When the movie, “A Perfect Storm,” came out with its all-star cast in 2000, I was overcome by a wave of PTSD as I thought of a storm a few decades earlier in Lake St. Clair on an otherwise pleasant Sunday afternoon. During that summer, I crewed on a 27-foot sailboat owned by my friend, John Malone. I don’t claim any skills as a sailor. I did as I was told, or I tried to. When many people might go for a jog, or ride a few miles on a bike, we often went out on the lake until dark, drinking a few beers and eating “dinner” that was likely picked up at a party store. It was a perfect way of spending a summer evening. It was challenging enough to keep John from being bored.
Lake St. Clair isn’t technically a “great” lake. It’s a relatively small body of water that is connected to the St. Clair and Detroit rivers. It’s kind of a large backyard pool for sailers in Michigan and Ontario who don’t have to go far for fresh air and water after work. It’s challenging enough to be interesting — and some experienced sailors would say that it can be as challenging as the ocean. I wouldn’t know. I now know that Lake St. Clair is known to have sudden squalls.
One pleasant — arguably perfect — July afternoon, John invited me and a few of his other friends for an outing. Oddly enough, we didn’t take any beer or food. I don’t think he meant to be out long. We typically went out into the freighter channel — probably not a good idea under any weather conditions. The lake was pretty busy on Sunday afternoons, especially with regattas, so we would get away from the crowd and enjoy the open water. We raised the main sail and spinnaker and had a smooth glide for some time. John was proud of his “starter” boat. Boating is somewhat of an addiction — you are always looking for the next, larger boat. While he was detailing the boat, I eerily remember John saying that the manufacturer said the boat virtually unsinkable.
Then, out of nowhere, the wind whipped up in a fury. Rapid swirling gray clouds mixed with white clouds, obscuring the sun. We had been riding the edge and were now soaring faster than I’ve ever gone in that boat. We were taking in water. John ordered the spinnaker down. The waves were rising a good four feet. I rushed to the front and yanked on the spinnaker. It wouldn’t come down. I gave it everything I had, but I couldn’t bring it down. Usually, it came down pretty easily. John and I traded places as he went to the front of the boat and I took the tiller, a role I was unaccustomed to. More water was rushing into the boat as we kept on the edge. John finally freed the spinnaker and then got the main sail, but the boat was filled with water. Someone found the life jackets. I don’t recall ever seeing them. Someone gave me one, but I never had a chance to properly connect it around my waist.
However long we struggled to maintain an even keel, I can’t say. At some point we were all in the water. The boat was overturned. I thought of Hitchcock’s “Lifeboat.” We were all clinging to the hull of the boat, missing one of the passengers — Carl. I noticed that the boat was slowly descending. I remember saying to John, “I thought you said this boat was unsinkable.” “I did,” he said. At some point there was little left of the hull. John knew that when a boat sinks, it creates a vacuum. It was almost a cliche, but John, as captain, yelled, “abandon ship.” We all pushed off and in a less than a minute were distant from one-another, negotiating the waves.
Because my life jacket wasn’t properly secured, only my head was above water — the rest of the jacket floating perpendicular to my body. I knew enough about treading water from Boy Scout training that I could keep my head above water. I also had to ride the waves as they pulled me up, then crashing down, underwater. I had to time it so I got a breath of air before going under. This happened over and over. I was tiring, but kept riding the wave up, then crashing down. I swallowed a lot of water and eventually vomited. Someone said that could have saved my life.
I have no idea how long I was out there. At some point, I saw a distorted image of a large yacht motoring toward me. It reminded me of the cartoon, “Clutch Cargo,” which projected boats in a distorted angular way like the artist Cassandre’s commercial posters that gave them dynamic power. I yelled “help,” while riding up the wave, before crashing under. I can’t imagine they heard me, but I kept yelling. They did see me, but the closer the yacht came, the larger the waves. I thought, how ironic, it’s going to take me under for good. I played the waves remarkably well — long enough for someone to throw a life preserver. I remember thinking that this was right out of a movie. I swam to the preserver and latched my arm around it for dear life, literally. They pulled me up and I fell on the deck of the boat unable to move at first. I noticed John and a couple of his passengers. They were Canadians.
The yacht motored in a direction where Carl would be. We found a pair of boat shoes. I thought that was ominous. John mentioned, it was smart thinking. I guess you’re supposed to get rid of your shoes when you’re treading water. Fortunately, Carl was an able swimmer. He survived without a life jacket and was pulled up on another yacht.
We all survived.
The boat was salvaged, but to my knowledge, John didn’t sail again. I have been on boats, but haven’t sailed again, either.
Post written by Dennis Archambault
Photo of John Malone by Dennis Archambault
