Offshore upgrades
AN UNDERWATER PERSPECTIVE
Chartplotter Ruby May has the latest Axiom Pro chart plotter with supporting i70 repeater and an iPad for RayControl at the chart table. She has a Raymarine 600 AIS Transponder, and ICOM IC-M423GE VHF with DSC and a Command Mic by the helm.
Safety equipment We carry an EPIRB, handy billy, recovery sling, ocean danbuoy, and a recently serviced six-man liferaft, plus engine spares and tool kits. We increased our coast kit flare pack to include the Seago ISAF Flare Pack.
Weather receiver We installed the NASA Navtex BT-3 with an H Vector antenna device and the associated app on the iPad and on our phones for offshore weather updates knowing that the VHF might just not cover it.
Tri light We upgraded our Tri Light to the NASA Dual Tri/anchor light just to give us better visibility from further away.
Battery Monitor We upgraded to a Merlin SmartGauge battery monitor knowing that power management would be a key consideration.
Comms We hired an IridiumGO! from g-comm.co.uk so that if anyone left ashore needed to contact us in an emergency, they could send us a message. And we upgraded to PredictWind Pro to get the offshore GRIB files. I borrowed a
StarLink sat comms dish from work, more for fun than anything else.
Fuel Ruby May carries 210lt of diesel. We calculated that at around 2,250 revs, she will burn around 2lt per hour at an average of 5 knots. The trip was expected to be around 640/680 miles, so in the worst-case scenario we should carry more.
New flag And of course, the Spanish courtesy flag.
bear too far west where the weather was worse, or too far east towards the TSS.
It was soon all hands on deck, the sailing felt precarious, but not dangerous. As evening drew in, we looked at the latest NavTex upload and it wasn’t pretty: wind a solid 7 in northwest Biscay and a ‘very rough’ sea state. The WINDEX was reporting 40-plus knot gusts and we were all soaking from the rain, hail, waves and sweat that comes with sailing in this environment.
Sam was resolute, it was time to call it a day. I was devastated. I felt that the boat could cope, we had a good, strong crew and this wind had to shift, it had to.
Visibility was down to 500m when we hit the TSS, we were glued to the AIS, the binoculars and watching what was going on as the light faded. Then, the death knell of our trip: a massive wave slammed into us and I heard something break below. I felt sick. Going to investigate, I found the forward heads door smashed off its hinges. Despite the crazy environment, everyone was calm. It was a very controlled chaos.
We had employed a policy of tethering on any time it was dark or when anyone went out of the cockpit. Now it was time for double tethers.
Game over
Another loud noise and in a heartbeat, I saw my dreams of completing our Ocean Yachtmaster on this trip disappear. The foresail tore. It could have been the noise of my heart being ripped out of my chest.
Of course, Sam had already worked out that it was game over but I had a tiny flicker of hope inside me. I wanted it so badly. In hindsight, we should have put the sail away long before but the conditions never really allowed for work on deck. The number of times we tell students ‘reef early...’ But it is all too easy to get caught up in the moment. Never again!
Sam was updating the log with our damage and consulting her notes on safe havens, looking at the charts and making plans. I stuck my head down the companionway, reluctantly whispering: “It’s game over, isn’t it baby?”
She was miles ahead of me. “If we head east-north-east, we can run with the weather and head to L’Aber Wrac’h – it has everything we need and more, especially lots of shelter a few miles out.”
That will be a yes then, I thought as I headed back to the cockpit.
We completed a rapid pilotage plan, consulted the channel guide and briefed the crew, the look of relief on their faces was palpable.
Despite thousands of pounds worth of waterproofs between us, we were soaked to the skin, my hands had shrivelled up to prunes with a combination of the buckets of water pouring over us and the grip on the helm.
We tentatively picked our way across the TSS, then headed towards the lighthouse showing the way to L’Aber Wrac’h. As we got behind the wind shadow of Ouessant, things started to abate. It would have been easy to think we had made the wrong choice, the sailing was totally different. But a quick look astern was a rapid reminder of what it would be like heading towards our goal. Arriving at the marina entrance we found boats rafted two or three deep. Clearly, we were not the only ones to seek shelter.
