Suddenly Overboard (26 page)

Jack and the Boys. Their matching shirts were hidden under the bright colors of their waterproofs. This boat gave a wild, wet ride. As usual Jack was not wearing a life jacket, which he said slowed him down on the helm. One other crew had forgotten his in his car, but the other four wore theirs.

Today's wind let them fly the asymmetrical at the start, and within a minute they'd left the other boats behind. Out past the harbor breakwater the waves were much larger in open water, and the 1720 was flying off crests and smashing over the waves ahead. They were all grinning like kids as Jack shouted commands to the trimmers and sail handlers.

Then they came off a wave and the bowsprit pole suddenly snapped and the spinnaker flogged. Jack headed up to ease the strain, and the crew worked to get the sail down and out of the water. “Should we keep racing?” he shouted over the ruckus to the crew on the foredeck. “Just main and jib?” Everyone nodded as they bundled up the spinnaker.

Not waiting for the jib, Jack turned to get back in the race. They needed to jibe to get back toward the first mark, but in his hurry he turned too soon before the boat had gotten up enough speed and they stalled. The crew weight was poorly distributed since the others were still tending to the sails rather than stabilizing the boat for speed.

Jack gave a shout and put the helm over again. After a moment's delay the boat abruptly jibed and heeled sharply to port before Jack could reposition himself or grab on to something, and he fell overboard.

Most of the crew were still forward, but the boat's sudden motion made them look up, and they saw Jack go overboard. “Hey!” he was shouting. “Turn the boat around!”

Jack's friend, the guest crew who had never sailed the boat before, was closest to the helm and hurried to grab the tiller. The boat was being tossed about as he brought it over, but then they were caught in irons facing the wind. Already the boat had been blown some distance away from where Jack was struggling in the waves.

One of the crew was pushing out the boom to get the boat to fall off and make some speed for steering. Two others on the bow, still trying to secure the spinnaker before it was blown off the deck, saw another boat in the race catching up nearby. They shouted to it, pointing to Jack in the water.

The skipper of the cruising sailboat understood the situation immediately and started his diesel to power into the wind in Jack's direction. The sails were left to flog as his crew watched for the man in the water. The skipper grabbed the VHF microphone and called the Coastguard, gave his position, and asked for a lifeboat. He waited for his crew to shout and point out Jack's location, but they were silent, watching the water intently. After a few minutes he realized they must have missed him and gone too far, so he turned back for another pass.

On the 1720 another crew had taken over the helm and was tacking back to where they thought Jack was in the water.
Two men watched from the bow. At last one of them spotted Jack about 10 meters away floating facedown. He shouted and pointed and then without hesitation dived in and started swimming for Jack. But as he was wearing a life jacket, he could only swim slowly.

The helmsman quickly tacked, and in moments the boat moved past the swimming crew and reached Jack's position. Two crew reached overboard and grabbed Jack's jacket. But in their hurry they hadn't thought to release the sheets, and the boat was still moving too fast for them to hold on. One felt the jacket pull away from his fingers, and the other—the crew who had left his life jacket in the car—tumbled into the water still holding on to Jack. As the boat moved on past them he grabbed a line trailing behind but could not keep hold of it.

The first 1720 crew who had jumped in wearing a life jacket now reached Jack and took him from the other one who had no life jacket. The 1720 was still moving off as the three left on board started maneuvers to get the boat turned around and back to the three in the water.

The cruising sailboat was now returning to the area, its skipper having seen the others enter the water and reach Jack. As he approached, slowing, the man without a life jacket swam over and was able to clamber up the meter of freeboard with the help of the crew aboard. Then the boat maneuvered through the waves to the other two.

They lowered a line, and the crew in the water tied it around Jack's chest under his armpits, but they weren't able to pull him all the way up. He was unresponsive, and they couldn't tell if he was breathing. With their mainsail still up and flogging they couldn't control the boom well enough to use it for leverage to hoist Jack up. The skipper had just called for his crew to get the sails down when he saw the lifeboat racing toward them. In less than a minute the lifeboat crew had Jack on board and were stripping off his jacket to start CPR. The other crew was helped out of the water and on board the cruising sailboat.

