I seem to find it quite often, when I'm out on the water. Most of the time, it's somebody else's trouble.

Here's the deal. Since just about the time the first cave man sailed the first log raft across a river, there's been what we call the First Law of the Sea. It goes like this: All mariners are REQUIRED to render assistance to vessels in distress to the extent that they are able, without undue hazard to their own vessel and crew.

There is no "mother-may-I?" here. It's what we do. It's what I seem to do. All the time.

Often, I end up helping someone avoid embarrassment, or inconvenience. Sometimes, I manage to help somebody avoid getting drowned - or, even worse-like, sinking their boat.

Let me spin a couple yarns, to help explain.

A few years back, I was out sailing my boat, Plum Duff, across South San Diego Bay. About sundown. In fact, the sun was in my eyes on that heading. So, I put the boat on autopilot, and was sort of maintaining a watch station in the companionway hatch. I've spent enough years at sea to more or less always be on watch. Even, when there's probably nothing to be looking for. No boats out there. Nearest land still about a mile away.

Something alerted me to look again. Into the sun. It looked like a head. Maybe two? Of course, I sharpened up my heading, and made best speed over to where that brief glimpse indicated. Yep. Two heads. A man and a small boy. Way out there. Attempting to swim and tow a jet ski to land. Hypothermia makes people do pretty dangerous things.

I managed to get them aboard. Took their boat in tow. Got them warmed up and back to shore. Mission accomplished.

As I headed back out, I passed the Harbor Police boat out doing a search pattern. I called them up on channel 16 and told them they didn't have to look for a body out there. At least not that day. Happy ending.

Before that, we lived in Ventura County, to the NW of Los Angeles. All the salt water boating is done in the ocean, with access to and from the several dredged harbors via rock-lined channels. Most of these have a cross-groin that diverts the swell away from the entrance and harbor itself.

My homeport during those years was Channel Islands harbor in Oxnard, CA.

I'd been offshore for the day with family friends. We were heading back to port at sundown. Seems like a trend doesn't it?

Amid the boat keeping tasks of dousing sails, bending on covers, flaking down lines and all that stuff, I caught a glimpse of somebody struggling to stay afloat in the surge breaking on the jetty. Turns out, it was a woman who had attempted to retrieve a small boat after it drifted off the beach. The boat had outdistanced her in the ebb tide.

My 30 foot sailboat, Raindance, needed about 5 feet of water, had a very small diesel, and tipped the scales at 5 tons. Not the best of surf-rescue boats. In less time than it takes to describe, I had my passengers deployed to the foredeck, a call in to the harbor patrol, and we were headed into harm's way.

I figured, we had only one shot at getting her out of there. It was an even chance that we'd find ourselves caught up in the shore break. Maybe lose the boat in the process. But, not a time to be worrying about the small stuff.

I doubt that poor woman thought we were coming to her rescue. Consider what it would appear like to somebody fighting for their life in the surf to look up and see the nearly 4 foot freeboard of a sailboat's bow thundering down on you.

And, from the wheel back aft, I lost sight of her well before we got close enough to make a grab. Anyway, my friend laid flat on the deck and lunged for her hand. He later told me that her eyes were as big as dinner plates, when he started to pull her bodily from the water.

Then, she slipped away.

Just as I was attempting to make a second try, an angel appeared. The harbor patrol, running at 30 or 40 knots zipped out, got between us and her and snagged her. Mission accomplished. Happy ending. I don't remember if her small boat survived, or not, though.

There was the day that I found it necessary to take a boat with 6 women and one small boy under my wing. Not completely unusual. This particular tale takes place during a transit from Channel Islands to San Diego.

Except there was a gale blowing. The nearest harbor entrance, at Mission Bay, was technically closed due to enormous seas at the jetty. I had to basically sail their boat by radio. For several hours I gave rudimentary directions, like "grab that stick in your left hand and push it to the left side of the boat, when the sail swings over your head, pull on the rope hanging from it." But, we really needed to find a refuge for them.

And, when they got hysterical, and started calling for the Coast Guard to come and rescue them; I had to tell them about another immutable law of the sea. It's like this. When you attempt to take people off one boat and onto another in conditions like that, somebody - rescuer or rescued - is likely to be lost. Or worse, you're gonna' lose your boat. We had to get them and their boat into someplace safer.

I called up the lifeguard service, at Mission Bay, and they agreed to stand by inside the entrance.

I managed to persuade at least one of the people on that over-loaded sailboat to take the helm and another to get the motor running. I got them lined up behind me, and we surfed down this enormous swell that broke up between the rock jetties. Flashed by the lifeguard boat. And, made it in to the pier. I saw that boat advertised for sale a week later. Cheap. Probably a good thing.

Another happy ending.

Then, there is one that isn't happy. It was a nasty day offshore. Channel Islands harbor, again. My wife and kids had decided to stay home. I had this notion that I could head out into the blow for a bit of wild riding, by myself. Also, not unusual. As the day wore on, I didn't leave. Instead, I worked on the boat and had the radio on. For "entertainment."

At one point during that wild day, the Coast Guard was working at least 4 SARs in the immediate area. A wind surfer was in the process of killing himself in the surf, a couple boats were reporting they were taking on water. One was on fire. And a completely hysterical voice was breaking into the chatter from about 5 miles up the coast. "Help me! My boyfriend has fallen overboard!" was most of what came through.

Turns out, this lady had lost her boyfriend about an hour before, and the boat had sailed on autopilot almost into the surf. All, before she figured out how to turn on the radio, and call for help.

Not able to do much to help at that point, I took out a chart and dividers. I laid out a course based upon the probable winds outside the harbor.

A course based on a big IF. If, I'd gotten underway when I originally expected to. I drew in a probable track for their reported departure point and current location of the vessel in distress.

Damn it! The lines crossed. About an hour out of where this poor woman was finally calling for help.

I never knew his name. I never shook his hand. God only knows. Just maybe, I would have.

But, you've gotta' be there.

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