In the "Sailors confess" series, we confess our stupidest sailing mistakes. But we are also looking forward to your confession. Send us your text, if possible with pictures, to mail@yacht.dekeyword "sailor's confession". If desired, publication will be anonymised.
In 1997, I ferried a brand new yacht from Slovenia to Turkey for the first time with five friends of the same age. A big deal for a 23-year-old skipper who naturally wanted to prove himself.
It was beautiful, but also exhausting sailing, because the wind - when it was blowing - naturally came from the front as a strong wind. In the Strait of Otranto, we hit a drifting wooden beam or tree under motor in calm conditions, but otherwise everything went smoothly.
After ten days non-stop, we found ourselves in the middle of the Aegean and - dead tired - took our first break. We arrived in Astipaleia in the dark and with an offshore wind, dropped the stern anchor and moored with the bow at a tiny stone pier in the empty, uninhabited bay. Spaghetti never tasted better than the one we cooked. As we were all dog-tired, after the meal we simply hung the pots on a line over the railing to soak. We packed the crockery in a cloth bag.
Suddenly the wind changes
It came as it had to. The wind shifted at night and the stern anchor slipped. I woke up because the keel - fortunately the keel - had made first contact with the rocks. Getting out on deck, jumping ashore and keeping the slowly turning ship alongside was one thing before I really woke up. This was followed by a hectic all-hands manoeuvre in which we cast off with the engine running wildly. We hadn't prepared any fenders or lines, no sensible springs or anything like that, apart from the single fore line. All our concentration was focussed on the hull of the new ship, which was not allowed to come into contact with the stone jetty under any circumstances.
What about the crockery?
We also reached this destination. We then anchored free swinging and went back to bed. When we went to get the pots and crockery on deck the next morning, there was only a broken line hanging over the side. I jumped over the railing into the still cold water and used my fins and mask to search for the pots at the bottom of the bay. After more than an hour, I finally found them. They were just a pile of sharp-edged, dented metal. At least I managed to salvage some cutlery and two plates so that we didn't all have to eat with our fingers from the one remaining pan on the rest of the crossing. We continued on and, as the wind died, motored the remaining 150 nautical miles to our destination harbour.
The propeller has a way
But something wasn't right. The boat didn't really get going and somehow the engine sounded different than before. So we stopped and I went diving again. Only now did I see the propeller. It still had all three blades, but they had deep nicks and notches and at least one blade was badly bent.
When we returned the boat, I reported all the damage to the agency - including the slight grounding with the keel, the issue with the propeller and the unusual engine noises. We lost our deposit completely and there was also a gaping hole in the on-board cash box for a complete set of pots, pans and crockery. We secretly bought these from the shop, but I blamed the propeller damage on the tree trunk, which was already in the logbook...