Battered pride
The log reads ‘Tied up alongside 0300’, battered, a little bruised, certainly disappointed and very tired. We hit the hay for five hours of much-needed sleep.
At 0800 we were back up on deck, Q flag and courtesy flag quickly raised, coffee in hand, service on the IridiumGo! restored and we started to plan our next move. The guys dropped the foresail and started a repair. I went to the office to check in. The staff provided tokens for the facilities. I showered and took a short time out to process my thoughts. Of course, we had made the right decision but I was absolutely gutted.
Sam maintains it was not defeat, it was good seamanship. In post-trip beerbased analysis, the team would agree. I, however, felt that our objective remained unachieved. Anyway, self-reflection lasted about as long as a shower, loading the washing machine and tumble dryer and returning to the crew who had started up with the banter again. It was just what was needed.
‘Despite thousands of pounds worth of waterproofs between us, we were soaked to the skin’
We sat down and saw that the bad weather had now headed north up the coast of Ireland with a gale warning to go with it. The words I uttered cannot be printed in such a prestigious publication.
At this point, things started to look up again. We seized an opportunity to depart the marina at 1500, head into the tide under motor and south-southeast down the Chenal du Four before rounding the rocks at Chaussée de Sein, bound for A Coruña.
High highs
Before departure we inspected the standing and running rigging. The main halyard had chafed almost all the way through, as had the starboard jib sheet so we trimmed and sealed them. We’d popped a shackle and needed a few other running repairs but nothing major. We topped up on fuel, and set off.
Leaving the river we saw a Société Nationale de Sauvetage en Mer towing a badly battered yacht with the crew on the lifeboat. Our hearts went out to them as we reflected on where bad choices could have gotten us.
However, we were on our way to Spain, with the tide in our favour and the wind on the beam, we hurtled down the coast, at 7, 8 then 9 knots. The weather expected 24 hours before had finally shown up. Watches recommenced, dinner was served and spirits were riding high again. The next few days were the most amazing sailing imaginable. Sunshine, dolphins, pilot whales and much laughter. Crisp nights with shooting stars, meteors and bioluminescence, including the stunning light show of dolphins chasing fish.
We maintained a steady 5 to 7 knots, and saw very little traffic. Sun sights were undertaken and our crossing of the continental shelf was uneventful. As we hit the shallower water off the coast of Spain, thoughts started to turn to what we would eat ashore, how many beers we had earned and meeting up with loved ones.
It was my watch as we spotted the Hercules Lighthouse and headed due south into the harbour at A Coruña. We hoisted the Q flag and the Spanish courtesy flag. We woke the off-watch so they could enjoy the long-awaited approach into Marina Náutico Club Real, slipped Ruby May into her pre-booked berth and popped open the fizz! Smithy’s girlfriend was down in a flash to welcome us and I set about doing the admin.
At A Coruña, they photocopied our passports, the ship’s papers and my details, and advised us about getting our passports stamped at the local police station. The next 24 hours were all about matching crew T-shirts, good food, beer and wine and war stories. The ladies who flew over to be with us were bags of fun, let us ramble on about 5m waves and washing-machinelike hours of sleep and refereed arguments about which watch helmed the straightest and who made the most miles. It was a glorious end to months of prep, weeks of excitement and a week of mixed emotions and experiences.
Reflecting on the trip, I keep drifting back to the belly laughing moments on board – like Nigel asking Smithy to level the boat out while heeled over at 40° in a Force 8 so he could flush his deposit out of the heads, Smithy announcing to Sam that there were “lazy dolphins not bothering to jump out of the water on the starboard side” which turned out to be pilot whales, and Malcolm optimistically applying sun cream under the rainy, cloud-covered apocalyptic sky. All fantastic although probably ‘had to be there’ moments.
As for our Ocean Yachtmaster, I hold on to the fact that “fair weather never a great sailor made”, we will have to go again taking with us our learnings and, I hope, the same fine crew.
