[Rhodes22-list] Outer Banks Adventure -- Day 4 of 5

William E. Wickman wewickman at duke-energy.com
Thu May 12 17:25:04 EDT 2005


You will see that I do not have many pictures from this point on.  I was a
bit preoccupied to be taking pictures.


Day 4:  The Longest Day

It is amazing how one little decision can set into motion a series of
events that change the whole complexion of a trip.  On this morning, we
finally fixed a real breakfast on board.  OK, so maybe it wasn’t bacon and
eggs, but the hot oatmeal, bread, fruit cup, and coffee tasted awfully
good.  The morning weather report sounded pretty good too:  winds from the
south at 10-15kts., building to 15-20kts late in the day.  Seas offshore
would be high as predicted the day before, and waves on the Pamlico would
build to 2-3 feet late in the day.  So a decision was at hand.  Do we
backtrack up the ICW, or rise to the challenge of navigating up the Core
Sound.  Looking at the charts, there was a cutover about ¾ of the way up
the Core Sound to a place called West Bay which is located near the mouth
of the Neuse River.  We could motor/sail up Core Sound, duck across to West
Bay and either anchor there or travel on to the Neuse River if conditions
were favorable and we felt like going on.  You can probably guess what
decision was made.

Before heading up Core Sound, I wanted to see what 4-6 foot seas were like,
the current conditions in the Atlantic, so we opted to make a run to
Beaufort Inlet and poke our nose outside for a taste.  I’m sure the other
boats in the area thought we must be crazy, a 22 foot sailboat heading out
into an Atlantic with 6 foot seas, but we were only going out for the photo
op.  Man, what a difference a couple of feet make!  We didn’t venture far
past Beaufort Inlet, but the perspective of what a 6 foot ocean wave looks
like from a 22 foot boat is humbling.  The waves looked more like they were
8-10 feet.  Unfortunately, the pictures we took belied their size.  [see
photo below] It’s strange how they just don’t look as big in a photograph.
You have to experience first hand to understand.

I will note here that the Rhodes really demonstrated how tough a boat she
is.  There is no doubt that the Rhodes can handle waves like this.
Whenever the bow would become awash, what water wasn’t diverted back over
the sides would flow into the cockpit seats.  The deep channels on the
cockpit seats would catch almost all of this excess water and quickly
drain.  Very little water actually made it to the cockpit floor.  The
flared hulls also did a fabulous job of deflecting waves away from the
boat.  What got us wet was the wind catching the wave splashes and blowing
the spray back toward us.  I have heard Stan Spitzer tell of a person who
asked him if the Rhodes22 could make it to Hawaii.  Stan’s answer, and I
truly believe it now, was that the boat would make it to Hawaii just fine.
It’s the crew that would not make it.  Human frailty is the weak link.  It
is simply a matter of how much physical discomfort a person is willing to
put up with.

Note to File:  Sailing in ocean swells of 4-6 feet is fun for about 30
minutes, but not something you want to do for 8 hours straight.

After the short roller coaster ride, we ducked back into the comparative
calm behind Shackleford Banks and made our way to Core Sound.  After a
little bickering with Sailing Buddy about where the channel really was, we
settled into a route that got us safely, albeit not most directly, to the
southern reaches of Core Sound.

Navigating the Core Sound is not all that difficult per se.  Once you are
in, provided you have a good chart, it is simply a matter of connecting the
dots.  You can almost always see two marks at a time which helps you stay
lined up between them.  A handheld GPS that shows mark locations is also
very helpful for this purpose.  It is very odd to be in such a large body
of water and realize that most of it is too shallow to navigate in a shoal
draft boat like the Rhodes.  Even in the channel, there were a couple of
times that the rudder or centerboard touch bottom.  No harm here though as
the bottom is soft mud throughout the area.  It was exhilarating to meet
the challenge of navigating where few boats venture.

Once in Core Sound, there are long runs in a single direction.  The wind
and waves were behind us so we put up the sails and ran downwind, surfing
down the closely spaced waves.  It was interesting how characteristically
different the waves were on Core Sound than in the open Atlantic.  Although
they were not nearly has high as those in the Atlantic, these waves were
perhaps more unsettling.  The distance between crests was barely longer
than the boat, and they seemed steeper and faster moving.

