Byron
04-15-2002, 11:18 AM
My Off Shore Fish Tale (Stupid human tricks)
It was warm in the beach house at Rollover Pass, 25 miles east of Galveston, Texas. However, Saturday morning, October 13th was ushered in with a cold front, thundering storms with 35 mile an hour winds, and lightning crashing all around the beach.
Howard and I were busily preparing for a two-day trip 40 miles off the coast to fish oil rigs. The weather service broadcast said that the storm would die out by mid afternoon, with sunny skies and mild 5 to 10 mile hour winds from the North. Sunday would see sunny skies and 2 to 4 foot seas - perfect fishing weather. The windstorms blew longer than the service had predicted, but by 5:30 p.m. all was calm, and we left for Port Bolivar.
Howard was the proud owner of a twenty-six foot Ocean Ray offshore fishing boat with a 250 horsepower outboard engine. Thursday, October 11th, the boat mechanic had returned the Ocean Ray to Howard with a clean bill of health, and a declaration of it being sea worthy and fit for the 2 day adventure. We were filling confident and exuberant about our forthcoming adventure.
As we backed the boat down the ramp, Howard had begun to lower the motor. You could hear the tilt and trim hydraulics whine as the motor started to settle in to position. Then, silence. The motor stopped, not going any lower. After pulling the boat back on dry land, it was determined that it was low on hydraulic fluid. Disconnecting the trailer, I drove the 15 miles to the nearest station, and purchased the hydraulic fluid. After filling the cylinder with fluid, it worked like a charm. Once again, we were on our way.
The sun had already sunk below the gulf waters and the light was fading fast. Within a short period of time, we were making a southerly cut around the point that opened into the Galveston shipping channel. Dead ahead were 2 huge ships. The one on the starboard side was headed into Galveston, and the one to the port side was headed for the open seas. Knowing that it would be precarious to run between the 2 ships, Captain Howard chose to run on the port side of the outgoing ship. It was a sound decision, and soon we were slicing the waves at forty knots. The time was approximately 7:30 p.m. Winds had shifted from the North and were now blowing from the south at 10 to 15 miles an hour and we were running in 30 feet of water.
Howard had been experiencing some problems with the depth finder. It had become an on and off situation. As we were leaving the out going ship behind us, it became an off situation. We could not get the depth finder to come back on. There was no need for concern. The only point along the shipping channel of danger was a sandbar near the end of the shipping channel that would put us in the open water of the gulf. The sandbar was to our port side, separating us from the channel and the open sea. We were now about 15 miles from Port Bolivar, and about a mile from the end of the shipping channel. The lights of Galveston were falling further behind, and the darkness of the gulf loomed before us.
Suddenly, I found myself flying from the rear of the boat, crashing into the cockpit, and smashing into the forward compartment in the bow of the boat. WE HAD RUN AGROUND! Howard and I slowly regained our senses. We both felt like we had been severely beaten around the head and shoulders. Come to think about it, we had been severely beaten around the head and shoulders. The sandbar that was to our left was now directly under us. The boat had come to rest fully on top of the bar in one inch of water. This was not good. We were in a three thousand-pound boat in one inch of water! We needed 3 feet of water just to float it, and another foot to start the engine (which had died just as abruptly).
We took stock of the situation, and quickly realized we were in bad trouble. Not only were we aground, but the winds had picked up, and were now blowing at us from 15 to 25 miles an hour. Except for the distant lights of Galveston, it was pitch black. Eight-foot waves were crashing on the sandbar and us. The waves were slowly moving the boat towards the rocks of the shipping channel jetty. We had to get the boat off that sand bar.
There was nothing else to do but jump from the boat and try to get it off the bar. It was soon apparent that the two of us were not going to budge that boat. The only time it moved at all was when a wave crashed into it. That’s when I figured out that it might be possible to use the force of the waves to help us. We began to watch the waves, and as they crashed over the bow, which was 2 feet above my head, we in unison put our weight into pushing the bow toward deep water. The force of the waves gave us just enough lift to move it about three inches at a time, but it was working. Progress was being made. We eventually got the boat turned in the opposite direction with the bow pointing to deep water. Then, we began to alternate between the front and the back of the boat, eventually getting it to float as each wave passed. Our spirit and strength were lifted. We new we would be able to get he boat into deep enough water to put it afloat.
