Seamen Are Confessing the Creepiest Thing They've Seen in the Deep Blue Sea

I was alone in a 12.5 antique herreshoff just passing Devil's Bridge off of the Aquinnah Cliffs and intending to pilot by sight to Cuttyhunk, just to deliver the herreshoff to its owner, who had let me borrow it to take part in the pond races that summer. It was an extremely valuable little boat.

A sudden mist rolled in, just out of nowhere. That can happen out there. It's just normal. But I was 14 years old, and used to sailing in Menemsha Pond, so I was like... Uh oh.

I knew Devil's Bridge was nearby but suddenly I wasn't sure if it was to port or to starboard, and I thought I could make out the cliffs through the mist, to starboard, but suddenly I thought I might hole the hull on Devil's Bridge and drown way out there. Also, I figured there were sharks.

I panicked and decided to tack to port, figuring that the shallowest part of the bridge was likely between me and the cliffs. But then the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by a world of fluffy soft white mist and no land in sight. I thought I could hear the Gay Head buoy bell but in the mist I had no idea where it was coming from.

The wind kept getting softer and softer until the sail went limp, but anyway I had no idea which was I was facing or anything like that. It suddenly occurred to me that I might drift into a shipping lane.

I dropped the sail and hauled out a paddle. I had lost all sense of time. Before the wind died, I had run before it at high speed in the mist. It was starting to get darker and I realized I couldn't just sit there waiting for the mist to lift, because if darkness fell while I was waiting, I might then be too far from land to spot it.

It was then that I remembered my little emergency radio and, almost at the same time, spotted a big dark thing off in the distance in the mist. I radioed the coast guard station there at Menemsha and announced that I'd spied land and was going to head over to it.

They asked did I think it was Cuttyhunk? And I said no, because I had tacked to port off of the cliffs and probably turned myself around, so either it was Philbin Beach or Noman's Land, but either way at least if I paddled up to shore I would be safe.

And the coast guard guy was just silent for a second and then he said, "Miss, Noman's Land is covered with unexploded ordinance. Do not approach that island."

And that was the most frightened I was throughout the whole thing, because I had been drifting closer and closer and I was almost there. And I could see that it was no place I had ever been before, as the mist seemed to part around it like a curtain pulling back from a stage.

Username: --shera--

Admittedly not my own experience but felt this was a good place to share what must have been a completely surreal experience: In the middle of the night, a man and his son in a small fishing boat survive a tsunami wave that was over 1,500 feet at it's highest point (Lituya Bay, Alaska 1958).

Mr. Ulrich and his 7-year-old son, on the Edrie, entered Lituya Bay about 8:00 p.m. and anchored in about 5 fathoms of water in a small cove on the south shore. Ulrich was awakened by the violent rocking of the boat, noted the time, and went on deck to watch the effects of the earthquake-described as violent shaking and heaving, followed by avalanching in the mountains at the head of the bay.

An estimated 2 1/2 minutes after the earthquake was first felt a deafening crash was heard at the head of the bay. According to Ulrich,"The wave definitely started in Gilbert Inlet, just before the end of the quake. It was not a wave at first. It was like an explosion, or a glacier sluff.

The wave came out of the lower part, and looked like the smallest part of the whole thing. The wave did not go up 1,800 feet, the water splashed there."

Ulrich continued to watch the progress of the wave until it reached his boat about 2 1/2 to 3 minutes after it was first sighted. Being unable to get the anchor loose, he let out all of the chain (about 40 fathoms) and started the engine.

Midway between the head of the bay and Cenotaph Island the wave appeared to be a straight wall of water possibly 100 feet high, extending from shore to shore. The wave was breaking as it came around the north side of the island, but on the south side it had a smooth, even crest.

As it approached the Edrie the wave front appeared very steep, and 50 to 75 feet high. No lowering or other disturbance of the water around the boat, other than vibration due to the earthquake, was noticed before the wave arrived. The anchor chain snapped as the boat rose with the wave.

The boat was carried toward and probably over the south shore, and then, in the backwash, toward the center of the bay. The wave crest seemed to be only 25 to 50 feet wide, and the back slope less steep than the front.

After the giant wave passed the water surface returned to about normal level, but was very turbulent,with much sloshing back and forth from shore to shore and with steep, sharp waves up to 20 feet high. These waves, however, did not show any definite movement either toward the head or the mouth of the bay.

After 25 to 30 minutes the bay became calm, although floating logs covered the water near the shores and were moving out toward the center and the entrance. After the first giant wave passed Ulrich managed to keep the boat under control, and went out the entrance at 11 :00 p.m. on what seemed to be a normal ebb flow.

Username: alliefm

I was a sailor for about seven years. My primary duty was a shipboard electrician, but we all stood watch, drove, and assisted in everything. One particular voyage we were fighting some pretty big swells, but nothing was out of the ordinary.

"MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY" are three words you hope you never hear. The moment it scratched over channel 16, the bridge went silent. No emotion was allowed in times like this, so we gathered as much information as we could, and cruised as fast as we could north. We weren't too far away, maybe ten miles.

As soon as we picked up a boat on radar, the binoculars scanned the water. Among the darkness, we caught a glimpse of a light flickering on and off. Off the bow of the small fishing vessel was tethered a domed survival raft. As we drove closer, we noticed arms reaching out of the raft, trying to pull a man in. The man pulled free and disappeared below deck.

We approached the vessel as best we could, water and weather allowing. The stern was nearly submerged and the bow was six feet over the normal water line. We cut the tether to the survival raft and brought the raft alongside our ship.

A female and a male climbed the ladder onto our ship, both understandably upset and overwhelmed. Apparently the man who went below really had no reason to return to the ship.

One of my shipmates and I donned our drysuits and boarded the boat, which had continued its quiet disappearing act. We walked the steps to the below deck, which was already at a steepening incline. We saw a man throwing tools and parts into the water that was filling the engine room.

As we began to approach him he swung around and screamed. He awkwardly threw what he had in his hands at us, but fell backwards onto the deck. He kept yelling for us to leave and that "they weren't even supposed to be here".

He tried to get up, but the slick floor got the better of him and he fell into the bulkhead separating the engine room from the mess deck. The water around him immediately began to turn red. There was nothing more my shipmate and I could do, and our captain was hailing us to return, so we swiftly escaped back to our ship.

After another half our or so, the vessel took one last gulp of air and disappeared forever. Watching a ship sink is, in a way, a thing of beauty. Knowing you are the last people to ever see a mighty vessel is unforgettable.

Knowing you're the last person to see a father is a feeling in and of itself. The look of despair in the grown children's eyes when I confronted them alone is burned into my memory. I couldn't say anything, I couldn't do anything. I returned to my post.

Username: KingJonathan

I worked as an inspector on oil rigs, and we used ropes and harnesses to access the more difficult areas. I got sent with two other guys to do an inspection of a pentagon rig in a bay in Argentina. It had been sitting there for a couple of years out of use.

One of the cross tubular braces needed to be checked. It was a floodable brace, meaning that when the rig was balllasted down it would fill with seawater. It had an open hatchway on the underside with a small steel ladder attached.

We abseiled down and managed to get in the hatch. The tubular was about two metres tall so we switched on our head torches and started walking along the inside, moving our heads in circles to look for any problems in the torchlight.

There's not much to see, the inside surface of the tubular is painted black, and at any time the torch only illuminates an area of a couple of feet. Then, about 30 metres in as I circle the light up above me, six inches away is a white skull with teeth staring down at me. I screamed and ran back towards the hatch, totally freaked out.

Eventually we get brave enough to investigate. The skull is that of a seal, in fact it's whole skeleton is there, stuck to the ceiling. We worked out it must have swum inside years ago as the rig was submerging, failed to find its way out and drowned.

Then stuck to the roof underwater as it rotted. Finally, once the rig rose and the water drained out it dried but had stayed stuck there.

Username: G4rve

**Fukushima Earthquake on an aircraft carrier.**
There I was browsing reddit. The whole department was at a meeting in the hangar bays. Out of fucking nowhere I hear this massive crack **gha-KRAaaaUNGHK**. Then the ***entire aircraft carrier*** just plummets down two feet in the water. 1,000+ feet (300m) of steel just fucking falls down underneath me. I had no idea what was happening.

