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| Image Courtesy the Port of Friday Harbor |
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Roche Harbor marina map |
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| The boat ramps (purple) are all on the mainland The ramps in the islands are not suitable for cruisers. |
It was a tranquil Sunday afternoon, the kind where the air feels warm and still, and the water gently laps against the hull—a perfect day for leisurely boating. We were relaxing on deck, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, when the gentleman moored behind us untied his lines. As he cast off, he mentioned he was making a quick stop at the pumpout station on the adjacent dock before heading home. I gave him a casual wave from the cockpit and returned to my magazine, assuming it was just another routine departure.
Moments later, my attention was abruptly drawn away by the unmistakable roar of an engine revving at full throttle. A feeling of unease crept over me. “Something’s wrong,” I said to Linda, glancing up. “Look over there.”
Sure enough, the boater who had just left was now in the next fairway, visibly struggling against a powerful current. His boat, a thirty-footer, was being dragged toward the aluminum footbridge connecting the walkways. He was clearly in trouble. “He’s not going to make the turn,” I muttered, my concern growing by the second.
Then, to my astonishment, he made a desperate decision—he gunned the engine, slamming it into full throttle in an attempt to execute a rapid 180-degree turn before colliding with the walkway. For a moment, it seemed like he might succeed. The boat narrowly missed the footbridge and almost completed the turn, but the momentum was too great. Instead of cleanly maneuvering away, the vessel barreled into the dock adjacent to the pumpout station. With the engines screaming, the impact was forceful enough to propel the boat nearly three-quarters of the way onto the dock, its bow perched at a steep, precarious angle.
Panic seemed to set in. Desperate to correct the situation, the boater threw the engine into reverse, the sudden jolt pulling the vessel off the dock and sending it sliding back into the water. Now facing the opposite direction, the boat roared backward—straight toward the footbridge. A heartbeat later, the sickening crunch of fiberglass meeting metal filled the air. The unmistakable sound of damage done. Then, finally, the engine fell silent.
The entire chaotic episode had unfolded in mere moments, as quickly as an engine could rev and a boat could collide. By the time I and a few other onlookers hurried over with boat hooks, the vessel was once again floating peacefully next to the pumpout, as if nothing had happened. But the damage was done.
What does one even say to someone who has just put their boat through such a disastrous sequence of missteps, each error compounding upon the last? There is no easy way to soften the blow of such an expensive and humiliating lesson.
Speaking for myself—and likely for many other seasoned skippers—I can admit that I, too, have misjudged currents or the handling of my boat. I have, in moments of desperation, gunned the engine to avoid a collision, and I may have even suffered a few minor bumps as a result. Fortunately, I’ve never caused significant damage—or perhaps I’ve just blocked those memories from my mind.
Experience is a relentless teacher, and sometimes, the lessons it imparts come at a steep price. In this case, the takeaway is clear: Never attempt to turn around upstream of an obstacle you absolutely do not want to hit. And if you do, for the love of fiberglass, do not hit it at full throttle.
With hindsight, two alternative courses of action present themselves. First, the boater could have turned around outside the fairway and backed down toward the pumpout, though this would still have carried the risk of losing control in the strong current. A second, and arguably much wiser, choice would have been to seek out a different location or simply wait for a tide change. Sometimes, the best course of action is no action, or to acknowledge the conditions and exercise patience. When it comes to boating, luck should never be the primary strategy.
