November 1 to 7, 2009

Monday, November 9, 2009

I am sitting at anchor in St. George's Harbor, Bermuda . . .  happy to be  safe and out of the weather for a few days. The 640 mile voyage from Newport took just 4 and a half days, but was an experience worthy of a lifetime. Let me start at the beginning, as we prepared the boat in Newport.

The Crew

The auto-pilot was not going to get fixed, so we would be hand steering all the way to the Caribbean. That’s okay and actually better for it allows each crew member to take a more active role voyage, but it would require more hands than just Julie and I. Four hands are ideal, for it gives each crew member a 2 hours trek at the wheel that then allows each of us 6 hours off. The watch schedule remains the same each day, allowing each crew member to get into a routine.

We were fortunate to find a young couple in their mid-twenties who would join us for the trip to Bermuda and on to the Virgin Islands in the Caribbean. Both recent college graduates, this trip was a chance to advance their off shore cruising skills and experience before entering the corporate world. Rob, a graduate from Wentworth in Boston in construction management, has sailed on his family's 32-ft sloop out of Westport, CT for years. Emily Slocum, who graduated this spring from Simmons,  grew up in Castine, Maine comes from a long line of sailors. Both were eager and had the qualifications we wanted, some boating experience, and the ability and disposition to deal with our two kids. They spent two days with us on board Searcher in Newport Harbor the week before departure to see if we were compatible. We were. The couple were kid approved right away.

We spent two weeks in Newport, on a borrowed mooring near Fort Adams, exploring the town, shopping and fixing things. On the day before departure we moved into the slips at Newport Yachting Center, took on fuel and water, and connected up with the other yachts and crews that were heading to Bermuda. To give my family a feeling of community and some level of security in the trip south, we joined Hank Schmitt’s NARC (North Atlantic Rally to The Caribbean). Hank, a professional yacht captain has been delivering Swan charter boats between New England and the Caribbean each fall and spring for the past ten years. To recruit crews he started SailOPO, (Offshore Passage Opportunities), a website that matches boats and captains with sailors who want off shore experience. We found Rob and Emily through SailOPO.  His Swan delivery service has also expanded to now include  private yachts, their owners and crews who  can now join the flotilla from Newport for the trip south. There were 30 boats in the fleet this year, from 60 to 32 feet in length, many making the trip for the first time. Safety in Numbers? Joining Hank’s Rally provided us with weather briefings, discount dockage, t-shirts, and the opportunity to socialize, network with fellow cruisers to discuss problems and share experiences. I’d also hoped that joining would network us with other families, but our boat was the only one with kids. The social hours and dinners Hank hosted (paid for in our entry fees) allowed us to network and meet some amazing characters, circumnavigators, professional skippers, boat owner and others who would be spending the winter in the islands.

The Weather

Our scheduled departure for Bermuda was to be Sunday, November 1,  at noon, weather permitting, but before leaving there was provisioning to do, fuel and water to take on, cars to drop off, things to fix, oil to change, gear to stow below, dinghies and bikes  to secure on deck. I volunteered Searcher as the fleet’s Communication Boat. Each day at noon, I would initiate and manage the daily radio net. Each boat reporting in with their position, weather, sea state and any issues of concern. This would gave me the opportunity to listen to the stories that would  unfolded as the week progressed and the fleet spread-out over the route.

On Sunday morning, November 1, Hank held a weather briefing at the Newport Yacht Club, with Susan Genett from Real Weather, a professional meteorologist from Newport who has advised the fleet in the past. The weather was unsettled and uncertain leading to a great deal of discussion and individual decision-making.