About a quarter of the way up Core Sound, wind and waves began building.  A
bit early relative to the forecast, I thought.  The skies had also clouded
over to an overcast that dropped the temperatures a bit and cast a gloomy
pall over the area.  With the building wind and waves, we were began to
really accelerate down each wave face.  There were several occasions where
our GPS registered well over 8 knots.  Then it happened.  We broached.  A
particularly large wave hit the boat in such a way that I lost steerage for
a moment and the boat abruptly rounded up, dumping Sailing Buddy onto the
cockpit floor.  He didn’t stay there long, quickly clamoring to the high
side to stabilize the boat.  He had a wild look in his eyes like a cornered
wharf rat.  I had forgotten to tell Sailing Buddy that the Rhodes cannot
capsize under sail.

Broaching is not fun in the best conditions, but I really did not like
doing it in a narrow channel in Core Sound; a channel whose width at any
given point is uncertain.  It was time to lower the sail and motor.
Sailing Buddy didn’t argue.

Note to file:  If the forecast says there will be 2-3 foot seas on Pamlico
Sound, there will probably be 2-3 foot seas on the Core Sound as well.  Due
to their steepness and close intervals, 2-3 foot seas on these bodies of
water are more extreme than open ocean waves of even greater size.

We were half way to the cutover point and the wind was now blowing what I
would estimate to be 15+kts. with gusts well over 20.  The waves continued
to build, probably 3-4 feet now, and under motor power, we surfed the waves
and continued to see the GPS reading over 8 knots.  Sailing Buddy pointed
out that the maximum speed logged in the GPS said that our max speed
reached 22 knots at some point.  I think it registered that value when the
GPS flew out of his hands when we broached.  Nevertheless, we were flying.
I was glad that we didn’t have to motor directly into these waves.  Yes,
they were only a few feet high, but their close interval was just like the
infamous Pamlico Sound waves that I had heard described.  I was beginning
to look forward to getting off the sound and into some calmer waters.  Then
Murphy’s Law struck.  If something bad is going to happen, it is going to
happen at the worst possible moment.

Sailing Buddy was at the helm the moment we heard a loud “POP” and then all
hell broke loose.  The connection of the rudder to the lower gudgeon had
failed and caused the rudder to flop and swing wildly with no control.  Of
course, the first place the rudder went was directly into the engine prop,
producing a gut wrenching grinding that surely destroyed the prop as well
as severely damaging the rudder blade.  So, in high winds and difficult
seas, a sailor’s most dreaded fear (besides sinking) had happened.  We had
lost steerage.

We both scrambled to the stern, where Sailing Buddy tried to pull the
rudder away from the prop while I immediately shut the engine down to
neutral and tried to assess the situation while the boat foundered in those
dastardly waves.  Fighting the urge to panic, I noted that the upper rudder
connection still looked intact and the motor prop while bent still looked
useable.  OK, , in the words of Clint Eastwood in the movie Heartbreak
Ridge, it was time to adapt, improvise, and overcome.

I pulled the rudder up and the weight of it kept the lower rudder assembly
up against the lower gudgeon.  Good.  The rudder was stabilized for the
moment.  But now what?  My Rhodes has the linkage arm that connects the
motor to the rudder head.  This linkage is very handy for maneuvering the
boat in tight places, but I generally don’t use it when motoring in open
areas.  That rule flew out the window and I decided to see if I could steer
the boat with the rudder pulled up and the linkage attached to the motor.
While struggling with all these mechanisms, the wind and waves tossed our
boat around like a leaf in an autumn breeze.

The setup seemed to work and I was able to steer the boat; or more like
guide the boat.  I gave a minor sigh of relief.  Because the raised rudder
blade was sticking straight astern, the tiller constantly tried to wrestle
itself out of my hands.  The linkage to the motor really does not work well
by itself without the aid of the rudder blade.  The end result was that
while I could keep the boat moving in the general direction I wanted, it
was a struggle.  One lapse in concentrated effort and the boat would veer
ninety degrees off course.  The action of the high wind and waves coming
from behind did not help matters as each wave did its best to push the
rudder and round the boat up into the wind.  Add to all this, the fact that
we were trying to navigate a relatively narrow channel.  The rest of the
day would be a tense struggle.  I was ready to get off of Core Sound.
Sailing Buddy perched himself in front of the cockpit, GPS in hand,
pointing like a bird dog looking for the entrance to a safe harbor.  There
would be none for several hours.  We both kept waiting for the upper
gudgeon to break under the constant pressure, which would certainly be the
final disaster requiring us to consider calling for help.  The day was long
from over.

