August 4th is National Coast Guard Day, a time to honor the men and women who serve our nation by sea, air, and shore. Their motto, Semper Paratus—”Always Ready”—says it all. And while I’ve thankfully never needed their rescue firsthand, I’ve had a moment where we came close… maybe too close.

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Own A Boat They Say …

Sometime in the 1990’s, my dad owned a mustard yellow cabin cruiser named the C 4 B—an homage to our family: Charles, Carina, Charrina, Carlos, and our surname, Bayne. She wasn’t fancy, but she was ours. On one family vacation, we took the C 4 B out to fish, cruising south from Deception Pass toward Everett, Washington. That’s when we got an alert from the U.S. Coast Guard: “Small Craft Advisory.”

In other words: People like us—get off the water.

We didn’t. Not because we were reckless, but because my dad—a former Navy man—was confident we could navigate it. That confidence was tested quickly in the notorious confluence of the Admiralty Inlet, where the Puget Sound collides with the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Pacific Ocean. The water was angry, whipped into 20- to 30-foot swells with whitecaps on 35. It was less like sailing and more like riding a mechanical bull that wanted us gone.

My sister? Fast asleep in the bow of the boat.

My dad? Calm, tethered to the C 4 B by rope, wearing a life jacket (which he never did), gripping the wheel like it owed him something.

My mom? Panicking, as usual, yelling at my dad in her unmistakable Filipino accent, “Park the boat over there!” — her arm outstretched, finger pointing desperately toward a nearby island lined with boulders the size of buildings. It wasn’t a calculated suggestion. It was fear. Pure, primal fear. She just wanted the terror to stop, for solid ground to appear under her feet again.

Me? Cabin door closed, eyes wide, heart pounding, watching sailboats around us with sails tied down—but still being tossed like toys in a toddler’s bathtub. Other small boats bobbed dangerously in the blender of currents below.

Wave after wave slammed against our trusty C 4 B. My dad—cool-headed, Navy-trained—knew exactly what to do: approach every swell at a 45-degree angle. But the frothing water didn’t care about tactics. It came from all directions, relentless.

At one point, clearly frustrated, Dad buried the throttle. The engine roared to life, lifting our bow atop a towering wave. And then—we flew. For a split second, we were airborne. The boat crashed back down, nose-first, spearing the ocean. Five feet of seawater swallowed the bow, seaweed smearing the windows. I stared, slack-jawed, as the green strands slowly slid off the glass.

Hours later, miraculously, we found calm—a silver sheet of glass near a Washington State Park and a ferry terminal. We exhaled.

Then came the crackle of the boat’s radio:
“Mayday! Mayday! This is XYZ—we’ve lost power to our motor!”

I turned to my dad, still shaken.
“Should we help them? You know, like good Boy Scouts?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He reached forward, flipped the radio off.
“No, son. We’re in no shape to help. We barely made it through ourselves.”
Then he added, matter-of-factly, “If we tow them and they go under, we’re liable. That’s what the U.S. Coast Guard is for. They’re listening. They’ll respond.”

And just like that, I understood. We were lucky to escape with our boat and our lives.

Looking back, that day on the C 4 B was one of the few moments in my life I truly understood the phrase at the mercy of the sea. And while we made it out through sheer grit and my dad’s unflappable determination, it reminded me that not everyone is so lucky. That’s where the U.S. Coast Guard comes in.

They’re the quiet guardians—always listening, always ready. Whether it’s a fishing boat taking on water, a capsized kayaker, or a hurricane rescue at sea, they run toward the danger most of us try to escape. Past, present, and future—thank you to the men and women of the U.S. Coast Guard. Your courage and service don’t go unnoticed.

If you’ve never needed the Coast Guard, count yourself fortunate. But know this: they’ll be there if you ever do.

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We didn’t need the Coast Guard that day—but we almost did. And the fact that they were out there, monitoring, ready… matters.

So this August 4th, I’m raising a hand in thanks to the U.S. Coast Guard.

Thank you for being the ones out there when storms rise and radios crackle with distress. Thank you for being ready for those who aren’t. And thank you for protecting people like us—even when we think we’ve got it covered.

🎖️ Call to Action
This August 4, take a moment to honor National Coast Guard Day. Fly a flag, learn their history, or even just say thanks if you see someone in uniform. And if this story moved you—or reminded you of your own close call on the water—please like, share, or subscribe to my newsletter for more personal stories that live at the intersection of memory and meaning.