Eventually we got into about two feet of water. The boat was floating. However, we had been so intent at moving the boat, we had neglected to monitor our position. Again taking stock of our predicament, we found ourselves a hundred feet from the rocks of the jetty that separated the open seas and the shipping channel and each wave pushing us closer. If we tried to get back on the boat to start the engines, the waves would put us back in shallow water, and throw us into the rocks. We had to keep working the boat to deeper water, and farther from the rocks. Success was slow in coming, but we eventually were in water up to our necks.
It became increasingly more difficult to control the boat. Also, the waters around us began to light up as if small lights were being turned on and off. Jelly fish. Jelly fish that sting! They were all around us. There were hundreds of them. I could fill them bumping into me. That’s when Howard informed me the channel was known to be shark infested. Mako and Hammerheads - man eaters - and jelly fish! It’s a terrible thing to see a grown man cry.
I climbed back onto the boat and grabbed the anchor. Immediately I saw that it was not a sand anchor, and it would be practically useless to us. I threw it over board and found that I was right. It wouldn’t hold. After several more throws, with no better luck, I again entered the water to help Howard keep the boat in deep water. A decision was made that I would continue to hold the boat, and Howard would get aboard and start the engines. The engine would not start. It would crank, but would not fire up. Nothing was working. The night had gone from bad to worse. And now, the battery was beginning to fade.
Both of us were back in the water, slowly pulling the boat further out toward the end of the sandbar. Our hope was to find some rocks on the bottom to wedge the anchor in. No luck. Flat sandy bottoms everywhere we tried. And, we were still in shark infested water with jellyfish around us.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. The winds were increasing, and the air temperature was in the 60’s. We had been in the water for about 5 hours. Very little had changed. We were still in big trouble. The sandbar was in front of us, the rocks were to our side, and the waves were crashing down on us. As we strained to pull the boat up and down the edge of the bar we found ourselves in a calm spot. All around us the water was boiling and crashing. But, right here, at this one spot in the entire channel, it was calm. The tip of the sand bar, and the undertow created by the waves crashing on the jetty, had developed a small area in which an eddy had formed. It appeared that our luck was changing for the better. We stretched the anchor rope out, and held our breath. The anchor held! The boat stayed in the eddy.
Back on board, Howard tried to start the engine. It wouldn’t start, and the battery was even weaker. Howard tried several more times, and finally, the battery failed completely. We sit there in silence. Each of us was trying to make sense of our situation. Things like this happened to other people - not us. Every effort had been for naught. It was time to send a call for help over the marine radio. Howard was sending Mayday distress call, but there was no response. Finally, we picked up a signal, but it was weak. We could not make out what was being transmitted. Then there was nothing. The battery was too weak to send or receive. The outlook was getting very bad. Suddenly, Howard remembered his cell phone. He new the cell battery was weak, but he could make at least one call. Not knowing the Coast Guards number, we called 911. “911. Is this an emergency?” The phone worked! Howard quickly responded with a resounding “YES.” Just as quickly - the phone went dead. Nothing. We stared at each other in utter amazement. What now? We were numb from exhaustion and fear. Our brains seemed to go just as dead as the batteries.
Both of us new we had one last resort. The flares! All boats are required to have rescue flares that can be used in emergencies such as this. In situations like this, things often take strange twists and turns, and we found ourselves in yet another quandary. We were afraid to use the flares. We weren’t afraid of the flares. The fear was they wouldn’t work. Nothing else had worked. What if the flares didn’t ignite? They were our last hope, and we knew it. Howard and I discussed this for some length of time. We came to an agreement. We chose not to use the flares. The boat was still holding firm in the eddy. We had put on dry clothing and rain suits, eaten a sandwich, and were able to rest some. Sunrise was about six hours away. We decided to stick it out for the rest of the night. At daybreak the smaller boats would be heading out to fish. We would flag one down ask for help.