(Surveying the damage later, it is interesting to note that the Rhodes
rudder blade is actually tougher than an aluminum prop.  When the rudder
blade contacted the prop, the prop was the loser.  There were some scraps
and gouges on the rudder, but nothing structural or that could not be
faired out with filler epoxy.  The prop blades, on the other hand, were
bent back like they were struck by a hammer.  The rudder head has been sent
to Stan of General Boats for examination and repair.  My examination found
that the failure occurred in the shearing off of two small screws that
fastened the piece of plastic that connects the lower rudder head to the
gudgeon. The top connection on the rudder head was through bolted and never
came close to failure.  I don’t know why the lower unit was not though
bolted.  The failure would not have occurred if it had been.  Stan is
currently replacing all these fittings with stainless steel.)

The sky continued to darken, the waves continued to build, and the wind
continued to increase.  After what seemed like an eternity, we finally
turned off of Core Sound into a large bay south of Cedar Island that led to
the cutover to West Bay.  I had hoped that as soon as we made the turn and
ducked behind a point of land, that the effect of wind and waves would
abate, but was disappointed to find that the bay was just as windy with its
own nasty chop, albeit not quite as bad as Core Sound.  It was with great
relief that we finally entered the narrow channel that would connect us to
the southern reaches of West Bay.

The good thing about this man-made channel was that it was protected from
the waves.  The bad thing was that it was very narrow and very shallow.  I
think that fatigue played a role in a momentary lapse in focus.  The boat
strayed a few feet outside the center channel and all of the sudden the
shoreline stopped slipping past us.  We had run aground.  Strike three.
How could this happen?  What more could happen?

Running a Rhodes22 aground is not an easy feat.  First, you have to ignore
the telltale signs of the rudder and/or the centerboard kicking up.  Well,
my rudder was already raised from the earlier incident, and I had raised
the centerboard because it seemed to help with my steering under the
current circumstances.  So there was no warning before we hit bottom.  We
were in muddy brackish water with a fairly soft bottom so it looked like no
real damage to the hull would result other than perhaps a few scratches in
the gel coat.  The worst thing about our predicament was that when the boat
ran aground, the wind was blowing perpendicular to the boat.  By now, the
wind was blowing at what felt like 20kts and every gust would roll the boat
slightly, pushing it further into the shallows.  Initial efforts to motor
off, and then to kedge were fruitless.  We were not going anywhere.

Both Sailing Buddy and I were by now tired and hungry, not having had the
time or opportunity to eat during the prior ordeal.  Spirits were pretty
low at this point; as low as they had been on the entire trip.  Sailing
Buddy just sat on the bow, dejected, with a muddy anchor in his lap.  I
felt the best course of action was to take a break, eat something, and
reassess our predicament.

Getting some food in our bellies and taking a rest break was a good thing.
Both our spirits rose despite the fact that the tide was still going out
and wind continued to howl.  But, tuning to the weather on the VHF took the
air out of our balloons.  A cool air mass with a line of severe
thunderstorms was expected to move through the area later in the evening at
around midnight.  Heavy rain with possible hail along with ground striking
lightening was predicted with wind gusts exceeding 45 to 60 miles per hour.

I started thinking about what 45-60 mph winds would do to a boat sitting
aground.  I also thought that being aground is more than just being stuck.
We currently had substantial connection to mother earth with an aluminum
lightening rod sticking up higher than anything else within several miles.
Staying on this mud flat until the tide came back up was not a good option.
Sailing Buddy agreed.  He resumed his position on the bow and started
throwing the anchor with new zeal.  It looked like it was time to pull out
the Fortress.  Now if this next passage sounds like an infomercial for the
Fortress FX7 then so be it.  The Fortress saved us this day.

