A Reluctant First Mate's Journal: Ocean and Land Adventures of Stress Relief and its crew

States

~ ~ INTRODUCTION ~ ~

FOR A FEW YEARS we had enjoyed a small powerboat, but a powerboat would not take us to where we wanted to go eventually. Therefore, we started looking around for a sailboat. A Prout catamaran was for sale. The description sounded interesting, but before committing to such a large purchase, we opted for a trial run on a similar boat. As soon as we set foot onboard the catamaran, we were sold! The boat stayed pretty much flat on the water—no heeling like a conventional sailboat—and it had lots of room inside in the middle and in both hulls. We decided that this was the kind of sailboat we wanted to take us to near and far places.

In the fall of 1987, we became the proud owners of our very own Prout catamaran. Ours is a Quest 33, and it was built in Essex, United Kingdom, in 1985. It is 33 feet long and 14'6 wide and originally had a draft of about 2'6. We have moved the waterline up about 6 inches since then, and we can safely sail in 3'6" of water. Originally, our boat was designed to sleep eight people, but after some changes inside it can accommodate six people in a pinch, but four people very comfortably. From the cockpit, you step into the salon. A right turn will take you down into the starboard hull, where Dan’s cabin is located up front. There’s a kitchen in the middle, and aft we have our utility room. In the port side hull up front is the bathroom, the chart room in the middle, and my cabin is aft.

When we bought our sailboat, its name was Ka’u Aloha which meant nothing to us. We soon settled on the name Stress Relief, as it was bought for the purpose of taking the stress out of Dan’s life. Little did we know that soon it was to become Gwen’s Stress and Dan’s Relief!

During the winter of 1987/1988, we got to know our boat and made some short trips on Narragansett Bay. When summer arrived in 1988, we were ready for our first long trip, which was planned to take us south to the Chesapeake Bay. Our cruise started out fine, but as soon as we came out into the sound between the mainland and Long Island, we encountered thick fog. Not to worry, we thought, we had radar. A radar is a great help when your own eyes can’t see, but of course you need to know how to adjust it. We were still learning and it wasn’t a good place to learn. It seemed we had foghorn going off all around us, but we couldn’t pinpoint from which direction the sounds came.

That was our first stressful situation, but we managed to get into a safe harbor for the night. Our cruise continued down the East River, and one night we spent gazing at the Statue of Liberty in New York City harbor. From there, our trip continued south along the New Jersey shore, until we rounded Cape May and headed north on the Delaware Bay. This did not go fast or smooth, as we were constantly learning about our boat, the ocean, and our reaction to everything that was happening. We spent Dan’s birthday, May 29, in a harbor along the Chesapeake/Delaware Canal, where there seemed to be an infestation of mosquitoes. Thank goodness for our mosquito screens! For a few days we sailed and motored south on Chesapeake Bay, until we found the mouth of the Potomac River. We were hoping to be able to reach Washington, DC, but unfortunately we ran out of time. After visiting our friends Ken and Pat in King George, we headed south again, and a couple of days later we sailed across the Chesapeake Tunnel. Once we were out in the ocean, we had a terrific southerly wind and following sea.

We learned that night that you don’t sail with a gennaker after dark. At that time we had not yet found the very helpful chute scoop, and Dan struggled to pull the big sail down when it just got too windy! We continued to sail north a few more days before we grounded our boat in Fire Island Inlet on Long Island. Nobody had told the shifting sandbar to stay put, so we just sailed right up onto it. This time our catamaran came in handy. We just sat on the sandbar and waited for the tide to return, when we sailed off into deeper water.

When we finally returned to Narragansett Bay we had been gone for two weeks, but it felt much longer. We learned a lot about how our boat handles in rough water, and our confidence had gotten a huge boost. For our navigation skills we credit the Greenwich Bay Power Squadron and their classes, as without that knowledge we wouldn’t have undertaken such a long trip. Instead, it gave Dan, at least, the confidence to begin planning our next trip.