It had been only 10 minutes since Jack had fallen in, but the water was cold and the waves and spray would have made it difficult to breathe while attempting to tread water.

Soon a Coastguard helicopter arrived and winched Jack from the lifeboat and flew back to town.

He was pronounced dead at the hospital.

None of them was ever able to explain how everything happened so fast and how what should have been a simple matter of getting back to him in the water went so wrong.

“You'd better go out today with your granddad,” Ethan's grandmother had said that morning. “Frankly, at his age, we can't know how many more years he'll be sailing.”

Ethan looked out the window at the heavy clouds boiling past. “You think he still wants to go in weather like this?”

“He knows you're leaving for college in a couple days. Besides, it pretty much takes a hurricane to keep him in port.”

So they went sailing, Ethan, age 19, with his maternal grandfather, age 77. It felt chilly in the wind for August on the cape but at least it wasn't raining. And Ethan really did want to spend time with Grandpa. He was an interesting man and told great stories, which were even better when the women weren't around. As for the sailing, well, Ethan didn't know much about that part; in fact, he'd never sailed before. He'd grown up in the Midwest far from any sizable body of water and had mostly visited his grandparents in Massachusetts over the winter holidays.

It sure was a beautiful boat, though. As they stowed their things on board and got underway, Grandpa was explaining that it was a schooner, a small one at 30 feet, but the real thing. He explained about the gaffs and masts and Ethan nodded, not really understanding. Well, he was only along for the ride, and was looking forward to Grandpa's promise that they'd have a traditional taste of rum when they got back to harbor.

It started raining just after they got the sails up—Ethan had helped by pulling on the ropes Grandpa pointed to—but Grandpa only gestured at the hatch and told him to fetch their oilskins.

“Huh?”

“Rain gear, son. Used to be made of canvas or leather with a skin of oil for waterproofing. Get it, oilskins?”

While he was down below Ethan checked his cell phone quickly for any texts that might have come in. Nothing. At least he had a signal.

When he came back up with the rain gear he noticed the wind had picked up. He looked around at the waves and saw only one other boat, a small powerboat that was streaking back in the direction of shore. They quickly put on their rain jackets and their life jackets on over them.

On they sailed, Grandpa holding the spokes of the wooden wheel and occasionally asking Ethan to pull in or let out this line or that. Except for the rain in his eyes he was starting to enjoy it. The sailboat leaned over to one side, and he sat in the cockpit on the high side, watching the curling waves past Grandpa. The boat was rolling right along.

Usually a taciturn man, Grandpa now kept up a steady stream of talk, mostly about other sailing voyages he'd taken. Clearly a happy man when sailing, showing no signs of his age, his hands moved the wheel as he watched the waves, oblivious to the rain on his face. He wore an old black watch cap low over his eyes, the hood of his raincoat like a monk's cowl.

“Ready to try steering for a while?” he said after a time.

“Sure, Grandpa.”

“Come around over here. I'll stand behind you to guide you.”

Ethan stood and moved across the canting cockpit to join Grandpa at the wheel. When he had it in his grip, Grandpa let go and stepped back. Just then a bigger wave hit the boat, and in the sudden lurch Grandpa lost his balance and tilted back, falling, and was pitched backward off the boat.

In horror Ethan let go of the wheel and turned around.
Grandpa was in the water some 20 feet back already. “Throw me the cushion!” he shouted.

Ethan grabbed the orange cushion his grandfather had been sitting on and threw it as far as he could back into the water. But he couldn't see where it landed, and then he couldn't even see his grandfather. The waves looked big and confused, and the pelting rain made it hard to see. Oh shit, Ethan thought, oh shit, oh shit, now what do I do?

