January 20, 2021
We had a mild day in January and thought we would go to the lake and take the boat out. It was 55 degrees and sunny, but a brisk south wind was blowing. After a short ride up the lake the port engine started cutting out so we returned to the marina. Docking was difficult with the now high wind blowing across our slip and the engine dying, but we got in. The boat, our 10,000 pound houseboat, plastered itself against the dock on the starboard side. It takes two to dock in these conditions, so Cheryl took the port side and I took the starboard to push the boat into the wind over to her to tie up that side first. She got the bow tied and I went to the stern to push it over. Our dock slip is quite wide and the boat had to be moved 6 feet or more. I leaned into the rail to the left of the entry port and shoved. Just as Cheryl managed to grab the mooring rope on the other side, the railing post snapped right off. I was over-balanced and plunged head first into the 40 degree water.
I did a complete summer sault under water and came up next to the dock. It is hard to explain the shock of the cold water. I hooked one arm on the dock and frantically kicked around with my toes trying to find anything to boost me up. There was nothing there, at all. The leverage was such that I could not lift myself with my arms. I could not yell for Cheryl. My legs quit working in just seconds. I thought very briefly about soaking my billfold, my Lincoln key, and my Denali key, and then I basically quit thinking. I was in serious trouble.
Cheryl quit tying the stern rope and came around to see what the splashing was all about. This only took a couple of minutes. She got above me and I extended my arm for her to pull on. No go. She couldn’t lift my 200 pounds and soaking clothes at all, and I couldn’t help. By this point, another couple of minutes had passed. I started repeating to her that I was cold, really cold, and I couldn’t help her pull me out. She cast about trying to figure out what to do, and told me she was going to go back around the boat and lower the stern ladder. I told her there wasn’t time. I couldn’t hold on long enough to untie the ladder. Besides, the ladder was midships on the stern between the outdrives for the engines, and secured for the winter. I couldn’t possibly let go of the dock and swim around to the stern. I knew I would sink like a stone.
Abruptly, Cheryl was at the side of the boat telling me the ladder was down. I told her I couldn’t get to it. We have a second mooring rope on the stern cleat for holding the boat when we gas up. She picked up that rope and tossed it to me telling me to pull over to the boat. I grabbed it, but I was still afraid to let go of the dock. It was 15 feet to the ladder, and I would have to swim some of it, but my legs were no longer working at all. No help for it. I let go of the dock and pulled 6 feet toward the boat. The side of the boat is much too high to reach from the water. I would have to let go of the mooring rope to get around the stern. I let go. A surge of energy flooded me and I paddled around the end. There, right in front of me, was the massive outdrive I could see in the clear water. I got my right foot on it 3 feet under water and stepped over to the ladder. With Cheryl’s help, I heaved myself up and onto the stern deck and stood up.
I was completely disoriented and shivering violently. I couldn’t decide how to get to the cabin door. My legs weren’t working, but Cheryl pushed me along the side gangway. Once inside I was in a panic to get my freezing clothes off, but I was only slightly effective at this. Cheryl had disappeared out side. In a few more moments, she had shore power hooked up and the furnace came on. She pulled off my clothes to the bare skin and put her coat and socks on me. Then she found spare swimming trunks for me to wear, and draped a blanket around me. I staggered to the stern cabin and sank into a chair while she heated up something for me to drink.
So I survived another near miss. I have written before that Cheryl does things normal humans can’t. This time, she ordered me to swim around to the stern of the boat, and my frozen muscles abruptly responded, and I lived. I was in the 40 degree water about 12 minutes. The rule is, you can survive 10 minutes in water that cold, but no more than 20 minutes. I apologized profusely to her for causing such terrible angst.
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