As I stood on the finger pier just inside the break water of Tyee marina I couldn't believe what had happened. Looking around I could see a lot of the marina residents shaking their heads. Some were starting to head back to their boats. The excitement was over now, the rain was starting to let up. It was nothing like it was just a short while ago. Poor Ian, he was completely wet. Standing on the pier in his boxer shorts and a sweatshirt. He was truly what one would call a good Samaritan. Ian lived onboard an old converted life boat that happen to be moored the closest to where our broken little ship had landed. Ian had jumped out of bed to assist us in mooring Patience into the closest slip.

Earlier that afternoon a buddy of mine named Bill Kehner and myself had decided to take Patience out for a spin around Commencement Bay. I had purchased Patience just a short while before. She was a proud little sailboat, a Nightingale sloop called the Cub. She was 24 feet on deck. Built in 1958 with a Cedar planked hull on Oak frames. This was my first sailboat of any size. At least the first one that was capable of carrying more than one person. You could even sleep on Patience. However you wouldn't want to sleep-walk. You see one couldn't fully stand up below decks. However there was a v-berth, small chart table, a galley sink and a port-a-potty. Everything one would ever need as long as you were of modest means.

Bill and I pulled the lines off the cleats and pushed Patience out of her slip. I pulled the rope on the 3hp outboard and we were on our way. We motored around the broken down old world war II ships that were anchored for a breakwater at Tyee Marina and headed out into Commencement Bay (Tacoma Washington). What an afternoon. The water on the bay was just like glass. There was hardly any wind, but we didn't care. We were new to sailing and an afternoon of light winds might be better for us anyway. We motored along a steep hillside called Browns Point that borders the northern shore of the bay. Our hopes were that around the point we might find a little more wind. At least enough to fill a mainsail. It was hard to believe that we were on the Puget Sound. It looked more like a small inland lake. Looking behind us I could see the small wake of Patience as it rolled through the glassy water. Sometimes it doesn't matter if you don't find the wind. Just being out on a boat can make one leave everything behind.

I jumped up on deck and started to untie the mainsail as Bill cut the motor off. I think it must have been wishful thinking that there was enough wind to move the boat. Just the same I hoisted the main and set the jib with hopes of a couple knots of wind. We drifted along with a short puff of wind here and another there. We weren't setting any speed record that's for sure, but we didn't really care. It was a nice afternoon and we were sailing. Patience was a light air boat. That is she didn't really need much movement of air to let her glide along. Even with the lack of a breeze we could still slowly drift across the bay. As the afternoon turned toward evening Bill and I decided that we should turn Patience toward the marina and start to make our way back. The sky was starting to turn a light gray and it looked like there might be a little rain in our future. So in the light air we slowly turned her around and pointed the bow in the general direction of Tyee marina.

Just as I was about to suggest to Bill that we start the motor to give us a little push towards home Patience started to pick up a little more wind and we started gliding along at a quicker pace. This was by far the best breeze we had seen the entire afternoon. With the wind now filling Patience's mainsail and the boat on the move we were really excited. We were like a couple of kids in a candy store. "There's Wind" I yelled back to Bill as he pulled back on the tiller-arm trying to keep Patience from rounding up. I quickly moved to the high side of the boat hoping to help level us out. The wind was definitely on the increase now and we couldn't get enough of it. We had been drifting around in Commencement Bay for over two hours with little or no wind, and now we had WIND!

Bill kept pulling and pulling on Patience's tiller-arm trying to keep her on a straight coarse. "Hey Dave, would you take this from me" Bill yelled. "I'm having trouble keeping us level". I jumped down into the cockpit and took over the steering. The wind was on a steady increase. Neither Bill nor I had any idea of just what the wind speed was, or what the wind speed was going to become. Patience didn't have any wind instruments. Now that I think back it's probably better that way. We didn't know that the winds were heading toward gale force. We didn't know what was in store for us. As I struggled to keep Patience on course it became apparent that we had too much sail up for these conditions. "We need to drop our sails", I hollered to Bill. "We are over powered". Bill agreed and climbed back down into the cockpit and once again took over the helm while I went forward to bring down the headsail.

