Scary Horror Stories by Dr. NoSleep - Fall Asleep to These Scary Sailing Stories | TRUE Stories | Ambient Wave Sounds

Episode Date: September 8, 2021

🎉 Get access to bonus episodes HERE: https://www.patreon.com/drnosleep 🔔 Dr. NoSleep YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/c/DrNoSleep 🎽 Dr. NoSleep Merchandise: teespring.com/stores/dr-nosleep-merch ✅ Advertising Inquiries: [e-mail] DISCLAIMER: This story is R-rated for adults 18 years or older. NOT for children. #drnosleep #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #horrorpodcast #horror Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Saving those children is how we all go home. From, binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. In 1982, I was asked to help deliver a 33-foot sailing boat called the Brass Buzzard. I gathered two of my sailing buddies and we were off. The plan was to sail from Manila to Hong Kong for the China Sea race. The normal route for us was to head north to the island of Hermana Major, and then turn left at the corner and head across the South China Sea. We made a stop at the island to do some minor repairs before heading across.

The repairs took up the whole day, so we decided to set off early the next morning. morning. Morning came, and everything was routine. We prepped the boat, looked at the weather, and we're off. Once out at sea, we encountered normal China sea conditions of sunny skies, 35 knots of wind, and about 8 to 10 foot waves. It was not until 2 in the afternoon when I noticed something was off. I could see a weather pattern forming. I called my other two deck hands to prepare for the nasty weather ahead. I counted seven squalls on the horizon where we were headed. Without a word, we all prepared the boat for what was to come. Before long, the sun was gone. It was pitch black and getting nasty fast. Winds were now clocking

in at 50 to 55 knots, and the seas were getting up to 20 feet. Then the real fun started. About an hour passed, and I was reading 65 to 70 knots of wind. I could only guess the wave heights at about 35 to 40 feet. My adrenaline started to go crazy. I had never experienced anything like this. These conditions were bad for any size boat, let alone a measly 33-footer. I knew I had to focus. One small mishap controlling the sails, where the steering wheel could be fatal. The waves were so big now, the only time you could feel the wind was at the top of the waves. After reaching the crest of the large swells, we had to sail the boat as fast as possible to gain speed to get up the next swell. The easiest and most disheartening sound in the world

was the lack of sound at the bottom of a huge swell. A few hours later, things started to ease, and the seas were down to manageable 10 to 15 feet. I knew we had gotten lucky. and I will never forget this harrowing experience. I found myself on my ship, somewhere in the vast expanses of the South Pacific Ocean. We had been cautiously avoiding big storms, which I knew to be all around us. I was on watch when I noticed something out there,

in the distance, bobbing along. It looked like nothing I've ever seen before, especially this far from land. As I got closer, I identified what was clearly a makeshift raft, made from lashed-together bamboo, with a snapped mast and an empty, cooler moored to the deck. Upon this raft was not a soul. The chances of coming across a raft to

begin with are small enough in that part of the ocean, thinking about the person or persons who once sailed that raft. Why they sailed and how they met their fate, that was what creeped me out. I was sailing back from the Azores to the United Kingdom on a 72-foot yacht. We were about five days into the passage when a Force 11 storm intercepted our path. Just for perspective, a Force 11 storm has 37 to 52-foot swells. The squall blew in just a few hours before we were due to cross the continental shelf into the Bay of Biscay. For anyone unaware, the depth in this area goes from 4,000 meters to a couple hundred in the space of a few miles. This area is well known for generating huge swells. The forecast was showing a significant wave height of 50 feet, but on board, we almost shrugged

this off as an improbability, as most of us had been through several F-10 and F-11. before and never managed to see anything that high, but obviously we underestimated the power of the continental shelf. Soon enough, the forecasted weather became a reality. The waves were massive. Just seeing a mountain of water coming towards you is a fairly frightening thing. Running the boat in these conditions was nearly impossible. Out of the 16 crew members, only three of us were able to stay on deck at a time. The experience of racing down a huge hill of water that was near the length of our boat was surreal. The treacherous condition stayed the same for the next two days. Every five to eight hours, we would do a crew change. After five watches in the mid-January cold,

we were all pretty much destroyed. It was miserable. We were unable to sleep due to the motion of the boat. It was so cold that we could barely move our hands and couldn't feel most parts of our body. Everything was wet, ourselves, our bunks, all our clothes, and the floor. Nothing would dry, and the heater was inoperative. Cooking was next to impossible, and you could not even have a warm drink on deck, because it would immediately be washed out by a large wave overhead. The feeling of not knowing if the boat would hold, or if a rogue wave would break over us and roll the vessel,

was the most frightening experience I ever had on a boat. It was a beautiful morning. We were sailing along at a good six knots, when suddenly we came across debris in the water. We had just crossed into Mexico, so we weren't sure what to make of it, until one of the crew in the front of the boat said, Hey, is that a dead guy? Sure enough, it was a shirtless body floating face down in the water,

amidst other debris spread out over a large area. Eventually, we saw another body, but nothing to really tell what kind of boat it was. We weren't sure what to think of it. My first thought was a drug deal gone bad, so the captain decided to radio it in and then keep on course, let the professionals handle it. There was a Coast Guard helicopter on the scene within five minutes after we made the report,

and then later we learned little bits and pieces of info. For a while, we thought it must have been a boat that ran into a large cargo ship running without lights as it gets very dark at night. It wasn't until a long time after that. We found out the crew ran aground in the early morning hours. The boat disintegrated on the rocks. All four of the crew were presumed killed,