Our next cruise was going to give us more offshore experience: we headed for Bermuda in the end of June 1989. That trip lasted three weeks and everything went great. Six days on the ocean brought us to the shores of Bermuda, and the harbor of Saint George looked wonderful. After we had cleared customs, we celebrated with a bottle of champagne. During the next week we had friends, Mike and Linda, fly in from the States to spend some time with us on the island, but soon it was time for them to leave, and for us to sail back to Rhode Island. Even the return trip went without any trouble, and soon we could see the coastline of New England. What a wonderful feeling it was to see land after a week on the ocean!

Little did we know that our trip north to Nova Scotia in July 1990 was to be our last for quite a few years? The first night out on the ocean was the hardest! I wanted to be back in my own bed sleeping and not having to sit watch and rely on the radar to see for me at night. Once I got over that initial scared feeling, we settled into somewhat of a routine. Halifax was our destination, but again we realized that we were running out of time, so we changed course for Yarmouth.

Did you know they manufacture fog in Yarmouth? We soon found out when we tried to enter their very secluded harbor in the middle of the night and in thick fog. I was standing on top of the boat in front of the mast with a powerful searchlight, trying to catch the reflectors on the buoys, while Dan ran between the radar and the wheel trying to stay in the channel. Somebody was watching over us that night, because we made it in without grounding! The pier in Yarmouth harbor was very high, and we knew the tide difference was great, so we thought we’d left enough slack in the spring lines when we tied up. After a few hours of sleep, I woke up from hearing the lines tightening. Immediately, I woke Dan so he could loosen the lines, but already they were too tight. Dan had to cut them! The morning brought fishermen in from the sea, and the harbor became very busy with boats unloading fish and seagulls trying to catch some strays that didn’t make it into the fish tanks. When the fog finally lifted, we were amazed that we had made it into the harbor safely. It was very shallow right outside the channel buoys, and the channel twisted and turned before it opened up to the ocean by the rocks and the lighthouse.

We enjoyed a few days in Yarmouth, but of course we had to start thinking about returning south. Our next landfall after Nova Scotia was Provincetown on Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Through the Cape Cod Canal we fought the current all the way, but eventually we made it out on the other side and headed home to Narragansett Bay.

For seven years we didn’t make any long trips on our boat. We sailed mostly in the Bay, but once in a while we ventured out to Block Island and to Martha’s Vineyard. During the winter of 1996/1997 we planned our second trip to Bermuda, but even so, we weren’t ready when cast-off day arrived. That didn’t stop our friend Dennis and us, because we all wanted to sail to Bermuda.

When you have read about our horrible trip to Bermuda, you will know why it has taken us almost three years to get our boat back into shape for our next big adventure—which will be the crossing of the Atlantic.

~ ~ SHAKEDOWN CRUISE ~ ~

THE ONES WHO ALREADY KNOW say that everybody who plans an Atlantic crossing should have a shakedown cruise to find the weak spots in their boat. Little did we know that was exactly what we would be going through on our trip from Rhode Island to Bermuda in the summer of 1997.

My husband Dan, our friend Dennis, and I had been planning our Bermuda trip for some time, but even so, we didn’t feel quite ready when the departure date arrived. The Friday before we left, Dennis had had a bad day, and Dan and I were hurrying to get every little detail taken care of so we wouldn’t leave our son with a mess. Consequently, none of us had any time to really sit down and study the weather maps and forecasts. When Saturday May 24 arrived, we were determined to head out toward Bermuda. Our departure was planned for 1000, but of course we weren’t ready. Not until four that afternoon, after a heavy meal at Pop’s, did we finally wave good-bye to our friends and headed out of East Greenwich Bay, in high spirits and excitement. The sun was shining, and the wind had picked up from being totally calm early in the morning. Of course the wind was out of the south, where we wanted to sail!

By the time we sailed by Beaver Tail Light, it was already 1900 and it was time to establish watches. We agreed that Dan would take the first watch from 2100 until midnight, Dennis from midnight until 0300, and I from 0300 until 0600 or until whenever Dan or Dennis woke up. The boys didn’t seem to have any problem sleeping when they were not on duty, but I sure did. I heard the water whooshing by under the boat, the anticipation of the boat slamming down from riding the waves made me stiff and tense, and about once every hour I had to get up and see for myself if everything was OK—and that was before any trouble started!

