Womble's Gulf Stream Log - Summer 2001

Day 6 : Monday 2nd July 2001

Log Summary

Log Detail

Daily Synopsis

The promised cold front arrives during the night, with concomitant thunderstorms that soak us and keep us edgy with anticipation of squalls and lightning strikes - none of which actually hit us, but the tension persists.

In the moonlight, it is easy to see the banks of clouds roiling and belching in the NorthWest, until they blanket the moon and then pour water down on us and flood the darkness with blue- white bolts of lightning. Fortunately the strongest activity seems to be cloud-to-cloud lightning, but visibility is still effectively nil. The helmsman alternates between peering through the lashing rain into the cloaking darkness, and trying to discern any real targets on the radar display. Even with the radar set to minimum gain the rain squalls show up as echoes, and we are well aware that hard targets could be hiding out there waiting to be hit by something a little more solid than radar waves...

By dawn the wind is at 30 kts. and gusting, and the seas confused - we are being hit alternately by 6-8 ft. waves from the NorthWest and then the SouthWest. It is difficult to get Womble to sail in these conditions; we seem to have either too much sail or too little. Added to the difficult conditions is the extreme exhaustion of some of the crew, making even simple tasks arduous and complicated.

As the wind builds, we attempt to furl the jib to re-set it; we have learned that reefing the jib is best done by fully furling it and then deploying it a set amount, to avoid the force of the wind drastically distorting the shape of the unfurled section of sail. Unfortunately, this time a lack of concentration results in an hourglassed jib flogging itself to death, and Gregg has to wrestle with it on the foredeck, manually unrolling the sail to the point that the lines can be used again. Disaster narrowly averted, but the lesson learned - we decide to deploy the sea-anchor and rest, about 80 miles due East of Chincoteague Inlet in Virginia.

Deploying the sea-anchor is simple in theory, and we work trhough the neccessary steps methodically. Attaching the rode to the fore-deck cleats and running it through the anchor roller is the biggest challenge; fortunately, we had already removed the anchor itself in anticipation of this exercise. We run the chain outside the stanchions and back to the cockpit, from where the rode, sea-anchor and float line are heaved overboard; everything goes as planned, and we attempt some much-needed R&R...

Unfortunately, without the steadying effect of the sails, the motion of the boat is even wilder, and only Neil actually manages to sleep; this motion is mainly attributable to the SouthWest waves, perpendicular to the main waves, making us yaw beam-to-beam while the sea-anchor keeps Womble's head into the NorthWest wind and waves. However, the simple absence of critical decision making and general demands of sailing allow the crew to rest sufficiently. We maintain a one-man watch during the day, and periodically broadcast a securité call on channel 16 giving our status and position; we have also devised a black ball from various articles of clothing, and fly this at the starboard flag halyard to indicate Womble is riding at anchor.

Our resting position attracts another curious cetacean, who circles the boat a few times; due to the general lassitude of the crew, we don't get much for identification beyond "a brownish colour"...

Almost the straw that breaks the camel's back, we realise that the holding tank is over-full and leaking raw sewage into the mid-cabin; this is unexpected because we believe we have been pumping the tank out. After much thought and discussion, we deduce that we need to generate a partial vaccuum to open a one-way valve in the pump-out hose; the manual pump-out contraption is suitably modified and the tank successfully emptied - but not before the over-pressured system geysers more raw sewage onto the deck when the pipe is first opened. At least there is an opportunity for some humour when the Gregg castigates Stef for crying out "Shit! Shit!", before realising that Stefano is being descriptive rather than expletive.

By 1600 hrs. we decide that weather has improved sufficiently, and crew are as rested as they will get in such conditions. During retrieval of the sea anchor it becomes apparent (after some debate) that the retrieval line and float have become detached. There is a lesson here - this was the only shackle with the pin not moused onto the shackle. I was very pleasantly surprised after the trip when, after discussing the loss with the manufacturers, they assumed responsibility and sent us a replacement line and bag.

As the sun sets, a naval vessel approaches from the port quarter on a converging course. She hails us while some distance off, identifying herself as United States Navy boat number 4 and requesting our course. The implication is that she spotted us on radar; we explain that we are a sailboat, intended course about 040°, but dependent on the vagaries of the wind. USN 4 considerately states that she will turn "20 degrees to the... uhhh... left?"; uncertain whether the landlubberly terminology is for our benefit or theirs, we acknowledge it as "20 degree turn to port"... We thank them for their initiative, discuss the weather forecast, and then watch them off into the darkening West.

We finally reach the conclusion that buggering around with the "eddy" waypoints is only costing us time - we are having to pinch and tack just to stay in water that seems determined to oppose us - so we plot a new course direct for the entrance to Buzzards Bay; New England ho!