I used to have a 22 ft Catalina with a swing keel. My wife and I had taken it along the Maine coast about 5 hours North of where our mooring is and stayed the night in a nice secluded spot. Next morning we headed back. The weather looked bad but she wanted to get back home so she could sew and work in the garden. Anyway we kept going. The further we got the worse it got, about half way back the waves got very steep. The Honda outboard would push us up over a crest then we would slam back down the other side. The next wave would hit as we were rising. We were in the cockpit and getting soaked from this as blue water came over the bow. As the boat pivoted at the top of a wave the outboard would be out of the water and with no load would scream until the prop went back into the drink. Just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse we went across the mouth of the Kennebec River. The tide was coming in, the river was going out (did I mention I was fairly new to ocean sailing at the time?) The waves became even more steep and very confused, we were getting hit with waves from all sides. Every now and then a wave would hit the motor with enough force to turn it so the boat would start to go in circles. I kept looking at my wife thinking she was going to freak out but she just sat there looking ahead and trying to stay dry. I could not believe how calm she was. Anyway we finally made it back to our mooring. Everything was damp (including my sailing spirit) On the way back home in the car I asked my wife how she kept so calm. She said she kept looking at me and I seamed like I knew what I was doing (talk about misreading someone) and didn’t looked worried so she thought no big deal!!! We sold the Catalina 22 not long after that and bought a bigger boat.
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Surviving A Micro Burst
Two years ago my boat suffered its closest encounter with disaster in many years of cruising. We were approaching our planned evening anchorage at the end of a long sailing day and had to hurry to beat an approaching thunder storm. The primary anchor was set and only moments after backing it down, heavy rain and high winds drove us into the cabin. I was glad that I'd taken care of top side chores prior to reaching the anchorage. The sail cover was well secured, the halyards belayed with the jib halyard wrapped around the roller furled headsail and binoculars, camera, and other cockpit items had been stowed. It wasn't long until the wind shrieked through the rigging. Perched near the companionway and the GPS / sounder combo, depth was noted at 12-13 feet and remaining steady. After watching for a few minutes and confident that we were holding well, I relaxed, taking a seat on the port settee and glanced out the windows to shore where the lights from the shore side cottages were observed, instantly recognizing that we had dragged, the cottage lights were too far away. Without hesitation, I lurched to the cockpit and assessed that we had drug two thirds the way across the bay and had to get the secondary anchor over the side quickly. Fortunately, It was ready for quick deployment. Waiting for the proper scope to pay out offered my first opportunity to take full stock. The wind was fierce and rain pelted and stung my face at first causing me to believe it was hail but there was no ice under my feet, it was rain. The boat was abeam to and straining at the primary anchor rode and heeling 15-20 degrees. The wind rather than off the bow, was off the forward starboard quarter. It seemed from the strain on the anchor rode that while it was dragging, it hadn't broke out. Enough daylight remained to see the rocky shore to leeward, I feared we would be shortly upon it unless successful efforts were made and quick. Not more than thirty feet of rode payed out for the secondary anchor when the wind abated and the dominant part of the micro burst winds moved east. The primary anchor now held and the secondary anchor never came into play having not reached the scope allowed it. This incident motivated me to understand anchor yaw and provide solutions.
Two years ago my boat suffered its closest encounter with disaster in many years of cruising. We were approaching our planned evening anchorage at the end of a long sailing day and had to hurry to beat an approaching thunder storm. The primary anchor was set and only moments after backing it down, heavy rain and high winds drove us into the cabin. I was glad that I'd taken care of top side chores prior to reaching the anchorage. The sail cover was well secured, the halyards belayed with the jib halyard wrapped around the roller furled headsail and binoculars, camera, and other cockpit items had been stowed. It wasn't long until the wind shrieked through the rigging. Perched near the companionway and the GPS / sounder combo, depth was noted at 12-13 feet and remaining steady. After watching for a few minutes and confident that we were holding well, I relaxed, taking a seat on the port settee and glanced out the windows to shore where the lights from the shore side cottages were observed, instantly recognizing that we had dragged, the cottage lights were too far away. Without hesitation, I lurched to the cockpit and assessed that we had drug two thirds the way across the bay and had to get the secondary anchor over the side quickly. Fortunately, It was ready for quick deployment. Waiting for the proper scope to pay out offered my first opportunity to take full stock. The wind was fierce and rain pelted and stung my face at first causing me to believe it was hail but there was no ice under my feet, it was rain. The boat was abeam to and straining at the primary anchor rode and heeling 15-20 degrees. The wind rather than off the bow, was off the forward starboard quarter. It seemed from the strain on the anchor rode that while it was dragging, it hadn't broke out. Enough daylight remained to see the rocky shore to leeward, I feared we would be shortly upon it unless successful efforts were made and quick. Not more than thirty feet of rode payed out for the secondary anchor when the wind abated and the dominant part of the micro burst winds moved east. The primary anchor now held and the secondary anchor never came into play having not reached the scope allowed it. This incident motivated me to understand anchor yaw and provide solutions.
Lightning Strike!