The wheel was moving erratically, and the boat seemed to be turning broadside to the waves, bouncing and slamming more. He took the wheel and held it, then looked back into the turmoil of water behind the boat. He had to get back, but already he was confused. Where was Grandpa? Where was he? Which way was land? The sky was dark gray and the air was full of water; it looked the same in all directions. Then he thought, the waves. He remembered the angle they'd been coming from before, sort of from the front left side, so Grandpa must be—he looked, thought about it—back that way.

He slowly turned the wheel to the right, watching to see what would happen. He couldn't tell if the boat was turning, nothing seemed to change, but then the boat stopped leaning quite as much. He watched the waves while turning some more. Now the waves were coming from behind him, and they looked huge, scary, higher than his head, but on each wave the back of the boat rose and the wave passed under.

Maybe now he was going the right way back. He moved the wheel back to center and held it tight, leaning out to one side, trying to watch the water ahead.

There was a sudden pause, a weird lull, and he glanced up from the water as the huge sail above him came swinging back fast. He instinctively ducked as the boom passed overhead, and the sail shot out to the other side with a huge roar and a sharp crack and jolt that almost knocked him off his feet. Turn, turn! he thought, but which way?

It was like being on another planet. He didn't have the slightest
idea what to do, or where his grandfather was, or how to get to him. He could only hope his grandfather was okay, floating in the water in his life jacket, waiting for Ethan to come and get him.

He's going to die, he thought then, and it's my fault and I'll have to tell Grandma.

The wind and rain tore at him. Everything was terrifying. It felt like the boat would sink any minute.

Then he remembered his cell phone. Shit! Why hadn't he thought of it before?

He didn't dare get it wet in the drenching rain, so he let go of the wheel and dashed for the hatch to get below. Just as he ducked in he saw the sail swinging across again and braced himself for the shock when it hit. Then he punched in 911 and waited an eternity for a connection.

He shouted it all quickly to the dispatcher in case the phone died, and the woman seemed to understand. “Keep your phone on,” she told him. “The GPS will give us your location. We're coming.”

For a moment he felt relief at knowing someone else was in charge now. Then he had a vision of Grandpa in the water, the waves throwing him around, all alone in the ocean; they'd never find him. He'd waited too long to call; they might know where
he
was, but what about Grandpa?

He rushed back up on deck to keep watching the water.

The waves were more to the right side now, still from behind, and he realized the problem with the sail happened when the waves came directly from behind. So he started steering in a way to keep the waves in the same place. But he had no idea whether Grandpa was ahead of him or behind or somewhere else. He wanted to get back on the phone to ask if they were coming, but then he might run down the battery and maybe they still needed the GPS signal.

There was nothing he could do. He should've asked Grandpa how to sail the boat, what you're supposed to do with the sails and all those ropes to make it go the way you wanted. He should've paid more attention. But even if he knew, he thought, he still didn't know which way to go.

That was the worst of it: there was nothing he could do except watch the water and try to keep the boat from sinking. And think about how he was going to explain this to Grandma—and later, to Mom.

The rain fell and gusts of wind shook the old schooner, but only a little water was sloshing over the sides and somehow it kept moving.

After a while he thought to look at his watch and was surprised to see almost an hour had passed. He was steering listlessly now, mechanically, just watching the endless passage of endless waves. It wasn't raining quite as hard now. But still he saw nothing in any direction. For the first time he thought that he too might die.

He found himself staring at the compass mounted in front of the wheel. Shit! Why hadn't he thought of it before? He could've figured out which way the boat pointed, which way to Grandpa, but now after an hour it was too late. What a fool he was. He stared at the thing. It looked like the boat was pointed north. It took long seconds before he could visualize a map of the cape and their starting point in Hyannis Harbor. North—that meant he was sailing back toward land.

He was in no hurry to get there and have to tell everyone what had happened.

Holding the wheel tight, he carefully stood to look ahead past the bow. In the distance he saw a smudge that might be land.