Storms at sea in small boats – real life stories

Neil Young

In December 2017, myself and a workmate organised a trip off Dundee in my 5.10m Quintrex Sea Spirit to get into some
reds. As is customary, we checked the weather for the day and it all looked good. So we got up at sparrow fart and drove
from Darwin to Dundee. Again we checked the weather and the radar was clear. We then set off on our 70km trip out to the
spot. Glass off conditions made for a nice ride in the darkness, and after arriving at the spot we were straight onto
some nice Nannygai.

After an hour or so and an esky full, we decided to search for some different species. We headed out a further 5km to
some lumpy ground. As we pulled up we looked back towards Dundee and there was a massive storm brewing. Lightning
everywhere and filled half the horizon.  As with all storms, we thought we would wait and maybe watch it fizzle out or
blow through.

Within the hour came the howling wind ahead of the storm blowing 100kph+ winds across the water. I said to my mate I
think this is going to be big. We decided to head directly into the storm in the direction of Dundee where there was
some closer in fishing grounds.

Within 30 min the seas turned to 1m and 2m then 3m then 4m. We were now down to 10kph on and off the throttle to keep
straight into the waves and soften the landing. Waves were hitting us from the side as well as breaking over the front
of the boat. This went on for about 3 hrs. Fuel gauge was dropping very quickly.

Here is a video we made of the trip: Battling the storm wide of Dundee

Jon Snell – Cairns

I had an experience I will never forget back in Feb 2016 during the wet/storm season. Nothing special at the start
weather report was good. I got up and checked the obs at Arlington. All was good and the visuals were fine other than
some lightning a long way off to the south. We headed out of Cairns to Sudbury reef and the weather was good and the
seas were smooth. As we passed the cay we saw that there were people who had camped there overnight and there was a
gazebo they were using for shelter. We headed to our fishing spot another 5 miles on.

We fished for an hour or so and saw a small squall approaching. This didn’t look any different to ones I had been in
over the years and it wasn’t even very dark or threatening. I knew we were going to get rained on and I expected the
wind to increase a bit. As it approached the wind picked up and rain started. Then it got more windy and the anchor let
go. It grabbed again but soon lost that hold as well. These conditions were getting pretty bad and with winds estimated
at close to 30kn we decided our best option was head back to the cay.

We had the sea coming onto us quartering across our port bow. The wind continued to increase and it got so bad that when
we were on top of the waves, the wind was blowing the top off and dumping huge amounts of water into the boat. Thank god
for self draining decks. It’s these times you know you did the right thing by properly maintaining your boat, knowing
how it all works, where things are etc. I can tell you this is the one time when I seriously considered putting on a
life jacket.

We finally made it to the cay and sheltered in the lee side. The gazebo we saw on the way out was in the water and there
was a lady and 2 dogs sheltering under tarp she had wrapped around herself. The squall passed and the winds started to
abate. The lady called out to us and asked if we had seen another boat. I said yes there was a sail boat to the west but
this was not the one she wanted to know about. She was concerned for her husband in a 6m half cab. I told her I hadn’t
seen any other boats. I then got on the radio and called the coast guard. They had been talking to the husband and we
were able to relay to them his wife was safe. He had taken the boat away from the cay as they were concerned it would
have been swamped. The husband made his way back to the cay and when he arrived he had his life jacket on. He said that
it was the most scared he had ever been at sea and his biggest fear was that the waves were going to go right over the
top of the cay where his wife was sheltering.

By this time the seas had flattened out and we headed back to our fishing spot. From start to finish it would have been
only 2 hours tops but very scary. We talked about how high the winds got and we estimated 40kn ( 80kmh) this was
confirmed when we later checked the obs at Arlington which got to 38kn.

Bottom line for me make sure you do your maintenance and know your boat.

