Anybody get that REO Speedwagon reference? Great band, the favorite of my USAFA doolie year roommate Jim Malaere. Jim was an intensely religious fellow and we didn’t get along too well. That said, he introduced my ignorant 17-year-old ears to REO Speedwagon and for that I’m eternally grateful.
Two nights ago Mother Nature took a shot at putting JollyDogs on the rocks and either hurting or killing one or both of us. The storm that attacked us wasn’t forecast in a way we or many of our sailing companions could understand. There were 8 vessels in the atoll, 3 went to the North side which left them exposed from West, South and East. One remained at the Southeast end of the atoll and so was exposed from the South around to the Northwest. One (let’s call it “vessel A”) went North from that location several miles and was still exposed from the West Northwest around to the Southeast. Three of us moved to an anchorage just South of the Northwest pass, which left exposure from about 160 degrees around to about 300 degrees. The forecast depicted the strongest winds from the East to the Northwest, and we 3 thought we had picked the best spot. What we didn’t know at the time was that we needed a “hurricane hole”, that mythical place that provides protection from wind and waves from all directions.
The waterspout was the first clue of the violence that was about to be visited upon us, but that was Wednesday morning. The day settled down after that and we thought maybe the serious stuff had moved on, but just a bit after dark it blew up from the West leaving about 15 miles of fetch to the far side of the atoll. There were some steady winds from the West in a short portion of the forecast, but they didn’t exceed the upper teens and were only a couple of hours in duration. The other stuff looked like the more dangerous stuff, hence our choice.
Nobody got off easy that night. While the three of us all had to abandon the anchorage to save ourselves and our vessels, vessel A endured the same conditions but was unable to raise their anchor. Their anchor chain had gotten wrapped around a bommie multiple times and they were left on a very short scope. This can result in a broken anchor chain, but luckily they only destroyed the bow roller and narrowly avoided ending up on the beach. The boat at the Southeast end had set two anchors and lost one but the other held. The boats up at the North end had a rough night but the wind remained just far enough to the North that the distant Westerly terrain provided some protection and to our knowledge nobody had to abandon that anchorage.
At the time we were trying to raise our anchor, the first time that is, the waves were occasionally breaking over the bow as I worked to remove anchor chain floats and get the chain on board while directing Isabel’s actions at the helm to avoid excessive tension or slack on the chain. Too much slack and the chain might wrap on a bommie which could result in us dumping the entire anchor/chain system to escape, too much tension and the windlass might rip out of the locker and depart, doing major damage to the boat and possibly seriously injuring me. Judging from how much it was flexing as we got the chain and anchor on board, the bow roller structure saw some extreme loads. Detailed inspections may result in some expensive repairs.
Back in my skydiving days, my pal Jim McChesney fixed me up a big hook knife to Velcro around the main left webbing on my parachute rig. That same hook knife helped me to rapidly cut away anchor chain floats without cutting myself. It was still sharp because I never had to cut tangled parachute lines or risers from around my neck or elsewhere.
The three floats I cut away are probably washed up on the beach somewhere, but they’re like Lay’s potato chips. I can get more.
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