6***CHAINPLATES – The metal plates fastened to the decks, which the rigging attaches to via a turnbuckle.8*****
7****MIDSHIP – The middle of a ship – side to side or fore and aft.
8*****TURNBUCKLE – An adjustable screw-like fitting which goes on the ends of rigging wire and attaches to the mast or chainplates.
9*LAZY JACKS – Ropes or wires which run from midway down the mast to either side of the boom to cradle and restrain the sail on the boom when it’s dropped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Eye of the Storm
“Do what you can with what you have where you are.”
Theodore Roosevelt
As foggy as Alex was from the concussion she had received as she was drug over the lifelines and stanchions1* by the wave, she finalized the decision with Rob to run back to Antigua and slip into Falmouth Harbor. Pointe-a-Pitre, the main harbor on Guadeloupe was closer, however it was a narrow entrance and Alex didn’t know it well enough to risk entering it in these conditions. Plus the sea that was coming through the cut between Guadeloupe and Les Saintes seemed worse than in the open ocean – like a washing machine, To Alex, it appeared the storm was weakening or moving away since the wind had died down below 100 knots in the gusts, leaving Alex questioning whether it had indeed turned to the south. The sky was even starting to clear and the squalls were further apart. However, on the chance that it was headed their way, Alex knew that they had to seek the refuge of a protected harbor. They were far too spent to continue to outrun this thing. Unable to focus on the chart due to her blurred vision, Alex left the task to Rob to estimate a dead-reckoning fix. After some studying of their course and the use of the radio direction finder, which was able to locate three radio signals in the area in order to give him a fairly accurate triangulation2** on their location, Rob determined that they were at approximately 60.75 degrees west – 16.5 degrees north – abeam of Guadeloupe, just north of La Deseride. He set a course of 293 degrees to take them just inside the point at Shirley Heights3*** – a port tack back to the southeastern corner of Antigua.
Rob made certain Alex was comfortable on the nav-station settee, before he backed the boat around and fell off the wind on a port reach just slightly aft of their beam –which clocked further aft due to their speed. Alex refused to simply lay down and do nothing even though her throbbing head made it difficult to sit up. She suggested that he sheet the sails in flat even though they were traveling downwind, although standard sail trim for that point of sail called for the sails to be out almost as far as they can go – to fill with the wind from behind. In this case, just the windage of the boat and bare poles alone would propel them faster than they wanted to travel down the face the waves.
Within minutes the Island Fever was racing down the monster waves at 20-25 knots – surfing as if it were a long board at Waikiki. The boat would ride a wave, picking up so much speed it would actually out sail it and start the climb out of the trough to catch the next one. At that speed, Rob calculated that they were less than two hours out from Antigua. Alex tried time and time again to raise someone from St. Maarten on the SSB, however there was no answer. Obviously, their antennas were history. Compared to the gut-wrenching sail to weather they had been on for the last twenty-four hours, the downwind sail to Antigua felt pretty painless, even if the huge seas rolling up their stern were disconcerting when Rob looked over his shoulder to find a wave higher than the masts, feathering at the crests behind them – just before it swept the boat up and carried it a few hundred yards. Thanks to the somewhat clearing sky, the cliffs at Shirley Heights were visible from a good distance out – about 15 miles, as they approached the southern coast of Antigua. Alex, although groggy, drug herself into the cockpit after donning a dry set of foul-weather gear and life vest, and drew her hood tight around her bandaged head. Attempting to get a visual reading on the coastline, she searched for the opening to Falmouth in the endless line of white that stretched across the shoreline – the surf pounding the normally lee shore of the island. English Harbor would have been more protection, however the entrance was even smaller and trickier to get into in this kind of sea. Alex knew it was not going to be easy getting into either harbor in these conditions, but she believed Falmouth was their best choice.
