A CAUTIONARY TALE

Wiping oil on my tan Carhartt pants and a bead of sweat from my bow, I turned and gave Yahtzee’s 34-year-old Perkins 4-108 a yank forward. Out it came from the engine compartment, and I quickly climbed on deck to take it up a few inches with the main sheet. After a bit of back and forth, a more able mechanic looked down the companionway with a thumbs-up of approval. This hunk of metal was coming out.

Re-powering a sailboat is never easy. Whether you do the work yourself or with help, it’s an endeavor in patience with highs and lows that reflect the cruising life you hope to get back to leading once it’s all finished. With our old engine off the boat and a box full of new engine parts in my hands, I climbed up the ladder from the boatyard with an excited pep in my step. Very soon after, I went from high to low very quickly.

Laying on the galley floor, I was stunned. Breaths wouldn’t flow in or out of my mouth and lungs, and when I made a feeble attempt to yell for help, nothing came out. I heard the mechanic’s truck door close and my eyes went wide. The engine started and I made one last effort to cry out while listening to tires rumble out of the parking lot. Nothing.

Alone now, I tried to get up, but stumbled to my hands and knees. I tried again and fell on my stomach. Now sprawled out between the saloon table and settee, I had to do something. Anything. First, I calmed my mind, kept still and assessed my body. Did I hit my head or neck? No. Did I break an arm or leg? No. Can I breathe? A little bit. Can I move everything? Yes.

In a moment of delirious pain and shock, Pearl Jam’s song “Just Breathe” popped in my head and, slowly, I worked air in and out of my mouth, then came to my feet. I couldn’t believe what had happened. Looking up in utter disbelief at the companionway, I realized I just fell six feet down into the boat and hit my left side under my arm on the edge of the sink and counter. The steps that cover our engine had been moved, and I’d completely forgotten I hadn’t put them back. Carrying a box, I couldn’t see and I’d missed one big step. Now I was paying for it.

Making slow, painful movements forward, I started to feel shooting pains around my body: my left elbow, my left leg, my shoulder, but most of all my ribs and back. Checking myself over as my breath returned, I realized I was probably OK. I was lucky.

I knocked the wind out of myself pretty good and probably bruised or cracked a couple ribs in the process. Writing this 24

The steps that cover our engine had been moved, and I’d forgotten I hadn’t put them back. I’d missed one big step. Now I was paying dearly for it.

hours later, I can breathe regularly but am still in a fair amount of pain that I’m sure is going to last for weeks to come. Which is clearly not a good thing to have happen in the midst of re-powering a sailboat.

This entire episode leads me to this question: What’s the most dangerous part of a sailboat? Yes, every sailor will have their own answer, and none are necessarily wrong, but I’ve long contended it’s the companionway. I’ve heard stories of people falling down steps, slipping down ladders and even being paralyzed in a very similar fall to mine. Whether you’re at sea, at anchor, at a dock or on the hard — as

Yahtzee was — it’s just a dangerous part of the boat. My wife, Jill, and I tell our young sons all the time, “Be careful. Stay up or down, in or out. Do not hang out at the top of the companionway.” — Andy Cross Repowering a sailboat is a massive undertaking, particularly when you do most of the work yourself. Sustaining an injury along the way makes it doubly challenging. Fortunately, I had a few helping hands available when the old Perkins was hoisted out (left) and for sliding the shiny new Beta Marine engine (center and right) into place.