The sound was so loud I thought one of the engine shafts had broke or something... After about ten minutes everyone had come back to the shop and soon the waves came. They started out at about 5ft which is already huge considering the most you see in the harbor are 1ft.

The announcement came over explaining that there was an earthquake and they were keeping everyone on-board for safety until they determined it was clear. Eventually the waves got up to about ten feet peak every 20 seconds.

They determined that it was starting to become unsafe and no other earthquakes were showing. So they were letting people of the ship about ten at a time. Note that we have 3,000+ personnel and only about 200 on duty. I finally get to the crossing platform and I was shocked.

I had never seen this thing over 5 degree angle but the fucking thing was near vertical. They had to time the waves in order to send people across. I would love to find something that could recreate that sound.

I had respected mother nature before that day, but after an earthquake 175 miles (280km) away made waves so quick and harsh that it dropped a fucking aircraft carrier out of the water, and back in,, that was the first day I feared nature.

**Hurricane**
I was stationed on an aircraft carrier and we sailed through at least three different hurricanes so we wouldn't have to deal with dock issues. The one I remember most was some medium-high level one. We sailed through the weak beginning of it but got about a day of the total power.

That last day you can hear the metal bending and twisting. These huge massive fucking walls of water pushing the ship up out of the water like it's a fucking bath toy. Only to slam you back down in the water. waves so fucking crazy that it rolls an aircraft carrier enough to make me lean on the walls.

I feel terrible for the smaller boats those days. That last push though, right before the eye. Push, shove, roll, lean, puke... and then silence.

**Rouge wave**
Rouge waves are terrifying in how you never see them coming. Even on a carrier that shit can come up over the deck and spray you on the sides. Some days we had to close the elevator doors just to keep from flooding the well deck.

Username: boydo579

I was assigned to the USS Salvor in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii as a midshipman in the late 80s. The Salvor was a Navy rescue and salvage ship with a small crew and used mainly to recover damaged ships or scuttle ships past their lifespan to create artificial reefs or gunnery targets.

I think it's since been decommissioned and is now part of Military Sealift Command. Anyway, I was 18 and serving my summer duty which included a lot of boring night watches usually between 11PM and 5AM. Lots of mindless chit chat, walking around with a flashlight and drinking lots of coffee to stay awake.

On one of these nights, about an hour past midnight we got a call over the radio a liberty boat used to ferry sailors between the island and larger Navy ships had caught a rogue wave and capsized. As you can imagine, Pearl Harbor is a crowded port and many larger ships will anchor a few miles out and send their crew in on these smaller, more maneuverable boats.

They usually hold 20 to 30 people but this one was packed with about 40 sailors returning from a night of hard partying and drinking. The seas were calm that night but getting out of Pearl can be treacherous, especially at night and if the boat crew is unfamiliar with the tides.

Apparently the boat got too close to a shallow reef where the waves begin to roll. A wave hit the ship broadside and knocked one person overboard. The wave itself wasn't strong enough to capsize the boat but when the crowd shifted to one side to look for the missing person, a second wave and the imbalance made it tip over and dump everyone onto the reef.

Then it got worse because the boat partially filled with water and was now stuck between the reef and the pounding surf. So if you can imagine, it's dark, you're getting thrown repeatedly against jagged coral by a ton of seawater and oh yeah, you're drunk!

It was standard protocol for every ship to assist in a search and rescue and we responded by launching two small craft. I was in one of them manning the searchlight. Our boat was a small 30 footer and it had a large searchlight mounted on a tripod.

It reminded me of one you might see on an old movie set. It takes about 20 minutes to get close to the accident and we've got to maneuver so we don't end up in the same situation.

Remember this was before GPS so our helmsman had a general idea of the accident location and was taking a bearing and using the boat's compass to get us there (old school). As we approached the scene, I could see the silhouette of the hull but couldn't hear much over our engines.

We cut the engines and tried to home in on anyone in distress. It was eerie because there was very little moonlight so objects went from invisible to brightly illuminated by the search light then lost again in the darkness. I started seeing shoes, just empty tennis shoes and then life vests bobbing up and down in the spotlight but no people.

Then we saw parts of the boat. The waves had battered the boat against the reef and started tearing it apart. It looked more like the scene of a plane crash. You could also hear a rhythmic "thoom! thoom! thoom!" spaced about 30 seconds apart as the waves beat the boat against the reef.

Finally we heard screams and we shined the searchlights to see groups of 3 and 5 people clinging together and screaming "Here! Over here!". As we got closer to pull them into the boat, we realized they weren't screaming for us to help them.

It turns out most sailors on the boat were Navy Divers and a few SEALs. But there were also a few girlfriends picked up earlier that night who shouldn't have been on the boat. Even intoxicated, the sailors new exactly what to do as soon as they hit the water, ditch your shoes and life jacket.

In heavy surf, the life jacket just adds to your surface area and make it harder to swim away from the reef. Some of the girls apparently didn't know that and were trapped between the reef and the boat. A few Coast Guard boats and helos showed up about that time and the professionals took over the rescue operation.

We stayed on scene for another hour, swinging the searchlights around looking for any stragglers. I believe at least two people died that night, pinned between the reef and the swamped boat. I think a second person may have drowned, unable to swim due to intoxication. Not necessarily the scariest story here but it was definitely a night I will remember.

Username: bearposters

I've been in the Navy for nearly 10 years. I spent 5 of them on a sub in Pearl. I've seen a lot of weird shit; some not such a big deal; some maybe a big deal. Some of my stories I would have to keep a bit vague because a lot of things we do on deployment requires that we sign a nondisclosure agreement that's good for 75 years. But there are definitely stories I could tell...

I would say the scariest (I know OP asked for weirdest, but I'll get to that) thing I experienced while at sea was probably on my first deployment. I can't say much. We were patroling in an area that would have been particularly bad if the enemy had found out we were there.

They may have even shot at us, maybe not, but it certainly would have started something huge. It was scary not because we were there. It was scary because for weeks we tracked enemy targets and they didn't know we were there. I'd be on watch and wouldn't really think anything of it. I was just doing a job.

But once I was off watch and reading, watching a movie, or sleeping, I couldn't help but think "For all I know, they know." At any moment I could die, along with all of the other guys, and we'd never see it coming until it was to late. And it's not like we could "call for backup". We were out there alone. I don't know. It's weird. It was terrifying not having any control or idea about what could happen if we were caught.

I'll say that one of the funnier things that happened was when we were pulling into Yoko. We were surfaced and steaming through a sea state 4. Five is the max, so the seas were rough to say the least. Subs aren't intended to travel on the surface because of their shape.

So in a SS 4 the boat was taking some pretty intense rolls. Anywhere between 15 - 25 degs. It may not seem like much, but it's hard keeping upright with rolls that severe. Anyway, I was already awake because I didn't want to fall out of my rack. So I went up to control to relieve the watch.

What I walked into was pure mayhem. The waves were crashing against the sail and creating coloumns of water that would pour down from the sail access trunk.

It was so much water that the drain at the bottom of the ladder couldn't keep up and the entire floor in control looked like a miniature ocean with water that would rock and roll from one end to the other as the boat tossed and turned in the sea.

This was particularly dangerous because, well, salt water and electrical components don't mix too well. Especially if it made its way into the battery well. But the worst part, and the funniest, is that the whole control room smelled of vomit.

The helmsman had a trashcan in his lap, the FTOW (firecontrol tech of the watch) was puking in his trashcan, everyone's face was green and yellow; and the best part, the officer on the scope had a trashbag stuffed into his poopie suit (that's what we call overalls in the USN) and he would vomit into the bag in his suit while going around on the scope. Lmfao. Oh, so damn gross.

Username: HurleyBurger

I am a Navy brat. One summer, about 1957-8 I was about 6 years old, living in Rhode Island, we lived across the street from the beach. Mom & dad bought us 3 kids (brother, 7 y/o, me 6 y/o, sister 4 y/o) BIG floating toys.

My sister got a canoe she could sit IN, I got a swan and brother got a walrus, they were big enough to sit on. It was just us kids at the beach, which wasn't unusual. My sister couldn't swim but my brother and I learned to swim early and were more comfortable on the water than the shore!

