So about 0530 in the morning with a thunderous crack I awoke thinking I had a large ship run away and running me down, wondering if I was going to get out alive. The first crack was followed by another, and another. Which were likely the mast coming down and the boat pulling off. Turns out it was just a fully loaded fishing vessel, Pacific Future, who didn't see me anchored clear of the navigable channel.

I barely had time to get pants on and grabbed the only shirt I could find, which was my jacket and went on deck to find my toerail in splinters and the fishing boat's fish (the outrigger's waterborne stabilizer) tangled up in my backstay. Turning around I saw the mast in the water, and every piece of shiny stainless steel bent or broken. I went down below to get shoes on, realized I had to pee, and found myself standing in seawater. Checking the bilge, which I had emptied the night before, was now 1" high.

Going back on deck, with Pacific Future still untangling from my rigging, he asked if I was alright and remained on scene in touch with the Coast Guard, to insure my safety. I finally had time to evaluate the damage and returned to down below to fill my rapid ditch bag with my essentials such as passport, pilot licenses, and ipad. Checking the bilge and damage from the inside again, it seemed that the water was from the initial impacts, and that no further water was coming in. I put on my life vest and foolishly called on my primary VHF to coordinate with the Coast Guard. About five seconds in, I remembered my mast was in the water and grabbed one of my handhelds.

USCG Sector Columbia River gave me a reply and I gave them my info, as they'd been informed of the collision by the fishing vessel. I asked for a telephone number and quickly found they had a 47' lifeboat enroute and a helicopter on another mission diverting to evaluate the scene as well. Both arrived within 10 minutes, and a pilot vessel which had stopped to offer assistance spoke with me and told me since I was well and uninjured, they'd be returning to dock. The Pacific Future remained on scene.

With the Coasties enroute, my bags packed, and no further water apparently coming in I went back on deck. The skipper of the Future was clearly mortified -- as any of us would be -- and offered what apology he could saying, in 35 years, he's never had this kind of accident or collision. With no time to be angry or be sad, I understood his anguish -- likely as much as he understood mine.

The Coasties arrived, and one came aboard to evaluate the water leak and damage. He decided to bring aboard their big pump, and we had a heck of a lift bringing a gas powered pump in a waterproof 30 gallon steel drum aboard. The senior officer asked what I wanted to do, and getting to a dock or out of the water was my first choice. But I had no idea what services were available. So they coordinated with a local yard and woke people up out of bed to come give me a lift. The Pacific Future went to deliver her catch to the dock, and I watched her go.

Tying up to my starboard stern, just aft of the impact area with the mast just hanging on to port and stretching out, aft, and down, and my radome gently bobbing in and out of the water hanging on by a wire, the USCG Lifeboat 47299 took steerage and I weighed anchor. With my chain piling up in the locker about every 50 feet, of course. One of the things I needed to get sorted was a diverter to prevent me from running down below to clear the chain in the locker every 50 feet.

Finally, we were underway. I sat back in the cockpit, leaving the driving to someone else for a change, and looked at all the work I had put into reinforcing my bimini for the solar panels, and the bent and twisted panels, nearly every stanchion bent or broken, the stern pulpit ripped and bent aft, my folding Dahon bike sheared in two, my barbecue grill gone completely underwater, and the past five years of planning and work scattered and broken like the tiny little teak toerail splinters littering my deck.

As we pulled in, two Coasties came aboard and gave the boat a safety inspection and asked for a written statement, while they filled out their forms. The old girl passed with flying colors, of course, as they looked at every piece of paperwork in her tight little package and went around from my heads to my extinguishers. Then as I glanced over answering a question, I saw the breathalyzer. I passed with a 0.00, and avoided asking what would the consequences and report be if I hadn't passed. What's a fella to do sitting at anchor, NOT have a beer? Intoxicated while NOT operating a vessel?

Finally, the Coasties wrapped up and pushed back, the immediate response being complete. While Lt. "Ish" Looney came aboard and began the legal investigation. He inspected the damage, the estimated cost of damage, and took my info, finally heading off to talk to the other skipper.

Folks from all over town began stopping by after that, as Astoria is a small town. Folks from the pilot boats, Customs and Border Patrol, the boatyard tenants, folks from other parts of town who saw all the commotion. One of which mentioned seeing my anchor light and day signal for the past three days. And I think we all wished the other skipper had seen it as well.

Seems the skipper may have been moving out of the channel to give room to opposite direction traffic, likely a barge. And with all the city lights, one anchor light 65' in the air is easy enough to miss.

I had my own issues going into Gray's Harbor at night a few nights earlier. Not from discerning the lights or city, but from fishing vessels with massive spot lights lighting their way. I couldn't see anything regarding their boat's navigation lights, other than the blinding spotlight.

But such is the way of things. My vessel is toast. Looking at the missing mast, rigging, and the stove-in hull, bent genoa track on deck, and twisted and fractured cabinetry in my galley, aft head, and aft shower I can't imagine trying to repair her. Let alone trying to resell her. Six months and $100,000 might get us half way there. The surveyor came by, while passing through town, and had a quick look. He'll be back on Saturday to give her a better evaluation.

But at the end of the day, plastic boats and aluminum masts can't take the impact forces of a metal boat at five knots. Mass and momentum are beyond the design of even inch thick polyester. I don't know if I have it in me to spend another three months, six months, or more to bring her back to serviceable condition. At this point, with my time in the Caribbean gone, my time with family in LA reduced to maybe a few days over Thanksgiving, and the great sailing sabbatical in the middle of my career at an end, it's likely just time to go back to work and act 'normal' for a while. Go back and fly jets and 600 knots, rather than quietly cruising at 6.

People have commented on how calm I am, and how devastating it must be. It is devastating, but it's just life as we know it. Accidents happen, people die, boats sink, and dreams fade. Fortunately, I can remain calm because I know at the end of the day it wasn't my fault, and there's insurance to help. I wouldn't want to feel how the other skipper is feeling. It's got to be the worst. Just the worst. I knocked over a dockbox getting out of Tacoma, and was mortified for a $300 plastic box because my boat doesn't have a bow thruster. It was a horrible feeling not being in control of a vessel. The skipper that hit me at the dock in Prince Rupert was mortified when he couldn't keep control and smacked into my sugar scoop and gave her a deep gouge. And CN$260, a fresh Silver, and a few drinks later was all that was required to keep it simple, and let him sleep at night. Somehow, I think this may be a bit more involved.

Nevertheless, In Your Dreams is my home, and I love her. She's carried me well and true through some of the worst stuff I've seen offshore. And I'll shed a few tears for her loss when I can drink again -- without fear of being accused of operating a vessel in the boatyard, on the hard, at night, with no anchor light, and no mast, while intoxicated. Which I think is now.

Boy, I hope that forklift doesn't smack into me in the yard...

Pictures in the Life As We Know It album.