D o c k i n g P e r f e c t i o n i s t

“Release the spring line, hurry!” I shouted over the howling night wind to my wife, Angelique, who had already moved forward to the next dock cleat to secure the bow. Up until that point, everything had been going according to plan; just as we had discussed and rehearsed in our heads multiple times during our passage from Fort Lauderdale to St. Simons Island, but I had miscalculated. The horror of my mistake materialized instantly as the stern of our 2007 25-ton Hylas 54, Naboo, swung wildly and accelerated away from the dock — pivoting on the taut aft spring that was fastened midship. We both knew that we had only seconds before the strong ebbing current astern combined with the rising gale-force wind from the same direction would make the situation become, as boaters say, expensive, as the cement piling supporting the floating dock loomed in our path.

Angelique was focused on securing the bow, as planned, and couldn’t hear me over the screaming wind. But, even if she could, it was too late. The spring line was pulled so tight that un-cleating was an impossibility.

Crash! The 73-pound Rocna, standing watch on our bow, struck the rectangular dock piling with the agonizing screech of polished metal on cold concrete.

“Full-reverse!” my inner captain’s voice yelled. I dutifully obeyed and demanded 3500 RPM from the 125-horsepower steel beast below. I have learned to rely on the mechanical, hydraulic, and electronic systems on Naboo, like many sailors when moving up to bigger boats. That being said, I’m sometimes nostalgic for my earlier days of sailing 20-30 footers, when I could muscle a sheet or fend off from the dock by hand. Of course, as I write this, the saying “The grass is always greener…” chides me, as I remember drooling over the thought of someday owning electric winches when I was sailing our 35-foot sloop off Southern California decades ago, but that doesn’t erase the trade-off one must make. If

By Doug Neal

Current and Gale Humble

you want to go big, you have to exchange your reliance on muscle for trust in systems — which may, at some time fail. But not today.

“Full-reverse-aye!” the steel beast bellowed in response. This was seconded by the growing vibrations of the engine revving beneath my feet which comforted me since I couldn’t hear anything through the ferocity of the wind. I spun the helm to port and braced myself in anticipation of freeing Naboo from this dangerous crash landing.

And yet, the boat did not move. It is as if we were hard aground on a rocky shoal as the anchor blade was gripping the far side of the piling, setting firmer than the strongest holding ground. Pinned between the cement piling and a raging current with a rising gale, stern 60 degrees from the dock held by a single straining mid-aft spring that could break at any moment. Cue panic.

We recently purchased Naboo in Fort Lauderdale after a multi-year search for THE boat (our fifth, actually). Our search criteria were somewhat simple, yet very specific: we wanted a 50 to 60-foot bluewater monohull for speed and comfort on the open ocean, a protected rudder and watertight bulkheads for safety, and something that pulled at our heartstrings — the you-know-it-when-you-see-it test. And, of course, our budget. Naboo ticked every box.

Since we are not yet retired, we have set aside multiple weekends and brief vacations throughout the year to move her up the East Coast, through the St. Lawrence, to our home in Michigan while managing the conflict of wanting to see as many new ports as possible with the limited free time of the still-working class. I count myself as one of the fortunate few, as I have been married to my first mate, best friend, lover, and soulmate for almost 30 years. I am inspired by her courage when facing tough sea conditions, and I’m grateful for her confidence in my sailing skills. As we near the empty-nest phase of our 30+ year voyage together, Naboo is the perfect platform to help us achieve our dreams.

We had left Fort Lauderdale two days previously, directly into a strong northerly which was forecasted to clock around to the east

Doug and Angelique before leaving Fort Lauderdale Leaving Lauderdale

and south as a low-pressure system off the East Coast was currently dumping record snow across New York while headed on its transatlantic journey. We stayed west of the Gulf Stream, which can be very dangerous in these conditions and proceeded north under power 7 to 10 nautical miles from shore, for about 6 hours, battling 8 to 10-foot head-on seas. I was impressed with how Naboo’s German Frers designed bow sliced through the waves, never pounding and prop never cavitating as I experienced on lighter production sailboats in these conditions. Finally, we sought refuge in Lake Worth Inlet to catch some rest and check our systems. Naboo proved that she could handle these conditions, but the crew needed a break.

The next morning, we left at dawn, heading to St. Simons Island with a goal of completing the passage in 36 hours. The easterly, at 15-18 knots, was right on cue, and we relished the beam, then broad-reaching, cruising up the Florida coast averaging 8.5 knots. We entered the St. Simons Inlet channel near Buoy G3 just after dusk and as we turned to 330 degrees-true, the winds increased to 30 knots. It was clear that nothing about this landing was going to be easy.

