Late Coffee…Early Cocktails

Cumberland Island the evening before our departure

Or as Scuppers titled this adventure….”It Was a Dark and Stormy Night!”

I peered into the dark as Yoohoo coursed down the waves wondering if my husband, Capt Claw, still surfed through the waves on the foredeck or if he’d been washed overboard with that last vast wave which boomed over the bimini top and on toward Florida long-gone behind us.  I was terrified, petrified, scared out of my flip-flops and doing a fine job of steering if keeping the deck on top of the waves (sort of, sometimes) and the keel in the ocean (usually) counts as steering well.  Beyond that, I could not even contain our course to a 180 degree swath on the compass let alone keep the bow straight into the wind and waves. The compass and chartplotter gyrated so rapidly I could not determine Yoohoo’s course, rendering them useless.  In the total blackness my only reference by which to steer was the wind direction indicator on the anemometer.  Unfortunately the wind direction is displayed in tandem with the very scary wind speed and it had been reading solidly above 50 knots for the last 30 minutes!  I didn’t want to know.

“Are you OK?????”  I screamed desperately at the foredeck where Greg had retired to meditate on the art of dousing a whole lot of flying canvas in more wind than you could shake a 747 at.  Amazingly, Capt Claw heard this entreaty and even more amazing, because this was a patent lie if I’d ever heard one, shouted back “YES!!!!!!”   Wooheeeeeee, my human tell-tale of a mate was still on board!  Whooosh, swallow another mouthful of saltwater, maybe not after THAT one—“Are you OK?????????”

I could imagine the sail-trim instructions: “If both legs stream back equally the main is set well and not
stalling, else if one arm lifts and flails ease the mainsheet until all limbs stream and do not twirl.” In fact,
Greg was not hanging by the end of his leash as his tether had woven itself through a maze of rigging, making the struggle to pull that mainsail down handful-by- handful even more arduous.

We had departed St Mary’s, the inlet separating Florida from Georgia, at dawn on Tuesday, April 21st on a 43-hour voyage to Winyah Bay, South Carolina.   The forecast called  for light SW winds on Tuesday followed by one to two days of 15–20 knot westerlies following a weak cold front passing through Tuesday evening.  In the past we’ve declined to go outside during a cold front or during west winds as they are too fickle for bluewater sailing. This cold front, however, had been billed as weak and lured us with the promise of great downwind sailing with low seas compliments of the westerly wind direction.  Plus, the Yoohoo crew needed experience in winds other than fair weather if we were ever going to make it away from the coast for real bluewater passages.  Herein lies the problem – how do you gain bluewater experience on your own vessel without experiencing conditions beyond your current skill range?

We’d stayed close to the coast on Tuesday and were pleased when the updated forecast predicted 15 -20 knot westerly winds, no gusts, and 3-5 foot seas and we decided to continue on toward Winyah Bay running just out side the sea buoys marking inlets.  The front was scheduled to arrive at midnight.  Just before sunset, even though we were sailing on a broad reach in 7 knot winds, we rolled up the jib and put a reef in the mainsail to prepare for the front and for single-handed overnight watches.  Since this left us underpowered, Greg started the engine and we idled along topping off our batteries.  Greg donned lightweight foul-weather gear and additional safety equipment and I went below at 8 pm to rest prior to my 10 pm to 2 am solo watch.

By 9:45 pm I’d donned my foulies and harness and joined Capt Claw on deck. He did not go below immediately as he’d been tracking two ships and wanted to stay on deck until our courses were clear.  We were still tracking a ship crossing our bow when the wind, still westerly, started to increase.  10 knots, 15 knots, 20 knots, should we put the second reef in?  25 knots, or douse the main?  30 knots, how long can this last?  35 knots, it doesn’t matter we HAVE to get the sail down! 40 knots, run downwind to take some wind off the boat! 45 knots, but DON”T JIBE!   I can’t believe it — 50 knots!!!

Though steering with the apparent wind well off our stern at 120 degrees, a wave and gust conspired, slewing the stern aside and we jibed, Yoohoo booming and shuddering as if she just fired all canons.  Our hefty preventers held, but we could not see how much sail or rig was left.  Greg powered Yoohoo back around with the engine,  TRY TO EASE THE MAINSHEET!, and she broached, careening on her beam-ends and knocking me clean off my feet.  I scrambled back upright, if there is anything remotely equivalent to upright in this situation, but without the critical mainsheet in my hands.  I was still trying to sort through the short-ends of every other piece of running rigging under the dodger when Greg appeared at my side.

“The mainsheet is busted.  I’ve secured the boom with the preventers. I have to go on deck now to take down the mainsail, you must steer her into the wind.”  Though I was certain my next words may be the last I would share with my love, I inspired him with   “OK, but I’m frightened”.   “Yes,” he acknowledged this profound thought,  planted me at the wheel, clipped his tether to the jackline, waited for the mainsail to start flailing as I forced Yoohoo into the waves and disappeared into the void.

