Broken Boom

This is the front of the boom.  It broke approx 75 miles from Tortola. The bar running slightly uphill from left to right was originally attached at the little nub of metal to the right of the wheel. The entire piece was welded to a sleeve that fit inside the boom and secured with rivets. You can see where the weld was on the bottom of the bar. It looks like it peeled away over time. The axle that the wheels turn on was bent. I never heard anything actually break (or maybe I should say that the sounds of things breaking have all been accounted for). We were in calm seas and I just noticed it hanging there. I had been using the preventer on reaches and since it attaches at the aft end of the boom, I wonder if I could have caused some forward pressure on that joint. The axle is secured in the middle but also went into indentations on both sides of the sleeve. It would've bent just as the piece pulled apart.  They re-welded it for me in Nanny Cay and reinforced all the welds.

Crawling

Laying in my bunk, tired of trying to fall asleep, I can see Sean through a porthole window, crawling on all fours to the foredeck. The wind has dropped below 20 now and he is taking down the stay sail. The boat is still pitching in the waves from the storm we've just been through, making it hard to balance up there. I'm sure he's wearing his life jacket and harness and that he is clipped in via a tether to the nylon webbing we have run up each side of the boat. The thought of falling in the water out here is ominous. He knows the likelihood of us finding him if he goes over, especially if we do not immediately know he's gone over, is slim. At least it is daylight now. Sometimes you have to do this stuff at night. The ocean is really dark a night. The first waves we saw were bigger than the ones last night. Sean aptly characterized the biggest ones as being the size of a sledding hill. Those ones were coming from behind us and we could surf down as they passed underneath our boat. Our entire hull would shudder. Sometimes they would crash into the cockpit. Last night they were smaller, but we were going against them, trying to make our way upwind. Even smaller ten foot waves would make it hard to see the little head of a person, treading water one trough over. Our life jackets have lights and whistles attached to them, but there are too many stories of people overboard who are never found. The storm wasn't that bad. I actually enjoyed it. Winds were over 30 knots for about three hours, but they have been over 25 for the last 16. Sean had woke me in the night to say that we needed to put in a reef (reduce the size of the main sail) and that he needed my help. As long as we approach these type of jobs methodically they are not that bad. If we leave a step half done, or do not keep our lines organized, or fail to take a safety precaution, mother nature will get the upper hand. The forces that are harnessed by our sails are tremendous. When the ropes are controlled by the winches and the sails are nicely shaped and pretty, these forces are not so apparent. But let the sail flap, swinging the boom like it's a twig and turning our ropes into clubs, and you realize the value of keeping things under control. And don't forget that we are 450 miles from land, way beyond the range of helicopter rescue. Not that medical attention could do much for the injuries you could sustain here anyway. So it becomes essential to keep control of the boat and the sails. Change things one step at a time. Set the safety lines, then change them to the other side when we switch what side the sail is on. Straighten up lines, a never ending chore, to prevent the development of spaghetti. There is an element of being honest with nature inherent in all this activity. We are harnessing the power contained within the wind to make our boats go. If we allow our tools to get out of control, allowing nature to flog the sails, rock the boat or whip the lines around, there are honest consequences. We cannot go into the lodge and get warm or get into our cars and go home. We are out here dependent on our skills and the preparation we have done. I am not only in awe of nature, I am deeply respectful of it. That is a big reason why I am out here.

Annapolis to Norfolk: Headsail issues and high winds

This was an unexpected trip for me.  I had planned that my crew member from the Maine to Annapolis leg would move the boat to the start point for the Caribbean 1500.  That will not be happening.  He and I decided that he will not be continuing wth my ocean sailing program.  I had a long fall weekend planned while my kids were off school to just do stuff around the house and gave it up to move the boat.  I bought a one-way ticket to Baltimore with 5 days before I had to be back at work.  In that time I wanted to get a few things done on the boat and find a weather window during which to sail her 150 miles to Norfolk at the mouth of the Chesapeake.  It blew south for the first 2 days which gave me the opportunity to shop at Bacon Sails and Fawcetts, finding things I would have searched for.  I also had riggers, a canvas maker and a mechanic on the boat helping me get the boat ready.  I was spending so much money I did not know if I should laugh or cry.  I was naive of me to think I did not have to do this trip myself.  The work in Annapolis needed to be done.  Even more importantly, I needed the experience of the high winds I was about to face to gain an appreciation for even more preparation I need to do.

