[Rhodes22-list] Outer Banks Adventure -- Day 4 of 5

[Robert Quinn]

What a story.  We loved it.  If you sail, it is inevitable that you will 
eventually hit some snags.  You and "sailing buddy" handled it well.

Cheers,

Bob and Kathy on the "NoKaOi"


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "William E. Wickman" <wewickman at duke-energy.com>
To: <rhodes22-list at rhodes22.org>
Sent: Thursday, May 12, 2005 5:25 PM
Subject: [Rhodes22-list] Outer Banks Adventure -- Day 4 of 5


> You will see that I do not have many pictures from this point on.  I was a
> bit preoccupied to be taking pictures.
>
>
> Day 4:  The Longest Day
>
> It is amazing how one little decision can set into motion a series of
> events that change the whole complexion of a trip.  On this morning, we
> finally fixed a real breakfast on board.  OK, so maybe it wasn’t bacon and
> eggs, but the hot oatmeal, bread, fruit cup, and coffee tasted awfully
> good.  The morning weather report sounded pretty good too:  winds from the
> south at 10-15kts., building to 15-20kts late in the day.  Seas offshore
> would be high as predicted the day before, and waves on the Pamlico would
> build to 2-3 feet late in the day.  So a decision was at hand.  Do we
> backtrack up the ICW, or rise to the challenge of navigating up the Core
> Sound.  Looking at the charts, there was a cutover about ¾ of the way up
> the Core Sound to a place called West Bay which is located near the mouth
> of the Neuse River.  We could motor/sail up Core Sound, duck across to 
> West
> Bay and either anchor there or travel on to the Neuse River if conditions
> were favorable and we felt like going on.  You can probably guess what
> decision was made.
>
> Before heading up Core Sound, I wanted to see what 4-6 foot seas were 
> like,
> the current conditions in the Atlantic, so we opted to make a run to
> Beaufort Inlet and poke our nose outside for a taste.  I’m sure the other
> boats in the area thought we must be crazy, a 22 foot sailboat heading out
> into an Atlantic with 6 foot seas, but we were only going out for the 
> photo
> op.  Man, what a difference a couple of feet make!  We didn’t venture far
> past Beaufort Inlet, but the perspective of what a 6 foot ocean wave looks
> like from a 22 foot boat is humbling.  The waves looked more like they 
> were
> 8-10 feet.  Unfortunately, the pictures we took belied their size.  [see
> photo below] It’s strange how they just don’t look as big in a photograph.
> You have to experience first hand to understand.
>
> I will note here that the Rhodes really demonstrated how tough a boat she
> is.  There is no doubt that the Rhodes can handle waves like this.
> Whenever the bow would become awash, what water wasn’t diverted back over
> the sides would flow into the cockpit seats.  The deep channels on the
> cockpit seats would catch almost all of this excess water and quickly
> drain.  Very little water actually made it to the cockpit floor.  The
> flared hulls also did a fabulous job of deflecting waves away from the
> boat.  What got us wet was the wind catching the wave splashes and blowing
> the spray back toward us.  I have heard Stan Spitzer tell of a person who
> asked him if the Rhodes22 could make it to Hawaii.  Stan’s answer, and I
> truly believe it now, was that the boat would make it to Hawaii just fine.
> It’s the crew that would not make it.  Human frailty is the weak link.  It
> is simply a matter of how much physical discomfort a person is willing to
> put up with.
>
> Note to File:  Sailing in ocean swells of 4-6 feet is fun for about 30
> minutes, but not something you want to do for 8 hours straight.
>
> After the short roller coaster ride, we ducked back into the comparative
> calm behind Shackleford Banks and made our way to Core Sound.  After a
> little bickering with Sailing Buddy about where the channel really was, we
> settled into a route that got us safely, albeit not most directly, to the
> southern reaches of Core Sound.
>
> Navigating the Core Sound is not all that difficult per se.  Once you are
> in, provided you have a good chart, it is simply a matter of connecting 
> the
> dots.  You can almost always see two marks at a time which helps you stay
> lined up between them.  A handheld GPS that shows mark locations is also
> very helpful for this purpose.  It is very odd to be in such a large body
> of water and realize that most of it is too shallow to navigate in a shoal
> draft boat like the Rhodes.  Even in the channel, there were a couple of
> times that the rudder or centerboard touch bottom.  No harm here though as
> the bottom is soft mud throughout the area.  It was exhilarating to meet
> the challenge of navigating where few boats venture.
>
> Once in Core Sound, there are long runs in a single direction.  The wind
> and waves were behind us so we put up the sails and ran downwind, surfing
> down the closely spaced waves.  It was interesting how characteristically
> different the waves were on Core Sound than in the open Atlantic. 
> Although
