Blog post # 4
As the two boat flotilla makes its way north in Rosario Strait the fog thickens, soon land is not visible. Sailing is not possible, there’s not a breath of wind. They motor along at about 3 mph plus the speed of the current. Mike has previously determined he would follow a compass course of 300 degrees magnetic. This course would keep the boat pointed in the right direction and as long as they kept making forward progress they would eventually cross the strait. The current was constantly pushing them north, so it was important they get across the strait or risk being swept past James Island. As the fog thickened the two crews felt more and more isolated. The laughter and joking gave way to quiet as the seriousness of their situation became apparent. Mike is wishing he had radar; Rosario Strait is travelled by commercial vessels that not only could run them over but their wakes present a danger to small boats as well. The two boats run much closer now; they desperately want to keep each other in view. When the fog thickens even more, Mike calls Tom on the radio and says to be sure to keep a course of 300 degrees if they lose sight of each other. About once a minute Mike has the kids ring a brass bell he keeps on the boat, Tom’s boat does the same thing. Hearing the bell is reassuring to them as the fog swirls around threatening to separate them. Peering deeply into the fog ahead of them Mike spots what appears to be a wall of white water or surf breaking on a beach. For a second Mike is in disbelief how they could be headed for disaster. He quickly scans his depth sounder and GPS, the boats have 40 fathoms below them and they are in the middle of the strait. It dawns on him that they are headed for a tide rip; the incoming tide they are riding is meeting the outgoing tide. The recent minus tide must have created a monstrous opposing force and now they are heading right into the face of a six foot over fall. Mike swings his boat around and Tom seeing the wall of water follows him. Both are now fighting the current but their little auxiliary outboards are barely able to make headway against the incoming tidal rush. Mike has read about tide rips in Rosario Strait sometimes extending across the entire 3 ½ miles. There seems to be no real good solution to their situation, continuing to run away from the tide rip will use up all their fuel, attempting to run towards shallow water near shore may make it worse plus in the fog they could run aground. The skippers decide to batten down the hatches, keep everyone in the cabins and trust their boats to carry them safely through. Turning the boats once more towards the wall of water quickly brings them squarely face to face with nature’s awesome power. The distance closes faster than Mike thought possible. Tom is white knuckled steering his boat, there is no turning back now, his wife peers out from below the cabin hatch, looking for support in Toms face. He tells her to hang on. Tom sees the over fall double in height as they get closer, and thinks he can hear the thunderous roar of the standing wave. In an instant it is over, the two boats hardly feel the wave as they ride up over it. Tom and Mike can see now that the tide rip over fall was only one foot or less. Their eyes have been tricked by the fog and their own imaginations. In almost pure white out conditions they have had no depth perception, nothing to compare or judge what they were seeing. With things back to normal everyone on both boats get back to watching and bell ringing, the fog has taught them a lesson they won’t soon forget.