The was a larger low pressure center moving north east of Bermuda sending strong NE winds and swells over the northern portion of our course to Bermuda. The NE winds’ over the Gulf Stream on Monday night were expected to create rough conditions, so a delay of a day was on option. But a front moving off the coast toward the end of the week would create strong winds and high seas from the NW. “Take your lumps at the beginning or at the end . . . “ said Murray, a burly and outspoken Aussie skipper, a veteran delivery skipper who was steering a Swan south for his umpteenth time. The gathering of 80 eager men and a few women The consensus was to delay . . .three hours. I and a handful of other skipper elected to depart a day later, Monday morning. A few skippers left immediately. At 3 PM that Sunday, the majority of the 30 boats headed out . . . took a beating with winds on the beam to 40 knots. It was a rough night, but fast. Most arrived at the Gulf Stream on Tuesday night, some hoved-to waiting for the wind to abate. We departed Monday morning at 9 AM, with gray overcast skies and a raw NE wind blowing at 25 knots, increasing to 30+ by afternoon. The kids were fine for a time, then sea sickness slowly took over, and were sick for 24 hours. Even I had to give up my breakfast, and attach a spot to behind my ear, but by Tuesday morning everyone on board had their sea legs.

We crossed the gulf Stream Tuesday night, in a northerly wind without even knowing we were in the Stream, other than  the temperature.

Thursday was delightful  sailing in southerly winds . . .

Thursday afternoon , a bank of ominous clouds appeared from the north over our stern., announcing the arrival of a cold front. A squall hit the boat at dark, and we took a knock down, the boat heeling over so the lee deck was awash. “Go with it . . . “ I yelled to Rob who was at the wheel. “Don’t fight it. Run with it.”  Searcher recovered, righting herself as the squall moved away, but the damage had been done. When I came on watch a little while later, I noticed the wheel handled differently. The steering was sloppy, the wheel took more turns to be effective. I called Rob back on deck to take the wheel while I dove below to inspect the steering cables, and the quadrant that is attached to the rudder post. Sure enough, the cables had jumped off the pulley guides and jammed between the shives and the brackets. I told Rod to hove to, which took some explaining as he’d never done this before, but within a few minutes the boat was stopped, and bobbing gently in the swells. It took Rob and I, with Julie holding the flash light, three hours to get the cables un-wedged from the pulley brackets and back into the grooves. In the process we stressed the cables and broke a few of the cable strands, but we were back under sail and able to continue.

The NW winds that came with the passage of the front began to build throughout the night and into Friday. Our last day at sea on this leg of our voyage was something to write home about, which I am. By morning the winds were blowing 30 to 35 knots with higher gusts. We were running with a small staysail forward of the mast and a similar size of the main sail rolled out and vanged down to prevent a jibes. These two sails balancing the boat, and yet provided driving force to keep us at 8+ kts in near 30 knots of wind.  Fortunately, by hovering-to the previous night we had drifted East of our course, putting us in a better position on our down wind run to Bermuda. That course put us in the  “slot.” In heavy winds a boat can run downwind ten degree to the left or right of dead-downwind. This wind angle was enough keep pressure on the sails keeping the boat from jibing, or rounding up --  both dangerous and unwanted events. This places tremendous demands on the helmsmen, for steering is critical to stay in the slot. Add to this the fact that throughout the day the NW swells continued to build. At first, the 10 and 14 foot waves were fun to play with, sending Searcher sliding down their surfaces with a burst of speed to 10 to 12 knots. The crew shouting out with delight at the acceleration. But as the afternoon wore on the seas built to 20 to 30 feet, some rough waves reaching 40 feet, white foam beards covered their cresting tops. These were the dangerous ones. As they came up under Searcher’s stern . . . you could feel the  boat lifting, tilting, as the wave  advanced. Searcher began to slide down the face of the wave, picking up speed . . . Rob, my 26 year old crew who stood at the helm all afternoon shouting off the speed on the GPS . . . “12 Knots, 14 knots, 16 knots.”  Searcher was in her element, but nearing her upper limits. A broach could flatten her if the crest of  wave caught us, forced the stern side-wise. That happened once: while Rob fought for control, water boiling along the decks, slopping into the cockpit. The boat recovered, the water drained from the decks and the cockpit as the next wave hurried us along. I rushed to the companion way, as the boat righted itself at the bottom of the wave. “Rob . . . Let’s not do that again,” I said in a voice most stern. It was the seriousness in my voice that told the crew we were beyond having fun, and that the conditions we were in were dangerous.

