TranspacBlogII-9: Last Man Overboard Blog

Peeing at sea.

I have heard, and I well believe it, that the highest risk of falling overboard in the non-racing world is associated with drunkenness. Not surprising. But I have also heard that the riskiest activity among the non-inebriated is the act of taking a leak. Most of us much prefer urinating over the side of the boat, rather than going below. This act is always a pleasure, not only because you are relieving your bladder, but also because you are taking a break. Because you cannot do anything else while you are peeing, it is one of those rare moments when you can survey the ocean with virtually zero chance of being able respond to what you see. The boat can be off course, the sails improperly trimmed, the coffee spilling, whatever. You can't help. There are exceptions to this rule, though (see below).

So you stare at the waves and the wind and the motion of the boat. You can't help but feel the poetry, especially as your bladder becomes more comfortable. But this reflective moment is also the one that can pitch a sailor overboard. Of course we are all aware of that; we generally use our harness to buckle in so we don't go anywhere if we fall off, but I do have to admit that sometimes, in fair daylight weather, I just get up and pee.

Everyone has a preferred position. My dad and most others I know prefer the steel rail around the transom. The "pee rail". I prefer the leeward midship position. There I can wrap a couple of arms around the shrouds (the wires which go from the mast to the deck, and help keep the mast in place), making balance less of an issue. There, the act is less public. It is also closer to the bow, whose sound tells you volumes.

But no matter where you stand, you are vulnerable. I remember one afternoon on Siwash when my dad owned her. We were headed toward Catalina Island under power, but with a light westerly filling the main, jib, and mizzen as we motor-sailed along. The sea was very smooth as it is most mornings in the summer in Southern California. I was contemplating that sea, and whether we might get enough wind so Dad would shut of the engine for an hour of real sailing.

Now urinating is a sort of automaton behavior; what we call in the neuroethology business a "fixed-action pattern." One of the tenants of such a behavior is that once started, it is very difficult to stop. So there I am communing with nature as I pee over the leeward rail. Suddenly I notice a foot-long jet plane screaming right at me. At first glance, it appeared to be a heat-seeking missile headed right for my hot spot. Luckily, its flight leveled out and it hit the rail at my feet, knocking itself out, and falling harmlessly into the sea.

But virtually every time I go to pee, I contemplate what it would feel like to fall into that deep, endless ocean and be left behind.