Yoohoo's GPS Track During the Jibe and Sail Dousing

I.  Have. Never. Been. So SCARED. In. My. Life. The GPS breadcrumb trail that we later downloaded depicted a trail through the Atlantic so tortuous that you’d think I was trying to shake my husband off the foredeck rather than steer a straight and true course.    A few hours later, or so it seemed, Capt Claw collapsed victorious in the cockpit, his Flying Wallenda routine completed, a dorade vent his prize in his hand. Go figure, the preventer had ripped the vent and it’s 4 screws right out of its teak base but deposited it on deck rather than overboard. We are SO lucky!!!  The mainsail was doused, secured with sail ties and we could simply motor downwind until this passed.  Surely the wind will let up soon?

We are answered by the retort of canvas rending asunder as its zippers ripped out.  The canvas covering the cockpit between the dodger and bimini now commenced flapping to beat the band and our last frayed nerve to boot.  Loath to take this protective cover down, exposing the cockpit to even more salt and, now rain, we clamped the corner of the canvas with a tiny wood clamp and it worked!

We took turns going below, stripping out of our drenched Gore-Tex suits, donning thermal bases, dry hats and shoes, our heavy jackets and Scopolamine patches (….take 4 hours before the onset of seasickness….these guys are so funny) and returning to deck to steer Yoohoo at break-neck pace downwind and away from all those blasted sea-buoys and shoals sticking out 8 miles from land.   I started puking.   Then I started shivering.  The wind speed was still in the 50s, the waves were happily invisible in the dark fury of the night.

We listened to a woman on sailing vessel Whim call Coast Guard Sector Charleston and calmly ask them if they had any idea how long these 55-knot winds would last?   Sure, you thought we were the only fools out on the dark and stormy Atlantic in an itsy-bitsy boat but no, there were probably a dozen small vessels out there.  We knew because they were also invisible in these conditions and we were worried about running into one of them.  And no, the Coast Guard had no idea which would last longer, the wind or your puny vessel.   I marveled at the soothing voice of the lady on Whim – she sounded as if she was instructing Yoga classes!

It soon dawned on me that I was no longer frightened and, in fact, no longer interested in anything other than clinging to my puke bucket, cheerfully labeled “The Infirmary”.  A compelling apathy had gripped every sorry fiber of my being, rendering me as useful as a heap of wet noodles.  Capt Claw ordered me below to warm up and sleep.  I slithered only as far as the top of the companionway steps where I was greeted with the sight of our gimbaled stove bucking furiously.   My stomach bolted, and I spent the next few hours wedged precariously on top of the companionway steps, warmed by the diesel chugging away beneath me and encouraged every time I peered outside to see Capt Claw behind the helm.   Are you OK?????

At about 2 am the winds finally abated and settled in to the 35 – 45 knot range, but started shifting to the NW creating a nice cross-swell to make up for the decrease in wind.  The autopilot totally rejected this scenario leaving Capt Claw to grapple with the 12 foot pyramidal waves.  I finally tumbled into a sea-berth still gripping The Infirmary and little else.  At  4:30 am it seeped through my consciousness that I was afraid again – YES, a GOOD SIGN!  I was warm, scared, mad, but in no way apathetic.  I scrambled back on deck to relieve the beleaguered Capt Claw who’d been on deck now for a grueling 9 hours straight.  Oy.  A very relieved skipper disappeared into the dark again, this time in the direction of a warm, dry but thrashing bunk below.  Not too much sleep to be had when you’re tossing and turning, not of your own volition!

Unfortunately that left me alone again.  Alone with nothing but the anemometer to steer by, its display of impossible wind-speeds, the invisible waves and my over-active imagination.  Bad Waves, Bad Waves, Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come For You, Bad Waves, Bad Waves.

The autopilot was steering again but would not behave for me, shutting off at inopportune moments and adding greatly to my anxiety. It took me a long time to get used to the wave pattern through the feel of the boat alone as the wall of dark allowed no forward vision and the chartplotter and compass moved too wildly to discern a course or allow my stomach any peace.

The VHF radio crackled to life grating on my resolve with this transmission:  “This is the Coast Guard
helicopter hovering over the sailboat Oasis. Oasis do you read me?”  I wondered if Oasis (I am not making up this name) was one of the boats that passed us well offshore heading north, likely in the Gulf Stream, where the waves would be tremendous.  Please let’s not listen to an abandon ship exercise.