They covered the 10 miles in less than twenty minutes – leaving them now about 5 miles off the coast of where Alex knew Falmouth Harbor should be, but she still found it impossible to differentiate the coastline from the opening of the harbor. Luckily, Alex had spent enough time there to know the landscape well and she spotted a house on Blackpoint overlooking Pigeon Beach on the eastern side of the entrance that she recognized. She knew the mouth of the harbor had to be there, but huge waves were breaking over the entrance. They were now only a mile off the entrance, cooking at 25 knots on a broad reach as Alex started setting them up to enter the harbor. She took a sighting with her hand bearing compass* and set a new course to steer of 28 degrees – dead for the center of what should be the opening between Blackpoint and Proctors Point. The wind had veered even a little further to the west and was now coming from about 250 degrees.
She took the helm from Rob and took the boat through the jibe onto their new course and started their entrance through the channel on a starboard broad reach, which would allow her to harden up to the northeast corner of the lagoon. Within seconds, Alex realized the channel was totally closed out by breaking waves and quickly made the decision to abort their mission – that is until she looked over her shoulder and saw the 30 foot wave peaking behind her. In a split second she had to commit – continue on and risk getting pitch-poled in the breaking surf or take a chance on turning into the trough of the oncoming wave which was teetering on breaking on top of them. Just like certain decisions one makes in life, this was one that Alex didn’t have time to ponder or regret – she had to react and realized that their only chance of not being pitch-poled was to surf the Island Fever in between two breaking waves. Alex, who had surfed a fair amount in her years and had as many years of experience driving these oversized cats around whose hulls surfed almost as well as a hand-shaped Big Wave Gun,4* let the following wave catch up with them enough to lift the sterns, which allowed her to turn the helm down just enough to catch the wave. With the speed they were traveling, which was a little faster than the speed of the waves themselves, the Island Fever caught the wave and shot forward – sterns up, riding the wave that Alex prayed would be their savior as opposed to their nemesis. Like a Pau Malu Set,5** the Island Fever was off surfing down the face of the wave like a pro at the Eddie Aikau Big Wave Champion-ships.6*** Now there was no turning back – they were committed – Alex was about to ride the biggest wave of her life, like it or not. She feathered the steering carefully, to avoid picking up too much speed. She didn’t want to get ahead of the wave and bury her bows which could send them careening ass-over-teakettle so to speak, the way most multihulls that haven’t made it have bitten the dust. It would surely be the demise of the Island Fever in these conditions.
Rob made the mistake of looking behind them as he had often done in his life, and what he saw scared him more than anything he’d witnessed yet – the curl of the wave was looming above them, cresting – threatening to break over the boat. In fact, they were nearly inside the curl. Rob swallowed hard and quickly turned to look ahead.
“Okay Ian!” Rob yelled, looking up the mast at nothing other than the empty spreaders. “Don’t desert us now! We need you!”
Alex thought Rob’s ranting strange, but her attention was fully on the wave at that point. It stayed with them as if it were carrying some precious cargo to safety it its liquid arms. The Island Fever raced with it past the entrance to the harbor. It carried them all the way to the far northeast corner of the harbor, right past the Antigua Yacht Club where it slipped under them as Alex fell off the wind slightly to let the wave pass under them, the same way as a surfer would kick-out when they’d finished their ride. Alex then hardened up to sail back u
p to the more protected southeast corner by the Yacht Club.
Suddenly, they found themselves in the lee of the wind as it dropped to a mere 45-50 knots over the tops of the hills. Alex turned the boat hard into the wind as Rob hurried to ready their main anchor, a 75 lb CQR.7* Alex hardened up and as the boat drifted to a stop, Rob lowered the anchor. She knew that she would need several more anchors in this wind but with no engine or dinghy, properly setting a second or a third would be a tricky proposition. And if the storm got worse they’d likely need as many as five. Since she had not yet hooked up their bridle,8** the boat would naturally swing around more than normal with the gusts, allowing her to cover more ground in order to drop the second anchor at least 30 feet away from the first. Alex waited patiently until the boat stretched back tight with a gust and then sprang forward when the puff subsided. She steered the boat forward to the right of the anchor she’d already set. By then, Rob had prepared their 35 lb. Danforth* and had it set to go from their starboard bow. When the boat settled to a stop, Alex gave Rob the go ahead to drop it and ease out the scope as the boat settled back on the next gust. Of course, without an engine there was no way to insure it was set into the mud bottom aside from simply waiting until the boat pulled the 150’ rode taut in that direction to see if they were dragging. She moved the 75 lb. anchor rode to the windless and then did the same with a third anchor off the port bow when they swung as far to the left of the others as the boat would go. Once it was down she added the bridle to the center anchor.