The trouble started on Dennis’s watch. The television antenna and the tricolor light blew off the top of the mast. They fell down on top of the boat, in front of the windows, where they stayed for a while. During a particular high wave that washed over the boat, they went with the water into the sea. It had been too rough for any one of us to venture out and collect them in the dark.

Almost as soon as we had left land behind, the sea got bigger and choppier and the wind changed to northeast. None of us had our sea legs yet, and that soon became evident, even though we had taken seasick pills and Dan had special bands around his wrists. Sunday came with Dan getting seasick first, then Dennis, and towards evening even me. That was the very first time I had been seasick and it was awful! By evening, my two strong men had no more strength left to sail the boat, so we decided to throw over the sea anchor. Thank goodness we had bought it, for it saved us more than once! We hung and drifted with the sea anchor Sunday evening, all day and night on Monday, and most of Tuesday. During that time we all slept, getting up once in a while to hurry to the bathroom, where we tried to get rid of whatever was left in our stomachs. Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, we all started to feel somewhat better, so we decided to pull in the sea anchor and continue our journey toward Bermuda. The wind was still coming out of the northeast, and the sea was high and choppy.

Once the sea anchor was pulled in and secured—we thought— we sailed along with Dan at the helm. I was keeping him company, and Dennis had gone in to lie down. At about 2200, Dennis woke up and saw water gushing from underneath the bed. It was coming over the bulkhead onto the salon floor, where it had risen about six inches already. PANIC! Dan rushed out in front of the boat to throw over the sea anchor, but all Dennis and I heard was yelling and swearing. We didn’t know what was going on, and my thought was that Dan had dropped the sea anchor into the heaving sea!

When Dan had calmed down, we found out that the sea anchor somehow had broken loose from the anchor and barley hung on by a thin rope. The sea anchor had come out of its bag and was dangling in front and under our boat, all twisted. We could not throw it overboard until we had straightened out the straps that went from the chute to the swivel hook, or it would not have opened and been totally useless. In the meantime, I had been down in each hull to pump out the bilges, but there was no water. I knew that we had an extra electric pump in our gear, and we got that hooked up and started pumping the water from the salon floor into the kitchen sink and out into the cockpit.

During all this confusion, my thoughts were: Oh my God, we are sinking! Thank goodness we rented a life raft for this journey— it looks like we are going to have to use it now! We can’t lose our boat after all the work and money we spent on it! When the water seemed to be under control, nothing more was coming in, and we hung secured to the sea anchor again, all we could do was to go to sleep until daylight arrived.

That was the first time we had water inside the boat from somewhere below the gunnels. Almost as soon as we got out into the open sea, the waves kept breaking over the boat, and we had water coming in through the vents and from almost every window. While sailing on Narragansett Bay we had never taken water over the boat, so naturally it never entered our minds that the windows could be leaking, or to cover up the vents. Dennis’s cabin got the most water from above, and he ended up sleeping on one seat in the salon, holding onto either the table or the back of the seat so as not to roll off. After the water damage was done, we fixed the leaky windows and vents with duct tape, and that definitely helped for the rest of the trip.

On Wednesday morning, May 28, we woke up to the sea building and the wind still coming out of the northeast. Dan went out front to check where the water could possibly have come in, and he found the drain holes in our two front lockers plugged. The lockers had gotten filled with seawater, and from there the water had found its way into the cabin through holes that weren’t plugged. At least we didn’t have holes or cracks in the hull! About 0900 we pulled in the sea anchor and continued.

During the day, the wind and sea continued to slaughter us, but we moved ahead and sailed all through the day and into the night. I was too tense to sleep by then, so I stayed awake with both Dan and Dennis on their watches. When my turn came, I woke Dan up, and he sat up with me until daybreak, when he fell asleep again. How I envied the men for being able to sleep so easily, but I just couldn’t relax enough to go to sleep while it was dark. During the day I was able to catch a few hours of sleep, but by the time we reached Bermuda, I was exhausted from nervous tension and lack of sleep.