A few years ago I was a bowman on an Endevor 32. We were on the last leg of a race. There was a storm approaching us from the North East. We were heading right into the storm. I have never seen such an ominous horizon, the clouds were green. The storm was between us and the harbor. We decided to drop the sails and set up on an ancor. I had just gotten the ancor over and everything was stored or tied down. The storm gust hit us and everyone was starting to head for the cabin. I looked around to see if the ancor was holding. About that time I heard a loud bang and saw a bright flash. Blue sparks were coming off of the mast and all the electrical equipment on the boat blew! I had not problem heading for the cabin after that. Luckly the mast was grounded well but it didn't save the depth finder, the knot meter, and a few other pieces of equipment. We weathered the rest of the storm fine. After the storm we went back to the Yacht Club. I can't remember a time when I was happier to see the dock.
A few years ago I was a bowman on an Endevor 32. We were on the last leg of a race. There was a storm approaching us from the North East. We were heading right into the storm. I have never seen such an ominous horizon, the clouds were green. The storm was between us and the harbor. We decided to drop the sails and set up on an ancor. I had just gotten the ancor over and everything was stored or tied down. The storm gust hit us and everyone was starting to head for the cabin. I looked around to see if the ancor was holding. About that time I heard a loud bang and saw a bright flash. Blue sparks were coming off of the mast and all the electrical equipment on the boat blew! I had not problem heading for the cabin after that. Luckly the mast was grounded well but it didn't save the depth finder, the knot meter, and a few other pieces of equipment. We weathered the rest of the storm fine. After the storm we went back to the Yacht Club. I can't remember a time when I was happier to see the dock.
Alan, good work on your site.
You mention two things you should have done to help prevent or discover the drag. Setting a second anchor and leaving the GPS on. Did you not have an engine available to take the strain off of your rode? (and a diving mask to save your eyes while under survival conditions)
You mention two things you should have done to help prevent or discover the drag. Setting a second anchor and leaving the GPS on. Did you not have an engine available to take the strain off of your rode? (and a diving mask to save your eyes while under survival conditions)
Fred...
I knew that I didn't have time for a lot of options. I saw two... deploying the secondary anchor which was a claw anchor and ready for immediate deployment and as you suggested, taking some load off the primary anchor by starting the motor. It's amazing how much thought can be packed into a split second when it has to be. I decided to go with the secondary anchor as my first effort because it seemed to me that to go for the motor first, might rule out the other with not enough time and space to get scope out. The motor option would still be a last resort. Once the secondary anchor had taken load... I was mentally prepared to do exactly what you suggested... use the motor to ease the strain. Thanks for the kind words on the web site.
I knew that I didn't have time for a lot of options. I saw two... deploying the secondary anchor which was a claw anchor and ready for immediate deployment and as you suggested, taking some load off the primary anchor by starting the motor. It's amazing how much thought can be packed into a split second when it has to be. I decided to go with the secondary anchor as my first effort because it seemed to me that to go for the motor first, might rule out the other with not enough time and space to get scope out. The motor option would still be a last resort. Once the secondary anchor had taken load... I was mentally prepared to do exactly what you suggested... use the motor to ease the strain. Thanks for the kind words on the web site.
Cherubini 48
Frit, Dave, Rick and Buzz were en route from the Delaware River to Newport in the first Cherubini 48 staysail schooner (the wooden one I built in '81). Halfway up the coast of NJ they started getting headed from NNE and ended up on an increasingly tightening port tack to hold about 60 degrees magnetic (aiming at Montauk). Since this was obviously a northeasterly front, the weather started getting nasty. The lee rail was shipping a pretty good amount of green water-- remember this is one of my dad's boats and they all tend to heel! By about 60 miles offshore it was doing about 25-ft seas and 60-MPH winds. Rick was coming aft and got swamped by a comber and swept over the rail. He was hanging on by the jib sheet and a lifeline. Oh, and of course, no life jackets or harnesses for these guys! At some point he was pretty much away from the boat and the engine was started and the boat brought round for the standard MOB routine. Someone got the bright idea to try to get a line around under his arms and drag him back on, but in so doing the main was left to flog and the mainsheet went overboard and fouled the propeller. Everyone heard this loud whine as the engine took the load and finally a huge ripping sound was heard from the vicinity of the shaft strut. Then there was the frantic tearing-out of all loose gear under the cockpit to get at the imagined gaping hole in the cedar-and-mahogany hull down there. Oh, of course, no liferaft or EPIRBs or even the Avon half-pumped up for emergencies! Only after everyone's blood pressure was raised to heart-attack level was it remembered that the strut was NOT bolted through the hull but merely lag-screwed in blind and adhered with fibreglass mish-mash. The end result was that the shaft was bent about 45 degrees out of true. They could see the prop half sticking out of the water with the strut that had simply sheared off the side of the hull still flopping on it, but the boat was NOT holed and still perfectly capable of making time. Later in that voyage they clocked an incredible 14 kts for extended periods, dragging the bent shaft along under full canvas. The rail stayed down-- at one point Frit woke up and cussed them all out for driving the boat so hard. But as I said to Dave, the boat was made to be sailed. I can't imagine how anyone comes to the conclusion that powering under bare poles in such weather is anything but a total surrender to the boat's inadequacy under sail. Oh and for the Bergstrom-rig fans out there, there were many who said the rig my dad drew for the 48, having NO standing backstay, would topple over before they got even to Cape May. In truth it was (and still is) as stiff as the plywood envelope to which we often likened it. JC 2