It looked worse in real life

The wind change for which I'd been waiting occurred overnight.  It had veered to the WNW, perfect for traveling south.  It would turn out to be the highest wind I have seen with this boat, and bigger seas than I thought could develop within Chesapeake Bay.  At least I put in a reef before leaving the dock.  The jib furling line got away from me, letting the entire jib out.  I was overpowered, burying the rail and hitting 9.2kn while the anemometer peaked at 33kn.  I was eventually able to blanket the jib with the main and furl it back, but it took a bit of planning.  I needed first to develop the sea room downwind of me.  I would need to set the boat going downwind with room to continue that course before I got into waters that were too shallow.  And I needed to set my preventer so that the boat would not jibe, sending the boom crashing across the boat, as I was focusing on trying to bring in the jib.  It was a pain to set because of how it secures to the mid-ship horn clean.  After getting on the other tack in preparation to blanket the jib I did not set it and did jibe as I was getting everything ready.  To furl the jib I had to let out the sheet as I tried to furl in.  I only had a horn cleat to belay the jib furling line and was having a difficult time controlling my release of the sheet to coincide with furling of the sail.  Somehow the amount of slack in the sail became too much and both the port and starboard jib sheets end up wrapping around the forestay.  Now I have to go up on the bow, which, don't forget, is pitching up and down, and try to coax the jib back around the correct way.  I have to take advantage of moments when the jib gets blanketed by the main to guide it because when the wind fills it I have no ability to influence its direction.  I think some other boat was watching as this was going on, too.

It was much calmer with the genoa put away,  Winds now 25-30, seen 33.  Speed 7.2kn.  I have a slight fear of my genoa, not knowing how I could use it without having it all unroll on me again.  I really did not want to have to repeat the above procedure for bringing it in.  I was going downwind and still flying along over 8kn, so I just sailed with reefed main.

After some rest and food, I decided to try the staysail.  This was when I first appreciated the necessity of running backs.  I have a removable inner forestay which can be quickly set using a high-force lever.  I was able to set the sail, but something was clearly not right.  The inner forestay seemed to be slacking then tightening again.  This was happening because the forestay attaches in the middle of the mast and once the sail is attached, it pulls the center of the mast forwards until the mast snaps back.  Running backs are lines that attach to the center of the mast and prevent the mast from being bent forwards.  Mine are made of 11mm Endura braid with a 14,000 lb breaking point and attach to the mast the same place as the inner forestay and run aft to one of the back corners of the boat.  We had just built these running backs in Annapolis, but had decided that the fitting on the boat where I had intended to attach them was not fastened with sufficient strength to the boa.  I could just imagine rthe running backs ripping out the fitting and ripping the back corner out of my boat.  Since I was not ready to use the running backs, I could not use the staysail and was once again stuck sailing without a headsail.

It was not until 10 hrs into the sail, at 2030 that I first saw 20kn--so much quieter, but lasting only a moment.  By this time I had taken to spending my time either huddling under the dodger or sitting inside at the nav station, watching the radar, AIS and instruments.  A handful of times a wave would dump a garbage can full of water into the cockpit, flooding it 6 inches, but then draining quickly.  I seemed to avoid getting soaked myself, but it still got colder as night fell.  I eventually remembered I have an Espar heater and soon had the cabin nice and toasty, making the brief trips outside easier.  By 0200 the wind had dropped down and was consistently in the teens.  I risked putting out a little jib, this time running the furler line through a block and then around the horn cleat in order to maintain tension, and even then it was difficult to control.

My log identifies these issues at 2030:
1. where to cleat traveler, consider jib furling cleat
2.  should not be without jib.  cannot go up wind, but do not need to now
3.  faster than anticipated.  will arrive before dawn
4.  wind is a lot.  just dropped below 20 for the first time!.  that was short-lived
5.  running backs incomplete.  do not want to use mooring chock

It would have been very nice to have a secondary winch so that I could gradually deploy the jib.  Of course I could have switched to a port tack (with the sail on the starboard side of the boat), thereby making the port side primary winch available to the jib furling line.  I could then have use a rolling hitch to hold the furling line while I took it off the winch and moved it back to its cleat.  Then I could tack back and start going the right direction again.  But that would have been a lot of work, would have made me go in the wrong direction for a while, and could have failed miserably if the rolling hitch did not hold.

I was not prepared for my boat to go so fast.  I thought it was going to take me at least 21 hrs to get to the mouth of the channel which led to Norfolk.  Since I left at 1000 earliest I would arrive was 0700.  Instead I arrived at 0415.  I could see the freighters on my AIS, going through the channel at 10-20 kn.  I was going to be run down if I went in there and I did not want to be outside of it in the dark and my first time through.  So I hove to, a maneuver that basically parks a boat.  I fought to stay awake until the sun arose.  Motored through the channel with a 20kn headwind and an opposing tide, but in daylight.  Was able to sail again once inside and saw dolphins.  Possibly the most intense experience of my life.

We are pulling the boat before the trip.  Just wanted to see the bottom after hitting those rocks.  Rather than pay for a slip and a diver, I will be paying for a haul and the repair.

from C & D Canal

from Buzzards Bay

Reflections on my first passage

First passage was considerably harder than I had anticipated.   Preparation was intense, weather differed from that which was predicted and sometimes I had difficulty communicating with my crew. It was a considerable challenge to purchase, refit and bring her south all within the span of one summer. In some ways I had my ass kicked. By the end I was exhausted.  But I feel I risen to the next level,  that of someone who's done and I'm sure passage on his own boat. I have a considerable number of thoughts regarding how to make future passages better.