Cheers,
Jon Snell – Cairns

Aaron Falls – Dundee NT

John Beasy

I lived in Derby in the Kimberley WA for ten years and whilst there I bought a new boat. It was a Coralline 670 half cab
with a 200 Yamaha motor. I drove to Perth to pick it up and my wife had it named Spoilt Brat with stickers on the bow to
my surprise. I towed it back to Derby and decided for its maiden voyage we would go over to Valentine Island, about a 40
k trip, with my wife, two young daughters and a mate. We fished the island and the creeks and, whilst in the creeks I
noticed a slight breeze was coming up but was not worried.

The time came to leave the creek and head back to the Derby boat ramp, which is very exposed to the weather. It had a
small creek about a 100 meters from the ramp which led to a protected ramp but was only accessible at about 3/4 tide. We
left the safety of the creek only to realise the wind had come up substantially. The further we went the worse it got.
By this time it was too late to turn around to seek the safety of the creek.

We were committed and it was getting worse by the minute. The shallow water in this area turning the sea into a washing
machine, which large tidal flow coupled with gale force winds made this a very dangerous situation. With 2 young girls,
a panicky wife, a new boat of which I did not know it’s capabilities, made it all the worse.

We were being pushed towards a shallow sandbar coming off the end of an island which we had to get around the top of.
I’m trying to steer the boat sideways to the sea trying to avoid it broaching, we were being thrown around the cab all
trying to hold on. We could not even get to the life jackets as they were under the passenger seats of which my wife was
desperately trying to hold on to with the two girls.

I managed to steer it past the island just managing to clear the sand bars on the end of the island and then head to
Derby ramp. The wind was still getting stronger, waves were crashing into the sides of the boat as well as coming over
the back. We had a lot of water in the boat and the scuppers were working overtime to drain the water on the deck.

The hull was also filling with water and the bilge pump trying to cope. I could feel the boat getting heavier, but by
this time we only had about 5 ks to go. I could hear the vhf radio going off but could not hear it properly due to the
noise from the motor, wind, and sea crashing over us.

My wife yelled at me to call someone on the sat phone which also was under the seat but I had no chance of getting to it
let alone making a call.

The sea had no pattern to it swishing like a washing machine. Just when I thought I had it figured out we would be hit
by a wave on the rear quarter turning us 180 degrees and dumping a huge amount of water in the boat. This happened many
times. Frightening stuff! And I was quite experienced in boats being an ex oyster farmer. But the unpredictable sea was
certainly testing my boating skills, and with hysterical wife and kids on board made things a whole lot worse.

We eventually had the boat jetty and boat ramp in site but with waves crashing onto the ramp it was not an option and
the back ramp had barely enough water to use it safely.  So we had no choice but to attempt to enter the small entrance
to the creek where the back ramp was. There was only about 300 mm of water at the entrance and with waves crashing in I
hit the throttle and lined it up. Suddenly we were hit from behind by a huge wave pushing the boat sideways. I’m
thinking “this is it” but hit the throttle wide open and straightened up and we launched over the bar and into the
safety of the creek, to wait for more water to retrieve the boat. Well we proved the boat could handle whatever the sea
could throw at it. By that time we had quite a lot of people including the sea rescue watching on.

I still have trouble getting my wife to come out on the water some ten years later. Now living in Darwin I always plan
my trips better and keep a good eye on the weather.

Maiden voyage,
John Beasy

Malcolm Lochead

I went out with my friend Stanley and his friend, a doctor, in Stan’s run about. It was a nice morning at Kauwa Bay
around Auckland and we set off at 6.30 am. All was going great and we dropped a set line and carried on further out once
this was completed to do some rod fishing. Stan made mention that the engine was a little sluggish but thought it would
clear itself with further use.

We finally got out to where we were going and commenced fishing. The snapper were on the bite and we were hauling in
some really large beasts, but the wind came from nowhere and Stan decided to pull the pick and head back to retrieve the
set line. When he went to start it there was nothing he did that would get the motor going.

