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.
As we all know, June brings the first warm summer days in northern Germany. After the long winter storage period, my boat is freshly polished and "ready to race" in the harbour. Of course you want to go sailing!
Start of the season
I'm not normally a single-handed sailor. I enjoy sailing in a dinghy, but I actually prefer company - whether I'm an experienced sailor or not, I don't care. After all, I can sail the boat on my own. But what do you do if no one really has time to come along? Exactly: you just go sailing on your own!
So I prepare everything, pull up the genoa and furl it, check the sheets - everything is ready to cast off. I slowly pull myself out of the box and leave Schleswig harbour.
First challenge
Anyone who has ever been on the Schlei, or more precisely in Schleswig, knows the narrow passage between Fahrdorf and Schleswig. It is well marked with six buoys - three green, three red. I sail relaxed, proud of my first single-handed experience, and approach the narrow passage. "I usually go that way too," I think to myself and stay maybe three metres outside the buoy line.
Suddenly I don't feel so safe anymore and quickly initiate a turn - but too late. The keel touches the bottom and I come to an abrupt halt. I had, as they say, bought a plot of land.
Rescue attempt
Still calm at first, I try to pull the jib back to push the boat round. It works - my old long keeler, an Erria 25, predecessor of the Bandholm 26, turns. But what I didn't realise was that I had got into an underwater bay. Three metres further on, I'm stuck again - this time with a significant heel. I can't get out of here without the engine.
External help
So: engine on, sails down, and in reverse gear I try to free myself from the awkward situation. The first sailors pass me and ask if I need help. "No, it's all right, I'll get out myself!" I shout to them. At this point, I'm still confident.
Twenty minutes later, things look different. Nothing works - neither forwards nor backwards.
In the distance, I spot the DGzRS rubber dinghy stationed in Schleswig. They are obviously on patrol. "Please don't let it be Thomas!" I think to myself. I grew up with his children and I had my first wooden opti with his mum. That would just be embarrassing.
The rescue
The RIB approaches and comes alongside. "Moin, shall we help?" I hear.
"If you have time - I'd love to," I reply, a little embarrassed.
"Sure! Take the line and tie it to your cleat if it holds. Otherwise you'll have to tie it around the foot of the mast," the volunteer explains to me.
"Oh, it'll hold," I reply confidently.
Slowly, the line tightens and I notice how the boat starts to move again. The skipper of the RIB steps on the gas and it feels like I'm being pulled up a mountain. The boat tilts to one side and I suddenly feel like I'm 40 centimetres higher. I fear for my cleat, but eventually I slide back over the hill into the open water.
Return
Free again, I quickly check the seawater filter for silt - luckily it's empty. Relieved, I say thank you and ask if I can treat the crew to an ice cream or show my appreciation in some other way. They kindly decline: "Summer is coming and we're training for our summer figure," jokes one of them. Then they say goodbye with the words: "Don't worry, you're not the only one this happens to."
The sailing day is over for me. I head straight back to the harbour under motor.
A few months later, I was able to return the favour: During the storm surge, the DGzRS building fills up with water and I help to drain it again. Luckily for me, some of the reports suffered water damage and were no longer legible. I secretly hope that my case was among them.