With that decision made, Howard decided to lay down on the live wells and try to get some sleep. He suggested I do the same. Sleep! No way! Somebody has to keep an eye on things. So, I did the only rational thing I could do. I pulled my poles out, and went fishing. They were biting! For about forty-five minutes the bite was fast and furious. But, I noticed the boat had begun to drift out of the eddy. Looking over the side, I could see the anchor rope floating freely in the water. It was no longer attached to the anchor. Somehow the rope had frayed apart, and we were headed back toward the rocks. Waking Howard, I told him of the new danger. We both jumped back into the water to put the boat back into the middle of the eddy. There was another anchor, but it was just like the other anchor, and under 480 feet of rope - tangled rope. Eventually we got the anchor out, and into the water. It held.
By now it was 3:30 p.m. It would not be long before sun up, which was a good thing, because that’s when we noticed the rear of the boat was setting low in the water. The engine was partially submerged, and the hull was flooded. WE WERE SINKING! The battery was dead, so the bilge pump was not operating, and Howard had left the hand pump at the beach house. Grabbing 2 buckets, we began to bail water. It was almost three hours before we felt we were safe from sinking. It was the 13th hour of the trip, of which 11 hours was spent in crisis.
The Far Eastern horizon began to glow with approaching sunrise. For the first time we could see well enough to mark exactly where we were in regards to the sandbar, the rock jetty, and the shipping lane. Our circumstances did not look any better in the morning light than they did in the darkness. However, daylight was breaking fast, and fishing boats would be headed out to sea. The winds had died down and the seas were calm. Rescue was at hand.
It wasn’t long before we could see a boat coming from Galveston Bay. We began to wave our orange lifejackets to draw their attention. For some reason or another, they didn’t see our signals. At that point, we decided to shoot off a flare, and hope for the best. Shortly, another boat was spotted. Howard waited until he thought the timing was right, then the flare shot upward and made an arch as it headed downward to the water. The boat continued on course - away from us. Suddenly, it cut sharply to the right. They did see the flare! They were headed straight toward us. Rescue was at hand.
We explained our predicament to the Captain of the chartered fishing boat, who stood there in amazement at what he was hearing. After making the comment “Your lucky to be alive,” he radioed the Coast Guard. They were sending a rescue team. We were saved. Giving us the information that the Coast Guard was on the way, the Captain wished us well, and headed out to sea. I don’t know the laws, or rules of the sea, but it seemed odd that a Captain would leave another boat that was in danger of sinking, and had no power. But, stranger things had happened on this ill-fated trip.
Within minutes, the fishing boat altered its course, and was returning to our position. As they came along side, the Captain informed us that the Coast Guard had radioed to them that they were not to leave the sinking ship - us! You go Coast Guard! They then pulled of our bow and dropped anchor, and just as quickly, got their poles out and began to fish. Now that made sense!
While all this was taking place, Howard and I continued to bail water. We were still bailing an hour and a half later when the Coast Guard arrived. As they pulled along side they checked us out to see if we were in compliance with regulations. We were. Then they asked us what happened. I began to recognize that same look of amazement the Captain of the fishing boat had. Then Deja Vu, “ Your lucky to be alive.”
They then threw us a rope to tow us back to Port. The 15-mile trip took just over an hour. Our 3000 pound boat was even heavier buy the weight of the water remaining in the hull, and they could not get up speed. It didn’t matter. We were safe. Our ordeal was over. Well, almost.
We had no power to get the boat on to the trailer. I had to back the truck past the exhaust pipes so we could float the boat on. Luckily, there were enough kind-hearted souls around that pitied our plight, and we were able to get the boat on the trailer. Only one thing left to do, pull the boat out of the water, and head for the beach house. Of course, this was easier said than done. The boat was too heavy for my truck. I couldn’t pull it out of they water. Again, help was needed. Eventually, we got it out, drained the boat, and hightailed back to the house.
I was in the fetal position pulling the blankets over my head - slipping into the blessed oblivion of sleep as I said to myself, when I wake up, this will all be a bad dream.