Turn to page 68 for Steve’s unusual proposal to his partner, Sam McClements
US scuba diver and skipper Lada Simek shares some hard-earned advice
Drifting in a hot air balloon over variable terrain and needing to drop an anchor, you’d surely try to select a good spot. When anchoring boats, however, many people casually throw 100lb worth of ground tackle overboard and hope for the best – that it will hold fast and come up again later.
If you have a depth/fish finder you should play it smart and select your spot so as to maximise your odds of getting your anchor gear back again.
As a scuba instructor I anchor several times a day. Typically, I begin my dive by descending along the rode to check how the anchor is sitting. The situations I have seen would amaze you!
Stuck in a hole
I had to dive to free my own anchor. It was stuck in a hole in such a weird fashion that to get it out I had to grab the stock, turn it sideways, rotate it 45° and pull it out backwards. Would it have come out pulling from the surface? Never! (Parsonage Point, Rye N.Y.)
Stuck in a wreck
The skipper of a dive boat off New Jersey dropped a grappling hook on a wreck in 80ft of water. There was an iron ring on the bow of the wreck about 18in diameter. The grappling hook went right through it with one inch to spare. It might have come out after several weeks trying. (Point Pleasant, N.J.)
Stuck in a buoy
I laughed underwater when I pictured the dismay of the poor boater involved. The tips of his Danforth went through two separate links of a massive abandoned
buoy chain over 100ft long and many tons in weight. “Ethel, the anchor ain’t stuck, I can lift it OK but it keeps getting heavier!” (Captain’s Island, Greenwich CT)
Oops. Not stuck at all
There are times when anchors don’t hold at all and still get lost. While diving over a flat, sandy bottom I found a clean, brand new white rope. Following it in one direction I came to a brand-new Danforth anchor, not stuck or even buried, just lying on the bottom. Following the line in the opposite direction for 100ft I found a cleanly cut unbroken factory end. “No! No! Harry, you gotta tie off the other end!” (Glen Cove, Long Island N.Y.)
Use your depth finder
If you have a depth finder, use it. If you are anchoring in a flat bottom, it is probably sand or mud. Chapman’s rule is fine. The greater the scope the better your anchor holds. There is a problem doing that in rocky areas, especially those having large boulders. A lot of scope is good on a sandy or muddy bottom because the anchor must bury itself. Among rock there is no burying and a large scope is not necessary, but you never have the security. I once spent three hours securely anchored on a windy day. When I checked my anchor I found that it was on a flat, solid rock, one tip having caught a half inch ledge. Even though it held, it probably would not have stayed there if the wind had shifted.
Rocks in the north-east of the US have been deposited largely by glaciers. On land the holes fill with soil, becoming rocky hills. Underwater this does not happen to such an extent. Rocky reefs can have thousands of holes formed by boulders which vary in size from small to as large as a bus. Of the three ways you can lose your anchor, two involve rocks.
TRAP 1: overhangs
Where two boulders touch, they make a ‘V’ in which rope can be jammed. In addition, as they sit on the bottom, current tends to scour away the sand under the edges, making overhangs.
Crustaceans use these caves to hide out, often excavating them deeper. It is not at all uncommon to have to reach for a lobster so far that your arm is under a rock as far as your shoulder. Try to picture an anchor line running under a boulder while you are above, pulling straight up. The anchor will be pulled horizontally – something which it is specifically designed not to do!
Picture many large boulders close together, a lot of scope and a boat that is swinging by the wind and you will understand why boaters lose ground tackle. At one time I had a pile of anchors in my basement about four feet high. That adds up to a good amount of money lost. String of lobster pots suffer from the same fate as anchors. I find abandoned line and lobster pots on nearly every dive. Use your depth finder and avoid areas with large boulders.