The wind finally changed to the east by Thursday afternoon, and we estimated the waves to reach thirty feet or higher, very confused with lots of chop. That day we also noticed lots of water coming in through the front of both starboard and port front cabins, and the nose of the boat was very heavy and going down under the waves. PANIC again! This time the bilges were full of water, and I pumped for my life. The salt water flooded both of our freshwater tanks and contaminated them. The locker in front of the freezer had filled up with salt water and flooded over into our freezer. All the food had thawed out and had to be thrown overboard. The locker in front of the freezer wouldn’t drain by itself, so after I had dragged out the water-soaked mattresses, I had to sit in that water and physically bale it out into the bilge, where Dennis was pumping it overboard. The electrical bilge pumps couldn’t keep up!

I didn’t want to be down there in the front cabin, because how would I have gotten out if the boat went down? Those thoughts went through my mind, but you do what you have to in these kinds of situations. It wouldn’t do me any good to panic, rant, and rave, but oh how I wanted to do just that! Once all the water was bailed out, the nose of our boat came up again, and we were able to go on. We still had plenty of dried food and canned goods, so we wouldn’t starve, and one five-gallon emergency container of water sure came in handy. By the time we finally reached Bermuda even that was gone, and I never knew how much you crave fresh water when you don’t have any!

After that last scare, we decided to start the motor and power the last 160 miles to Bermuda, so we could go in a more direct line. The winds were still blowing hard, but the direction had changed more to the southeast. The waves were still high but had subsided somewhat. I had prayed for calm weather, but nobody heard me! We didn’t have any problems during that day and powered on into the night. All of a sudden, when it got dark, we heard this awful banging noise and couldn’t figure out from where it was coming at first. With the help of our searchlight, we finally noticed that the radar had broken loose from the mast and was hanging on its wire only, banging around the stays and into the mast. The sea anchor was deployed once more. We tried to catch the radar with some halyards to hold it up against the mast during the night, so it wouldn’t bang and break anything else.

The following morning, it was decided that Dan had to go up in the bosun’s chair and either tie the radar to the mast or cut it down. It was not easy for Dan to be hoisted up into the air, as the boat would not stay still and level, but he made it up and back safely. The radar was cut down! Dan also noticed that the hailer horn, strobe light, and steaming and deck lights were smashed and broken off, as was a chunk out of the mainsail track. That meant that the mainsail couldn’t be used anymore, because it kept coming out of the track and just flapping in the wind. Ever since the first mishap happened, we kept saying that it can’t get any worse than this, but it sure could. After the radar was cut down, Dennis dared to say that the worst thing that could happen now was for the engine to break!

That was exactly what happened next. When we were ready to pull up the sea anchor and continue, the engine made this awful noise, and Dan hurried to shut it down. After Dan examined the engine, he found that the coupling between the motor and outdrive leg had broken apart and was all twisted, consequently throwing off the motor and breaking all four motor mounts and the brand-new freezer compressor. Neither mainsail nor motor to rely on and still 116 miles to go!

By now we had been in contact with Bermuda Harbor Radio, and they knew of our location, but not the extent of our problems. They promised to call the US Coast Guard in Woods Hole and let them know we were safe and heading toward Bermuda. Our families back on the mainland had started to become concerned about us, since they hadn’t heard a word since that very first day we left, and someone had inquired from the Coast Guard about our safety.

We now relied totally on the genoa to take us to Bermuda. All day Saturday, May 31, everything went fine and we sailed on. Towards evening the wind and sea had finally calmed down to reasonable, and we hoped we could make Bermuda in a couple of days—but that was not to be! About 2200 Saturday night, the sound in the genoa changed. When we put the searchlight on it, we saw that the top strap had broken loose from the line, and the sail was just flapping back and forth. Nothing to do but roll it in, throw over the sea anchor again and go to sleep.

