News Archive
2 August 2006
60.05 N 179.31 W
A murderous storm
My tactics of playing a waiting game paid dividends when I passed between Attu Island and Ostrov Medynn on the Russian side of the Aleutian chain in 12 knots of breeze which lasted a sufficient length of time to take me well clear.
The inevitable calm descended followed by what looked to be three days of good winds. On Sunday, with the boat making 6 knots on a downwind run with the sails goosewinged, I spent the morning doing 'housework' - disinfecting the heads and galley sinks, wiping the floors and generally tidying. Low grey clouds scudding to the east brought a chill wind. I didn't much like the look of them and shortened sail as a precaution. The day had begun bright and blue but by mid-afternoon the light had dimmed to a steely grey and the low clouds moved over us. The seas began to steepen and by 4.00 pm we were in 40 knot winds. Waves built to sheer-faced 25-foot monsters, stampeding before the wind like a hunted herd. Crests were tumbling. I sat up in the cockpit and whilst my trusty Hydrovane steered Barrabas, wave action was slewing the boat so wildly that the headsail was backing. I kept the Hydrovane working and facing backwards to watch the seas, made additional corrections to the steering to take the more aggressive waves stern-on. The wind then shifted quite suddenly. It was not long before the seas became crossed, at times breaking waves colliding almost at right angles to one another. After 25,000 miles, I have not experienced such confused seas.
Three large waves came riding up behind Barrabas forming themselves into a crescent. I adjusted the steering to take the centre wave. My angel was just off. The foaming water got hold of the keel and slewed Barrabas viciously to port. At that moment, the left hand wave forming the crescent broke and smashed in Barrabas's port quarter. The water's grip was murderous. I braced myself in the cockpit and watch in fascinated horror as Barrabas was thrown over, green water rushing over the afterdeck. The massive forces were too much for the rudder cables and the wheel spun freely as they parted. The water tore through the starboard dodger as if it made of wet tissue. Barrabas was spun almost 180 degrees, sails flogging as she turned head to wind.
I immediately fitted the emergency tiller which lives permanently on deck, control lines rigged and run through blocks to the cockpit so that I can control the rudder by pulling down on starboard and port lines. And there I stayed for the next two hours until the storm blew passed. I was reminded of Dr David Lewis when he was dismasted during his famous circumnavigation of Antarctica. He rigged blocks and led lines from the tiller down into the cabin. There is a photograph in his book 'Ice Bird' of Dr Lewis hunched elfin-like, his grizzled face a mask of grim concentration, a tiller control line clenched in each fist.
For once I was grateful for the calm that followed. I had requested 5mm gauge steering cables to be sent out to Honolulu with the idea of replacing the 4mm cables fitted - the additional strength more able to absorb knocks taken by the rudder from ice. I spent most of the day on Monday fitting these which will save me 'time on the ground' in Nome, 475 miles distant.