By this time the wind was really at a scary point with water lapping over the side of the boat and it was then I heard
Stan say, “guys get your life jackets on we may be going down”. All I could think of was my 3 children and that seeing
them that morning may be the last time. Stan put out a series of May Day calls and the police launch DEE a DAR was just
coming under the harbour bridge and could not get to us for another hour. But there was a boat coming to us from where
we left that morning and it seemed like forever before we caught a glimpse of him through the spray of the wild sea.
When the launch arrived he did a cicle of us and proceeded to come close and throw us a tow line but once attached the
slack in the line took it under our boat and when it tightened it was dragging our bow down under the water.

At last, the launch had us undertow and away we went grateful for the effort these guys had made. But the fun was not
over! The dingy tied to the launch came adrift and the skipper cut power and stopped. As we had no means of control our
boat slammed into the rescue boat and the bow rope guide punched a large hole in the port side of their bow, and again
the tow rope had gone under the launch and was slamming us even harder against it. I then heard Stan say I have to give
the engine another try and with much delight, it started. I reached over the windscreen and detached the tow line and we
reversed back off the launch.

Because we were not towed back to the boat ramp we used that morning, the skipper took us to the next bay so we were at
the boat ramp in the beaten up boat, but our car and trailer were still at the other boat ramp. A quick phone call to
Stan’s wife and my wife and they came out, picked the car and trailer up and when they arrived Ii lost the plot and got
down on my hands and knees and kissed the concrete boat ramp. WE WERE SAFE. And the fish on both the rods and the long
line were so nice.

We tried to contact the guys who saved us but had no luck but they were real heroes.

Glen Stockdale – Ayr

Ian Williams

Three or four hours ago my mate and I got back from an overnight trip to the Great Barrier Reef aboard his boat: a 7+
metre aluminium hulled boat with a Suzuki 175 hp outboard. When we arrived back at his house we did all the necessaries
to “put the boat to bed”, after which I returned to my own house and had a couple of hours sleep. I was so tired
showering was the last thing on my mind, and figured it could wait until I was rested.

We had left his house at about 7am yesterday (saturday), launched and got underway by eight. The trip out to the reef
was expected to take in the region of 2 ½ – 3 hours. Even though it’s “local” to us it’s still a fair stretch to get
there. The GPS told us it was 135 km out, which is around 84 miles. We were heading southeast, but the closest land
would still be in the region of 120 Km away.

Whilst chatting we joked about the possibility of something going wrong, and how there would be very little chance of
swimming back to land what with the distance, the waves and of course the things below said waves. You know the ones I
mean. Sleek shiny ones, with beady eyes and pointy teeth.

On the way out the wind picked up a little and produced a short chop which was a bit uncomfortable. The hull
occasionally slammed down onto a wave producing a bone jarring smash. It’s a difficult sea to travel, and there’s not a
better way to navigate: that is if you want to get there the same day.

We arrived at the reef after 3 hours or so, thankfully with the aforementioned bones still intact and functioning
correctly. I can’t be more accurate with regard to time, as I’d stopped checking my watch. I was on holiday, so time was
a fluid concept and of no real import.

We drifted around, getting the odd bite from Spanish Mackerel, none of which we managed to introduce to the air. We did,
however, manage to acquire a few small sharks, a couple of which destined to grace my freezer. But it was time to get to
the serious business of trying to bring aboard some reef fish, so we anchored and settled in for some enjoyable fishing.

I checked my overhead/multiplier reel and found that it wasn’t cooperating with my endeavours; there was no way to take
it out of free spool. I wasn’t able to use it, which was frustrating to say the least. So I set up with my big fixed
spool reel, 100lb braided mainline, 60 lb hook length, 6oz lead and size 4/0 hook. With some squid who had kindly
donated themselves for the cause as bait, I was fishing!