My brother lost he walrus and it was floating out into the bay. I pushed my sister to shore along with my swan and started swimming out with my brother to get his walrus because my dad would be SOOO mad if we lost one of the toys.

We were quite a ways offshore trying to catch up with the walrus because the wind was pushing it out when the wind caught it and turned it over so one arm was sticking up and the head was under water.

Suddenly, overhead we heard a helicopter, then saw it. It was A Coast Guard helicopter. They were yelling on the loudspeaker, "Get to shore! SHARKS!" We were yelling back, "NO, it's a walrus", but they couldn't hear us.

One of the guys had rifle out, aimed at our walrus and we just swam harder out to rescue our floating device. The guy in the helicopter was getting more frantic as we got closer to their "shark"/our toy.

When we finally got to it and turned it right-side up, they realized it was only a toy and left the area. Since we were WAY offshore, it took us a long time to swim back to shore, especially trying to swim with the floating walrus.

When we finally got to shore, the Shore Patrol was there waiting for us. They told us that the helicopter crew had called them and told them that two kids were out in the middle of the bay, and they saw sharks. They were afraid that they would have to rescue us.

We told them that the helicopter guy was yelling SHARK and were yelling, NO, IT'S A WALRUS! Everyone had a big laugh. I can only imagine how frantic the helicopter crew was, believing that us kids were swimming out right to a shark.

All we could think of was what would happen if that guy had shot the "walrus" and how mad dad would have been. The two guys from Shore Patrol got the biggest laugh when were told of yelling back to the helicopter, "It's a walrus, not a shark."

Later, the crew from the helicopter joined us on the beach. They tried to make us understand how dangerous it was for us. We were told that the only reason they didn't shoot the shark was because we were too close to it.

They didn't understand how dangerous it was for us (dad was a tyrant) if we had lost our toy. In the end, though, we all had a big laugh. By the end of summer, we were good friends with the CG guys.

Username: AuntBsMom2

I was about 16 and was at a cocktail party at the yacht club my family was members of. The weather was super foggy and you could not really see more than 20 feet in front of you.

My friends and I snuck off to sneak some drinking and we walked out to the end of a T-dock so our parents could not see us. While we were sitting on some benches drinking when we heard what is very characteristically the sounds of an old wooden boat rigging creaking.

All of a sudden bursting out of the fog came a massive wooden boat (later identified as a Barnegat Bay A Cat) barreling towards the dock. For half a crazy moment we all panicked because it looked like an old pirate ship coming out of the fog.

The boat rounded a buoy about 10 feet off the dock and sailed back into the fog. It wasn't that unusual all things considered but it really freaked us out for a hot second.

My second story also involves fog, but I was about 19 and coaching a sailing summer program. I was in charge of the little greenie beginner class. It had been a really hot day so I had my class sail to a near by cove (aptly named "F" cove because it was shaped like a letter F) and we beached the boats and went swimming.

I heard my co workers over the radio talking pretty panicked about how they could see fog rolling down the bay I worked on and it was moving in really fast. I barely had time to get my children assembled before this super dense fog covered everything.

This time you could barely see the hand in front of your face. I knew enough to not try to move the children because I didn't want to lose one or have a reckless boater who was still operating not see one and hit them so I had them all sit in their boats and I told them I would be right back because I had anchored my coach boat just off the beach (shallow water easily able to walk out, not even waist deep, had I been able to see it I could have thrown a rock and hit it) and I was going to get my phone and radio so I could contact the club and my co workers should an emergency arise.

Naturally due to the fog this was a more difficult task than I anticipated and I got a little turned around wadding back to shore to rejoin my class.

I don't know why or how the children came up with the idea, I think they were just scared and trying to make light of the situation so they started singing, like I mentioned before it was a greenie class they were varying in ages from 7-9 ish so part of program involved lots of games and silly camp songs and such that I had taught them, but let me tell you hearing a group of ten or so children's voices float through dense fog is one of the most bone chilling sounds you will ever hear.

Username: toplessbooks

I swear to everything on this earth, I saw a UFO. I wasn't the only one either. My LPO saw it standing right next to me on the flight deck.

It was a starboard D day, catching and launching my birds. I think we were heading toward Japan? Singapore? I don't really remember as it was back in '04 or '05.

The sun was on the decent, probably around 1500 or 1600 and to the left. Me and my LPO were talking about nothing work related, standing in front of the hanger doors facing the flight deck.

I happen to look up at a bank of super fluffy white clouds to the right directly opposite the sun and see a glint. Light reflecting off a very reflective large surface in front of those clouds. You could see the light was bouncing off some big ass sphere. I think it was a sphere. It had the impression of a sphere.

But there was absolutely nothing past the light reflection. Like the light was bouncing off a huge bubble. And it just sat there. Light reflecting off a giant bubble you couldn't see.

I ran through possible explanations. The whole weather balloon thing but there was no shadow or object that could be seen and I don't think those things are shiny or mirror/glass level shiny. Another aircraft? A weird play of light off a cloud? I'd seen a lot of clouds and storms by then and never saw shiny clouds.

I elbowed my LPO and pointed at it. "You see that? The bubble?" He followed my gesture and stared at it for a few moments. "Yup."

"What IS that?" He stared for a few moments longer. "Nope." He turned on his heel and walked back into the hanger.

He literally noped himself off the flight deck leaving me standing there staring at the thing for several minutes. Unfortunately, I wasn't afforded the opportunity to get anyone else involved as I was throwing chocks and chains that day. By the time we had the bird lock down for a wash before bed, it was gone.

So there you have it. My sea experience seeing a UFO. Then there was the object that came streaking across the sky and exploded in or behind a cloud, lighting it up lime green....

Username: SparklyBullets

Sunday around 8:00 PM, I tell john that watch was going to start and that I was going to try and get 3 hours of sleep, I wake up two hours later to john yelling my name as he repeatedly yells "IM LOSING HER, IM LOSING HER" suddenly a massive force of air hit the boat and we got knocked on our side.

Within a minute I have all foulies on, harness and tether ready to go. We get the jib in and I turn to john and ask "can we make Port?" "Yes, Leeland! But it's a sharp turn and we need to get rid of main!" I look at the wind angle and wind speed. 34 knots, 36 knots, 39.7 knots, 40 KNOTS!!

I take the helm and get ready to start the engine, john goes to the mast to flake while I lock the helm and move forward to help lower the sail. Once it's down I reach to start the engine. "Spin sheets in the boat, jib sheets in, OK." Turn on the engine and within 20 seconds I hear a stomach churning "CLUNK" "what was that?!"

John leans over to check the lines "I don't see anythi.... F#%#!!" Turns out the boom vang was long enough to reach the prop (how stupid is that?) so we end up cutting the line and re listing the main. The sea stay at this point had built up to what felt like 15 feet.

Once we have a main I turn down wind (It was blowing from the north) to sail on. "What's next port?" "Frankfurt, 50 miles on the other end of the manitou's..." Wind was maintaining at 35 knots now, occasionally flirting with 40. I tell john to get some sleep and take the next watch.

Before going to bed he checks the computer on the navs table and says "buoy reading 15-23 foot waves!" "...Jesus..." I had the 2-5 watch. I was soak head to toe and the boat was taking a beating. I try to start the engine again knowing that if we can't charge the batteries we're in deep s#%#.

I get the engine to turn over but can't get it in gear. After about a dozen tries I'm on the verge of breaking down but finally it gets in gear and I feel the prop spinning. I look up right then and there to thank god we had a prop.

At watch change john informs me that both here's Johnny and nighthawk pulled out and headed for port. At this point I had ceased shaking from being so cold and john told me to get warm. I go down, slowly take my gear off (it hurt like hell) and make some hot water. I let it cool off and took a few sips before getting into the sleeping bags.

30 minutes later I start shaking so hard it felt like my spine was going to snap into two. I was shocked the disks stayed in place! 4 hours later I wake up to relieve john. Put on dry cloths etc only to see that at 9 AM The waves were still massive (not as massive as the night) and the wind was still at 25-29 knots.