At the crack of dawn Sunday morning, we were awake and getting a plan of attack ready. Again Dan had to be hoisted up in the bosun’s chair, but this time to the very top of the mast to catch the line for the genoa. I couldn’t watch as I held a line out of the way, but I heard Dennis saying: Oh my god! Evidently Dan had lost his grip on the mast, swung way out, and come crashing back into the mast. Dennis told me later that he had thought Dan to be dead! Thank God he ended up with just a few bangs and bruises. Once the line was down, Dan sewed on a new heavy-duty strap, and soon the genoa was hoisted again and we were on our way. Still 97 miles to go!

Every day we were counting down the miles, but not until Tuesday midmorning did we finally see Bermuda through the haze. We hadn’t had any problems to speak of since Sunday, but they weren’t over yet! As we were getting close to the island, Dan and Dennis pumped up the dinghy and launched it. When Dennis was about to transfer the motor from our big boat to the dinghy, he lost his balance and fell overboard. All the other problems we had encountered didn’t seem like anything now that a human life was at stake. After Dan had thrown Dennis a life buoy, he tried to turn the boat around and go back for Dennis. Under sail and not having practiced that maneuver before, we ended up sailing straight over him! Dennis got banged around under our boat, but he had the presence of mind to grab hold of our swim ladder and hung on, until we could help him onboard. If all that had happened at night, I am sure we would not have been able to find Dennis, so at least this time our luck was with us.

We were now in contact with Bermuda Harbor Radio again, and had inquired if they had a towing service on the island. They did not. Dan decided to try to sail our boat through the Town Cut, but as our boat doesn’t point very well into the wind, we almost ended up on the reefs before we aborted and headed back out. After that, we tried to tow our boat with the dinghy and our three-horsepower motor, but that was futile against the wind. I told Dennis that the next boat I see, I would wave down and ask if they can help. Soon we saw a powerboat heading our way, and I started waving my arms.

As it turned out, it was the Harbor Police, and they came purposely to help tow us into Saint George’s harbor. The Harbor Police said they had been hearing about our dilemma for a few days and were concerned about our safety. Never in my whole life had I been so happy to see the police! We finally felt our troubles were over, after we hung on our anchor south of the customs building, and that night we celebrated our safe arrival in Bermuda with a big bottle of champagne.

It wasn’t over yet! Wednesday morning, after a wonderful sleep, we woke up to panic once more. Our anchor had broken loose after a storm had come up during the night, and now we were drifting towards the rocks on shore. Luckily for us, a big Canadian boat lay anchored behind us, and we hollered to them to help hold the lines until the pilot boat had time to come out and help tow us forward. Dan reset the anchor and threw out an extra one, and we were safe again.

Wednesday evening Dennis was supposed to catch a plane back home, and how I wanted to go with him. Of course, I couldn’t leave Dan to sail back alone, so I stayed. Dennis missed the plane that evening as we had forgotten about the one-hour difference in time, but Thursday he made the plane in plenty of time. From then on our luck changed. We ended up staying three and a half weeks in Bermuda to get our boat fixed enough, until we felt it seaworthy again. Our return journey went mostly without any problems, and it took only six days compared to ten going south! How wonderful it was to see Rhode Island’s coastline on the fourth of July, when we arrived back home.

CHAPTER 1

~~ Preparation of Stress Relief ~~

THE PREPARATION OF Stress Relief started right after our last trip to Bermuda in 1997. When we returned, our boat was hauled from the water and blocked up on shore at Pleasure Marina in Warwick, where it underwent extensive work. Finally, on December 16, 1999, it was launched after being out of the water for eighteen months. That was a milestone! That didn’t mean our boat was ready, but at least it was floating again. Our very dear friends Tom and Jason arrived with a bottle of champagne for the launching. No way were they going to christen our boat with that; we drank it instead to celebrate! Every day we worked on projects, and slowly things were being finished. It seemed so nice to be able to finish projects, instead of tearing things apart, which we had been doing for quite some time.

