The Blue View - Staying Afloat

 

There was a news item a few days ago about an experienced lobster man who fell overboard, and stayed afloat for 12 hours without benefit of a PFD. Apparently, he was pulling on the handle of a heavy cooler, trying to move it, when the handle suddenly broke, and he fell over the side. He resurfaced and watched his boat slowly motoring away, while he slowly drifted out to sea.

He was eventually spotted by a Coast Guard helicopter about 40 miles from where he had fallen in, and he was plucked out of the ocean by a rescue swimmer. These are the guys that jump into the ocean from a helicopter, swim over to people in distress, calm them down, hook them up to a harness, and assist in hoisting them up into the helicopter. In this world, there are many people who routinely risk their lives in selfless attempts to save others. All are real heroes in my book, but rescue swimmers are right up at the top of my list.

It's interesting to learn how the lobster man managed to stay afloat for 12 hours. He was wearing tall rubber boots. He removed them, dumped the water out, and turned them upside down. Then he pushed them down into the water. Being upside down, they held the air. He held one under each of his arms, and lodged the soles of the boots in his armpits. Absolutely brilliant. Instead of panicking, he figured out a clever way to make water wings.

I wonder if he was a former navy guy. When I was a boy, I wanted to join the Navy and sail around the world. I couldn't wait to graduate from high school, so I could enlist. When I did, the Navy had other plans, and I never spent one day aboard a ship. But even though I wasn't destined to sail anywhere courtesy of the U.S. Navy, I did get some “survival at sea” training in boot camp.

They first made sure we could swim and tread water. Then we were taught how to jump off sinking ships and how to improvise flotation devices. Most navy sailors don't wear boots, but it turns out that trousers work almost as well. Did you ever wonder why U.S. Navy trousers are bell bottoms? It was never a style statement. Bell bottoms are much easier to remove over the shoes, especially when wet, than traditionally cut trousers. Once removed, you tie a knot in the end of each leg, swing them over your head to inflate them with air, then hold the waist closed to make a rudimentary flotation device. It's not great, but sufficient to give you just enough buoyancy to survive.

On board Nine of Cups we know that if one of us goes overboard on a passage, unless the other person is right there watching when it happens, the chances of being found are pretty remote. Having a PFD or being able to fashion an improvised flotation device will make very little difference in the outcome. There won't be any rescue divers or helicopters to look for us a thousand miles offshore.

Instead, we work hard at staying on the boat. We wear PFDs with built in harnesses when the weather is rough or if one of has to leave the cockpit when alone on watch. We use tethers with the harnesses to keep ourselves attached to the boat. If the weather is really bad, neither of us leaves the cockpit without the other watching.

So far, so good. Neither of us has had to see whether inflating our pants really will keep us afloat or for how long. And we plan to keep it that way. Hence, the reason I never pee overboard when I'm alone on watch. (#1 reason for men to fall overboard!)

The Blue View - Storms at Anchor

 

Before we moved aboard Nine of Cups and were just learning the basics about sailing and cruising, we frequently chartered boats in the Caribbean. We could afford to do it more frequently if we did our chartering off season when the rates were lower. The lowest rates were during hurricane season. We rationalized that the odds of a hurricane occurring where we were during any 10 day period were quite low and worth the risk.

The odds caught up with us one summer while we were chartering a sailboat in the British Virgin Islands. The charter company had us move the boat into a secure marina on Virgin Gorda, and we battened her down and stayed aboard as Hurricane Bertha moved over the area. It was quite the adventure as the wind shrieked, coconuts flew past like cannonballs and trees were uprooted. We saw it as a positive experience. After all, we had the opportunity to experience some of the worst weather mother nature has to offer in a semi-sheltered environment, and even though we did everything we could to look after and protect the boat, it still belonged to someone else. In the end, the boat was just fine and the charter company even gave us a credit towards another bareboat charter.

Now that we live aboard our own boat, we stay well clear of the hurricane/typhoon/cyclone regions when they are in season. We have had some near misses as a few of these cyclonic systems wandered out of their usual areas, but we have, so far, managed to avoid a direct hit.

Storms and gales are a different matter. In a recent Blue View, I talked about encountering storms at sea and how we prepare for them. For every gale or storm we've encountered at sea, however, we have seen many more while anchored. Two of these actually had hurricane force winds in excess of 64 knots (119 km/hr or 74mph). Just as at sea, it is important to be prepared for a storm while anchored. For us, the preparation starts with knowing what to expect and having the right gear aboard to begin with, followed by the steps we take to prepare Nine of Cups for a blow.