It was Monday morning, and under main alone I surfed down a wave nearly hitting 15 knots with a 30 knot gust and a 17 foot roller. I could feel the boat simply get launched and had to grab onto the wheel with both hands. At that moment I began to cry. I was so overwhelmed with the emotions of joy, relief, excitement and terror.

And that is the 40 knot story. I can't begin to describe how it felt that moment, thinking about it I'm tearing up. I want to do it again. I want to relive that moment again and again.

Username: big_boat

Scary (long) story. I was a cadet on the bridge of a 200 meter, twin-screw tanker leaving Fujairah. Now outside this port there is a massive anchorage just to the left of the channel going outbound. We are talking bulkers, tankers and container ships numbering no less than 40 all swinging on the hook only a few ship lengths off the port beam of my vessel.

Anyway, the pilot had just gotten off the ship at about 1015 (AM) and we are making way out into the Gulf of Oman, albeit a bit far to the right side of the channel. The captain had just ordered the helm to 10 degrees left rudder to put some water between us and the shallows on our starboard side. Suddenly the shit hits the fan.

Everything goes dark. Every piece of equipment, RADAR, ECDIS, GPS, gyro, echo sounder, speed log, steering stand and even the archaic, seismograph-looking course recorder was down. Even most of the alarms that go off on the bridge when something is wrong didn't go off because they weren't getting any juice.

As the watch-standing AB begins his sprint to the steering gear room, the helmsman immediately reported that he had lost rudder control and was ordered by the captain to check the Non-Follow-Up (backup) lever. No dice.

By now we knew that this was no ordinary cock-up. NFU is a direct hydraulic link to the steering gear. It doesn't just break. Meanwhile, the rudders are sitting at 15 degrees left, as the power went out mid-swing and the rudders just kept going.

That anchorage that was off our port beam? It was rapidly approaching our port bow. Soon to be dead ahead of us was a veritable minefield of steel, cargo, death and lawsuits, and we couldn't shift our rudder.

Captain was smart. He knew the diesel engines ran regardless of electricity being sent to the rest of the ship, and the engine telegraphs don't use electricity to send their orders to the Engine Control Room. He calmly takes the starboard engine telegraph and brings it down from half ahead to slow, dead slow, stop and then dead slow astern. Then he guns it to full ahead on the port telegraph, right around the time the NFU was getting fixed in the steering gear room. Lo and behold, our swing had slowed to negligible by the time the old man got on the sound-powered phone and had begun a lively conversation with the Chief.

Power and steering were restored within 10 minutes and collision was averted. During this whole time I'm feeding relative bearings to the navigator to gauge our position, while most the bridge is desperately trying to figure out why emergency power wasn't on.

Turns out and unlicensed engine was fiddling with an issue in the Emergency Diesel Generator Room and accidentally tripped the emergency bus. Without turning on the the EDG. Whole ship lost power. This sort of thing is so unheard of, one of the ABs thought the pilot had sabotaged the ship.

Username: JaWayd

I'm not a boater or a sailor, but when I was a child (like, from about 5 years old until about 12 years old) my father used to drag my mother, brother, and me out of bed at 3am every Saturday morning to go fishing in his boat. Most of the time I hated it, but there were a few bright spots.

Before a few things happened — what I'm about to describe being one of them — it wasn't that unusual for us to stop the boat a couple of miles offshore and I'd jump in the water wearing only a bathing suit and lifejacket. I thought it was awesome that I was swimming in the middle of the ocean and never gave a second thought to what might be lurking all around me.

My first scare happened in August 1977. We were fishing for fluke in an area known as the Tin Can Grounds, just a little ways off Sandy Hook between NJ and Long Island. It was a nice day, nothing unusual. I was sitting on the front of the boat (a 21' Bayliner cabin cruiser) while everyone else was in the back.

About 20 minutes into it we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by LARGE waves, large enough to break over the top of the cabin. The boat rocked hard enough that we all reeled in our lines and held on as the boat pitched and rolled and for awhile we thought we were going to tip, but my father managed to turn the boat into the waves — and just like that, the big waves stopped.

Almost as soon as we realized this, "something" hit the boat from below and the boat started to spin. The boat's motor was running but the propeller wasn't engaged. We all looked over the edge but saw nothing but water.

Whatever it was was either pushing from the front starboard side or pulling from the rear port side. The boat just kept spinning in circles three, four, five times. The boat was in no obvious danger of tipping or anything but we were all a little freaked.

My father engaged the propeller and put some gas to it but as soon as we started moving forward the boat lurched HARD to port. My father immediately killed the engine and the boat righted itself, spun around another half dozen or so times, and then stopped.

We were adrift. My father cautiously powered up the engine, engaged the propeller, and started moving forward. We moved at what seemed like about .00001 knots for about 15 minutes, then he sped up and we got the hell out of there.

To date, nobody knows what the hell happened out there. The best theories I've heard so far is that it was some kind of whale having some fun with our boat, or that we were caught in some kind of weird whirlpool.

Username: bubonis

Ok....not seen but experienced. Submarine sailors tend to be superstitious and with good reason. I had several unexplainable instances over my 13 plus years in the Navy. Most notably, a set of chicken bones hung over the 10k evaporator that kept it running well with failing parts just before ORSE.

The Eng ordered them cut down, and the 10k instantly crapped itself. We tried 9 operators over 12 hours, but it wouldn't run. Finally, CDR Sides told Murray to hang em back up but hide them. As soon as Murray did, the damn thing started right up and ran perfect for the rest of the underway.

Another instance was the O2 generator, which we called Jenny and loved on cause she was finicky. Rusty used to sweet talk her. One day the DCA walks into the AMR (I was there smoking a cigarette) and yells "How's the bitch?!"....instantly she rapidly depressurized which is damn near bomb time. He was thrown out of the space and never allowed to return, and it took a lot of loving for her to run again.

Lastly was my short run on a carrier after breaking my back and fighting the notorious BUMED BULLSHIT FACTORY. I was touring the Cat 4 space on the Roosevelt CVN-71, and as I glanced past the CAT accumulator, I saw a sailor in Dungarees.

We hadn't worn those in 8 years, so I went to see who was pranking me....to find no one. Later, I was told it was Fireman Fred....a ghost that has hung out down there since he committed suicide around the time the ship was new in the 80s. That's the best of them, but there were many more.

Username: Potential-Archer-476

I went to this thing called a "Star Party" (basically a gathering of geeky astronomer wannabes) in Florida. It was a pretty big deal, as these things go. Lots of famous astronomers & astronomer groupies (like rockstar groupies, but with bigger... beards), presentations, displays of cool gear, stuff like that. It's on one of the Florida Keys, and you camp out on the beach during the day and watch the sky through telescopes at night. Fun times.

One morning after a long night of observing stars, I took a little walk along the beach with my wife. All of a sudden, this guy comes out of the brush and scrub and starts yelling "Gloria!!! Gloria!!! I can hear you!!! Gloria!!!"

He's dancing around with a smudge pot, streaming thick smoke behind him in the offshore breeze. Kicking his feet up. Screaming for Gloria. Just your general psychotic antics.

When he saw us, he quit what he was doing and started walking over to us. I was like "run back to the campsite and lock the tent, Honey!" but my wife is one of those "I like everybody, so everybody likes me" kind of people.

So she talked to him a while. Turns out he was only marginally insane- he was another star party attendee who for whatever reason had some personal belief that he could hear his (dead) wife's voice on the wind.

Why he had to SHOUT her name is still a mystery to this day. Are spirits hard of hearing? Is the telephone connectivity to the afterworld that spotty? It must suck being psychic. You'd be like "can you hear me? What? I said CAN YOU HEAR ME?

What? Sorry. It's loud in here. Are you Gloria? I'm trying to reach Gloria. Can someone go get her and tell her she has a call? GLORIA. No, not Gar- HELLO? HELLO? Can you- I said I can't."

Username: lendergle

I have a 100GT license, and have experience running partyboats/charterboats between NH and FL (winter months). I hail from the 'recreational' side of the fishing industry, but I've also crewed on commercial boats as well.

Gillnetters, draggers, and commercial hook-boats, depending on the locale. For the past 7 years, I've had command of an 85' DMR, and we run primarily day trips out in the Gulf of Maine for groundfish/mackeral/stripers/blues.