My growing feeling of being an insignificant speck on the ocean prompted me to divert my attention to something other than the next 100 things that could go wrong.  Soon I realized that this was the 19th anniversary of day Greg and I first met, Earth Day 1990! What better way for two gooey-eyed sailors to celebrate than with a romantic ocean passage!   Soon I was singing torch songs to pass the time:

It’s DeHateful, It’s DeHowling, It’s DeHell on Keels

How about:

Bewitched, BeBeauforted and Bewildered Am I?

Or my personal favorite, belting the crescendo as we crested a wave top:

Salt Gets Innnnn Yourrrrrrr Eyes!

My watch soon turned a little less grim.  Just before dawn, as Yoohoo tore through the seas I turned to see if I could make out how large the waves were off our stern.  A brilliant shooting star plunged straight into Yoohoo’s foaming wake.  Wow, how many people get to see that!  The horizon started to lighten and I noticed dolphins streaming up Yoohoo’s hull from stern to stem.  Five minutes later they repeated this race launching skyward off our bow wave into the pink sky just as the ruby sun emerged from the sea.  I could not help but smile as one added a 360-degree twist before falling back to sea tail-first and the next jackknifed, diving back in head-first.  Capt Claw later pointed out that Scopolamine can cause hallucinations but my anxiety-ridden brain, left to its own devices, would have been more likely to conjure up a sea-dragon sporting George W Bush’s face, flinging fire for snot, emerging from the sea on a jet-ski and pronouncing “Coleman actually won!”

I noticed a white egret, long a personal talisman, circling Yoohoo, obviously trying to land and rest.  He
circled and circled, pausing each cycle just upwind of Yoohoo, attempting to match speed and land safely aboard our flailing island without crashing.  After 30 minutes of attempts he disappeared.  Watching the dolphins and egret eased my fear as I realized both joy and adversity are necessary to being.  I only had to tend to this moment, a moment I will never forget.  How many women get the opportunity to steer their own boat through the Atlantic ocean through 40 knot winds?

Greg appeared a bit refreshed at 7 am and we decided to head to Charleston Harbor as the winds showed no signs of slacking and Carolyn on Whim had reported a comfortable entrance through the Charleston inlet.  NOAA’s updated weather forecast made us laugh – they were predicting 3 – 5’ seas though their own weather buoys were currently reporting 10-12’ waves!  By noon we had clawed our way 12 miles back to the coast in 35-knot winds, beat a container ship up the inlet channel and determined that the closest refuge was up the ICW just beyond the Ben Sawyer Bridge.

As we entered the harbor, Greg called the Ben Sawyer’s operator who reported that the bridge could not be opened in these high winds.  We took this non-news in stride and told her we’d anchor smack in the middle of the ICW and wait.  As it happens we have nothing better to do and can wait all day.

The Ben Sawyer’s bridge operator took pity at the sight of our bedraggled vessel as we prepared to anchor and hailed us, “sailboat on the ICW, just hold on and I’ll attempt to open the bridge between gusts”.  It took 3 attempts in all, the operator stopping traffic each time and telling us to approach slowly, then back off as the winds gusted.  Third times a charm though and the Ben Sawyer swung open, our angel operator instructing, “Stay to the left side of the channel Captain due to the shoaling”.  Yep, one entire side of the channel is too shallow despite the channel having just been dredged in January 2009.

We eased through the Ben Sawyer, sent blessings to its operator, our new best friend, and Yoohoo slowly came to a halt having nosed her keel into the sweet South Carolina sand.  Happy Earth Day 2009!   Next year honey, let’s just celebrate our anniversary with a movie and dinner out.  Within a few minutes the incoming tide floated us free and we were on our way to anchor in Long Creek.

Surveying the Damage, Note it is Dead Calm!

On Thursday, after the best sleep and late coffee ever, we put Yoohoo back in order and surveyed the damage.  Greg had realized on the way into Charleston that the mainsheet had not broken but had unreaved through the clutch.  Incredibly, the loose line remained on deck rather than jumping overboard and strangling the prop. Two sail slugs were broken.  The bolt for the preventer attachment, though it held the boom during the jibe, had sheared from the incredible force allowing the attachment hardware to slide forward on the boom. The preventer had yanked the dorade vent out, deeply gouging the teak base where 4 screws pulled out.  The zipper ripped out of the canvas connector.  And finally, Capt Claw sacrificed 3 hats overboard to Neptune, one appropriately his 82nd Airborne hat.    Airborne, indeed!

By this time we realized we had been sailing in Force 10 winds, winds some cruisers never encounter in an entire voyage around the world!  We were quite fortunate; our close proximity to the windward shore and the relatively short duration of the storm prevented the waves from building to Force 10.  We made mistakes and have many things we’ll do differently in the future but the damage was minor and no-one was injured.

We’ll never make it as cruisers if we don’t learn to take the bad with the good but I do still question what the opposite of fair weather is — unfair weather?