We asked you to tell us a story – and man, did you respond.

Mad Mariner's first essay contest drew more than 1,000 readers to the site, resulting in scores of submissions – far too many to print them all.

The topic, your scariest moment out on the water, resulted in tales of uncommon weather, unlikely accidents and unusual decisions. More than a few were horrifying tributes to the power of Mother Ocean and a mariner's ability to endure her trials. Others were just plain funny.

Our three winners will receive an Icom M34 handheld floating VHF, a Norcross DF 2200PX handheld depthfinder and an Edson Sportsman Series PowerKnob. Everyone who entered will get a free one-year subscription to Mad Mariner – our way of saying thanks.

As promised, we have published a sample of the essays here, with minimal editing. We hope you enjoy them.

It was a rainy and windy night in August of 2002 at the isthmus on Catalina Island. The wife and I had just returned from dinner on shore on the shore boat. Once on board, we went forward to check to see how our line to the can was holding, and then headed back to the cockpit. She went down the port side, and I headed back on the starboard side.

When I reached the cockpit, she was nowhere in sight. I called out to her, and all that I heard was, "glub, glub." She had slipped on the wet decking and fallen overboard. She did not have on a life jacket, nor can she swim. Every time she would raise her head to scream, she would ingest some water, which caused the glub sound. Without thinking, I dived in and swam over to her, and told her to hold on to me while I swam us back to the boat.

Problem: The current heading out to sea was moving faster than I could swim. Our clothing was getting water logged, and we were starting to sink, so I told her to yell for help. She did, and by the time help arrived, I had rolled under her in an attempt to keep pushing her head above the surface. I remember seeing a hand and a flashlight as someone pulled her out of the water.

At that time, I had a heart attack and passed out. For the next four minutes, I continued (submerged) to float out to sea. A lady saw me pass her boat, and she screamed for the rescue boat. They pulled me out, and since I wasn't breathing, they thought I was dead, so they laid me on her swim step and returned to care for my wife. I woke up and asked the lady if she knew where my wife was. I think I scared her out of her wits, since I remember her screaming as I passed out again.

We were both taken by helicopter to a mainland hospital; the wife had ingested a lot of water, but she was okay. The medical team found that the main artery to my heart was 90 percent blocked and took me right into surgery, to have a stent placed in the artery to correct the problem.

So the exertion caused by me trying to save my wife after she fell overboard caused the heart attack, which probably would have happened anyway, under circumstances where there wasn't anyone to save me.

After recovery, we met most of the people who had a hand in our rescue to thank them: lifeguards, shore patrol, Coast Guard and more. We still owe a dozen Dunkin Donuts to the lifeguard crew at two Harbors, and the wife dons her inflatable life vest whenever she is on or near the boat.

– John Peoples

The advisories were all posted: high surf, 25-knot winds. Wet squalls and ragged grey swells were battering the reefs outside Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. At least the water was warm, which was good because we would be swimming in it soon enough.

Some people were concerned about us taking a J 24 in a double-handed ocean race, but we had a lot of miles under our keel. After a wild kite ride, we were threading the markers and reefs out into the open ocean.

We must have strayed a little far to the right, because two condo-sized waves stood up above all the others, heading right for us. We quickly tacked toward deeper water, and footed off as we reached over the first wave.

The second wave, seemingly mast high, folded at the center into a churning mound of white water. It seemed like a dam-break coming right at us. I had a few seconds to figure a survival strategy: we would maintain our speed, then go hard to starboard and take it on the nose. But the wave was too high, got into our sails and flipped us in a fraction of a second.

We tumbled under water for a while, and surfaced to find ourselves surrounded by acres of foam with a keel sticking out of it. I told my friend to stay clear: my J was going down. But the keel seemed to ever-so-slowly lean to one side, and after a few seconds the mast lunged skyward, unbroken!

We scrambled on the boat to find the water level over the bunks, and many things floating in the cabin, like a permanent marker I had been missing. The hull showed only about a foot of freeboard. The boat was wallowing in the surf zone.

It took some boat handling, and some fast bucket work to get out of that situation. But two hours later, my little red J 24 was bobbing gently in her slip like nothing had happened.

But my scariest moment was when I first saw that wave collapse outside of us and I knew there would be no easy way out.

– Mark Denzer