A Life Saving Step By Leslie Wyly-Reeves (as told by Robert) This is one of those stories that you have either heard about or watched on that dreadful movie (supposedly based on a true story) about a party on a sailboat that jumps overboard for a swim…without a way back-up onboard. Well, this is a similar story as told by my dock neighbor and Italian friend, Robert. He gave me permission to share his story, because he and I want to create yet another awareness of boat safety. So much is taken for granted out there on the water.
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n mid-November 2016, Robert and Joanie were coming back from a month-long journey along the west coast of Florida, between their homeport in the Tampa Bay area and Marathon in the Keys. It was a familiar and favorite route for them onboard his Catalina 385. He had navigated this north-south rhumb line many times. They were on their way home from Marathon. Their first overnight stop was in a new anchorage just south of Northwest Cape Sable near the Everglades, evading the skeeters in the usual Little Shark River anchorage. From there, they made the usual overnight stops in Marco Island and Fort Myers, slowly hopping north along the coast. They pulled into Boca Grande Pass, entering Charlotte Harbor, after a full day sailing from Fort Myers—more than halfway home to the Manatee River south of Tampa Bay. Robert was well-rehearsed at motoring through the restrictive and unmarked shallow path into the protected Pelican Bay anchorage off Sanibel Island. But that evening, he didn’t feel comfortable with attempting it, since last time he had barely cleared it with only seven skinny inches under his keel. The weather was calm, and he opted to drop the hook. They were just off green marker #75 outside Pelican Bay near the ICW in the great vastness of Charlotte Harbor. Though there were approximately 15 boats inside the bay, his decision to anchor outside late in the day was reinforced by two other sailboats, another 36-foot Catalina and an older-looking ketch, all within 50 yards of each other. At sunset, they celebrated their successful day of passage with the usual vodka and cranberry cocktails, followed with a robust pot full of
Italian pasta. Later they went to bed for the night. About 10:45pm, Robert woke to a distinct slapping on the hull. “Did you hear that? Something is banging on the hull,” says Robert. He thinks about grabbing his gun, but logically realizes (despite the sundowner buzz) that anyone trying to illegally board his boat wouldn’t be making so much noise. Instead he pops up into the cockpit with caution, still wearing his birthday suit. Disoriented in the dark, he glances around and hears a splashing—it’s a person in the water tangled up in the dinghy painter off the stern. It’s a man…a naked man…a bloody naked man….trying desperately to climb onto the walk-thru transom. Oh man, this has the makings of a really bad Hollywood drama. Robert yells down to Joanie to stay put because there’s a naked and bloody man hanging on the stern of the boat. She instinctively grabs the kitchen knife, but discards it when
Robert tells her to bring him his clothes. Curiosity get’s the best of her as she runs topside to have a look… well, it’s not an everyday scenario. The 60-ish man was weak and violently shaking from hypothermia but had enough wind to say his name was Tony from Naples. He was sailing solo and had fallen off a nearby boat and couldn’t get back on. No ladder. No safety line. He had struggled for more than an hour, before he decided to swim to Robert’s boat for help. Robert thought: How he fell off—probably peeing overboard? And how he got so bloody is anyone’s guess…probably scraping on the barnacles trying to get on his boat—a sailor’s demise and devil’s minions. Robert helped the man crawl up onto the walk-thru transom, as Joanie wrapped a towel around him. The next challenge was getting him into the dinghy and back across the 50-yard stretch to his boat. Robert’s Yamaha outboard was not loaded onto the dink, so he assembled his oars and rowed across the small expanse, with a cold and confused Tony guiding him. Tony’s boat was an older Catalina 36, without a transom deck. The life-saving ladder was still tied up onto the stern rail. Robert struggled from the dinghy to unleash the ladder down to the waterline and then had to help push the shaking and disoriented victim up onto the deck. Tony scrambled onboard and down into the darkness of the boat and disappeared…an almost dead man on a mission. Robert rowed the dinghy silently back to his boat…Tony hadn’t said a word of gratitude. But Robert has since learned that hypothermia leads to confused thinking. As he relayed his story See LIFE SAVING continued on page 68
GOT A SAILING STORY? If you have a story about an incident that happened that was a real learning experience, or a funny story, or a weird or unusual story that you’d like to tell, send it to editor@southwindsmagazine.com. Keep them short—around 800-1000 words or less, maybe a little more. Photos nice, but not required. We pay for these stories. 70 January 2017
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