They were down there! I knew it because the tip of my rod twitched tantalisingly over and over. But each twitch was
followed by my motionless rod. And every fisher knows what that means: time to reel in and replace the bait.

More squid drownings followed, with repeated returning of the tackle to the sea. The twitches started again, followed by
a tug on the rod tip. I struck, and found that whatever had taken the bait had managed to snag me on the reef. No amount
of jerking the rod would free it, neither would a good hard tug, so I decided to pull for the break. It worked
beautifully, but maybe too beautifully. Because as I was pulling there was a bang, and lo and behold, there was my reel
on the deck. What the? Amazingly the aluminium casting at the foot of the reel where it sits in the reel seat had
broken. Just snapped. So there I was, 2 30lb test curve rods and no reels and to make matters worse, I hadn’t caught a
single reef fish. Having lived abroad I said to my mate, “if this was a lake in the UK I could pop to a local tackle
shop and buy another.” But 120Km from land, that wasn’t really much of an option. The fixed spool reel was dead, totally
unusable; but maybe I could tinker with something on the other reel.

I’m sure we’ve all done it; taken something apart to fix it knowing full well in the back of the mind that if it wasn’t
broken before we started, it certainly would be by the time we’re done. And of course this was no exception to the rule!
The side-plate of the reel departed in spectacular fashion, resulting in a scary “ping” as a couple of springs flew off,
never to be seen again.

Ever the optimist, I assessed my options. All was not totally lost, as I did have a small rod and reel with me: a size 4
or 400 fixed spool that takes about 150 metres of 15lb line. So I stripped the line and spooled up with the 80lb braid
from the dead multiplier. Job’s a good’un and I was fishing again with the reel attached to the reef rod. Clearly an
unusual coupling, but needs must!

After having tried a few spots along the reef we had found a very nice pinnacle coming up from the bottom at about 25
metres and reaching to about 12 metres below the surface. We were sure we’d actually got the anchor hooked into the side
of the pinnacle and it looked very fishy (in a good way!) on the sounder.

To be honest, I wasn’t fishing hard. I’d had a bit of a hectic, stressed week and was really happy just to be away from
it all, no phone, no web and this winding down had also made me quite drowsy. Added to the brilliant sunshine I was
content to do not a lot.

A couple of small coral trout, fusiliers and cod came my way as well as more nuisance sharks.

My mate was putting in the effort and was rewarded with some bigger fish, although no reef monsters were keen to visit.

We were watching and photographing the waves breaking over the reef where it broke the surface. It was quite an amazing
thing, to see surf 80 miles out from shore. As the sun started to go down we were treated to a beautiful sunset and
short period of dusk before one of the most amazing skies revealed itself. There were no clouds and obviously no ambient
light, just the light of the stars brilliant, framing the Southern Cross in spectacular fashion.

After my busy stressful week and some early mornings I was only fit to drop, My mate was obviously tired too, so after a
bit of a natter and 10 minutes jigging for squid it was time to turn in. This was approximately 8pm.

My mate set the alarm for 3 am, and he also set the anchor alarm on the GPS so that if we were to drift or drag, the
anchor alarm would start screaming at us.

With an air temperature at about thirty as well as the surrounding water at a similar temperature it’s easy to sleep on
the deck on a mattress; even with the deck tossing in the wind, which if anything had picked up a little more. I took a
quick look sideways to reacquaint myself with the constellation of Orion. I’d use it as my own personal position fix. If
I was to wake in the night I’d know if we’d moved. With all precautions sorted, I laid down and was out like a light.

Have you ever been rudely woken up by having a bucket of water, albeit warm water thrown over you? Because that’s the
best description of what befell us at around 9:30 that I can come up with. A big wave came over the stern of the boat.
My first thought (albeit from a sleep-fuddled brain) was obviously unfit for publication. As I jumped up and started
heading forward, my second thought made its presence felt. “This is a dry boat. In which case, why am I wet?” And more
fully awake now, the third thought “and that hit us over the stern!” This isn’t what you’d normally expect, and hugely
dangerous.