> they were not nearly has high as those in the Atlantic, these waves were
> perhaps more unsettling.  The distance between crests was barely longer
> than the boat, and they seemed steeper and faster moving.
>
> About a quarter of the way up Core Sound, wind and waves began building. 
> A
> bit early relative to the forecast, I thought.  The skies had also clouded
> over to an overcast that dropped the temperatures a bit and cast a gloomy
> pall over the area.  With the building wind and waves, we were began to
> really accelerate down each wave face.  There were several occasions where
> our GPS registered well over 8 knots.  Then it happened.  We broached.  A
> particularly large wave hit the boat in such a way that I lost steerage 
> for
> a moment and the boat abruptly rounded up, dumping Sailing Buddy onto the
> cockpit floor.  He didn’t stay there long, quickly clamoring to the high
> side to stabilize the boat.  He had a wild look in his eyes like a 
> cornered
> wharf rat.  I had forgotten to tell Sailing Buddy that the Rhodes cannot
> capsize under sail.
>
> Broaching is not fun in the best conditions, but I really did not like
> doing it in a narrow channel in Core Sound; a channel whose width at any
> given point is uncertain.  It was time to lower the sail and motor.
> Sailing Buddy didn’t argue.
>
> Note to file:  If the forecast says there will be 2-3 foot seas on Pamlico
> Sound, there will probably be 2-3 foot seas on the Core Sound as well. 
> Due
> to their steepness and close intervals, 2-3 foot seas on these bodies of
> water are more extreme than open ocean waves of even greater size.
>
> We were half way to the cutover point and the wind was now blowing what I
> would estimate to be 15+kts. with gusts well over 20.  The waves continued
> to build, probably 3-4 feet now, and under motor power, we surfed the 
> waves
> and continued to see the GPS reading over 8 knots.  Sailing Buddy pointed
> out that the maximum speed logged in the GPS said that our max speed
> reached 22 knots at some point.  I think it registered that value when the
> GPS flew out of his hands when we broached.  Nevertheless, we were flying.
> I was glad that we didn’t have to motor directly into these waves.  Yes,
> they were only a few feet high, but their close interval was just like the
> infamous Pamlico Sound waves that I had heard described.  I was beginning
> to look forward to getting off the sound and into some calmer waters. 
> Then
> Murphy’s Law struck.  If something bad is going to happen, it is going to
> happen at the worst possible moment.
>
> Sailing Buddy was at the helm the moment we heard a loud “POP” and then 
> all
> hell broke loose.  The connection of the rudder to the lower gudgeon had
> failed and caused the rudder to flop and swing wildly with no control.  Of
> course, the first place the rudder went was directly into the engine prop,
> producing a gut wrenching grinding that surely destroyed the prop as well
> as severely damaging the rudder blade.  So, in high winds and difficult
> seas, a sailor’s most dreaded fear (besides sinking) had happened.  We had
> lost steerage.
>
> We both scrambled to the stern, where Sailing Buddy tried to pull the
> rudder away from the prop while I immediately shut the engine down to
> neutral and tried to assess the situation while the boat foundered in 
> those
> dastardly waves.  Fighting the urge to panic, I noted that the upper 
> rudder
> connection still looked intact and the motor prop while bent still looked
> useable.  OK, , in the words of Clint Eastwood in the movie Heartbreak
> Ridge, it was time to adapt, improvise, and overcome.
>
> I pulled the rudder up and the weight of it kept the lower rudder assembly
> up against the lower gudgeon.  Good.  The rudder was stabilized for the
> moment.  But now what?  My Rhodes has the linkage arm that connects the
> motor to the rudder head.  This linkage is very handy for maneuvering the
> boat in tight places, but I generally don’t use it when motoring in open
> areas.  That rule flew out the window and I decided to see if I could 
> steer
> the boat with the rudder pulled up and the linkage attached to the motor.
> While struggling with all these mechanisms, the wind and waves tossed our
> boat around like a leaf in an autumn breeze.
>
> The setup seemed to work and I was able to steer the boat; or more like
> guide the boat.  I gave a minor sigh of relief.  Because the raised rudder
> blade was sticking straight astern, the tiller constantly tried to wrestle
> itself out of my hands.  The linkage to the motor really does not work 
> well
> by itself without the aid of the rudder blade.  The end result was that
> while I could keep the boat moving in the general direction I wanted, it
> was a struggle.  One lapse in concentrated effort and the boat would veer
> ninety degrees off course.  The action of the high wind and waves coming
> from behind did not help matters as each wave did its best to push the
> rudder and round the boat up into the wind.  Add to all this, the fact 
