Staying Safely Aboard
Article of the Month May 2008The importance of consistently using harnesses and jacklines
It was as if we were sailing through white cotton. I couldn’t see a thing except the instruments before me, and the gauge that showed the water temperature had been dropping steadily. It was August, but now approaching Cape Sable off the coast of Nova Scotia, I knew we’d sailed into the unusually cold waters of the Labrador Current.
Ty emerged from below, turned to starboard, unzipped one of the canvas panels enclosing the cockpit, and put one leg out on deck.
“Hey!” I barked. “Where’s your
harness?”
In return, he gave me what I can only describe as “a look.”
I realized he had no idea how much conditions under the keel had changed since we left the coast of Maine. “The water temperature is forty-three degrees,” I said.
He blinked at me, then into the fog, did an immediate about-face, went below, and returned with his inflatable life vest well fastened around his waist.
I didn’t need to repeat one of our favorite sayings, that the goal of all sailors is to keep the water on the outside of the boat and the people on the inside. I can think of few things less frightening than finding oneself bobbing alone in the sea, spitting out salt water as your boat blithely sails away without you. The only thing worse would be to come out on deck to discover that you’re the only one aboard. Even writing about such a scenario makes me shudder.
The best way to ensure that neither of these two scary situations ever comes to pass is by practicing prevention: taking action that makes it impossible or very difficult to unintentionally end up in the drink.
The first rule every captain should instill in crew and guests is the age old adage: “one hand for yourself and one hand for the boat.” This should be followed with a live demonstration of moving ape-like from handrails to shrouds and other well-affixed objects about the deck.
The “one hand for yourself” part does not mean that you hold on while you take care of necessary biological functions that would be better conducted in a proper marine head. I had often heard an urban legend claiming that the majority of the bodies the Coast Guard pulls from the water are men with their flies down (meaning that they were relieving themselves on deck when they took an unintentional swan dive). Wanting to confirm this myth, I spoke with a statistician at the U.S. Coast Guard’s Office of Boating Safety in Washington, D.C. The woman laughed at me (imagine!) and stated that she had never heard this legend. To her knowledge, no formal studies have yet been done on the subject.
I thought that was the end of the conversation. I was about to hang up, when she added that, in fact, she had reviewed countless accident reports, and “a good number of them do involve men who were urinating overboard and not holding on.” So there!
The legend may be false in that we’re not talking about the majority of man-overboard incidents, but “a good number” is far too many when talking about something that could have easily been prevented.
The first part of prevention involves not getting into a potentially hazardous situation in the first place. Among other things, that means staying in the cockpit when it’s dark, foggy or lumpy out. But there will be times when you need to venture on deck in less than optimal conditions, be it to change or reef a sail, free up a tangled line, or handle any of the many situations that can arise at sea. In these cases, prevention means taking action to ensure that you are “One with your boat.”
Inflatable harnesses and jacklines are the answer. The Coast Guard requires that all vessels carry one wearable personal flotation device (PFD) for each person aboard. I have vivid memories of riding my parents’ runabout on the Chesapeake Bay as a child, strapped into a sweaty, bulky, orange life jacket. Later, at the Navy’s Officer Candidate School pool I was strapped into an even bulkier olive drab device. This one came with leg straps that were far more comfortable on me than on my male colleagues. If pleasure boaters were required to wear either style of PFD for more than a few minutes at a time, there might be mass mutiny.
Thankfully, sailors may now wear inflatable life vests with built in harnesses that meet the Coast Guard requirements, are non-bulky, and can be either automatically or manually inflated. It’s easy and prudent to attach a whistle and a personal strobe should you ever have to put the life vest to the test.
Lest you think such small, unobtrusive PFDs aren’t adequate for their vital task, I can assure you that they become quite large and buoyant when inflated. A guest aboard Liberty tried on one of our harness-vests. I guess he found the little red handle labeled “jerk” too intriguing to ignore. He gave the cord a curious tug, resulting in a loud and instantaneous whoosh! All present turned to see the embarrassed man’s head sitting like a bright red pumpkin atop an enormous yellow pillow.
An inflatable harness-vest will definitely keep you afloat, but to keep you from floating in the first place, you’ll want to attach yourself to the boat with a leash-like tether running from your harness to a jackline.
Jacklines are rigged fore and aft, port and starboard, on deck or above deck, and are attached at each end to a sturdy point such as a cleat or a padeye with a backing plate. We rig our jacklines every time we venture offshore. These days, most sailors opt for high-strength nylon webbing instead of rope, as the webbing won’t roll under foot when stepped upon and is more resistant to chafe. Jacklines will stretch and shrink, so once attached, they should be checked regularly to ensure they remain snug.
One’s safety tether attaches to the vest harness D-rings and the jackline with safety hooks or snap shackles. The one attached to your harness should be specially designed to reduce the risk of accidental release, yet still be easy to open if under load.
Aboard Liberty, we always wear harnesses while underway at night if our cockpit isn’t enclosed. If the enclosure is up, we have a harness close at hand and ready to don should we have to go on deck. We snap our tethers to one of four D-rings in the cockpit the moment we emerge from the cabin. Before stepping out on deck we transfer the tether from the D-ring to a jackline.
Knowing that your partner has taken the proper safety precautions will allow you to sleep better when off watch. I had no trouble falling asleep after a particularly tiring mid-watch while crossing the Atlantic. Ty had relieved me, and I drifted into oblivion, aware of nothing but blackness for what could have been minutes or hours. Then, through the darkness, a shout bursting with unmistakable urgency brought me to instant full alertness.
“All hands on deck NOW!”
I bolted upright in the bed. There was no mistaking the frightening words, nor the fact that it was our crewmember Travis’s voice that had shouted them. In no more time than it took to blink, my mind realized that something was terribly wrong… something that required everyone aboard to help... but if something so serious had happened, why hadn’t Ty called out the order, himself?
The only scenario I could imagine that would explain why Travis and not Ty was summoning all hands on deck was my greatest fear: my husband was behind us somewhere in the roiling black water under a pitch dark sky. But how could that have happened? We always wear our harnesses…
I flew out of bed and stumbled down the passageway like a crazy person. I was barely aware of my feet touching the floor until I tripped on the step by the nav station. I went sprawling face first toward the deck and came down hard on both knees. My right thumb bent backwards and pain shot up my arm. I ignored it and grabbed for the ladder.
I vaulted through the companionway, shocked even wider awake by the chill of the night air through my thin shirt. I gaped wild-eyed at Travis and my heart sank to a new low. He was standing alone in the cockpit.
Then I turned forward and my knees went weak with relief. There was Ty, at the bow, struggling to bring the foresail on deck. He had been sitting at the helm when the shackle holding the jib had broken, sending the foresail sliding down the furler track and into the water.
Because I was the last on watch, Ty had first roused Travis from his bunk to assist him. When it became obvious that he needed more help, he had asked Travis to summon all hands on deck, which is why I heard Travis sound the alarm and not Ty.
My worst fears were not realized; my husband had not gone overboard. On the contrary: hundreds of miles from the nearest land, as he hauled aboard our white sail now smeared with red bottom paint, I saw that he had taken all the proper precautions. His harness was fastened around his waist and his tether was securely attached to the jack line.
Before asking what I could do to help, I ducked below—giving prayers of thanks as my heartbeat slowed to a safer rate—and I reached for my harness and tether.
Suzanne Giesemann (USN, Ret.) is a veteran sailor and the author of Living a Dream and It’s Your Boat Too: A Woman’s Guide to Greater Enjoyment on the Water.