First in importance is what the weather is going to do. Which direction(s) will the wind come from and how strong will it be. Will it be primarily from one direction or will it swing around? If the forecast is wrong, are there contingency plans? Take a look at the local topography. Are there notches in the hills or mountains surrounding the anchorage? These will often funnel the wind and it will be much more intense there. Look at the trees – are they bent in one direction in certain areas? That's a good sign of where the wind will be the strongest. Check the chart. Is it best to anchor in the middle of an anchorage with lots of swinging room or would it be better to find a tight little cove to tuck into? Maybe the anchorage is just too risky, too open, or the holding is not good – it might be better to head out to sea and weather the storm offshore.

Just as important is having the right ground tackle. We have the biggest anchor our bow roller will handle, a 110 pound (50kg) Bruce anchor. This is more than twice the recommended size for our size boat. The extra 50 or 60 pounds it adds to the weight forward is minor compared to the weight of the 300 feet (90m) of chain we carry in the chain locker. If we are expecting a big blow, we add a second anchor in series with our Bruce for even more holding power.

There are two philosophies regarding the placement of anchors in series. Some feel that it is best to put the big anchor down first and shackle the second, smaller anchor to the anchor chain 20 feet (6m) or so closer to the boat. The second anchor acts more like a weight or chum on the chain and greatly increases the holding power of the main anchor. The second philosophy is to attach the small anchor to the main anchor with 20 feet (6m) or so of chain so that it extends beyond the main anchor and sets first. The primary anchor is still the main holding force, while the second anchor adds to its holding power. We use a 35 pound Danforth as our secondary anchor. We have tried both methods and have not had issues with dragging with either method. We prefer the latter method however, and have used it many more times.

An important part of the ground tackle is the snubber we use with an all chain anchor rode. It's such an important issue, I wrote an entire blog post on the subject. We have a 5/8” (16mm), three-strand, 60 feet (18m) long line that we use as our heavy duty snubber. We attach it in any kind of bad weather, but especially for the “batten the hatches, lash everything down, take the seasick medicine” kind of weather. When I secure the snubber to the cleat, I leave several feet of line between the bitter end and the cleat. In a storm, the snubber will sometimes start chafing against the bow roller. I check on it frequently, and if it shows any signs of chafe, I let out some of the extra line to prevent the snubber from chafing through.

Depending on the anchorage, this is often all we need to keep Cups safely anchored. If the anchorage is small and/or there is limited swinging room, we sometimes run lines ashore. We use heavy 3/4” (18mm) line, and carry two, 300' (90m) lengths. Polypropylene is good for this purpose. It floats, so towing it ashore in the dinghy is easier, and it is quite chafe resistant. Since we may be attaching to rocks ashore, we also have two 15 foot (5m) lengths of chain with shackles on board.

The procedure to run the lines ashore takes a little practice. We first deploy the dinghy and flake the line out on the aft deck. We pass one end through an aft hawse hole and tie it to the dinghy. Then we drop the anchors and set them, and attempt to back Cups up towards the shore, deploying more chain as needed. When we get as close as we can, I hop into the dinghy and tow the end of the line towards shore while Marcie feeds the line out. I find a place to go ashore and then secure the line to a stout tree or large rock. If there is any chance of chafing the line on the rock, I wrap a length of chain around the rock, shackle the ends together, and attach the line to the chain. The end of the line on the boat is wrapped around a winch, and we use the winch to pull the boat towards shore. Often, we then run another line to shore from the other side of the boat. By winching in the lines and letting out more chain, we can get the boat quite close to shore, often in some tiny cove that is completely protected. When we are all set, we attach the snubber.

Fortunately, we were alone in the anchorage the first time we tried this. I've left out the part about how I kept the dinghy from drifting away as I tried to clamber up those mossy, slippery rocks, dragging two hundred feet of line and carrying 15 feet of chain wrapped around my neck. It took us well over two hours of sweating and swearing to get everything just right. After a dozen or so times, however, we were completing the task in about 20 minutes and with hardly any swearing.

We have used this technique in numerous anchorages, especially in Patagonia, Tierra del Fuego and Fiordland, in southern New Zealand. On occasion, we have run as many as four lines ashore, and sometimes we would be so close to shore we needed to avoid the tree limbs. Marcie always enjoys picking flowers without leaving the boat. Often it seemed that there were more gales and storms than good weather. Even when the weather forecast was for good weather, however, there were frequent katabatic winds called williwaws, often generating hurricane force winds for short periods of time and sounding like a railroad train barreling towards us. Neptune, with his endearing sense of humor, usually saw fit to send these to us around 3AM. Being securely tied to shore made these williwaws more of an annoyance rather than a major adrenaline rush.

Once we are as securely anchored as we can be, we pull out our checklist and go through the remaining steps to prepare for the blow. We have one checklist for prepping the boat for a storm at sea and one for prepping the boat at anchor. We have printed copies and keep them both in a notebook under the Nav station. If you would like a copy, email us and we will happily send you an electronic copy. Let us know whether you would prefer a .pdf format or in MS Word format.