As I pulled my hardest on the sail trying to get it down Patience would roll over and round up into the wind. I would just about get the jib under control and the wind would take it out of my hands and throw it up in the air again. Time and time again I'd pull it to the deck just to watch it break lose and be tossed in the wind. The bow I was standing on was jumping in and out of the waves. One moment we would be high above the water the next she would take a plunge and drop me waist deep into the waves. Finally after a long struggle I managed to pull the jib down and stuff it through the forward hatch.

We were now sailing with just the mainsail. But even with just one sail up Patience was tossing violently in the wind. We were getting closer to night fall now and I knew that I had to get the mainsail down in a hurry. My plan was to drop the main on my way back to the cockpit and then to start the outboard in the hopes of motoring our way out of this one. As the skies turned darker and darker it started to rain. I uncleated the main halyard and started to drop the sail. I pulled and pulled. Trying to get the sail down. After a few minutes of struggling I realized that the main halyard was hung up at the top of the mast. There was no way that sail was coming down.

I climbed back into the cock pit and started our 3hp outboard as Bill kept trying to tack into the wind. Even with the outboard running we couldn't point the boat into the wind. We kept tacking back and forth trying to make headway with no luck. As the wind kept climbing Bill and I both realized that we were being blown back into Browns Point. The homes on the shore were looking closer and closer. We had to do something about that main. I climbed back up on deck and tried once again to drop that sail. As I struggled with the main I could see large rips starting to appear. The wind was tearing the sail apart. All I could think was we need to get the wind out of the sail. Seeing that the main was almost a total loss already I decided that I would finish the job and cut the sail down. I graded my knife and started cutting the long rip's in the mainsail to allow the wind to pass through. Patience was tossing violently in the storm. It was all Bill and I could do to hang on. As I climbed back into the cockpit I could see that we were extremely close to the shore line now.

My mind was racing. Bill and I were really in over our heads. Neither one of us had much sailing experience. It was only a matter of time now until Patience would be pushed onto the shore of Browns Point. In a last ditch effort I ran below decks and grabbed my CO2 air horn. Coming back up on deck I pointed it into the air and started blowing three long blast and three short. This was the code for S.O.S. By this time we were so close to the shoreline my hopes were that someone on shore might hear our distress signal. As I kept blowing the horn Bill was tacking the boat back and forth trying to make headway on the wind. But he had no luck. We just kept getting closer and closer to the shore.

The combination of the pouring rain and high winds made our visibility extremely poor. We could hardly see across our bow. All we knew was we were being blown into the shore. As we both huddled in the cockpit wondering what was to happen next we could hear a rumbling noise. "There must be another vessel out here" Bill yelled. We both strained to see what direction the noise was coming from. All of a sudden out of nowhere the Tacoma City Fireboat appeared right along side of us. "Tie this line to your bow cleat" a crew member yelled as he threw a line over to us. All I could think of was that someone on shore must have heard our distress signal and called for help. I found out later that was exactly what had happened. With Patience in tow behind the fireboat Bill and I both breathed a sigh of relief.

At the time the fireboat came out of the storm Patience was only moments from hitting the shoreline. We couldn't have cut it any closer. Bill and I learned a lot that night. Mostly what not to do. It must have been quite a sight as the fireboat pulled into Tyee marina with this little sailboat all tattered in tow. The mainsail hanging in shreds, and two sailors tired and wet. We really didn't care what slip she went into that evening. The water in the marina was still bouncing from the storm and the closest dock was good enough for us. There we were with all the marina residents standing in the rain watching as the Tacoma Fire Boat maneuvered to release Patience into a slip. And there was Ian standing ready to grab the lines as we came in.

After inspecting Patience the next morning I learned that the only damage she had sustained was to her mainsail and to the propeller on our little outboard. We were extremely lucky that night. As close calls go this one would rate right up there in my book. Never since that night have I ever felt that my ship was in danger of going down. But as Bill and I were approaching the shore line of Browns Point in the storm I really thought that we were going to lose Patience. Never again have I ever taken a sailboat out so unprepared. They say that experience it the best teacher but in this case I would rather have learned this lesson in a classroom. Bill and I have talked about that night many a time and we always come to the same conclusion. "At least now we have a good story to tell our grand kids".