It was warm in the beach house at Rollover Pass, 25 miles east of Galveston, Texas. However, Saturday morning, October 13th was ushered in with a cold front, thundering storms with 35 mile an hour winds, and lightning crashing all around the beach.
Howard and I were busily preparing for a two-day trip 40 miles off the coast to fish oil rigs. The weather service broadcast said that the storm would die out by mid afternoon, with sunny skies and mild 5 to 10 mile hour winds from the North. Sunday would see sunny skies and 2 to 4 foot seas - perfect fishing weather. The windstorms blew longer than the service had predicted, but by 5:30 p.m. all was calm, and we left for Port Bolivar.
Howard was the proud owner of a twenty-six foot Ocean Ray offshore fishing boat with a 250 horsepower outboard engine. Thursday, October 11th, the boat mechanic had returned the Ocean Ray to Howard with a clean bill of health, and a declaration of it being sea worthy and fit for the 2 day adventure. We were filling confident and exuberant about our forthcoming adventure.
As we backed the boat down the ramp, Howard had begun to lower the motor. You could hear the tilt and trim hydraulics whine as the motor started to settle in to position. Then, silence. The motor stopped, not going any lower. After pulling the boat back on dry land, it was determined that it was low on hydraulic fluid. Disconnecting the trailer, I drove the 15 miles to the nearest station, and purchased the hydraulic fluid. After filling the cylinder with fluid, it worked like a charm. Once again, we were on our way.
The sun had already sunk below the gulf waters and the light was fading fast. Within a short period of time, we were making a southerly cut around the point that opened into the Galveston shipping channel. Dead ahead were 2 huge ships. The one on the starboard side was headed into Galveston, and the one to the port side was headed for the open seas. Knowing that it would be precarious to run between the 2 ships, Captain Howard chose to run on the port side of the outgoing ship. It was a sound decision, and soon we were slicing the waves at forty knots. The time was approximately 7:30 p.m. Winds had shifted from the North and were now blowing from the south at 10 to 15 miles an hour and we were running in 30 feet of water.
Howard had been experiencing some problems with the depth finder. It had become an on and off situation. As we were leaving the out going ship behind us, it became an off situation. We could not get the depth finder to come back on. There was no need for concern. The only point along the shipping channel of danger was a sandbar near the end of the shipping channel that would put us in the open water of the gulf. The sandbar was to our port side, separating us from the channel and the open sea. We were now about 15 miles from Port Bolivar, and about a mile from the end of the shipping channel. The lights of Galveston were falling further behind, and the darkness of the gulf loomed before us.
Suddenly, I found myself flying from the rear of the boat, crashing into the cockpit, and smashing into the forward compartment in the bow of the boat. WE HAD RUN AGROUND! Howard and I slowly regained our senses. We both felt like we had been severely beaten around the head and shoulders. Come to think about it, we had been severely beaten around the head and shoulders. The sandbar that was to our left was now directly under us. The boat had come to rest fully on top of the bar in one inch of water. This was not good. We were in a three thousand-pound boat in one inch of water! We needed 3 feet of water just to float it, and another foot to start the engine (which had died just as abruptly).
We took stock of the situation, and quickly realized we were in bad trouble. Not only were we aground, but the winds had picked up, and were now blowing at us from 15 to 25 miles an hour. Except for the distant lights of Galveston, it was pitch black. Eight-foot waves were crashing on the sandbar and us. The waves were slowly moving the boat towards the rocks of the shipping channel jetty. We had to get the boat off that sand bar.
There was nothing else to do but jump from the boat and try to get it off the bar. It was soon apparent that the two of us were not going to budge that boat. The only time it moved at all was when a wave crashed into it. That’s when I figured out that it might be possible to use the force of the waves to help us. We began to watch the waves, and as they crashed over the bow, which was 2 feet above my head, we in unison put our weight into pushing the bow toward deep water. The force of the waves gave us just enough lift to move it about three inches at a time, but it was working. Progress was being made. We eventually got the boat turned in the opposite direction with the bow pointing to deep water. Then, we began to alternate between the front and the back of the boat, eventually getting it to float as each wave passed. Our spirit and strength were lifted. We new we would be able to get he boat into deep enough water to put it afloat.