but they only found three of the bodies. I was on an overnight fishing trip out on George's Bank in the middle of summer. It was around 3 a.m. and completely dark with no cloud cover. or anything. The stars were amazing that night. I went into the cabin to grab my beer, as I turned a look at the stern of the boat. It was as bright as dead noon with not a cloud in the sky, like someone put a Hollywood spotlight, or five directly onto us. I blinked a few times and ran towards the back, but as soon as I came out from under the cabin overhang, it was even darker

than before I went inside. Anyways, I woke everyone up and explained this, and they told me I probably fell asleep and was dreaming. To this day, I have no idea what happened, and I'll never know for sure. My scariest experience happened when I was in a racing tournament. At the start of the event, the wind was howling. It was a steady 25 to 30-knott wind gusting to 40. The wind was also kicking up a lot of white caps. To my surprise, the racing officials didn't cancel the event. To start, my partner and I had to sail about a half mile from the dock to the starting line. By the time we got there, everything was soaked. We had a good start to the race, but blew it on the first leg. The wind suddenly shifted and violently pushed our mainsail to the other side of the boat.

This force caused the boat to tilt on its side. The boat turned even more and flipped upside down. My partner and I managed to get the boat back on its side, and then back upright. We got the boat to about 45 degrees and got obliterated by a large wave. The boat was back upside down. We tried this two more times with no luck. On the third try, we noticed something peculiar. The port tank was getting lower and lower in the water. We figured we would worry about it once we got the boat upright. We later discovered that we lost a plug for the tank, and it was filling up with water. On the fourth attempt to get the boat upright, another huge wave hit us as I was trying to dive into the cockpit. I'm lightweight, around 130 pounds, so when the boat tipped

over, I got catapulted off the rail headfirst into the water. I was a swimmer in high school, so being underwater was not too scary for me. What scared the shit out of me? What scared the shit out of me, was coming back up and seeing the tiller over my head. The boat flipped on top of me. I had a large life jacket on so it was near impossible to move myself out from under the boat. I was running out of air and I knew I needed to act fast. I figured there had to be an air bubble on the inside of the boat. I pulled myself into a deeper depression inside the sailboat and took a great big gasping breath.

I got a lung full of seawater, cold seawater. My vision started to fade and look gray. It was almost a peaceful feeling. I snapped out of the trance, and my survival instinct must have kicked in. I hazily remember kicking and flailing to get myself out from underneath a sinking boat. I lived to race another day. My dad had been sailing his entire life. He has a ton of stories, but he said the weirdest time was when he sailed through the Bermuda

triangle. This area was, and still is notorious throughout the sailing community. Many people report strange and even paranormal events occurring within it. As soon as my father entered the Bermuda Triangle, he encountered dense fog. This fog wasn't reported on any of the weather reports. It just happened out of the blue. After a couple of minutes navigating through the fog, my dad and his crew could see a small sailboat in the distance. As the boat got closer, my dad spotted five men on the boat.

As the sailboat passed to the left of my dad's boat, all five men were standing up and frozen. They were all standing to attention and saluting. But they were not responding to my dad in a boat. his crew, when they began shouting to see if they were okay. Not once did they move or shout back. My dad turned his boat around to find them, but they were nowhere to be seen. I was in the middle of the South Atlantic Ocean. It was 3 a.m. The time when all bad things tend to happen. The nearest point of land was a week or more in all directions. I woke up to the sound of water slashing beneath me. I was petrified. I frantically started pulling up boards to get to the lowest

compartment on the boat. To my shock, the lower compartments were filled with water. To my surprise, the automatic pumps were not activated. The water kept rising. I woke up the only other person on board. Luckily, he knew where two emergency pumps were stored. After 30 minutes of pumping, we didn't even make a dent. The water level stayed the same and even seemed to slightly rise. The water was coming in way faster than we were pumping it out. I knew we had maybe an hour at most before our vessel filled with water and sank. I knew we were. We had to find the leak soon, or we would be floating in a raft in the middle of the Atlantic. I dove headfirst into the lower compartment.

I felt around for any signs of high water pressure. No luck. I pulled myself out of the compartment and took another deep breath. I submerged again. This time I felt where the leak was. A cover had torn off a retractable thruster beneath the sailboat, a quick patch job, and more pumping, and we were good to go. I was definitely worried there for a little while. I circumnavigated the globe from the ages of 23 to 25 on a 43-foot sailboat.

One of the freakyest incidents we had on board was when we were leaving Singapore in the middle of the night. Aside from the constant game of dodging huge freighters, our path was fairly straightforward. At about 3 a.m., I was alone at the helm, with everybody else asleep down below. Suddenly, I heard it beep from the radar, which had been set to warn me about anything within a quarter mile of our vessel. Looking around, I couldn't find anything obvious within that range, so I put the boat on autopilot and went down below to investigate. Typically, other ships show up as little blobs, but for some reason, the radar was registering a long, solid line, the length of the screen, directly in front of us, and it was getting closer,

fast. Cart racing, I went back on deck to see what could possibly be registering such a bizarre signature. Eyes slowly adjusting, I looked into the dark, peering as hard as I could. to make out something, anything, and then I saw it. Not more than 100 yards ahead was a 20-foot-high, unlit, rock-solid wall, right there in the middle of the ocean, looming and, by this point, making its presence known by the sound of waves lapping against it. I was absolutely petrified. Mind you, this was before chart plotters were widely used, and we were navigating with paper charts. I was utterly confused and supremely terrified. I called all hands on deck, and we stopped the boat

dead, pulled down the sails, and started the engine. I cranked the motor in full reverse until we stopped. In front of us stood a huge wall. If I hadn't noticed, our boat would have been history. I later found out this wall was the origin of an artificial island that Singapore was constructing. To this day, the image of magically appearing dark walls in the middle of the ocean haunts my dreams.