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

[Peter Thorn]

Bill,

No true adventure is complete without meeting adversity's challenge.  So
now, I guess your's is truly a great adventure.  Congratulations on
surviving your de-steering mishap and overcoming the grounding with your
perseverance and wits!  Thank you also for taking the time and effort to
chronicle this for us.  It is a great storey.

I am wondering about a few things:  Where exactly did the rudder fail?
After reading about day 4, I  inspected Raven's ('88) rudder.  The pintles
on the rudder head have a single through bolt (forward) and, on each side
(aft), machine screws into the plastic cheeks.  The latter does not encroach
into the gap between the plastic cheeks.  Is this the same setup on your
boat and, in your now seasoned opinion, is there a "beefing up" preventative
maintenance issue that perhaps others should address on their boats?  Did
the through bolt snap?  Was that the cause of the problem?  I presume the
gudgeons (the parts on the transom) did not fail.  Does anyone know - how
can you determine if a bolt if about to fail?

Do you know about the BoatUS Trailering Club and do you carry their
insurance?  If so, did you consider calling BoatUS on VHF 16 when your
grounding happened?   In our limited two years of cruising experience, that
insurance has paid for itself each year with highway flat tires and  "stuck
over ramp edge" towing services.  So far I haven't needed help on the water
(knock on wood).  However, I understand they are quite good.  Not exactly
sure what a service call costs - I think they pay the first $150.

Can't wait for your next issue.  Thanks again for writing it up.

PT











----- 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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