This was a very instructive event even for a former researcher into large sailing vessel capsizings who has had a fair amount of salt water pass under him.
I was sailing up around the top of Passamaquoddy Bay thinking that it was as pleasant and nice a sailing day as I could remember seeing. I had just fallen off to a run past Hospital Island when I looked up and saw dark clouds. I watched them for a while and then decided they looked threatening enough to roll up the jib and set the lazy jacks in preparation for taking down the main. I got the port side set up and then thought to flip up my sunglasses and realized that it wasn't nearly as dark or threatening as it looked. The wind was actually going down and the sky was white and bright under clouds that were rapidly looking less threatening. I was going to be taking the main down soon anyway to go into Digdeguash so I left the lazy jacks set on the one side.
I had just been settled back at the helm for a couple minutes when I looked back upwind and saw a little circular wisp of spray rushing across the water. The only thing I have seen like it before was sailing close under the approach path at Logan Airport and seeing the wing tip vortex from a heavy jet hit the water. It was the same kind of small whirlwind lifting spray into the air as it rushed across the water. Other than that little bit of spray that I easily could have missed, everything looked benign.
I uttered a very nautical and traditional explictive, hit the starter, threw the engine into gear, released the main sheet, and sprang for the halyards in one motion. There were salmon pens just to leeward so running off was not an option.
I had the main about 3/4 down when it hit. It was an absolute wall of wind. None of that twitchyness that tells you a gust is coming, no detectable ramp up in velocity, just instant transition from gentle breeze to the strongest wind I have seen in Strider and probably the strongest that I have ever seen afloat that was not accompanied by thunder and lightning. The sea was instantly white with blown foam. With main alone fully eased and the sail half way down, Strider was rail down. The heel was so great that the wind was blowing the sail back up the mast and I was pulling the sail down against it. The leward lazy jacks were the ones that weren't set so the sail was thundering out to leeward. I got it down and the head secured. It took nearly full power to push the bow up and around into the wind. That blew the sail over against the lazy jacks I had set so it was a simple matter to set up the others and pull in the reefing pendants to secure the sail. I was then able to start motoring downwind around the salmon pens for the lee of the Digdeguash islands.
The boat felt strangely sluggish as I motored up into the anchorage. As I settled down after getting the anchor out and the sail stowed, I saw why. The dinghy was filled with water up to the thwarts. There wasn't a drop of rain connected with this event so I must have come very close to losing her.
Years ago, I was arguably one of the world's leading researchers and experts into the subject of stability and capsizing of large sailing vessels. I've heard lots about white squalls, of course, but never really sure that they were something that existed independent of lack of attention and watchfullness on the crew's part. Now, I know. I could have easily missed that one little bit of spray and there were no other indications of what what was coming out of what looked to be a rapidly improving sky. If I had been caught flat footed, which easily could have happend, I'm sure the boat would have suffered some significant damage.
I was sailing up around the top of Passamaquoddy Bay thinking that it was as pleasant and nice a sailing day as I could remember seeing. I had just fallen off to a run past Hospital Island when I looked up and saw dark clouds. I watched them for a while and then decided they looked threatening enough to roll up the jib and set the lazy jacks in preparation for taking down the main. I got the port side set up and then thought to flip up my sunglasses and realized that it wasn't nearly as dark or threatening as it looked. The wind was actually going down and the sky was white and bright under clouds that were rapidly looking less threatening. I was going to be taking the main down soon anyway to go into Digdeguash so I left the lazy jacks set on the one side.
I had just been settled back at the helm for a couple minutes when I looked back upwind and saw a little circular wisp of spray rushing across the water. The only thing I have seen like it before was sailing close under the approach path at Logan Airport and seeing the wing tip vortex from a heavy jet hit the water. It was the same kind of small whirlwind lifting spray into the air as it rushed across the water. Other than that little bit of spray that I easily could have missed, everything looked benign.
I uttered a very nautical and traditional explictive, hit the starter, threw the engine into gear, released the main sheet, and sprang for the halyards in one motion. There were salmon pens just to leeward so running off was not an option.
I had the main about 3/4 down when it hit. It was an absolute wall of wind. None of that twitchyness that tells you a gust is coming, no detectable ramp up in velocity, just instant transition from gentle breeze to the strongest wind I have seen in Strider and probably the strongest that I have ever seen afloat that was not accompanied by thunder and lightning. The sea was instantly white with blown foam. With main alone fully eased and the sail half way down, Strider was rail down. The heel was so great that the wind was blowing the sail back up the mast and I was pulling the sail down against it. The leward lazy jacks were the ones that weren't set so the sail was thundering out to leeward. I got it down and the head secured. It took nearly full power to push the bow up and around into the wind. That blew the sail over against the lazy jacks I had set so it was a simple matter to set up the others and pull in the reefing pendants to secure the sail. I was then able to start motoring downwind around the salmon pens for the lee of the Digdeguash islands.
The boat felt strangely sluggish as I motored up into the anchorage. As I settled down after getting the anchor out and the sail stowed, I saw why. The dinghy was filled with water up to the thwarts. There wasn't a drop of rain connected with this event so I must have come very close to losing her.
Years ago, I was arguably one of the world's leading researchers and experts into the subject of stability and capsizing of large sailing vessels. I've heard lots about white squalls, of course, but never really sure that they were something that existed independent of lack of attention and watchfullness on the crew's part. Now, I know. I could have easily missed that one little bit of spray and there were no other indications of what what was coming out of what looked to be a rapidly improving sky. If I had been caught flat footed, which easily could have happend, I'm sure the boat would have suffered some significant damage.
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