Rosie…I Tink I Sunk Rosie by A.G. Monaco


When my wife answered the telephone, all I said was “Rosie…I think I sunk Rosie.” T


he morning had all the conditions for a great sail to Horn Island, the true jewel of the Mississippi Barrier Islands.


Approximately 14 miles out of Oceans Springs Harbor, Horn Island holds mystical allure for me. Getting ready for the jour- ney I’d done before, I failed to really prepare. (Beyond some minor “good-enough” repairs to the mast, and buying two cans of a new variety of bacon-flavored Spam, I had put the whole preparation process on autopilot.) Tough the wind was blowing from the Southwest and the


tide was working against us, the new 50-lb-thrust Minnkota motor easily took us into the wind and out of the harbor. Te sails all went up easily and on a reach, Rosie quickly caught the wind. In no time we were averaging 3 knots, heading straight for the midpoint of Horn Island. Te weather report had spoken of some late aſternoon thun-


derstorms but it was 9 a.m. and at this speed we’d be on the island in plenty of time. Te Potter 15 was performing well, and I was joined by my mate, Mark, who’d sailed with me through the Everglades as well as out to Cat Island—so he had some ex- perience going with me on hastily arranged voyages. Tough an inexperienced sailor, Mark was from New Orleans and fearless on the water. In fact, the only thing about water that unnerved


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him was when you poured it into his bourbon. Mark also was a “tiller hog” and once we got out into the channel he was not going to let go of the stick until we grounded ashore. We were primed for a couple of great days of sailing and camping. Tree hours later, about 5 miles out and 4 miles east of the


harbor, a black cloud appeared out of the west. It was moving fast and heading straight for us. We shifted to a course that would take us parallel to the shore and hopefully help us outrun the brunt of the approaching squall. I moved up to the front of the cockpit and got on the rail as the boat heeled from the heavy gusts. (Later reports indicated some gusts hit 44 mph.) Statistics started racing through my head..storms like this last, on average, less than 15 minutes in this part of the Gulf in June. Since we were already 7 minutes into the storm, I was certain we’d be able to hold on. Ten the boom separated from the mast. Before I could tell Mark to turn into the wind, the boom hung up on the rigging and Rosie buried her rail. I stood up on the opposite rail to try to flatten Rosie so I could try to drop the main but the halyard was jammed and that sail was going nowhere. As I held on to the rigging my hands were getting cut up pretty badly, but things turned even worse when over my shoulder I saw a wave that was about three times as large as those around it. It hit us


SMALL CRAFT ADVISOR


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