To Err Is Human. To Admit It Takes Wine.
By Dave and Jaja

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1987, 2 a.m. Entering the breakwater at Block Island at after a 20-hour passage down Long Island Sound. There were two lights on the breakwater: one at the seaward end and one at the land end. On the chart one was listed as an "F" red the other was an "FL" red. Tired as I was, I confused the "fixed red light" for the "flashing red light" and I was able to convince myself that the land light was actually the seaward light--and vice versa. What this really meant is I was now leaving the breakwater to port instead of to starboard. When I was moments away from landing in the surf I glanced at the depth sounder and noted I was in 7 feet of water, and that for some reason there "suddenly" a red light to port. I pushed the helm hard over and realized my mistake in an instant.

Conclusion: Since I had entered that breakwater many times before in the daylight, I was over confident entering it in the darkness.

1987. Bermuda to the Virgin Islands. I was filleting a dorado in the cockpit. I slipped, and accidentally cut the jib sheet in half. Later that day I discovered a rotten egg and lobbed it overboard from the companionway. The egg hit the lifelines and broke on top of the new jib sheet I'd rigged. It took a week for that odor to go away.

1988. Jaja and I were zipping along in our ten-foot Zodiac inflatable when the painter slipped over the side and wound itself up in the propeller. Our engine was a 6-horse long shaft outboard which was used primarily as auxiliary power for DIRECTION. The propeller was farther away underwater than mere arm's reach, and we couldn't tip the engine up because the painter was holding it down. We also did not have a knife, nor were we carrying oars. Undoing the thumb screws was not an option because they were locked together and we did not have the key with us.

I should add that we were in England, where the water temperature was 55 degrees and the air temperature was 50. It was October, and there was not a soul in sight. I took off my shirt, leaned over the back of the Zodiac, and had to submerge my head in order to reach the prop and untangle the painter.

Footnote: We continued our journey to a small beach about three miles from Falmouth harbor. After hauling the dinghy up the shingle we set off for a walk. Upon our return, the dinghy, which had not been anchored or tied to anything, had floated free on the tide and was 50 yards from shore. I stripped off all my clothes this time and swam for it.

1991. We'd been in New Zealand for 18 months and set off for Fiji with 5-month-old Holly and 2-year-old Chris. (Looking back, this alone seems like a dumb thing to do, but at the time it seemed perfectly natural). The 16-day passage ended without mishap. The only thing was, during the passage I had difficulty getting my sextant's "line's of position" to line up. Every LOP I plotted failed to jive with my DR by 10 to 20 miles. As we approached the reef entrance in the middle of the night I called a passing ship for a position update. He gave me a position that was about 20 miles different from my DR position. I believed him, because he said he could see the reef on his radar. We easily found the pass after sunrise.

A few days later I did some practice sextant sights to figure out what my problem was. I soon discovered that I was inadvertently ADDING 12 hours to get GMT from local time instead of SUBTRACTING 12 hours. This meant my time was off by 24 hours--one whole day!!!

1994. I painted the lower unit of DIRECTION's outboard motor with copper bottom paint. I was able to fix the holes (caused by corrosion) several months later using MarineTex.

1999. We were working our way up the Norwegian coast, heading for a particular fjord that had a glacier in it called Svartisen. We were on the Arctic Circle, and many fjords were in the region. We found the fjord, turned into it, and steamed for several hours. When we got to the end there was no glacier. What was going on? I turned on the GPS and plotted our position.

Not only had I taken us up the wrong fjord, I had been looking at the correct fjord on the chart while doing it. We were literally in the wrong place.

Funniest things I've ever witnessed:

1984. Annapolis Boat Show. I was sitting in a pub one evening, telling lies and sipping beer with a few other sailors I knew. One of the people in our group was yacht designer Robert Perry. An acquaintance of mine walked in, was introduced all around, then started commenting on the fleet of ugly boats at the show. When this acquaintance began to bad mouth Perry's designs we all started laughing (even Perry), and to this day I do not think the guy knew what all the laughter was really about.

Somewhere in the past: I'll never forget the guy who was sailing his boat on Seattle's Lake Union. He was coasting along on a reach, trying intently to get his genoa to set. He was sheeting in, sheeting out, and adjusting the car leads. Unknown to him, his sail was hoisted upside down. The clew was 25 feet off the deck.