> that
> we were trying to navigate a relatively narrow channel.  The rest of the
> day would be a tense struggle.  I was ready to get off of Core Sound.
> Sailing Buddy perched himself in front of the cockpit, GPS in hand,
> pointing like a bird dog looking for the entrance to a safe harbor.  There
> would be none for several hours.  We both kept waiting for the upper
> gudgeon to break under the constant pressure, which would certainly be the
> final disaster requiring us to consider calling for help.  The day was 
> long
> from over.
>
> (Surveying the damage later, it is interesting to note that the Rhodes
> rudder blade is actually tougher than an aluminum prop.  When the rudder
> blade contacted the prop, the prop was the loser.  There were some scraps
> and gouges on the rudder, but nothing structural or that could not be
> faired out with filler epoxy.  The prop blades, on the other hand, were
> bent back like they were struck by a hammer.  The rudder head has been 
> sent
> to Stan of General Boats for examination and repair.  My examination found
> that the failure occurred in the shearing off of two small screws that
> fastened the piece of plastic that connects the lower rudder head to the
> gudgeon. The top connection on the rudder head was through bolted and 
> never
> came close to failure.  I don’t know why the lower unit was not though
> bolted.  The failure would not have occurred if it had been.  Stan is
> currently replacing all these fittings with stainless steel.)
>
> The sky continued to darken, the waves continued to build, and the wind
> continued to increase.  After what seemed like an eternity, we finally
> turned off of Core Sound into a large bay south of Cedar Island that led 
> to
> the cutover to West Bay.  I had hoped that as soon as we made the turn and
> ducked behind a point of land, that the effect of wind and waves would
> abate, but was disappointed to find that the bay was just as windy with 
> its
> own nasty chop, albeit not quite as bad as Core Sound.  It was with great
> relief that we finally entered the narrow channel that would connect us to
> the southern reaches of West Bay.
>
> The good thing about this man-made channel was that it was protected from
> the waves.  The bad thing was that it was very narrow and very shallow.  I
> think that fatigue played a role in a momentary lapse in focus.  The boat
> strayed a few feet outside the center channel and all of the sudden the
> shoreline stopped slipping past us.  We had run aground.  Strike three.
> How could this happen?  What more could happen?
>
> Running a Rhodes22 aground is not an easy feat.  First, you have to ignore
> the telltale signs of the rudder and/or the centerboard kicking up.  Well,
> my rudder was already raised from the earlier incident, and I had raised
> the centerboard because it seemed to help with my steering under the
> current circumstances.  So there was no warning before we hit bottom.  We
> were in muddy brackish water with a fairly soft bottom so it looked like 
> no
> real damage to the hull would result other than perhaps a few scratches in
> the gel coat.  The worst thing about our predicament was that when the 
> boat
> ran aground, the wind was blowing perpendicular to the boat.  By now, the
> wind was blowing at what felt like 20kts and every gust would roll the 
> boat
> slightly, pushing it further into the shallows.  Initial efforts to motor
> off, and then to kedge were fruitless.  We were not going anywhere.
>
> Both Sailing Buddy and I were by now tired and hungry, not having had the
> time or opportunity to eat during the prior ordeal.  Spirits were pretty
> low at this point; as low as they had been on the entire trip.  Sailing
> Buddy just sat on the bow, dejected, with a muddy anchor in his lap.  I
> felt the best course of action was to take a break, eat something, and
> reassess our predicament.
>
> Getting some food in our bellies and taking a rest break was a good thing.
> Both our spirits rose despite the fact that the tide was still going out
> and wind continued to howl.  But, tuning to the weather on the VHF took 
> the
> air out of our balloons.  A cool air mass with a line of severe
> thunderstorms was expected to move through the area later in the evening 
> at
> around midnight.  Heavy rain with possible hail along with ground striking
> lightening was predicted with wind gusts exceeding 45 to 60 miles per 
> hour.
>
> I started thinking about what 45-60 mph winds would do to a boat sitting
> aground.  I also thought that being aground is more than just being stuck.
> We currently had substantial connection to mother earth with an aluminum
> lightening rod sticking up higher than anything else within several miles.
> Staying on this mud flat until the tide came back up was not a good 
> option.
> Sailing Buddy agreed.  He resumed his position on the bow and started
> throwing the anchor with new zeal.  It looked like it was time to pull out
> the Fortress.  Now if this next passage sounds like an infomercial for the