Once the storm arrives, if we have any question about the anchor holding or the swinging room, or if our confidence in the anchoring skills of the other boats in the anchorage isn't real high, we stand watch in three hour shifts. We have had a number of near misses by other boats dragging, including one rather large ship. Usually by the second day, if everybody seems to be holding their position and all is well, we will rely on the electronic anchor alarm to alert us if we start dragging, and will go back to a normal sleep schedule. There's usually not much sleep to be had during a storm, at anchor or at sea, but knowing we're as prepared and safe as can be goes a long way towards peace of mind.

The Blue View - Storms at Sea

BVStorm Beaufort Scale

In 1805, a British Naval officer named Francis Beaufort devised a system to standardize the descriptions of wind conditions. He defined 13 wind levels, zero to twelve, ranging from no wind (Force 0) to “winds so strong, no canvas sails could possibly withstand them” (Force 12). According to the Beaufort Scale, Force 10 storm conditions exist when the sustained winds are between 48 and 55 knots (55-63MPH or 89-102 km/h). That's a lot of wind.

In the open sea, along with the wind come huge waves. The wave heights for a Force 10 Storm are immense – 30 to 40 feet (9 to 12.5m), with large patches of foam and considerable tumbling. Often the seas are much more dangerous after the worst of the storm passes. As the wind direction changes, the wave direction starts to change as well, causing confused seas and the occasional rogue wave.

wind speed

Looking back through our passage logs, we have been through five Force 10 storms at sea in our 13 years, and maybe twice that many Force 8 or 9 gales. We saw three storms in the Tierra del Fuego/Cape Horn region, one on a passage from the Chatham Islands to the North Island of New Zealand, and one on a passage to the Cook Islands.

weather chart

With modern weather forecasts, we usually have ample warning of approaching bad weather even at sea. If we are close enough to a safe anchorage, we will head there, otherwise we want as much sea room as possible and try to stay well away from hard things – rocks, islands, and coastlines. As long as we have time to prepare and lots of sea room, Nine of Cups handles the rough weather pretty well. In two of the storms, however, only Force 8 gales were predicted. We didn't properly prepare for a storm, nor did we switch to our storm sails soon enough. In both cases, we sustained damage – once a shredded mainsail, and once a knock-down with a few broken deck fittings and stanchions, a shredded dodger and some lost gear.

tattered sail

While Nine of Cups, if properly prepared, may handle the rough weather in fine form, we both know that the crew is in for an unpleasant, and very long, two or three days. The shriek of the wind and the noise from everything that is banging about, slapping and sloshing is deafening. When off watch, it is difficult to sleep because of the erratic and extreme boat motion. When on watch, especially in the high latitudes, even with layers of clothing and foul weather gear, we are always cold. We are usually seasick, no matter what meds we take. Everything takes twice as long to accomplish because of the pitching and rolling of the boat, and we can be sure of sustaining half a dozen new bruises. Even doing something as mundane as using the head is an ordeal.

Topsides, it is total chaos. We usually remove the dodger and bimini, so there is very little protection in the cockpit. The sea spray and rain are horizontal, stinging our eyes and making it hard to breathe. We have often donned our diving masks and snorkels, just to be able to see anything. We use safety harnesses, of course, and clip ourselves to the boat, even in the cockpit. If it becomes necessary to leave the cockpit to attend to some problem, even though we take every precaution, it is still dangerous. The harness and jackline may save our lives, but it won't prevent us from getting hurt, and we're invariably totally drenched by the time we make it back to the relative safety of the cockpit.

If anything can be seen, it is the towering waves rushing towards the boat. We can't help but recall all the stories we've read about boats being pitch-poled or rolled, and can't imagine how the boat can possibly survive that next really big wave. But it does, and then the next one and the one after that. We try to focus, instead, on all those other stories we've read, about crews, fearful for their lives, that sent out Mayday calls and were rescued, only to learn that their boats were found a few days or weeks later, floating along peacefully and totally undamaged.

calm seas

Then, when the storm has passed, the winds have calmed down to a relatively calm 25-30 knots, the seas and seasickness have subsided, and the sun comes out, life is good again. It is always amazing to me how quickly we forget how miserable we were, and how much we appreciate that first fine day following a storm. And at the end of a long passage, what we remember are the wonderful beam reaches, the moonrises, the dolphins leaping in our bow wake and the magnificence of the stars at night. The memory is a funny thing in its subjectivity, and that's a good thing. Otherwise, we would have swallowed the anchor and moved ashore a long time ago.

We have a checklist of things to do when preparing for a storm. We keep a printed copy in a protective cover, stowed in a notebook under the Nav Station. If you are interested in having a copy, you can find it at this link.