It was late afternoon on November 29, 2005. We were running south down the western shore of Tangier Island, near the foot of Chesapeake Bay. As time was a bit short, and as I tend to take the most direct course between two points where I deem it possible, I eschewed sailing way out a mile or more in the main buoyed channel, meant chiefly for large ships, and chose to run about a half mile offshore where my chart and depth sounder indicated I had 10-15 feet of water (Simba II draws about six and a half when filled with 3000 plus gallons of diesel). We were headed for a buoy lying to the southwest of the island; I figured the buoy was south of any shoals and decided we would turn east at that point to round the base of the island and then run up its eastern shore to the small fishing port of Onancock.
We had about a half mile to go to the buoy and the way seemed clear, although the previously calm water had turned into short choppy waves, when suddenly the boat slowed, the bow rose, and BOOM!, our foot-wide I-beam keel smacked down onto hard bottom. The sound and vibration resonated the length of the ship. The paper chart and the electronic chart plotter both indicated plenty of water here but the bow quickly rose and BOOM!, we crashed down again. My crew turned an anguished face towards me and shouted "Shouldn't we call the coast guard?" I ignored her as I struggled to control the boat. "Call the coast guard!!" she wailed as she struggled to maintain her footing in the pilot house (both captains chairs had long since fallen over and were slamming into us as the ship's bow plunged then rose, turning from one direction to another, the short but strong waves tossing us like a cork. "The coast guard's no use to us now!" I shouted as I struggled with the wheel, "We gotta get out of this on our own!"
My main concern was to avoid being pushed back high onto this sand bar where we then could be thrown on our side and the boat filled with water. I fought the waves, trying to work the vessel to the southwest, out below the buoy where I knew deeper water lay. I constantly rode the throttles to avoid racing the engines each time the stern rose out of the water as we hobby horsed. (I thanked my lucky stars I had had strong four inch wide steel beams welded to the hull way back in Mobile, Alabama. These skegs protected the props from hitting bottom. I knew that one encounter with this hard bar would mangle those three foot brass blades, leaving us to the waves' mercy.) I monitored the engine instruments to watch that oil pressures stayed up and water temps down. With the boat struggling like a wild beast, we inched our way southwest. After what seemed like hours, but it was probably only the better part of one, we finally managed to escape our trap.
Despite the tremendous pounding the boat took, it appeared at first that no damage had been done. However, when we left Tangier Island two days later, the starboard engine soon overheated and I had to shut it down. I couldn't start it the next day in Norfolk, VA. It turned out to have a cracked exhaust manifold pipe and I had to have it completely overhauled, an expensive job which kept us at a marina in nearby Portsmouth for a week. Sadly, I had had the same engine overhauled not six months earlier.
I think you will understand why I now have a healthy skepticism for stated chart depths and a markedly increased vigilance for dangerous shoals.
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