oldbilbo
...
OTOH....
Some years ago, while transiting the Irish Sea southbound, two-up in a Dragonfly 10m trimaran, the mast fell down in the night. It took the two of us several hours to strip off the sails, the standing and running rigging and the cables, and then winch the darned thing back aboard to strap it down onto some berth cushions. When this was done, we were both quite exhausted and decided to await full daylight for the necessary visual check for lines in the water near the prop.
I went below in the half-dawn to make some tea, leaving Mike in the cockpit, and must have dozed off, for Mike's startled scream had me scrambling into the cockpit before my eyes were properly open. He was gibbering and pointing.....
There crossing our stern about 50 meters away was the huge black and sinister shape of the surfaced HMS Torbay ( we found out later ), which circled round us like a giant predatory shark. There were 3 or 4 white caps visible on the top of the sail, and when we got our scrambled wits back, we realised they'd probably seen our odd shape in the half-light, wondered what on earth we were up to, then realised when closer that our mast was strapped across the boat, sails were bagged on the other trampoline, and that we were in some sort of trouble.
Of course, we couldn't communicate by VHF, for our antenna was dangling from the mast and the cable had been cut. Natch, we didn't then have a handheld.
The sub's commander was clearly standing by, concerned for our safety and lest someone was injured but, we surmised, didn't want to hang about on the surface 'cos that's against a submariner's religion. We didn't want them to feel they had to launch a small boat to come over and look - but how on earth to communicate?
I knew all the means of attracting attention when in need of help, but the RYA don't do a signal for "We're OK, thanks!". Then I remembered..... and, clambering onto the sugar scoop, ostentatiously lifted our ensign on its short staff, then 'dipped' it to the warship.
That did it. We'd communicated effectively. With a watery roar from its propulsor, the 5000-odd tons of nuclear killing machine charged off at considerable speed southwards.
Some years ago, while transiting the Irish Sea southbound, two-up in a Dragonfly 10m trimaran, the mast fell down in the night. It took the two of us several hours to strip off the sails, the standing and running rigging and the cables, and then winch the darned thing back aboard to strap it down onto some berth cushions. When this was done, we were both quite exhausted and decided to await full daylight for the necessary visual check for lines in the water near the prop.
I went below in the half-dawn to make some tea, leaving Mike in the cockpit, and must have dozed off, for Mike's startled scream had me scrambling into the cockpit before my eyes were properly open. He was gibbering and pointing.....
There crossing our stern about 50 meters away was the huge black and sinister shape of the surfaced HMS Torbay ( we found out later ), which circled round us like a giant predatory shark. There were 3 or 4 white caps visible on the top of the sail, and when we got our scrambled wits back, we realised they'd probably seen our odd shape in the half-light, wondered what on earth we were up to, then realised when closer that our mast was strapped across the boat, sails were bagged on the other trampoline, and that we were in some sort of trouble.
Of course, we couldn't communicate by VHF, for our antenna was dangling from the mast and the cable had been cut. Natch, we didn't then have a handheld.
The sub's commander was clearly standing by, concerned for our safety and lest someone was injured but, we surmised, didn't want to hang about on the surface 'cos that's against a submariner's religion. We didn't want them to feel they had to launch a small boat to come over and look - but how on earth to communicate?
I knew all the means of attracting attention when in need of help, but the RYA don't do a signal for "We're OK, thanks!". Then I remembered..... and, clambering onto the sugar scoop, ostentatiously lifted our ensign on its short staff, then 'dipped' it to the warship.
That did it. We'd communicated effectively. With a watery roar from its propulsor, the 5000-odd tons of nuclear killing machine charged off at considerable speed southwards.