I remained in the companion way watching astern as each wave advanced on  our stern, coaching Rob. A savvy sailor, this was his first real gale and off shore passage as helmsmen. As each wave passed under us, lifting us 20 to 30 feet in the air, the entire ocean was spread before us . . . . a landscape of a undulating hills and valleys that reminded me of the rolling English  countryside . . .  only these hills were moving, fast, rising and falling, chasing us south.  The scene was flecked with whitecaps as the larger waves broke and collapsed, leaving behind a white and light blue pool that looked at first like shallow water. The afternoon wore on. The size of the waves now became our major concern, for should the steering cables jam again, or break, or a wave break over our stern we could very well end our adventure then and there.

Twenty miles out I call Bermuda Harbor Radio on the VHF to alert them of our approach. This is always a reassuring part of the voyage, for it marks the beginning of the end of the trip. Bermuda Harbor Radio acts like a flight controller at an airport, lining up the boats, recording information on each yacht, advising on the weather and clearing in procedures.  Searcher has been to Bermuda before, so a lot of her information was on file, shortening our conversation. “Call us again  when you pass  Mud Flats buoy . . .”  said the kind voice from Bermuda.

As darkness came the winds began to moderate. The wind indicator no longer read in the 30s and the breaking seas were fewer. The danger passed as the night came on.  With darkness we could now see the loom of Bermuda’s lights illuminating the low clouds that hung over the horizon. Safety was head.  Now, the issue was to skirt the reefs that extend out from Bermuda for miles, marked only by a few lighted beacons then thread the narrow entrance to the port of St. George's. Bermuda is well marked with two prominent light houses, St. David’s Head and Gibbs  Hill, but the first light we saw was the rotating white and green beacon from the airport.

We jibed twice to clear the reefs, then slid past  XXXXXX light which  marks the northern most extent of the reefs, past Kitchen Shoals to the Spit Buoy that marks the entrance to Town Cut, a narrow cliff lined channel into St. George's Harbor.  As we came into the lee of the reefs, the seas flattened, but the wind was still blowing 25 knots. The issue now was to pick out the navigational lights that marked the channel and entrance through Town cut. I’d been this way a dozen times, but never at night, so my anxiety level was still high. The wind came around on our bow as we made the turn into the channel, Rob and Emily fought to bring down the staysail and secure it. On came the engine, as we lined up with red and green lights that show the way into the harbor. I called Harbor Radio on the VHF, telling them that with this wind and a tired crew I did not feel it prudent to come alongside the Customs dock to clear in, but would prefer to anchor out and clear in tomorrow, and that’s what we did, 4 and a half days out of Newport, Rhode Island. It was 9:30 in the evening that the boat stopped moving. We shed our foul weather suites, life jackets and harnesses, came below to a warm and dry cabin and broke out the Champagne. The kids, who had spent most of the day below, were talking and swinging from the overhead hand-holds, glad to be out of the wild weather.  We were all relieved to be out of the winds and the weather, safe, and at rest.

It’s been five days now since we arrived in Bermuda. I’m still emotionally exhauster and not ready to go back out to sea again, especially not in the winds we’ve had the past few days. Others who shared the adventure also admit to needing time to recover.

In 1987, I rode out Hurricane Emily here in Bermuda on Afaran, my 41-foot Lord Nelson cutter. Following the three hours of 100-knot winds that took the entire island by surprise, and the wreckage that ensued, fellow cruisers and I experienced a similar need for companionship and processing. We bonded as a community, sharing meals each evening, reliving the details of our respective experiences, as we began to heal, spiritually.

We go to sea for the experiences each voyage provides, for it is from these that we see life more clearly. For each encounter with the power and beauty of nature, we also see deeper into our own humanity. We are humbled and from this position we are open to learn from each experience, to take in the message Each voyage provides a riddle for us to solve as we look for the metaphors that help us understand and appreciate the wonder of living.

We’ll remain here in Bermuda, recovering, waiting for another weather window, which does not appear to be opening for at least another few days. In the meantime, we’ll home school the kids, go swimming with the fish, explore the beaches and photograph the colors of this island that sits in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean . . . a magnet to sailors and cruise ships.

David’s Deck Log.

Want to read a more detailed account of the voyage? David has incorporated his deck log notes into a day-by-day, hour-by hour narrative of the voyage.