The Edmund Fitzgerald, a 729-foot ore boat, seemed invincible, but she was not. (Wiki Media)

The gales of November often come early, occasionally late, but they always come, as the unfortunate crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald sadly learned some 50 years ago on Lake Superior.

What happened to the Fitzgerald? We’ll never know much more than what’s in Gordon Lightfoot’s iconic song.

But there’s a quiet truth that every seasoned skipper eventually learns, sometimes the hard way: true seamanship usually isn’t about handling a crisis—it’s about never getting into one in the first place. 

The best boat handlers don’t prove their skill by wrestling through storms, rescuing crew overboard, or nursing a wounded engine back to port. They avoid those moments entirely.

For most of us, good seamanship today has more to do with knowing when not to go, and how not to get caught out in bad weather. Modern electronics, dependable engines and detailed forecasts make boating safer than ever—but they can also tempt some of us into overconfidence.

Every year, Coast Guard statistics tell the same story. The majority of boating accidents and fatalities don’t result from freak weather or unpreventable equipment failure—they come from small, avoidable errors that cascade. Running too fast in fog. Drifting too close to a jetty when the tide turns. Heading out when the wind’s just a little stronger than you’d like. Not checking the forecast. Not carrying emergency gear. Failure to put on PFD’s.

These aren’t acts of daring; they’re lapses in judgment. Seamanship is the discipline that prevents those lapses.

Smart seamanship also means knowing your boat’s limits, and your own. Every hull has a comfort zone—a speed, a wave height, a loading balance where she runs safely and predictably. Push beyond it and things start to get lively, then dangerous. 

The same goes for the skipper. Fatigue, dehydration, or a few beers too many dull judgment long before they impair coordination. Most of the worst decisions on the water are made by tired or distracted people who think they’re fine.

Waves crashing on a headland can push even the stoutest boats to destruction if they get too close. (Wikimedia Commons)

A friend of mine, a charter captain in the Keys, has a standing rule: if he’s even thinking about whether the weather’s too rough to go, the answer is no. He says it saves him more trouble than any insurance policy. Another old-timer I know on the Gulf keeps an eye on the whitecaps in the morning. “If I see streaks on the bay,” he says, “I go work on tackle instead.” Neither man is timid—they just understand that it’s easier to scrub a trip than to un-sink a boat.

Technology can’t replace that kind of judgment. Radar, GPS, and AIS are wonderful tools, but they don’t eliminate risk—they just give you more data to interpret. A chartplotter can tell you where the rocks are; it won’t stop you from hitting one if you’re running too close while fiddling with the display. The skipper’s most important tool is still between his ears.

Seamanship also extends to maintenance. An engine that won’t start when the tide’s ripping out an inlet is as dangerous as a sudden squall. Checking fuel filters, bilge pumps, and battery charge before every trip isn’t glamorous, but it’s the kind of diligence that defines a good mariner. Knowing how to tie the right knot, set an anchor that holds, or bleed a fuel line may never make a magazine cover, yet those habits quietly save lives.

It’s always better to be ashore wishing you had braved the sea than to be out in a rough sea wishing you were safe ashore. (Wiki Media Commons)

There’s a saying among sailors: “The sea finds out everything you did wrong.” Out there, mistakes are magnified, and tend to compound.  The best operators don’t make that first mistake that starts the cascade. I say this with some confidence, having pretty much made all of them over many decades on the water, and still eventually having gotten everybody back to the dock.

When you step aboard this fall and winter, remember that running a boat isn’t a test of courage. It’s a quiet craft of prevention—anticipating, planning, deciding, and, when necessary, saying “not today.” Because the best captain is not the one who survives a storm—it’s the one who never had to.

— Frank Sargeant
Frankmako1@gmail.com