Until now, we had been tossing the standard GBI issued plastic coated
anchor in our kedging attempts.  We could throw it out about 8-10 feet, but
we could never get it to bite hard enough to move or turn the boat.  It did
hold with some force, but invariably we would pull it back to the boat
coated with a big ball of mud.  Don’t get me wrong, the GBI danforth worked
well when we anchored at Cape Lookout and Beaufort, but it was just not up
to the task at hand.  We had considered wading out into the channel or
inflating the dinghy and rowing the anchor out, but neither of us were too
eager to leave the mother ship.  Enter the Fortress.  Being lighter, we
were able to throw it out a few feet farther than the standard danforth.
And it bit.  It held so well, in fact, that try as he might, Sailing Buddy
could not pull it back to the boat at all.

What made matters even more frustrating was that there was an excellent
anchorage just around the bend past the exit to the channel.  We could
literally see over to it.  The afternoon was turning into evening, but we
were bound and determined to get off the shoal before dark.

Then an idea hit me.  Why not use the wind to our advantage?  During the
lulls, Sailing Buddy would cleat off the anchor line and when the gusts
would rock the boat, the bow would turn ever so slightly.  When the wind
let up, he would re-cleat the anchor line and wait for the next gust.  And
so it went, inch by inch, the bow began to move.  I cranked the engine back
up, and the combination started moving us off the shoal inch by inch, then
foot by foot.  We were off!!  Our spirits soared.

We wasted no time motoring around to the anchorage.  It was fairly wide,
but well situated.  There were only a few hundred yards to the windward
shore so despite the high winds, the waves were not bad.  We had 6 to 8
feet of water depth; what seemed like a luxury.  We set both the Fortress
and the GBI danforth with as much rode as I had, +/- 140 feet (about a 15:1
scope) and prepared the boat for the oncoming storm.

As evening drew long shadows and finally dusk, we found ourselves actually
quite cozy in our cabin.  The boat rode quite well on the anchors and only
rocked slightly.  The boat was doing fine.  Sailing Buddy, on the other
hand, looked a little wild.  [see picture below, not quite the same face as
on day one!]  We enjoyed a nice warm meal and finished it off with a hot
cup of herbal tea.  Although we were well stocked with beer, wine, and rum,
we dare not partake for concern that we might need all of our wits later
that night.  Sailing Buddy thought me foolish and wasteful, but I insisted
that I take my bottle of Mt. Gay rum on deck and pay homage to Neptune and
request his mercy in the upcoming storm.  So outside I went and poured a
drink into the water for Neptune, and not wanting Neptune to drink alone, I
then took a long draw on the bottle myself.  I didn’t know if it would
actually work, but it sure made me feel better.

Exhausted from the days activities, we relaxed and listened to music while
in the background the rigging outside made music of its own.  The food and
comfort of the cabin finally overcame and we began to doze.  We were not
too concerned about anchor watch because 1) there was no lee shore (we were
backed up to West Bay which backed up to Pamlico Sound, and 2)  I already
had all the ground tackle that I owned deployed so there was really nothing
more I could do.  We decided to set our alarm to check every hour or so
anyway.  Well we didn’t really need the alarm.  The storm served that
purpose.

We were safe and dry in our cabin when it hit; torrential rains, but no
hail; thunder and lightening but no hits near the boat; and heavy winds but
the anchor held fast.  I guess Neptune likes Mt. Gay.  I took another swig
before going back to sleep.  The next morning we found ourselves fully
intact in the same spot.  Weathering the storm seemed like the easiest
thing we had had done over the past 24 hours.

Another pitch for the Fortress.  When we broke out the anchors the next
morning, the regular danforth broke out rather easily.  The Fortress, on
the other hand, was really stuck and took some time and effort to break
loose.  It was the Fortress that really gave us the holding power, and it
was clear that the Fortress did the lion’s share of holding us through the
storm.  We did not drag so much as a foot!

It was now time to recharge ourselves for the final leg back to homeport.







Pictures of Atlantic waves at Beaufort Inlet.  You can see the channel
markers in the distance.

(See attached file: Atlantic2.jpg)(See attached file: Atlantic1.jpg)


Sailing Buddy waiting for the storm:
(See attached file: Sailingbuddy.jpg)
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