island. If we didn’t veer south, we’d run out of water in 15 minutes.

So far, the storm had lasted 30 minutes. Would it last another 15? I adjusted course slowly. I considered hailing nearby vessels of our position but we were already across the channel.
Carefully, I shifted into neutral and then into reverse. Full power but we only slowed to 6 knots forward. Full reverse and we were still going 6 knots forward! Announcing this to the crew resulted in shocked looks all around. The wind speed climbed again.


“41 knots,” I called out. The ride was smoother because the waves were now flat and at our backs. Thick rain drops assailed our skin us and we still couldn’t see more than 10 feet beyond the bow. More frothy water streamed by us.

“44 knots,” I yelled to no one in particular. I wondered aloud how fast that was in miles per hour.

After a moment, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know. Considering our boat speed was 6 knots and the apparent wind speed was 44, it made sense that the actual wind speed was 50 knots. I mentioned this to Norman. He nodded. We were both worried. When would this end?
Specks of green leaves dotted the deck and cockpit. Shredded and carried to us from six miles away, they gave a snow like quality to our surroundings. Were we in a tornado? I looked for swirling winds but there was no visibility of anything!


My angling south was buying us time. Without it, we would have been running aground of Poplar Island. I calculated landfall again but I was running out of things to do about it. At some point in time, I would have to turn around again to face the wind to at least slow us down.

I could see that Nick and Wasfi’s faces were red from the rain abusing their faces. Norman did some calculations. “Forty-four knots would be about 50 mph but if we are going 50 knots then,” he thought a bit. “Then the wind is 57 or more mph! That’s a hurricane, isn’t it?”


I didn’t know what to say. We were running out of water. Landfall was approaching rapidly. The floor was shaking from the diesel at such high revolutions. We couldn’t see and I could only hope that the multi-ton cargo ships were still in the channel somewhere. I wondered how I’d get Severance off the muck if we were to run aground. Had I paid up my Towboat insurance? Should I call out to the cargo ships to let them know where we were?

The rain stopped. The sun came out. Puffy clouds were to the north, south and west of us as if nothing had happened. Wind speed dropped dramatically down to 20 knots and then steady at 16 knots. To the east was a dark, black and green storm speeding away from us.
We were quiet. I realized that I was holding my breath.


I looked at Nick and Wasfi who were shivering, cold and wet. “Ready to come about?” I shouted out.
“READY!” called out Wasfi and Nick.
I slowed the diesel, shifted into forward and cut the wheel. Severance turned easily and left a hole in the water.

“Who’s ready for a rum and coke?” cried Wasfi to a chorus of laughs.

We set the sails and enjoyed a straight beam reach back across the bay. Severance galloped along at more than 6 knots. It didn’t take too long to round the mark and head into the marina. The crew had become experts at taking in the sails as I fired up the diesel to maneuver around the marina docks.


Severance sat secure at her dock. I locked the cabin ribs into place and landed the leap from sailboat to wooden dock. It was good to be on solid ground again. We stood at the top of the hill looking over the marina and the bay. There was no evidence of any storm. It seemed so unreal.

The car ride home was quiet and I was glad. For some reason, I didn’t want to talk about the storm. Wasfi slept again and Nick gazed out the window in quiet contemplation.

After a while, “I want a sailboat,” Nick whispered.
“Really? After that experience?”
“Definitely,” he said with steel in his eyes. “I think it would be fantastic.”

The world had just given birth to another sailor who, despite trepidation of what might be, leaves the shore for parts unknown.