In FL, I fished out of Tarpon Springs and Key West for a few winter seasons. On those boats, the shortest trip we ran was 44-hours; and the longest was a 4-5 day long range trip out into the Gulf of Mexico & Dry Tortugas.

I have nothing but respect for the sea. I've steamed across her when she's as calm as a tide pool, only to witness her become violent and unpredictable with very little warning. I've got a few stories I plan on adding to this thread eventually, but this one sticks out the most, so I'll share it first.

4 years ago, I had a charter. 40ish people, all from a bank somewhere in northern VT (not exactly seafaring types). It was early May, with typical springtime weather for the Gulf of Maine; brisk temps and a steady 15-knot breeze from the N/NE.

We left the dock at 0600, with a scheduled return time of 1430. According to the NWS/NOAA forecasts, the wind was supposed to increase to 15-20kts as the day went on, with gusts to 30kts in the afternoon, and come around to more of a NW direction.

Around 0930, the wind started backing to the NW, and all hell broke loose. The sea went from a gentle 2'-3' NE chop, into a confused 4'-6' 'washing machine' state...the sea was confused, and the NE chop began to stack up atop the NW sea that was building.

I was 25 miles offshore, which should have been just shy of 2 hours for a ride home. Assuming the forecast was accurate, it wouldn't have been an issue...but according to the various buoy reports from that day, the wind sustained 65kts, with gusts to 75kts....for 5 goddamned hours.

What should have been a couple hours back to the dock turned into almost a 5 hour trek to safety. The wheelhouse on my boat is roughly 18' above sea level, and with zero exaggeration, we took green water over the roof for about 2/3 of the ride home.

The last 1/3, it was straight white water...the next day, I found clumps of seaweed in the life rafts that are mounted on the the roof. Hard to judge the wave height accurately, but the seas probably built from a 4'-6' mess into a 12'-15' head sea, with an occasional green giant that tickled 20'...all within just over an hour.

It was a challenge to keep the pulpit out of the sea on the ride in, and the cabin/galley looked more like a crime scene than a boat when we finally tied up that afternoon.

Username: Capt213

I so rarely get to tell the story of Oskar. It's one of my favorites, and all true. I was working as a dive instructor on a tiny island in the gulf of Thailand. Long time ago...

We had a lot of backpackers who stuck around to train as recreational divemasters. one guy who was part of a group of friends training with us was a Swede named Oskar. I liked him. Sweet kid, very nice- highly athletic and fun to be around, good to work with. Very short and good looking with long, blonde hair. A tiny little viking friend.

When divemasters finish the program we usually have a party with lots of silly games, stupid rites of passage (including drinking a bucket of thai whiskey and red bull through a snorkel, etc). Just a stupid reason for really excessive drinking. We had several of these per month.

In the middle of Oskar 's party and feats of ceremonial consumption, he had to leave with a friend to catch an overnight ferry across the gulf for a dive trip. No problem. He made the ferry.

But his friend woke up a little before daybreak and couldn't find him anywhere on the boat. Anywhere. Oskar had disappeared at some point during the 7 hour night trip.

No one saw him fall. But, apparently, he had. Around the same time, back home on our tiny island, Oskars roommate was confused to find him dripping wet at the door, but with a rather lengthy explanation--

Alcohol, Xanax and weed sent Oskar above deck for a cigarette in the middle of the night. He didnt remember falling, but he remembered seeing the boat leave him struggling, treading the cold, 4-6 foot November surge in the Gulf of Thailand. Alone.

Soon, there was no light in the distance at all. None. Not even in the moonless, clouded sky. No light in any direction on the water, no indication of which way led to shore, possibly a hundred kilometers away, and which way led to sea. No idea which way the current was taking him.

Alone. comprehending. Then panicking. Swimming, Struggling to think. Struggling to stay afloat. Trying to think through the alcohol and drugs, through the cold and the fear, the constant rise and fall and beating of the water. The aching, heavy limbs and burning lungs aspirating salt water. For hours-- he didn't know how many.

Enough time to understand thoroughly that he was going to die. any minute. Maybe this one. No salvation. No hope of rescue. Time to say goodbyes and prayers. He would die cold, suffering, alone and he would never be found.

Then, exhausted and numb there was another pain-- the sudden, disorienting pain of being thrown against a solid object, though he could not see it. He had touched nothing solid in hours. His body had forgotten as it was dying. It was terrifying.

It was a tiny fishing boat, possibly the only one within countless square miles of remote water.. the handful of crew was asleep for the night on deck, thank god, or they likely wouldn't have heard him calling for help. He road home in silence-- Burmese boat boys don't tend to speak English.

That's the story as he told it while he was gathering fresh clothes. There was only a few minutes to catch the morning ferry. He was going to catch up with his friend, who was by now on the mainland, across the gulf; and he was going fucking diving.

Username: DanielStripeTiger

Here's a tale of courage in the face of immense tribulation for you. I was at summer camp. It was one geared for rich girls. I was there on a full scholarship, so most of my cabinmates would have nothing to do with me.

I made friends with a girl named Claire. Claire was awesome and a little bit different. She wore a bike helmet everywhere, not because she needed to, but because it made people wonder if she needed to.

It was a nice day, and it was time for our thrice-weekly sailing lesson (only thrice because there were other crucially important rich girl things to learn like tennis, horseback riding, and tanning). Claire and I pair up and hop into our little sunfish sailboat, and off we go.

About midway out into the lake, the perfect breeze on the perfect day abruptly stops. The other girls have not dared venture out as far as we, and are able to swim their boats back to shore. Not so for Claire and me. We are nearly a mile out, and while the others managed to take advantage of the last bit of breeze, we weren't so lucky.

No worries though, we've heard of this happening before. The counsellors will come rescue us with the speedboat shortly. We halfheartedly paddle the rudder toward camp, but we're drifting further and further away. We shout toward shore to let them know we're well and truly stuck. There is no response.

After twenty minutes, we know that the next lesson would have started, so those counsellors would have noticed we were missing. An hour after that, it was clear they had not. Over the still water, we dimly heard the bell chime for dinner.

Two more counsellors were stationed at every table, and we were assigned seats, so of course they'd realize we were not at the single most important event of the day. Hopefully.

With nothing else to do, Claire and I swam a bit and worked on our tans to show off at the July 4th celebration at the boys camp, and talked about how we definitely wouldn't dance if any of them asked.

It was another hour yet before anyone realized we were missing. But lo and behold, they did rescue us with the speedboat, which was pretty awesome.

We finally arrived back safe at camp just as dinner was ending and all the good food was gone. We were sunburned and hoarse from shouting, bit otherwise none the worse for wear. Our cabinmates knew we were missing the whole time.

Username: danathebiped

A number of years ago my family and I were out on our boat Cod fishing of the South Wales coast. This was long before the barrage and flood prevention system currently in place on the Welsh coast.

We're steaming around this point, and in the next bay there is a mouth of a river. In the water we see what looks like a submerged balloon, just bobbing around. We're in a 27ft solid hulled vessel. Sort of like a charter boat plugging about 8-9 knots. We slow down as we pass this balloon.

It's a dead fucking cow. Stomach all swollen bobbing around. We are like "fuck!", because the tide is turning that thing over and there's a dead eye just peering up at up, it could potentially do us some damage if we hit it at speed, so we slow right down. Then we here a thud and look down the side of the boat and another one just bumped into us.

We quickly scan the water (which is hard work because the welsh coast is generally murky especially after heavy rain, which we'd just had) and the must be 30-40 cows and in a sort of line being pushed out to sea by this swollen river, including a fucking MASSIVE bull with big fucking horns spinning around. If this hit your boat you're going down. Big time.

We literally break out the oars and start pushing them away from the hull. A very slow steam and about 400-500 meters later and we're out of it. But it was a nervy few minutes. First seeing a dead cow, then a load of them, then thinking "oh fuck if that one hits us we're going down!".

A few days later we read in the paper a farmer has lost the majority of his herd of cows trying to force them to cross a swollen river in recent rain.

Username: OptimusSpud

Sailing in the more remote parts of the Mergui Archipelago off Burma not long after the junta had allowed access. So charted but relatively unknown waters except for the locals.