Eventually we got into about two feet of water. The boat was floating. However, we had been so intent at moving the boat, we had neglected to monitor our position. Again taking stock of our predicament, we found ourselves a hundred feet from the rocks of the jetty that separated the open seas and the shipping channel and each wave pushing us closer. If we tried to get back on the boat to start the engines, the waves would put us back in shallow water, and throw us into the rocks. We had to keep working the boat to deeper water, and farther from the rocks. Success was slow in coming, but we eventually were in water up to our necks.
It became increasingly more difficult to control the boat. Also, the waters around us began to light up as if small lights were being turned on and off. Jelly fish. Jelly fish that sting! They were all around us. There were hundreds of them. I could fill them bumping into me. That’s when Howard informed me the channel was known to be shark infested. Mako and Hammerheads - man eaters - and jelly fish! It’s a terrible thing to see a grown man cry.
I climbed back onto the boat and grabbed the anchor. Immediately I saw that it was not a sand anchor, and it would be practically useless to us. I threw it over board and found that I was right. It wouldn’t hold. After several more throws, with no better luck, I again entered the water to help Howard keep the boat in deep water. A decision was made that I would continue to hold the boat, and Howard would get aboard and start the engines. The engine would not start. It would crank, but would not fire up. Nothing was working. The night had gone from bad to worse. And now, the battery was beginning to fade.
Both of us were back in the water, slowly pulling the boat further out toward the end of the sandbar. Our hope was to find some rocks on the bottom to wedge the anchor in. No luck. Flat sandy bottoms everywhere we tried. And, we were still in shark infested water with jellyfish around us.
It was now almost 1:00 a.m. The winds were increasing, and the air temperature was in the 60’s. We had been in the water for about 5 hours. Very little had changed. We were still in big trouble. The sandbar was in front of us, the rocks were to our side, and the waves were crashing down on us. As we strained to pull the boat up and down the edge of the bar we found ourselves in a calm spot. All around us the water was boiling and crashing. But, right here, at this one spot in the entire channel, it was calm. The tip of the sand bar, and the undertow created by the waves crashing on the jetty, had developed a small area in which an eddy had formed. It appeared that our luck was changing for the better. We stretched the anchor rope out, and held our breath. The anchor held! The boat stayed in the eddy.
Back on board, Howard tried to start the engine. It wouldn’t start, and the battery was even weaker. Howard tried several more times, and finally, the battery failed completely. We sit there in silence. Each of us was trying to make sense of our situation. Things like this happened to other people - not us. Every effort had been for naught. It was time to send a call for help over the marine radio. Howard was sending Mayday distress call, but there was no response. Finally, we picked up a signal, but it was weak. We could not make out what was being transmitted. Then there was nothing. The battery was too weak to send or receive. The outlook was getting very bad. Suddenly, Howard remembered his cell phone. He new the cell battery was weak, but he could make at least one call. Not knowing the Coast Guards number, we called 911. “911. Is this an emergency?” The phone worked! Howard quickly responded with a resounding “YES.” Just as quickly - the phone went dead. Nothing. We stared at each other in utter amazement. What now? We were numb from exhaustion and fear. Our brains seemed to go just as dead as the batteries.
Both of us new we had one last resort. The flares! All boats are required to have rescue flares that can be used in emergencies such as this. In situations like this, things often take strange twists and turns, and we found ourselves in yet another quandary. We were afraid to use the flares. We weren’t afraid of the flares. The fear was they wouldn’t work. Nothing else had worked. What if the flares didn’t ignite? They were our last hope, and we knew it. Howard and I discussed this for some length of time. We came to an agreement. We chose not to use the flares. The boat was still holding firm in the eddy. We had put on dry clothing and rain suits, eaten a sandwich, and were able to rest some. Sunrise was about six hours away. We decided to stick it out for the rest of the night. At daybreak the smaller boats would be heading out to fish. We would flag one down ask for help.