> Fortress FX7 then so be it.  The Fortress saved us this day.
>
> Until now, we had been tossing the standard GBI issued plastic coated
> anchor in our kedging attempts.  We could throw it out about 8-10 feet, 
> but
> we could never get it to bite hard enough to move or turn the boat.  It 
> did
> hold with some force, but invariably we would pull it back to the boat
> coated with a big ball of mud.  Don’t get me wrong, the GBI danforth 
> worked
> well when we anchored at Cape Lookout and Beaufort, but it was just not up
> to the task at hand.  We had considered wading out into the channel or
> inflating the dinghy and rowing the anchor out, but neither of us were too
> eager to leave the mother ship.  Enter the Fortress.  Being lighter, we
> were able to throw it out a few feet farther than the standard danforth.
> And it bit.  It held so well, in fact, that try as he might, Sailing Buddy
> could not pull it back to the boat at all.
>
> What made matters even more frustrating was that there was an excellent
> anchorage just around the bend past the exit to the channel.  We could
> literally see over to it.  The afternoon was turning into evening, but we
> were bound and determined to get off the shoal before dark.
>
> Then an idea hit me.  Why not use the wind to our advantage?  During the
> lulls, Sailing Buddy would cleat off the anchor line and when the gusts
> would rock the boat, the bow would turn ever so slightly.  When the wind
> let up, he would re-cleat the anchor line and wait for the next gust.  And
> so it went, inch by inch, the bow began to move.  I cranked the engine 
> back
> up, and the combination started moving us off the shoal inch by inch, then
> foot by foot.  We were off!!  Our spirits soared.
>
> We wasted no time motoring around to the anchorage.  It was fairly wide,
> but well situated.  There were only a few hundred yards to the windward
> shore so despite the high winds, the waves were not bad.  We had 6 to 8
> feet of water depth; what seemed like a luxury.  We set both the Fortress
> and the GBI danforth with as much rode as I had, +/- 140 feet (about a 
> 15:1
> scope) and prepared the boat for the oncoming storm.
>
> As evening drew long shadows and finally dusk, we found ourselves actually
> quite cozy in our cabin.  The boat rode quite well on the anchors and only
> rocked slightly.  The boat was doing fine.  Sailing Buddy, on the other
> hand, looked a little wild.  [see picture below, not quite the same face 
> as
> on day one!]  We enjoyed a nice warm meal and finished it off with a hot
> cup of herbal tea.  Although we were well stocked with beer, wine, and 
> rum,
> we dare not partake for concern that we might need all of our wits later
> that night.  Sailing Buddy thought me foolish and wasteful, but I insisted
> that I take my bottle of Mt. Gay rum on deck and pay homage to Neptune and
> request his mercy in the upcoming storm.  So outside I went and poured a
> drink into the water for Neptune, and not wanting Neptune to drink alone, 
> I
> then took a long draw on the bottle myself.  I didn’t know if it would
> actually work, but it sure made me feel better.
>
> Exhausted from the days activities, we relaxed and listened to music while
> in the background the rigging outside made music of its own.  The food and
> comfort of the cabin finally overcame and we began to doze.  We were not
> too concerned about anchor watch because 1) there was no lee shore (we 
> were
> backed up to West Bay which backed up to Pamlico Sound, and 2)  I already
> had all the ground tackle that I owned deployed so there was really 
> nothing
> more I could do.  We decided to set our alarm to check every hour or so
> anyway.  Well we didn’t really need the alarm.  The storm served that
> purpose.
>
> We were safe and dry in our cabin when it hit; torrential rains, but no
> hail; thunder and lightening but no hits near the boat; and heavy winds 
> but
> the anchor held fast.  I guess Neptune likes Mt. Gay.  I took another swig
> before going back to sleep.  The next morning we found ourselves fully
> intact in the same spot.  Weathering the storm seemed like the easiest
> thing we had had done over the past 24 hours.
>
> Another pitch for the Fortress.  When we broke out the anchors the next
> morning, the regular danforth broke out rather easily.  The Fortress, on
> the other hand, was really stuck and took some time and effort to break
> loose.  It was the Fortress that really gave us the holding power, and it
> was clear that the Fortress did the lion’s share of holding us through the
> storm.  We did not drag so much as a foot!
>
> It was now time to recharge ourselves for the final leg back to homeport.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Pictures of Atlantic waves at Beaufort Inlet.  You can see the channel
> markers in the distance.
>
> (See attached file: Atlantic2.jpg)(See attached file: Atlantic1.jpg)
>
>
> Sailing Buddy waiting for the storm:
> (See attached file: Sailingbuddy.jpg)
>


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