Buddies were doing a research dive, I was out of the water with sinus dramas and sitting on deck doing some stuff with our brilliant local crew member Soe.

Suddenly we see a huge shape moving at incredible speed just below the surface of the water. It's clearly a big beastie, couple of metres long, with a very thin fin like thing sticking directly out of the water. Very big, looks broad, its going really fast and I've never seen anything remotely like it.

I'm initially shocked but then think 'oh coooool Soe will be able to explain this' because he'd explained basically everything including answering questions from the marine scientists on board. I turn to look at him and his face is as white as a suntanned Burmese sailor's face could be.

He jumps up from his crouched position, bolts below deck to his cabin and returns with some off the small firecrackers used in the area as religious offerings.

While lighting some crackers, clearly terrified, he says 'Only the gods will save us.' Divers surface a few minutes later as per their dive plan, Soe basically grabs their BCDs and hauls them bodily out of the water as soon as he sees then. Divers hadn't seen a thing.

Best guess is that it was a thresher shark being a douchebag. So no one was in danger but it was scary at the time with mates under the water and an experienced local asking deities for assistance.

Username: foozly

OK so while I was in the Navy, we went to Hong Kong. We had to anchor out because we were in a large Aircraft Carrier which meant we were going to have to shuttle boat into port.

The scenario goes a little like this, a 60-80 foot long staircase that we carried, dropped off the fantail (rear) of the boat down onto a a sort of small barge thing that had the buoyancy built in to handle the men, equipment etc etc. that would be traversing the staircase.

OK, so now when you get to the bottom of this staircase there is not a lot of room to be standing there, so there are guys that have to stand on the ladder waiting there turn to get onto the "Liberty Boats". The entire thing moves with the ocean and waves just like any other ship would. The whole thing is sketchy as fuck.

Ok, so leaving the boat is a bit of a big deal, but then coming back is great. Unless you happen to be shitfaced, which most everyone was. Now you have a choppy sea, this little bitty platform thing, and then ALL THOSE STAIRS.

Plus it is all moving. So one night we pull up to the ship, and there is this guy who is entirely too drunk. He is a couple of guys in front of me, but whatever. Anyways the boat pulls up to the platform, and the sea is choppy enough to make exiting the boat and going onto the platform a somewhat interesting experience because the waves keep pulling the boat away from the platform, but then smash it right together again.

Those of us not too drunk were concerned about this, those entirely too drunk couldn't give a shit. So here we go. As the guys are timing the waves in order to make the step from the shuttle boat to the platform, everybody is making it, and we all start to not feel so bad about this.

Cue the drunk idiot guy two men ahead of me. He walks right up to the edge of the boat steps over and SPLOOSH! Now he is between the boat and the platform, and of course the boat is coming right back to crash into the platform.

And that is when it happened. This guy comes shooting up into the air and lands on the platform standing up! I swear it was exactly like a cartoon or something. Fucking crazy.

Username: minorwhite

Offshore sailor here, I've seen a lot of fun stuff most people won't have the opportunity to see. I hope I'm not too late.

The first and most common thing is flying fish, as the boat crashes through the waves, these little fish come flying out of the water, skim out for several feet, and crash back into the water. It's really fun to watch.

Ok weird stuff. Three big things. I was sailing through tropical storm Alberto a few years back, it's insane how big the waves get in storms like that. These huge 20 foot swells, where if you fell off, there would be a mountain separating you and the boat within seconds.

I was 15 when I did my first offshore sail. about 300 miles from Bermuda, we saw flashes of light that looked like someone setting off flares at night. The light was insanely bright, considering we couldn't see the source, and then we saw what looked like obvious flares off in the distance, shooting way up into the sky.

We got on the radio, no response, so we made a call on the short-wave to the national guard, reporting the flares. By the time we got there there was nothing there, but the Canadian Coast guard responded saying they had nothing on their radar or satellite.

The next day we saw a big military heli fly over us from where the flares came from, but we heard nothing on the radio and no response from the Coast Guard. We could only assume that there was some sort of military thing going on that we weren't supposed to know about.

The last and scariest thing that I've seen is a water spout. For those who don't know, a water spout is a tornado that forms and sucks up water as it goes, so all the power of a tornado but instead of getting hit with air, you're getting hit with some real force.

They're not incredible rare on the ocean, in fact you can find all kinds of pictures online, but seeing one in person is absolutely terrifying (especially when it's coming right at you). I've also sailed through the Bermuda triangle three times (ama?)

Username: [deleted]

Well I don't think anyone will see this as I've posted too late. But who knows - someone still browsing may stumble upon this and it will be worth it.

The summer of 2012 I was lucky enough to join a voyage from Bermuda to Haiti on (the fastest tall-ship) The Spirit Of Bermuda. I was on deck on a watch which lasted from 8pm to 12am. I usually volunteered for bow watch, where you look out for debris, other ships, and whatever the instruments don't catch. The trip was fun, though generally uneventful until this fateful Saturday.

Its 11:30pm and there's moonlight, some clouds and stars. I could see quite clearly, so as per usual, I volunteered for bow watch so I could skip out on any serious responsibility (I was 17). I'm leaning against the forward mast gazing at the horizon and humming songs to myself. My eyes shift from port to starboard and up and down until they lock on a cloud cruising along the sky.

Suddenly the cloud parts and a long blue streak descends all the way down into the horizon. Shooting star right? No. The sky flashed a bright blue as well. Lightning?

No. The night was calm as hell and this beam of light - was perfectly straight. I was sitting in blank awe for a couple moments, then I immediately ran for my Watch Officers at the Stern of the ship.

Everyone on watch that night was standing up with their mouths wide open, we all then exchanged glances. I broke the silence and asked what was it. My watch officer, let's call him Jake, shakes his head and tells me he doesn't know.

Then taps the other officer, telling him to wake up the captain. I went down into the cabin to see if I could steal a peak at the Sonar (only officers could be around the instruments), but nothing was on the scope. The Captain ended up telling everyone that its no big deal and to carry on.

Username: CommanderMilez

After serving on a US carrier (CVN).Night skys, even on the few days you could go outside. Amazing. I was in Japan during the Fukushima events. The day the earthquake hit I was sitting in my shop on watch.

I'm about 8-10 stories from sea level. The ship is about 300+km from Fukushima. I stood up to do something and all the sudden the [AIRCRAFT CARRIER](http://www.goodwp.com/images/201312/goodwp.com_30464.jpg) drops. And i mean it fucking dropped like a rock at least 5 feet underneath me. Then you hear this massive crack/bang.

I thought the main engine shaft had just snapped in two or something. The power all throughout the ship goes out. I start freaking the fuck out from the drop, and equipment going offline. The only thing that ever came close to that was a 7+ sea state as we went through a hurricane...

Several minutes later supervisors come running in the space all calm and shit. I'm like "WTF HAPPENED?!?!". My chief so non-nonchalantly says "Oh there was an earthquake". Finally sane people came in around my pay grade and the first things out of our mind is if were going to be able to go home.

The CO finally gets on and tells everyone what happened. Ship power restored, minimal injuries etc etc bullshit. Then he announced that waves were fluctuating from -15 feet below sea level to 20 plus and that the brow was unsafe to cross. The rest of start drawing up plans on how to zip line across to the pier, while the chiefs and officers take a nap.

After about two hours the ship let us go in small groups off the boat. This was the first time I'd ever been reluctant to cross that brow. You can see it pitch up and down, and it just doesnt feel right outside.

After i make it across i just stood there in awe at the gigantic cunt of mother nature tossing around a fucking aircraft carrier like a little bitch ducky in the bath.

Username: boydo579

Worked on a schooner in California years ago. Me and the Bosun were shaking out the crew for morning chores, scrubbing the deck and polishing brass.

A new deckhand was scheduled to join. She was from Maine, so we'd hoped she had some experience. Sitting at the end of the dock, however, was a girl in a lavender vinyl pant suit, LLBean duck boots, and the cutest little suitcase.

She had just graduated college with an Art Degree. After a two week sailing excursion in Camden, she'd decided to try her hand at sailing. Calling around to various boats, our office was the first to take her in. Lucky us!

She was bright enough. But a maritime education, starting from scratch, on a wooden sailing ship. Let me tell you, we got our steps in.