TRAP 2: sharp edges and cracks
If the tips of the anchor get inside a deep crack in a large rock, often the only way to get it out is to pull the flukes out backwards. This is something you cannot do from the surface. A trip line would solve the problem but it is an added nuisance and few bother with it. If the anchor catches on a sharp ledge, pulling straight up will not get it out and pulling from the opposite direction is sometimes ineffective because the anchor cannot flip over. Your best bet is a pull sideways with much tugging in several directions.
TRAP 3: lines and cables
Snagged lines or cables can be very frustrating because they jam between the flukes and the stock and can seldom be shaken out. If you snag a string of lobster pots, usually you can bring the line to the surface and lift it off the anchor. If you can’t, you may have to use a little boat power to make just enough slack. The obvious solution is not to get in the situation in the first place. Do not drop the anchor in between two identical lobster pot buoys because they are obviously connected. For every line that is marked there are 10 abandoned ones, so sooner or later you will catch one. Of the three situations this is the least serious one and the easiest to clear, unless you snag a two-ton piece of chain. Avoid ‘CABLE CROSSING’ areas like the plague. Not only are those cables massive, they are electrified and puncturing one with your hardware might be interesting.
Shipwrecks are even a bigger mess.
Typically, they do not look like a ship but more like a random pile of construction debris with beams, pipes and cables everywhere. Drop a large Danforth on one of those and one out of five times you won’t get it back. In such cases use a grappling hook... a cheap one.
If you are anchoring over a rise or mound, drop the anchor so that the wind or current pulls it ‘uphill’. Never, never place it so that if it pulls out it will move to deeper water. The reason is obvious. I know somebody who lost his boat that way.
If you are doing serious anchoring, such as overnight, always give the anchor a pull to set it and test it. Going astern at 1,000rpm might do the trick. There are
‘At one time I had a pile of anchors in my basement about four feet high’
many bottoms which are solid rock with 6in of mud on top. If you give the rode a tug with your hands, it will appear to have a solid bite. It may be fine in a 10-knot wind, but if it should increase to 20 you’ll find yourself dragging. Add a lee shore to this scenario and you’ve got trouble.
One thing is sure. If you have never gotten your anchor stuck, it is only a matter of time until you do. The Mediterranean is littered with ancient anchors – Etruscan, Roman, Phoenician and modern. The old-timers had the same problems we do. When it happens to you, you have five choices:
Getting free
Take as much line in as you can and cut it off, leaving your gear behind. You do have a sharp knife aboard, don’t you?
Tug the line up and down until you come to the snag. Drive the boat past your anchor and pull from the opposite direction.
If this doesn’t work, tie off the line to a cleat and pull with the boat in ever widening circles using reasonable power.
At this point many will go to the next step, which I do not recommend, of using brute force to rip the anchor out. Sometimes it works. A 130kg boulder weighs a lot less underwater due to buoyancy and perhaps it may be flipped over but: your anchor may come up mangled and useless and you may rip out or weaken the cleat attachment. Since nylon can be stretched about 40% of its length, the line may act like a giant rubber band and you may find the anchor minus its flukes comes flying out of the water with an EXTREMELY DANGEROUS velocity!
Let out all your line, tie a float to the end of it. The float can be a plastic bottle or your oldest, dirtiest fender. Go home. Look in the yellow pages under DIVING. Call a local dive shop and have them recommend an experienced diver to retrieve your tackle. While he or she is down there, you can have your hull checked, propeller cleaned, the two of you may have a good time doing it all and it should cost much less than new ground tackle.
Finally, if you stop somewhere just to fish and if you have a small boat, why risk an anchor at all? Get a one-gallon plastic pail or a milk bottle with the top cut off, fill it with concrete mix and water, embed a twisted wire coat hanger bent into a loop and let it harden. Remove the plastic, tie it to your anchor line with a piece of clothesline or something that your engine can easily break if it should get stuck.
If you do lose it, it will join the thousands of other chunks of rock on the bottom and will have only cost you a couple of pounds.
If that’s too much for you, make yourself a copy of the 2,000-year-old anchor (above left). You’ll be the envy of all as you pull into a high-class marina with one of those dangling from your pulpit.