The outside of Stress Relief was pretty much done, and our new sails arrived just in time for Christmas. The interior still needed quite a lot of work, with the biggest project being the new refrigerator. Both the fuel and water tanks were finally done, but the wooden floors still needed to be installed. After that we could continue with another layer of insulation and finally the new vinyl on the inside hull. Our new navigation instruments still needed to be wired, and countless smaller projects still needed attention. Anyone who has owned a boat probably knows by now that anything you work on takes forever, and not the couple of hours that you estimated. That was the biggest reason why we were still in Rhode Island and not over in Europe. So we waited another year; we were retired and not in a hurry! The main objective was to be able to sail across the Atlantic safely, and until we felt we could do that, we would be working on Stress Relief!

During the boat preparation, we added a new family member, Duke, our Lhasa apso, who was going to be a seafaring dog! Prior to moving onto our boat, we lived in our house with a yard, where Duke was allowed to roam around and to do his business where it suited him. Of course, that was not possible once we moved onboard! We tried to keep him onboard until he had to do his business, but he could hold it longer than we could. I felt sorry for him after a couple of days and brought him ashore, and Duke of course was ecstatic to finally be able to scratch the dirt and do his business. That just prolonged the agony! We tried a box with dirt and some old poop in it, out in front of the boat for privacy, but that did not work. Duke finally decided for himself where the perfect spot was on the boat, and it was out front to one side. After he had done his business there the first time, I believe he was afraid to get scolded for doing something wrong, but instead we showered him with praise. After that initial time, it became easier and easier for Duke to do his business on the boat, and when the time came for castoff, he was as ready as we were!

The beginning of June 2000 arrived, and we were finally getting ready to leave. It sure had been a long uphill struggle to get to that point, but the boat was just about finished. Some minor welding needed to be done on the arch, then groceries bought and brought onboard, and off we sailed to Dutch Harbor to wait for the most favorable weather. Dan was very excited about leaving the mainland, but I dreaded it. I had felt safe and secure tied up to the dock, because I knew the departure date was far off. As the time came to say good-bye to our son and daughter-in-law and all our dear friends, I felt stressed! Dan’s dream was being fulfilled, and it was something I must endure. Hopefully, you will hear a much happier tone from me after we have crossed over to the Azores, as that will be our first stop after we leave Rhode Island!

CHAPTER 2

~~ Crossing the Atlantic to the Azores ~~

ON JUNE 14, 2000, we finally severed our ties to the dock at Pleasure Marina in Warwick. What an incredibly sad day that was! I cried all the way to Quonset Point before I was able to calm down. We sailed to Dutch Harbor, where we spent a couple of days calibrating our new instruments before we sailed around Beaver Tail and ended up smack in the middle of the beginning of the Newport-to-Bermuda race.

What confusion! We needed to fuel up in Newport, and when it was time for the mainsail to be lowered, it already hung limp—the first problem encountered on our trip. Dan thought I had loosened the line. The top of the main halyard had sheared off. How, we don’t know, and of course we couldn’t continue until it was fixed. We anchored north of Goat Island so Dan could go ashore to buy a new halyard or at least a new stainless steel eye and crimp-on. No halyards were to be found on a Saturday, so he ended up getting two new eyes, one for the main and one for the genoa. We found a calm spot to anchor way up in Brenton Cove, where Dan climbed the mast (the mast steps already came in handy) and pulled down the rest of the broken halyard. The main halyard was fixed, and even the genoa halyard sawed off and a new eye crimped on, and Dan felt they both were as good as new.

Saturday night we spent anchored off Goat Island again, but Sunday morning, June 18, we pulled anchor and motored out into the open ocean. We had set a course for a racon buoy south of Nantucket, but when we listened to the offshore weather on our VHF radio and heard nothing but bad weather coming our way, we decided to turn around and sail to Block Island instead. There we waited for suitable weather! We connected with Southbound II, a private weather service out of Canada, on our SSB radio, and Herb was very helpful in providing us with a window of when to leave.

We left Block Island exactly thirteen months and one day after the original departure date, which in this case was June 20, 2000. The day begun with west-southwesterly winds, and it looked like a good day to