Forecasting, Podcasting and Dolphins

When the Forecast Lied and the Dolphins Laughed

The day started out so promising. The forecast cheerfully told us: 8 to 10 knots of wind. A friendly breeze. Nothing fancy. Nothing heroic. Just an easy sail.

But by the time we got out on the Chesapeake Bay, someone had clearly cranked up the wind machine without telling us. Suddenly it was 15 knots. Then 20. The waves perked up, slapped the hull, and shouted, “Let’s play!” Meanwhile, we were holding on with the kind of determination usually reserved for roller coasters and family reunions.

Fine, we could handle it. Until I turned on the motor. And it died. Instantly. Which is what you don’t want your motor to do when waves are making it their personal goal to launch your boat airborne.

No problem, I thought. We’ll just call the water version of AAA. Except their “roadside assistance” came with a twist. “Sure, we’ll come get you… eventually. But also? There’s a small craft advisory out, so good luck!”

At this point, the Chesapeake and I were in a bit of an argument. I wanted to get to shore. It wanted me to do figure-eights in the river. The wind won. We ended up stuck in the mud like a car parked on a beach.

Enter: The Tow Guy.

Except, instead of congratulating us for our fabulous mud-caked style, he yelled advice across 100 yards of open water. With a tow line bouncing and the boat bucking like a rodeo bull, I crouched at the bow, bracing for action. My wife shouted, “Sit down! You’re going to fall!” So I sat down.

Tow Guy immediately thought I’d had a stroke. His logic: mouth moving, then sudden collapse = medical emergency. Before I could wave, he’d already called… the Coast Guard.

And suddenly, there we were, on the receiving end of flashing lights, rescue radios, and the very real possibility of getting airlifted out like we were in a storm movie starring The Rock. I had to radio back: “Coast Guard, this is the sailboat. We do not have a medical emergency. Repeat. No stroke. Just a broken motor and a case of bruised pride.”

The Coast Guard sighed (I imagine dramatically), turned around, and left us to await yet another tow. Which didn’t arrive until the next day.

And then, out of absolute nowhere, the dolphins arrived. A full pod of them—there must’ve been thirty or so. They leapt, spun, and zipped around the boat like they’d been hired to put on a Disney finale. I swear one of them winked. Suddenly, what had been mud, miscommunication, and maritime melodrama became something sparkling, spontaneous, and unforgettable.

What Podcasting Has in Common with Dolphins

The truth is: storms happen. At sea. At work. And especially in podcast production. Equipment dies. Recordings vanish. Guests cancel at the last second. You plan for calm winds and instead get cannonball waves.

But if you’ve got the right captain—someone calm at the helm; someone who knows how to navigate the chaos—you’ll be okay. You might even find magic in the mess. Because just when you think you’re sunk, dolphins show up.

And that’s the part worth recording.