With that decision made, Howard decided to lay down on the live wells and try to get some sleep. He suggested I do the same. Sleep! No way! Somebody has to keep an eye on things. So, I did the only rational thing I could do. I pulled my poles out, and went fishing. They were biting! For about forty-five minutes the bite was fast and furious. But, I noticed the boat had begun to drift out of the eddy. Looking over the side, I could see the anchor rope floating freely in the water. It was no longer attached to the anchor. Somehow the rope had frayed apart, and we were headed back toward the rocks. Waking Howard, I told him of the new danger. We both jumped back into the water to put the boat back into the middle of the eddy. There was another anchor, but it was just like the other anchor, and under 480 feet of rope - tangled rope. Eventually we got the anchor out, and into the water. It held.
By now it was 3:30 p.m. It would not be long before sun up, which was a good thing, because that’s when we noticed the rear of the boat was setting low in the water. The engine was partially submerged, and the hull was flooded. WE WERE SINKING! The battery was dead, so the bilge pump was not operating, and Howard had left the hand pump at the beach house. Grabbing 2 buckets, we began to bail water. It was almost three hours before we felt we were safe from sinking. It was the 13th hour of the trip, of which 11 hours was spent in crisis.
The Far Eastern horizon began to glow with approaching sunrise. For the first time we could see well enough to mark exactly where we were in regards to the sandbar, the rock jetty, and the shipping lane. Our circumstances did not look any better in the morning light than they did in the darkness. However, daylight was breaking fast, and fishing boats would be headed out to sea. The winds had died down and the seas were calm. Rescue was at hand.
It wasn’t long before we could see a boat coming from Galveston Bay. We began to wave our orange lifejackets to draw their attention. For some reason or another, they didn’t see our signals. At that point, we decided to shoot off a flare, and hope for the best. Shortly, another boat was spotted. Howard waited until he thought the timing was right, then the flare shot upward and made an arch as it headed downward to the water. The boat continued on course - away from us. Suddenly, it cut sharply to the right. They did see the flare! They were headed straight toward us. Rescue was at hand.
We explained our predicament to the Captain of the chartered fishing boat, who stood there in amazement at what he was hearing. After making the comment “Your lucky to be alive,” he radioed the Coast Guard. They were sending a rescue team. We were saved. Giving us the information that the Coast Guard was on the way, the Captain wished us well, and headed out to sea. I don’t know the laws, or rules of the sea, but it seemed odd that a Captain would leave another boat that was in danger of sinking, and had no power. But, stranger things had happened on this ill-fated trip.
Within minutes, the fishing boat altered its course, and was returning to our position. As they came along side, the Captain informed us that the Coast Guard had radioed to them that they were not to leave the sinking ship - us! You go Coast Guard! They then pulled of our bow and dropped anchor, and just as quickly, got their poles out and began to fish. Now that made sense!
While all this was taking place, Howard and I continued to bail water. We were still bailing an hour and a half later when the Coast Guard arrived. As they pulled along side they checked us out to see if we were in compliance with regulations. We were. Then they asked us what happened. I began to recognize that same look of amazement the Captain of the fishing boat had. Then Deja Vu, “ Your lucky to be alive.”
They then threw us a rope to tow us back to Port. The 15-mile trip took just over an hour. Our 3000 pound boat was even heavier buy the weight of the water remaining in the hull, and they could not get up speed. It didn’t matter. We were safe. Our ordeal was over. Well, almost.
We had no power to get the boat on to the trailer. I had to back the truck past the exhaust pipes so we could float the boat on. Luckily, there were enough kind-hearted souls around that pitied our plight, and we were able to get the boat on the trailer. Only one thing left to do, pull the boat out of the water, and head for the beach house. Of course, this was easier said than done. The boat was too heavy for my truck. I couldn’t pull it out of they water. Again, help was needed. Eventually, we got it out, drained the boat, and hightailed back to the house.
I was in the fetal position pulling the blankets over my head - slipping into the blessed oblivion of sleep as I said to myself, when I wake up, this will all be a bad dream.