Slowly but surely she learned the ropes. Off came the shoes, unless working aloft. Away went the heavy garments that just soak up water, in favor of a tshirt and light khaki pants. Gloves gave way to calloused hands. And throw that god-forsaken Swiss Army Knife over the side!

One day she was splicing ratlines and it hit me. I looked around for the Bosun. His eyes twinkled and he tried not to smile. It was time. We knocked everyone off early and ran some much needed errands.

After dinner we gathered in the fo'c'sle, where the crew bunked. In the gloom of the musty compartment, the ceremony began. We passed around a bottle of rum and shared it with all but her. Each crew member read a selected passage or poem.

The Bosun's contribution was a personalized version of The Ice Worm by Robert Service. He recited it from memory, slowly and deliberately. As he read the final lines, we presented the bottle of rum to her.

Mourning her former life, she let go a few tears and took a big slug from the bottle. Then the Bosun handed her a new rigging knife, straight bladed with a thick back to accept hammer blows, for that stubborn line or wire.

We were a tight bunch. Passengers would comment how well we got along. How effortless we made it look.

Our last trip of the season was a week long transit from Long Beach to Monterrey, beating up the whole way. Some maintenance before the Summer season started, then change out with another crew.

Anchored in Catalina, we made plans to travel together. What about our newest shipmate? She'd had a boyfriend back home. But she was pretty sure that was over. He wasn't a sailor. But how to break it to him? Leave that to me!

I picked a postcard at the store in Two Harbors. I wrote, She had found a new love. And that love is the sea. And once the sea has ahold of your soul, you can never get free. Not knowing the boyfriend's name, I simply stamped it and gave it to her. She read it, gave me a hug, then posted it before we sailed.

The trip north wasn't particularly rough. Fifteen foot swells from the Northwest. Typical for Point Conception. But we lost the bobstay and a backstay, so the Captain decided to run back to Long Beach for repairs. It was an easy point of sail, but it put the waves on our port quarter.

I had the 4-8 Watch, traditional for the Chief Mate. I came into the cockpit at 1550 to relieve the Bosun. Both watches, almost a dozen people, were scattered about the deck for turnover. A shadow loomed over my left shoulder and a huge wave swept half the deck, rolling the ship to starboard and dragging crew and passengers with it.

Quick hands got ahold of the passengers, halting their departure. But the curly locks of our Mainer went over the side and starting drifting astern. The dreaded call of Man Overboard went up as life rings and life jackets were tossed over the side.

I stayed with the ship in Long Beach while the rest of the crew flew to Maine for the service. The Bosun returned and described the scene. The family had been understanding of what had happened. While they weren't sailors, life in coastal Maine gave them a healthy respect for the sea.

But the Bosun was still uneasy. What is it, I asked. I met the boyfriend, he said. He was pretty shaken. Shortly after getting the news of the accident he received a postcard.

Username: Smart_Dress_1090

I was part of a biological survey team on Andros Island (Bahamas) one summer when I was a very young man. I was one of the few qualified scuba divers in our camp and everyone would dive in pairs.

I got called one evening to accompany the camp dive master to recover a piece of equipment (I don't recall exactly what) that was lost that day.

This was several decades ago, and Andros was very rural. Accordingly, losing even simple tools and equipment was a big deal. Also, the day is long on Andros in the summer so by that time most other divers had been off duty for hours, and had already partaken of one or more of the local recreational substances, so were out.

This was supposed to be a quick out, dive, and back. Now this was before GPS was a common civilian navigational tool and by the time the boat got us out to where the equipment was supposed to have been lost, we were already losing light.

We dove and looked around a bit. After a while it was the dive master signaled me to surface with him. He pointed out that it was getting dark so we needed to head back.

When we got back for some reason the skipper was freaking out and told us to get our asses on board. We did and he hightailed it out with lights off.

It was a freakish weird trip in the dark with only star light and the engines but it only got weirder when I realized ours was not the only engine I could hear and the other boat or boats were not running any lights either.

The dive master explained to me that the waters at night were a hotbed for smugglers and we did NOT want to run into any of them since they were very dangerous men...

We were almost back to camp when the skipper put the lights on. It was easily the most Miami Vice shit I had ever done and even though we recovered no equipment we still got shitfaced drunk once we got back.

Username: ZenRage

So me and Jack are going to go fishing in Sabine lake on the border of Texas and Louisiana. It is Friday so I drive from Austin and meet him at the storage facility in Port Arthur around 4 pm to get the boat and stuff out of the garage.

He goes to open the storage garage door and then proceeds to twist the fuck out of the key right off into that dynamite proof round lock. We dig around for shit in my truck to try to break into the storage room, determined to get that goddamn boat out of there, but I had nothing that even came close to getting us near the water, so we hatched a plan to hit a Lowes and pick up a portable grinder.

We actually hit 3 or 4 hardware stores and wound up I guess at Lowes or whereever, but it started raining while we were out pretty hard. At some point I did the math and figured the cordless grinder wasn't going to cut it, so I bought the biggest AC converter I could find and a beefy Hitachi angle grinder with some diamond wheels.

Its getting dark and its still pouring when we show up back at the storage facility, which by the way is directly across the street from the Port Arthur Police Department.

We get all this shit out and start grinding on that space age lock in the rain, and the breaker on the AC converter keeps tripping because I have to push so fucking hard on the grinder that the dude has to practically stand on my shoulders so we can keep enough pressure on the grinder wheel to make a scratch in that lock.

It was the loudest shit I had heard since the last Pantera concert, with the echo of that grinder bouncing off the inside of that metal storage room and door, and throughout the storage facility for at LEAST an hour. Sparks flying, grinder grinding, dudes cussing, and not one cop stopped to ask us shit.

We finally get to the water at like 11 PM. The rain has cleared up, and we are exhausted but still stoked because we know the fishing is gonna be good. We get out there and tie off to some post way the fuck in the middle of the lake and catch nothing but huge gafftop and I think I caught a 1 slot red or black drum all night.

We pass the fuck out and wake up with mosquito bites all over our faces right as a shrimp ball passes by us, gulls blaring and boats hauling ass towards it with the sun coming up. Jack hurries to start the engine so we can get in on the action and then proceeds to jerk the rip cord straight out of the fucking spool on the first try.

So there we are watching all these assholes catch fish as they drift away into the beautiful sunrise. Jack takes the cowl off the engine and gets the one wrench that will fit down the nut on top of the rip cord spool wet in 10' of muddy sabine lake water. Ker-plunk!

We were I think 5 miles from shore with the tide going out, drifting towards the Gulf at a good 2 or 3 knots. We spent the next 5 fucking hours using a shovel and a long fishing net getting back to shore towards a dock we could see with no idea how to get to the truck from that dock.

I sat in an abandoned bull dozer drinking beer for the 2 hours it took Jack to hike back towards the truck and back with the trailer. His birthday is this weekend. We are gonna go fishing for sure.

Username: screwyoutoo

I'm not exactly an experienced boater or sailor, but for a couple of months last year I lived in South Africa and did marine research with some of the people who make Shark Week. The work involved sailing out each morning, attracting sharks to the research vessel (about 21 feet with 2 engines), and then collecting data about them by various means.

Going into this project, I had very little knowledge of marine biology and as a result I was usually relegated to the role of "chummer." This lucky individual has the role of grinding up large quantities of rotting sardine heads and continuously pouring them off the side of the boat to attract White sharks.

My experience took place on the first (1st!) time I went chumming. It was a beautiful summer morning and we had just set out in one of the primary research locations - a reef colloquially referred to as 'shark city' by the locals. The seas were unusually rough, and we were watching quite large waves hitting the beach, (about 1/3 of a mile from where we had laid anchor).

The process of grinding up the rotting fish matter involves the 'chum dance.' Standing in a rectangular container in a pair of rain boots, I was crushing the fishy remnants while dancing to Michael Jackson's Thriller (a favorite amongst the researchers).

Just as the chum dance reached its finale, and a fair amount of rotting sardine was in the water, the crow's nest spotter hastily pointed to a white glimmer just a few feet off our starboard side. We had gotten lucky - a 15 foot female great white had come to investigate the fishy carnage.

