Ken Stephens #2 - Embarrassment for Sailors

There is an old saying among sailors, “You aren’t a real sailor until you have gone aground.”

Anyone who has ever sailed can identify with that statement. 

During one of the many adventures on Geronimo, we ventured down the Chesapeake Bay on a beautiful Saturday. The Bay was covered by all sorts of boats and people, all experiencing perfect weather. 

The part of Maryland that meets the sea is known as the Eastern Shore. The Chesapeake separates the Eastern Shore from the rest of Maryland.

To get to the heart of the Eastern Shore from Annapolis, it is necessary for all the boats to go through Knapp Narrows, an opening only about 100 feet wide. At that spot, the ebb and flow of the tides creates an interesting problem. The water there flows much more rapidly than in the Chesapeake or the other side of the Narrows. That flow pattern creates sandbars on either side. The sandbars can change quickly, so the nautical charts are of little help. 

Our 45-foot vessel was larger than the small boats, and we had a six-foot draft. Thus, it was important for us to transit the center of the Narrows, very carefully. Large numbers of people were watching, and we wouldn't want them to see us go aground and embarrass the Navy. Geronimo had an elegant gold-leaf sign on the transom, proudly announcing, “U.S. Naval Academy. 

After having waited for a considerable time for a line of small boats to move through the Narrows, we got our opportunity and began this short but important maneuver. At the last minute, some idiot in a fast boat came toward us, right in the center of the channel, at high speed. 

The man at the helm of Geronimo had a choice. We could maintain our center position (We had the right of way.), or give way and move to the right to avoid a collision. 

The helmsman made the correct call and moved right. You guessed it, we struck the sandbar. We heard that annoying screech of sand making contact with fiberglass. OK, no big deal...we will simply back off the sandbar and go back to the center channel, right? NO! We were aground, so much so that the engine could not pull us off. 

It's time for Plan B. The winches on the deck of Geronimo were capable of exerting hundreds of pounds of force in raising heavy sails. Couldn't we attach a line to the structure on the other side of the Narrows and winch ourselves off? Of course! 

I had never given much thought regarding how much force ropes can withstand. We soon learned that whatever that force was, it was insufficient to extract Geronimo from the sandbar. We pulled the ropes as tight as a violin string, and there was a loud TWANNNNNG as the rope broke.

This was getting serious. We had already been delayed for two hours while trying to transit Knapp Narrows, and now, a hundred or so onlookers were observing the Navy's incompetence. 

Plan C: Discreetly call the Coast Guard. Boats with VHF radios all keep the radio on Channel 16 for an initial contact. The Coast Guard monitors Channel 16 all the time for emergencies. After contact is made, the caller can go to another channel. However, Channel 16 is one big party line, and we didn't want to broadcast our predicament to every boat within 25 miles.

Being an official Navy vessel, Geronimo had a couple of government-only channels (also monitored by the Coast Guard). We used one of those channels to make contact. Then, we suffered all the expected ribbing, such as: “The Navy ran aground.” and “The first rule of sailing--stay in water deep enough for your boat.”

Finally, the Coast Guard sent a small cutter from Baltimore, which took another hour to get there. Meanwhile, it seemed that every small boat on the Chesapeake must have gone through the Narrows, tooting their horns and laughing at us. 

The Coast Guard arrived to save the day. With a swagger, they attached a line to Geronimo and began the tow. Their engine was powerful. Geronimo refused to move, and their line broke. By then, the taunts were not just for the Navy. 

The Coast Guard was becoming red-faced. The cutter's skipper ordered up “Big Bertha,” a rope at least three inches in diameter. The monster rope was looped completely over Geronimo and under her hull. The cutter's giant diesel growled, and they moved backward—right into the sandbar on the other side of the Narrows. Geronimo was steadfast. And so was the cutter. 

By that time, we had been featured on the Noon news, and a Baltimore TV station had sent their traffic helicopter and a film crew to capture our predicament for the 6 o'clock news. 

We escaped, thanks to mother nature. After an additional FOUR HOURS, the tide rose enough for both the cutter and Geronimo to float off the sandbars. Nothing was damaged, except the pride of the Navy and the Coast Guard. 

So, if you run aground, relax and “enjoy” it.