Finally they were safe, and both Rob and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. But their work wasn’t yet over – they still had to get the sails down and clean up the mess. The deckhouse of the boat was floating in seawater which had washed in through the back companionway from the greenwater in the cockpit, and water that had blasted through the closed Dorade vents.9* Alex had capped all the vents, but a huge wave during the night had blown one of the caps off and had blasted water into the deck house like a fire hydrant. They had tried to plug it up with towels and rags, but every other huge wave had discharged them like shot, leaving the cabin a wet soggy mess.
The bandage on Alex’s head needed changing since it had bled through the cotton shirt, so Rob unwrapped it and cleaned the wound just above her temple with hydrogen peroxide. She needed stitches, but it would have to wait until the storm had passed and they were able to get to a doctor. As a temporary measure, Rob used butterfly Band-Aids to close up the wound as best he could – then left it unbandaged for the air to dry. Seawater can be an amazing antiseptic and the two inch cut appeared to be pretty clean. Alex’s head still pounded, but she was so grateful to just be alive and safe once again with Rob, in a reasonably protected harbor, that her adrenaline high had masked the pain. Instead, the feeling of elation had overcome her whole being. Alex was ready to celebrate by opening a bottle of champagne although she knew what it would do to her throbbing head, but it was worth it. They had made it through alive, and, they had saved the Island Fever from certain destruction.
“Look… the sky’s clearing and the wind’s died. We’re okay now,” she sighed with relief as she hugged him as if she would squeeze the life out of him. It was then that she looked up and saw the 150’ motor yacht, which had been anchored off the Yacht Club, weigh anchor and head out of the harbor. She felt her stomach turn over realizing that they must be leaving for a reason. This was a ship that would surely have a Weatherfax10** aboard. The storm must indeed still be headed their way. Why else would they be leaving the comfort of Falmouth Harbor to brave the seas outside?
She radioed them on the VHF and it was confirmed – the storm was once again on its way in their direction.
That left only the Island Fever and three other boats in the harbor. Even though this was a safe haven to them in these conditions, it was definitely not the place to be in a full blown hurricane – it was not like English Harbor which had several dog-leg turns to protect boats once they were inside. The harbor was open to the sea and the type of wave that had saved them sailing in, surely could turn out to be their demise in the end. Alex had seen how this whole harbor could turn into the breaking wrath that had confronted them sailing in. But now they were trapped – sailing in through those breakers had been one thing, but sailing out would be impossible.
Alex tuned the VHF radio into Radio Net to hear the Weather Report from Bubbly Joe – the “Voice of Doom & Gloom.” He confirmed her worst fears – the storm was indeed on its way. Now, Alex had more work to do. She had to get more ground tackle11* out before dark. They would never stand a chance on only three anchors But, it would be risky since she had no way to set the additional anchors properly. She would just have to drop them and pray that they would hold when she needed them to.
“Boy, does this kind of bad luck follow you everywhere?” Alex asked Rob half jokingly – half serious, “You’re like a magnet.”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” answered Rob ironically. “Kind of like those people who get struck by lightening over and over again.”
Alex looked at the sky and then at him sternly, “Please… don’t tempt fate.”
“You sure you want to stick around?” asked Rob uncertainly.
“Oh… I guess I can handle a hurricane or two I’m just waiting to see what’s next… a volcanic eruption… a tidal wave?” said Alex jokingly, trying to be lightheart-ed about their unfortunate circumstance.
Their daylight was waning fast, so Rob and Alex set two more anchors, as best they could – a 34 lb. Danforth and another 28 lb. CQR off each stern about thirty feet apart. Alex reserved a 58 lb CQR on deck in case they should break loose when the storm got bad and they needed emergency back-up. She set up all the anchors with chaff gear,13*** and checked the scope15***** to make sure it was enough and that the anchor rodes were even. At least now, the boat wouldn’t be able to spin freely, which could wind the anchor lines together – shortening their scope and decreasing their holding power.