Contrary to popular belief, white sharks don't circle boats near the surface with their fins above water. They are indeed ambush hunters, swimming in sporadic patterns around prey, diving to depths below sight, and then eventually striking in a rush from below.

We researchers (me in particular, considering I had never seen a shark before) were giddy as this large female made a few loops around the vessel before disappearing into the iron green abyss.

If you're still reading at this point, you may already have guessed what happened next. About a minute later, as I was peering off the side (still standing in the chum container), I noticed that the jovial South African laughter behind me had abruptly stopped.

I turned around to see a large wave (10-15 feet) coming in quickly on our broad side. In the few seconds before adrenaline set in, I remember seeing the wall of water crashing over me... spinning... floating... I had been flung overboard by the freak wave.

Dear friends of reddit, at this point in the story you must consider who I was at the time - a jet lagged, somewhat nerdy, skinny American teenage boy, outside of the United States for the first time.

There I was, floating in the South African sea a couple thousand miles from home, in a cloud of rotting sardine matter (ah yes, the chum container had been flung off the boat with me), with a 15 foot great white shark swimming probably a few yards below. I have very little memory of the next few seconds, my mind clouded by adrenaline.

My salvation came in the form of large arm that pulled me back aboard the boat, which had luckily not capsized. Oh what joyous breaths of salty ocean air I breathed then!

This post has become much longer than I intended, so I'll just say a few more words. I can think of a few good things that came out this sharky episode. For one, it accelerated my getting to know the researchers, who, presumably as a result of our mutual peril, welcomed me with open arms for the rest of my time in Africa.

The large shark, which is seen regularly to this day in 'shark city' was named after me. Finally, this experience gives me the opportunity to share my obligatory P.S.A to everyone I tell it to.

Sharks are incredible creatures. They should be respected, admired, and protected. I'm not going to tell you that they shouldn't be feared - they definitely should be (to a healthy extent). However, when you consider how many people are killed each year in shark attacks versus how many sharks are slaughtered for sport, trophies, or fins, you realize that we are indeed a far greater threat to them than they are to us.

You've probably heard all of this before, but I think it's still worth it to say! If you've made it all this way, then thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed :)

Username: kidamar

I am fairly new to sailing, but in the last two years I have made several large open ocean passages including sailing from Southern Chile to California.

When we were preparing to leave port in Chile it was in the beginning of Austral Winter and the weather was getting fierce with daily thunderstorms, one day we experienced wind in excess of 60 knots while tied in at the end dock on the river and the waves coming from the ocean were going over the bow of the boat as exciting as that was our boat and the shipyard's hangar was hit directly by lightning while I was in the boat and it destroyed almost all of the electronics and the diesel heater (which was running at the time) caught fire and was smoking, getting hit by lightning is a trip, talk about your heart instantly going to 200+ bpm and your sphincter puckering up, the crew of the neighboring boat was below decks with no windows and they said they saw the lightning flash thru the bulkhead, their electronics were also cooked.

This was all before we set sail... Sailing in the open ocean is awesome, there really is nothing like it, if you haven't been on a sailing crew I recommend you offer to tug on lines and do watch duty on someone else's boat on a long passage. However, if can get exciting.

As I said we were in the middle of Austral Winter now that our boat was stuck getting electronics repaired/replaced. Hurricane force storms kept bashing the coast and we kept waiting for a window to clear out. Eventually we had a small opening to sail out of port but we had to maintain a speed of 8-9 knots or else get overtaken by a hurricane.

For the first couple days it was hard going as we were barely making 7knots and the seas were quite heavy but once we got a little further north the wind was behind us and we would often be sailing 12knots or more and sometimes would surf down massive 20-30 foot waves at 20+ knots.

Which was AWESOME during the day, we would take turns piloting with the autopilot off so we could stay surfing as long as possible, our longest surf was over 6 minutes. At night it got a little scary because it was darker than a cow's belly and you couldn't see the waves, you just had to trust the autopilot which means sometimes high breaking waves that you couldn't see would broadside the boat and large crashing waves would roll over the saloon.

Then one night the autopilot stopped working... We had so much water coming over the back of the oat that some electrical terminals got fouled, but until we figured it out we had to sail manually with only a compass heading. Imagine playing a full motion flight simulator and staring at a 6 inch screen trying to stay on a path during a storm, not so easy.

Single Side Band radio is a real wonder and thru contact with the outside world we were able to get the boat fixed 1000 miles off shore and we made it safely to Mexico. I've seen amazing sunrises and sunsets, photoluminescence, and a bunch of other cool phenomenon, but the one that always gets you is when storms hit you learn to respect nature.

On the final leg of our journey from Mexico to California while on the "baja bash" we hit a storm that took our mast off of our boat, we just went down into the trough of a wave and BOOM came up without it. We had to scramble up on the boat in the middle of the night during large 10-15 foot waves with a very short and choppy interval and cut the mast off the boat as we were being blown onto the rocks only 8 nm away.

In the morning when the sun was up I had to dive off the boat in the same conditions to clear the rigging stuck under the boat and wrapped around the rudder and prop. That was perhaps the longest scariest half hour of my life as the stern of the boat would plunge in and out of the water by 4 feet or so, making diving extremely precarious.

Regardless we eventually got underway and made it back to port safely. Now we have had the mast replaced and the boat is almost ready for her next adventure, I know I am.

Username: bearflag

I know it might not really fit with some of the other stories here, but this was my scariest experience on a yacht so far.

I was crewing for an inexperienced skipper, taking his own yacht from Londonderry in Northern Ireland to Craobh in the Scottish mainland.
It was to be a non-stop hop over the 100nm trip, hoping to get there in 15 hours.

As we set off, the weather indicated a force 5 to 6 blowing southerly, with it veering later - seemed pretty perfect for our little sprint across.

However, about 5 hours into the journey, the skipper made reference to the Corryvrecken. He only mentioned it in passing, but the lines "I hope it's not as bad as I've heard" did spike my interest.

So, as I'd never heard of this Corryvreken, and don't remember seeing anything on the ipad charts we were forced to use (remember, not my boat), I thought I'd see if I could drum up some information on it - just out of interest.

We were too far out for any mobile data signal by this point, and the only paper information onboard was either for the Firth of Clyde, or for Northern Ireland - nothing useful, so I gave up on my quest.

A bit later on, the skipper again mentioned this Corryvrecken, so I thought I'd probe him a bit on it.
"Oh, it's a weird tidal whirlpool that I saw on the BBC a few months back. Some weird geography of the seabed causes the occasional upspringing of water and odd tidal flows. Looked pretty cool.".

A whirlpool? what? I decided to ask why he hadn't mentioned this earlier and was he sure we should be crossing a whirlpool.

"Nah, it's fine, they were crossing it in little rhibs on the BBC, we won't have any difficulty I don't think." was his less-than-inspiring response.

Leaving it at that for the remainder of the conversation, I thought it best to take a wander below and give my father (a very experienced ocean master and RYA instructor) a ring to see what he knew of this "whirlpool".

My father certainly had heard of the Corryvrecken and was very quick to ask what the weather and tides would be like as we were to be approaching it.
Around a force 7 to 8 westerly and we'd be half-way towards hightide.
His response was simple and clear "avoid it."

I decided best to relay this information to the skipper, and he did listen, but after discussing with his first mate, decided to stick with the original plan.

So a few hours later, we started to enter the Gulf of Corryvrecken, and almost immediately the sea state changed from slight to rough, with oddly flowing waves at least a couple of meters in height.

after another 15 minutes or so, we were being rocked all over the place, with the waves at least three metres high, maybe even four at times, and approaching from various angles all at once.

The "occasional" upspringing of water turned out to be a pretty much constant affair, making helming an absolute nightmare, and to make matters worse, the windspeed was now gusting up to 40kts at times.
Despite the wind, we were barely moving at times - effectively stuck still on the spot, being bounced around and coming close to broaching a good couple of times.

It was an absolute nightmare to be in, and luckily we were only really in the worst of it for around 45-60 minutes, but it is not an experience I want to ever repeat.

Once we had got out of it and made it to the marina, I told the skipper he could forget me sailing with him again, got myself a stupidly expensive taxi to Oban and then got quite considerably drunk.

Username: sk93