Frit, Dave, Rick and Buzz were en route from the Delaware River to Newport in the first Cherubini 48 staysail schooner (the wooden one I built in '81). Halfway up the coast of NJ they started getting headed from NNE and ended up on an increasingly tightening port tack to hold about 60 degrees magnetic (aiming at Montauk). Since this was obviously a northeasterly front, the weather started getting nasty. The lee rail was shipping a pretty good amount of green water-- remember this is one of my dad's boats and they all tend to heel! By about 60 miles offshore it was doing about 25-ft seas and 60-MPH winds. Rick was coming aft and got swamped by a comber and swept over the rail. He was hanging on by the jib sheet and a lifeline. Oh, and of course, no life jackets or harnesses for these guys! At some point he was pretty much away from the boat and the engine was started and the boat brought round for the standard MOB routine. Someone got the bright idea to try to get a line around under his arms and drag him back on, but in so doing the main was left to flog and the mainsheet went overboard and fouled the propeller. Everyone heard this loud whine as the engine took the load and finally a huge ripping sound was heard from the vicinity of the shaft strut. Then there was the frantic tearing-out of all loose gear under the cockpit to get at the imagined gaping hole in the cedar-and-mahogany hull down there. Oh, of course, no liferaft or EPIRBs or even the Avon half-pumped up for emergencies! Only after everyone's blood pressure was raised to heart-attack level was it remembered that the strut was NOT bolted through the hull but merely lag-screwed in blind and adhered with fibreglass mish-mash. The end result was that the shaft was bent about 45 degrees out of true. They could see the prop half sticking out of the water with the strut that had simply sheared off the side of the hull still flopping on it, but the boat was NOT holed and still perfectly capable of making time. Later in that voyage they clocked an incredible 14 kts for extended periods, dragging the bent shaft along under full canvas. The rail stayed down-- at one point Frit woke up and cussed them all out for driving the boat so hard. But as I said to Dave, the boat was made to be sailed. I can't imagine how anyone comes to the conclusion that powering under bare poles in such weather is anything but a total surrender to the boat's inadequacy under sail. Oh and for the Bergstrom-rig fans out there, there were many who said the rig my dad drew for the 48, having NO standing backstay, would topple over before they got even to Cape May. In truth it was (and still is) as stiff as the plywood envelope to which we often likened it. JC 2
Boat is better than I am
I will tell this brief tale mainly because I saw John Cherubini's name here. I have a 1979 Hunter 30. Cherubini designed and built like a tank. Heading for Solomons for my annual sailboat race last May 14th. The sail down the Potomac river was pleasant enough, close hauled, 15 knots, and two foot seas. by the time we got to the mouth of the Bay and had to turn north the wind began to pipe up. Hauling in on the 130 jib, we began to motor sail into the teeth of the wind. By the time we got to Point No Point we had been motoring in the Bay for three hours. Here we made a turn to port and began to reach-run with the waves on the starboard quarter. From this point on there was no turning back. I eased the main sheet, put the engine in neutral, and began a rock and roll ride for the next two hours. Immediately I was doing 6.5 knots under main and working the helm like a madman. At this point I killed the motor and let the boat go to work. The wind had increased to about 30 knots and the waves were at least 7 feet with a two foot curl. Twice the curl boarded the boat. My friend by this time was in the V-berth and I was alone. After a quick prayer, I stayed the course. Two hours later I cruised into Solomons and broke out a bottle of Southern Comfort. This was the second and later that summer a third time that I realized my boat was better at this than I am. As frightened as I was, my Hunter got me home each time. Thanks John!
I will tell this brief tale mainly because I saw John Cherubini's name here. I have a 1979 Hunter 30. Cherubini designed and built like a tank. Heading for Solomons for my annual sailboat race last May 14th. The sail down the Potomac river was pleasant enough, close hauled, 15 knots, and two foot seas. by the time we got to the mouth of the Bay and had to turn north the wind began to pipe up. Hauling in on the 130 jib, we began to motor sail into the teeth of the wind. By the time we got to Point No Point we had been motoring in the Bay for three hours. Here we made a turn to port and began to reach-run with the waves on the starboard quarter. From this point on there was no turning back. I eased the main sheet, put the engine in neutral, and began a rock and roll ride for the next two hours. Immediately I was doing 6.5 knots under main and working the helm like a madman. At this point I killed the motor and let the boat go to work. The wind had increased to about 30 knots and the waves were at least 7 feet with a two foot curl. Twice the curl boarded the boat. My friend by this time was in the V-berth and I was alone. After a quick prayer, I stayed the course. Two hours later I cruised into Solomons and broke out a bottle of Southern Comfort. This was the second and later that summer a third time that I realized my boat was better at this than I am. As frightened as I was, my Hunter got me home each time. Thanks John!
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