The sun had gone down even though they couldn’t see it set through the heavy cloud cover. Alex got on the SSB once more and finally raised a big power yacht in Simpson Bay. The reports of the destruction were almost impossible to believe. Nearly every boat in that huge lagoon had sunk – crushed upon one another along the shore, or they were sitting on the airport runway at the far end of the lagoon, leaving only a few dozen still floating. It seemed that their denial of entrance into the lagoon by the broken bridge had ironically been lucky after all. It had likely saved the boat. They informed her that the storm had left the island about five hours before on a heading of southeast, tracking at approximately seven miles per hour – straight for Antigua. Alex asked about the Simpson Bay coast, and the answer she received made her heart sink. Pretty much everything along the beach was gone. In fact, the breakers had been rolling all the way across the spit of land into the lagoon in some places. Alex thanked him and asked if he would be kind enough to check on Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage and see if they were okay. Surely if it had gotten that bad, Grandma and Grandpa would have had the sense to get out.
They were sick with worry now but there was nothing they could do to help Grandma and Grandpa – first they had to help themselves. Rob and Alex wrung things out and closed up the boat, and waited – trying to rest as much as their racing minds would let them as they thought about Grandma, Grandpa, and Christian. Rob asked over and over again that I help them but that was something that was out of my hands. They had their own guides that were responsible for their fate and knew their destiny. Although, I did make certain to pass the message along to the parties in charge. As it was, Peter and I had our hands full just keeping up with Rob and Alex’s crisis.
They prepared as best they could and waited for the worst. As exhausted as they were it was a sleepless night for both Rob and Alex. The leading edge of the storm arrived several hours before sunrise and the wind shifted to the northwest, leaving the Island Fever hanging from her two smaller stern anchors. They were now sitting only 15
0 ft from the docks of the Yacht Club – in the midst of breaking waves. If Alex had realized what was to come, she would have anchored further out, but she hadn’t been thinking straight in her foggy state and she had wanted to tuck up into the corner as far as she could. But luckily, the storm had weakened by the time it reached them, bringing with it winds of only 40 –50 knots sustained in the harbor – gusting to 75.
The wind was manageable – now what they had to worry about was the sea which was breaking entirely over the boat. Every time a wave approached and the boat rode up taught on her anchor lines, Alex prayed that the anchors would hold as the sea crashed over them and rolled past like an avalanche rumbling out of control down a mountain. As each wave approached, Alex held her breath and waited for it to pass. In some ways it was worse than being out at sea. Now, the only thing that stood between them and getting broken into matchsticks on the docks or on shore were those two little anchors and a few hundred feet of rope.
The sun rose that morning over the hillside bringing with it an incredible mauve and lemon sky. Alex was relieved, it was a good sign – it wasn’t red16* – a sure warning against approaching bad weather. The wind suddenly started to weaken, the clouds parted, and the sky became clear above them as a beautiful cloudless dawn awakened. Then the wind just stopped – they were in the eye of the storm. It was as if someone had simply turned off the storm’s power.
Alex had been through enough hurricanes to recognize instantly that this was the eye – but Rob was confused. He looked around in amazement – stunned, “Where did it go?” he asked baffled by the sudden calm.
“It hasn’t gone anywhere we’re right in the heart of the storm – we’ve only seen the first half of it. This is just intermission.” After all any great show would offer its viewers intermission to catch their breath, grab a drink, or make a bowl of popcorn, so why shouldn’t Claire offer her viewers this same courtesy. After all, this was the “Greatest Show On Earth” – presented by mother nature herself. At least it was the “Greatest Show of the Century” in this part of the world, since no hurricane recorded in the last 100 years in the Caribbean had packed the wallop Claire had. Nor had one accomplished the impossible feat of traveling east and south – in the direction from whence it came. Rob was awed by the beauty of the calm eye that existed within such a violent exterior. He grew quiet, no longer feeling disconnected from the source – no longer a meaningless bit of matter in this big, big Universe. He had connected with the storm in such a way as to almost understand it – like Rob, its outer existence was uncontrolled and chaotic and at its center, its inner core, it was somehow at peace.
West of the Quator Page 37
