Captain calamity

Matt Bourke signs on as long-term crew... but soon changes his mind

A crew regret signing on for a long term voyage when they realise the skipper doesn’t have a clue

Iwas in Turkey and heard about Arnold, an older skipper who had a 45ft fibreglass long-keel cutter that he wanted to sail to Australia (my homeland) via Gibraltar and the Panama Canal. From the start, some things didn’t feel right, but I didn’t have much experience to fall back on, so I continued my duties and waited for our other crew, Dick from the UK and Helene from Sweden, to arrive.

Arnold was very late organising all the necessary paperwork and as a result the departure felt rather rushed, but my first truly apprehensive moment came as we left the port where the boat had been residing for quite a while. I allowed the wind to push us off the quay, applied power and despite climbing engine revs... nothing happened. I quickly looked over the side and observed our propeller was rotating very slowly, so I made an express trip to the engine room and using my car machinery knowledge deduced the gearbox was empty of oil. I quickly topped it up and off she went. This had come about because during an engine oil change, the pump had drained all the oil from both the engine and the gearbox – something Captain Arnold hadn’t been aware of. An honest mistake – easily remedied.

So we were off! A couple of hours brisk motoring to test the engine saw us safely about 20 miles to the next port. It would have been nice to sail, but upon inspecting the position of our Windex, we realised it wasn't moving... at all. Capt Arnold informed us it was no problem as we didn’t really need one anyway. Cue moment of silence. So, once in port, we, the crew, took the initiative and for the equivalent of r100 got a repairman up the mast to straighten it up.

Next morning we were off for another 30-mile leg. Upon arrival we allowed a local fisherman on board to pilot us to a

vacant wharf. A few hours later the boat had started to bump and grind on the seabed between swells, but Arnold decided that we’d stay in position as it was only minimal, and a sandy bottom.

Bad weather was forecast for the following day, so the next morning, on local advice, we made for a small sheltered cove about seven miles away. Which is where the real trouble began...

Halfway there the wind had achieved a brisk Force 6 with 1-1.5m seas. “Perfect! Let’s get some canvas up!” chorused Helene, Dick and I.

Not so captain Arnold. He told us in the interest of crew safety he would not raise sail in such dangerous conditions.

We were gobsmacked! We tried to explain the difference between this and weather we would encounter elsewhere – such as the Atlantic, for example.

Nothing doing, so on we motored. On arrival at the cove we discovered local knowledge had let us down again, with no passable mouth to allow us entry. So we went about: back to where we started.

The wind had increased to Force 7 and now we had wonderful 2m waves showing us the capable nature of the boat. She was loving it and so were we! But still not Captain Arnold.

It was at this point his complete inexperience reared its head.

“Turn us around, its too dangerous!” he roared, gesticulating wildly. We calmly explained that turning around in this sea and returning to a shallow cove we could not enter was not only ill advised, but very dangerous.

“It’s my boat, if the engine fails we will all be lost, turn us around!’’

He continued to shout, his gesticulations becoming more and more pronounced. We finally capitulated, as we feared for his health as he was not a young man and rapidly becoming apoplectic.

Back to the cove we went and began to edge our way in uncomfortably, when we suddenly noticed the depth sounder had failed.

Now things got fun. We resorted to a weighted line to ascertain our depth, while our captain continued to gesticulate and shout from the foredeck. Back and forth, back and forth, wind pushing to the side, redirect, back and forth, back and forth... The 45ft of straight keel was keeping us on some interesting lines of helm.

Then nothing. “Guys!” I sung out... “We’ve lost propulsion again!”

I applied some revs and then stuck my head over the side to observe our rpm... then turned wide eyed to the crew person next to me. “Helene... Our bloody prop’s fallen off!”

In fact, the prop was still attached to the shaft – I could see the prop wedged against the rudder, with about a foot of exposed shaft holding it there. It must have decoupled from the gearbox.

I cut power and shot down into the engine room, tearing up floor plates to get a grip on the shaft and see if I could pull it back in. At that point the boat lurched. Oh no... Terra firma, I thought.

I continued working feverishly, knowing it was sandy bottom and hoping if I could reattach the shaft we could back off. In retrospect I should have got the hell out, but I stupidly carried on.

I climbed back out of the engine room mentally preparing for one of us to arm the EPIRB to discover the unimaginable. Captain Arnold had calmed down and deployed anchors, arresting our movement but swinging us beam on to the shore. Thank the Lord. Dick spoke for all of the crew at this point: “I’m getting the **** off this boat!”

After grabbing all our gear and using the tender to disembark we made a Pan Pan call to the authorities. They couldn’t understand us so kept us on Ch16, meaning everyone across a lot of sea area was alerted.

Let’s just say assistance wasted no time at all in responding!

We spent the night off the boat after she was secured by numerous helpful boaters and the next day we all returned. I wasted no time in retracting the shaft and reattaching it. We then motored back to port.

I could feel an ominous shiver through the soles of my feet the whole way: I know enough to know when a set of bearings needs replacing.

After mooring, the three of us said our goodbyes and departed the location, pronto. I’m pretty certain old Captain Arnold’s still there to be honest. We made the local news and were mentioned in dispatches to our respective embassies, so that’s one we can always remember. Maybe the boat just didn’t want to leave the Med!

Some names and locations have been changed.

‘We suddenly noticed the depth sounder had failed. Now things got fun’