As we approached the floating transient dock, Angelique was busy making final preparations on deck for a port-side tie-up, adjusting fenders and readying lines. I knew our approach would be with the wind and current, so I informed Angelique that we were going to test the conditions by slowing the boat in reverse in the channel.

I set the throttle to idle, and then gently into reverse, slowly increasing the RPMs until the forward momentum was nullified. We were now 75 feet abeam of our target and the boat was steady. I then carefully adjusted the helm to port, then center, then port again, adding in some minor bow thrusting for good measure. In a delicate dance, Naboo slid gently sideways in the current and wind. I was so proud of how well this was working, and I wish someone would have been onshore to appreciate the beauty of this large vessel gently sliding sideways towards her berth. The distance to the dock continued to shrink, and

Broad reaching up the coast

Sunset off the coast

we reveled in the beauty of our plan: the boat would nestle itself gently alongside the dock, allowing Angelique to easily step off and begin executing the docking plan.

My docking plan, however, was for a completely different situation. In normal conditions, a boat that is docked to port with a mid-aft spring secured first can be held in position with minor forward thrust, and the wheel turned slightly to starboard. We have done this with ease many times before. In this configuration, the boat will stay locked in place, pressed gently against the dock with her forward movement arrested by the spring line. This allows time to secure or remove the other lines. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, but I was convinced that we were stopped at the dock, and at night with a howling wind the visual illusion concurred, but in reality, we were still fully in reverse, doing 3+ knots over water.

As soon as the mid-aft spring was secured, I proceeded to put the engine in neutral, then forward gear, while simultaneously turning the helm slightly to starboard. Instantly, the strong current and wind grabbed hold of the boat, slammed the rudder fully to starboard, and swiftly forced the stern away from the dock. We pivoted on the straining dock line, which sent the bow careening into the concrete piling, holding us there firmly as if a professional wrestler had just pinned us to the mat.

I was tempted to jump off the boat onto the dock and help Angelique with the lines, but I knew the two of us would not be able to pull the stern closer on our own. And if the spring line fails, there would have been nothing stopping Naboo, with its 74-foot mast, from being carried 200 yards north into a losing battle with the 9-foot clearance of the island causeway.

Fortunately, my wife and I have been sailing together long enough that after our brief panic, we got to work. It became clear that the spring line was simultaneously saving us from being dragged away by the current and locking us in place against the anchor gripping the cement piling. It would have to be cut away. Before doing that, we took one of the longest dock lines we had and secured the port stern cleat of Naboo to the farthest aft cleat on the dock that we could reach (about 30 feet!), and took up the slack. This would become our new pivot point once the spring line was cut.

Next, Angelique eased out and secured the bow line with as much slack as she could. Even though the bow would not move, the slack would be taken up once we were free. The final step in this plan was for Angelique to cut the

Naboo at dock next to cement pilings that she was hung up on

Minor damage occurred to our anchor pin after the collision

straining spring line, as it was under tremendous force and impossible to un-cleat. I handed her my pocket knife, and instantly we both realized that this little knife was no match for the 7/8”-thick line. But she was ready for the task, and as soon as she touched the knife to the line, it exploded.

Instantly, the Rocna yielded its grip on the cement holding, and the boat pivoted parallel to the dock, held by the long port stern line and now tight bow line. I was then able to once again put Naboo in reverse, and regain our backwards momentum over the water. Increasing thrust and again gently guiding the stern, Naboo slid to port and nestled once again against the floating dock likely silently cursing her negligent captain. Angelique took up the slack in the stern, spring, and bow lines which then allowed me to relieve the beast below of its duty with an idle setting — and I finally exhaled. We were now secured properly. Success!

Having just completed two days of ocean sailing, we were already tired upon reaching St. Simons Sound. But after the adrenaline-rushed docking, we were now thoroughly exhausted. I proceeded to inspect the damage forward and do the absolute bare minimum amount of deck cleanup necessary, while Angelique went below to prepare a hot meal and select a welldeserved bottle of cabernet for us to enjoy. Fortunately, the only casualties, besides my pride, were a scratch in the chrome anchor roller casing and a bent anchor locking pin, both of which hardly register in the encumbrance of boat ownership. We were lucky.

Since being back home in Michigan, with four inches of snow on the ground, I have been replaying this crash-landing in my mind imagining different ways I could have handled it better. I admit I’m known in my family as a docking perfectionist and frequently enjoy improving my knowledge with meandering searches on YouTube. Angelique is kind as I have never actually caught her rolling her eyes when I excitedly show her some new technique I’ve just discovered. I must have missed the Stopped-at-Dock-Fullyin-Reverse video which I have now added to my growing mental-video library. It comes with a bonus first-person 3D Director’s cut, rated G, for Grateful to be secure at dock.

Author and first mate in Fort Lauderdale, FL, glad to be home!

Naboo, glad to be back safely at her home port