The first section, from Northeast Harbor to Cape Cod, was supposed to take 36 hours and it took 54. And they were 54 hard hours. The wind, which was predicted to be opposing us but light, was opposing us but heavy. We could only make 2 to 3 kn motoring into the wind so we sailed, considerably increasing our distance.  On the second night of this, alarm started to go off. First the propane monitor sounded but we could find no trace of propane. Then the bilge alarm went off. If the propane alarm is like a bedside alarm clock, the bilge alarm is like a fire truck in your bedroom. Sure enough, the bilge was full of water. I grabbed the bilge handle to start pumping. My crew member, in a shining moment, found a loose wire behind the bilge pump switch, reconnected it, and suddenly the bilge was empty.

The alarm issue stems from preparation.  There was a fury a recent activities in the three weeks before departure and things were wrapped up only the day before. I had the unrealistic expectation that I could show up at the boat Thursday night and leave Friday morning (which is bad luck anyway).  My crew found the fuel gauge was not working which Morris did fix for us.  I still had a list of stuff to do, but my crew pressured me to leave and reassured me that we could get the last few things done underway and I caved in even though I knew better.

It seems that the bilge was full of water because we did not get the hole sealed up where the anchor chain enters the boat.  That had been on my list. The  bilge alarm wire was probably knocked off when the mechanic was trying to get the fuel gauge working again. The propane alarm probably went off because of the humidity caused by the water in the bilge.

As we were approaching Cape Cod the weather router called and apologized for the missed forecast. I guess that stuff just happens.

I also made a rookie mistake of not securing the halyard after dropping the main sail.  The slack in the line wrapped around the radar reflector on the forward side of the mast between the first and second spreader.  After devising a plan for nearly an hour in my head, we tried to retrieve it. I thought  I needed a rope draped over the first spreader. I could then attach the end of the halyard to the middle of this rope, bring it over the spreader and forward of the mast, pull the halyard down to me, then swing it to free it from the reflector.  I could then us the rope over the spreader to pull the halyard over the spreader and aft of the mast again. We used the accessory jib halyard to hoist a coil of rope but the coil did not have enough weight to fall back down against the resistance of the halyard and just got stuck up there. The Justine has an accessory main halyard so we were able to keep sailing.

We pulled into Sandwich, the town at the east end of the Cape Cod canal, at night, feeling a little like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree with our halyard and coil of rope twisted around our mast. I took my first-ever trip up the mast, though I only went halfway. The "24 hr fuel dock" was not open so we pressed on because the tidal current was going our way and you cannot go through the canal against the tide.  We didn't want to wait 12 more hours for the next favorable tide.  The weather router also told us that we were set up for following winds from Montauk to Cape May and we were eager for that opportunity.

We passed in the dark from the canal into Buzzards Bay. The outgoing tide and the opposing winds created some significant chop, but the books had warned me of that.  My crew was not as comfortable with the chop. Several tense minutes later we hit a rock because after taking the helm from him I did not get a bearing of where we were and became confused.  I also did not realize the the navigational canal continues long past the point at which we thought we exited the canal.  It is a dredged canal marked by buoys and I steered the boat outside them.

We spent the night in Onset then regrouped for a day.  During that time I dove to look at the keel, we figured things out and I regathered my resolve to complete the passage.  It was then a pleasant trip, albeit motor-sailing to make up some time, through Long Island Sound and down the East River past Manhattan.  We took the river with the tide and had none of the issues going past Hells Gate that forum discussions fret about.  We hit it at sunset followed by the lights of the city.  Continued straight out, past the Statue of Liberty and out into the Atlantic.  We could sail much of our only offshore stretch and entered Delaware Bay on a flood tide well south of Cape May.  The flood tide and perfect wind made it seem like we were flying up that channel.  Huge boats going past silently as long as I stayed on my side of the road.

I hit ground in the C & D canal because I guy said a bridge was closing and I stepped away to look at the map.  I looked up and saw the shore just off the starboard side, lunged for the Autopilot "off" button and yanked the wheel just as we scraped.  More lead gone, but I think my boat is tough enough for that.  I will have her pulled in Norfolk for cleaning and that will give me a chance to make double sure and to have my lead divots filled.

Chesapeake Harbour Marina

I cannot emphasize enough how difficult the crew situation was.  At times I was simply flabergasted, at others I had a pit in my stomach with anxiety when I was letting him have his way, and at times I feared that if we deviated from his way he would explode (which he did not do).  I allowed the situation by capitulating even when I knew better.  There is often two ways to do something on a boat, but if I have thought through the situation, read about it online and in books, and I have made a plan I need to stick with it.  I give in because I need crew and want to accommodate people, but I think I cannot do that.

Merchant Island, August 2016

One of many lists

This to-do list is from a page in our ship's log.  It is the list of projects and things to buy and figure out between trips 3 and 4.   We leave for trip 4 at 4:30AM tomorrow.

First three trips

We have now been the boat twice as a family, in June and July, and before that I had gone out in May just to get a grip on things.  It takes a while to get a grip on it all.  We have come to figure out that our favorite spots are anchorages at the little islands south of Stonington.  We are also figuring out that the less we try to fit in a day, the happier we are.

Possibly the most important endorsement is that the kids are looking forward to going back to the boat for our third 10-day trip of the summer.