Thought number three had barely been thunk, when the second wave hit us in the same manner. The boat was swamped with
water and we were totally confused as it was absolutely pitch dark. The only thing that was obvious was that we had
drifted somehow onto the reef and were in the middle of the surf we’d seen and photographed earlier.

My mate, the skipper, was by now at the driving position. Much credit to him, he started the motor and threw the boat in
gear. He knew instinctively that he needed to put the bow into the waves without delay. That’s when the third wave hit
us abeam, sideways. The boat tilted at an absolutely impossible angle and everything in it that wasn’t bolted down made
a break for the opposite, starboard side of the boat. How we didn’t capsize, only the sea and the boat will ever know.
And they weren’t telling.

That was pretty much the excitement over because by the time the fourth wave arrived we were pointed into it and heading
for clear water. Luckily the boat has a self draining deck, because we might not have made it otherwise. Thank goodness
for modern four-stroke outboards that start at the touch of the key, unlike the old ones we’re all familiar with that
needed pull after pull of the starting rope, followed by a ten minute wait to allow the flooded cylinders to recover
before repeating the process. And even again if we are particularly unlucky!

We had a big esky with us. It was full of food, drink, fish and lots of ice, two gallon buckets of water to act as
chill-bricks. These buckets were frozen, as were bottles and other containers. This constituted a substantial weight,
against the starboard side of the boat. Earlier in the day it had taken two of us to shift it a little, this time I did
it on my own. God bless adrenaline! My mate drove us away from the reef to a spot about 24 metres deep where he stopped
and we just looked at each other dumbstruck.

We recovered the anchor rope and discovered that it had parted, probably rubbed away on the submerged pinnacle. So I
tied on the spare anchor and threw it overboard. Never have I been quite as concerned that one of my knots should hold!

With our wits slowly returning, we tidied the boat, talking as we worked. We agreed that the anchor alarm obviously
wasn’t loud enough, I’m half deaf these days, and we were both sleeping deeply. Looking at the GPS chart we had been
washed onto the green area, the area that dries at low water. How lucky were we to have had a high tide!

I’ve a suggestion for GPS manufacturers. They need to incorporate the facility to plug in a klaxon. If the anchor alarm
isn’t loud enough to wake the dead, then “dead” is what those relying on it could be.

We pointed out to each other that had we struck, we’d have had no time to radio a mayday: no time to grab a life jacket
and no time to set off the distress beacon. We also noted that in the surf we’d have been washed onto the rocks, and
there’s where we would have stayed. Neither of us could have been able to swim against the surf. We would have just
disappeared and maybe in a few days the authorities would find a few bits of floating wreckage. Of course, even with a
rescue effort, we’d be long gone by the time a helicopter arrived. I thanked my pal: his quick thinking, gut reaction
and sheer bloody luck saved us.

Even though we were sure the second anchor was holding, we thought it politic to keep a watch. We took turns until I
woke at 6.30am, with my mate concerned that the motor oil warning light was on.

By now the sea was like a millpond, so we removed the engine cowling and checked the oil level on the dipstick. There
was clearly plenty, and we decided that in this instance infallible olde-world technology( I.e. a dipstick) was more
reliable than modern electrical technology that had taken a bath in salt water. We also agreed that discretion being the
better part of valour, now that it was light we should make for home. The shore was 146 km away. That’s nearly one
hundred miles. Running true to form, the anchor was stuck fast. We cut the rope and headed back to shore. Thankfully the
2.5 hour trip was completed uneventfully, getting us back around 9:15am.

I might be going out again next weekend, after I’ve bought some new reels of course!

They say the sea is mistress to many, but has no master. Didn’t we prove that to be correct?

Keith Palmer

Allan Darwen – Ayr, Qld

Glenda and Mike Brooks – Weipa, QLD