The first time it happened was in 2009. I was about to take the helm of a 34-foot catamaran in the British Virgin Islands as captain, my baptism into the world of “bareboat” sailing. “You’re good to go,” said the dockhand. The first leg of our journey was not far, just a few miles across the channel to Norman Island. Unfortunately, about halfway there, the main sail plummeted down the mast for no apparent reason, and we could not raise it. We returned to our base for a repair taking most of the afternoon.
Years later, the same assurances were provided just before my rented vessel suffered a busted throttle cable for one of two motors, leading me to drive in circles until I could hail assistance from a local marina. Then yesterday, when those words were spoken once more, I should have instantly realized that the mainsheet, holding down the mainsail, could be ripped from the hull of the boat as soon as we caught wind, causing the sail to flail violently and nearly knocking out one of the passengers. Of course, it did.