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A bump in the night

saxonaxe

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July 2010. I had spent the previous winter on a swinging mooring on the beautiful River Tamar at a place called Weir Quay, miles up river from Devonport and Plymouth. Unsettled weather had kept me at anchor in Falmouth for a few weeks, but now I was heading South on my normal heading which would take me down about 10 degrees 30 West Longitude which in turn put me 70 + miles out in the Atlantic and away from the rocky coast and inshore Fisherman off Cape Finisterre.

Nearing the Latitude of Finisterre I met with a typical regional summer fog. Cool air blows in off the open Atlantic and meeting the hot air over the land of Northern Spain turns to dense fog. The wind died away and I had no option but to start the Diesel, something I hate to do in fog as the engine noise affects my ability to hear other shipping in the area. At some time mid afternoon, moving at about 4 knots, the boat suddenly struck something just under the surface of the water. The mast and rigging rattled and shook and we almost stopped. I looked astern and saw what I believe was either a very large water logged section of wooden Pontoon, Jetty or possibly a weed covered shipping container. It rolled briefly to the surface and then sank again.
I checked below for any leak and found none. The propellor and rudder seemed undamaged but as my first port of call was to have been many hundreds of miles to the South on the Portugese Algarve, I decided to alter course for Bilbao in Northern Spain for a thorough safety check for any damage.

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Feeling my way into fog bound Bilbao.
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Two nights in the new Marina and without diving under the boat I could find no damage, so I sailed and continued down the Spanish/ Portugese coast standing off about 80 miles. There is a half knot Southerly current along this coast in summer months which helps with Southward bound voyages. 80 miles off gives sea room in case of an on shore summer gale and is clear of coastal fishermen in small boats.

One very dark night, with the loom of the lights of faraway Figueira just visible on low cloud, the fine weather changed and it started to blow hard from the North, from astern, no problem...My boat was a Nicholson 32 built for Ocean crossing and I'd had a couple of real batterings in her anyway.
I ran before a full gale, very big towering seas racing up astern and breaking under her leaving us surrounded by white foam. Snuggled down, flask of tea and safety harness clipped on, wind vane steering gear doing the steering we raced South. About midnight I decided more tea was required so unclipped and went to slide the main hatch open. As I did so the boat turned violently to port and fell on her starboard side as a big sea crashed over us. I was smashed against the after bulkhead and thought at the time I had broken my left shoulder. I lay in a tangle of ropes and swallowed a lot of water as another sea came aboard. I had been running before the wind with just a furled headsail (apologies if you know but the triangular one at the front..:D ) I realised that the sail was now full of water and holding us pinned down in the sea, so I drew my knife and cut the sheet ( control rope) which freed the sail and the boat rolled upright.

Wondering what had happened I looked aft at the steering gear wind vane and my heart sank, surely the 12mm stainless steel bolts fixing it to the stern couldn't have broken? I crawled aft and looked over the stern and in the light of my head torch I saw the auxiliary rudder which is controlled by the wind vane waving from side to side! Attached only at the top, if I did nothing the rudder would be ripped off, probably taking a large piece of the fibre glass stern section with it and we would go down like a brick.

The boat lay at about 45 degrees with her stern to the wind and sea. I managed to furl the now shredded head sail and then attempted to drop a line round the loose rudder, trying to lasso it with a Bowline. The boat dipped and plunged violently, each time her stern went under water the rope simply got washed clear of the rudder. There is an aperture at the top of the rudder and I knew I would have to climb over the stern and literally poke the rope through in order to lash it properly. I rigged the short ally boarding ladder over the stern and climbed over.
My mouth kept filling with blood from where I had been slammed against the bulkhead loosening my front teeth and my shoulder prevented me properly using my left arm. I hung on terrified as the stern plunged down submerging me to my waist, and then again hanging on as the boat see sawed and I went high in the air, soaked and weighing so much I was almost dragged from the ladder.
Eventually I managed to get a rope around the ladder and collapse exhausted back into the cockpit. For the next hour I lashed and secured the rudder until only a tiny amount of movement was visible. It was almost dawn before I had completed the task, the wind and sea had dropped away until it was now about force 8 and clearing. I stumbled below, took crushed Paracetamol, a fresh water drink and got my camera.
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Then began the long voyage to safety..I set a course for the nearest port and started the diesel. 80 miles at 6 mph (land speed) approx, and I had not slept 20 hours. My face and shoulder were painful but strangely must have helped me in my exhaustion. I sang and shouted for the next 15 hours..:lol: Anything I could remember. Nursery rhymes, kids songs, weapon clearance drills from when I was working, Rules of the Road for Seafarers.." If red and green lights you see ahead, starboard your helm and show your red " If I sat down I instantly fell asleep and awoke to find myself 30 degrees off course...Do that when approaching a rocky shoreline and it's definitely goodnight Vienna..:lol:

Eventually on a dead calm sunlit evening I motored into the shelter of the big Breakwater at the port of Peniche, North of Lisbon. I anchored with virtually all the 60 metres of chain I had in the locked as I knew if the anchor dragged when I was asleep I would not know abo0ut it..
I was in no fit state to attempt to enter the small Marina, I would have rammed and sunk every boat in there as I could hardly see straight, let alone steer a boat in a crowded Marina.

It was 19.00 hrs when I peeled off my damp clothing, swallowed some more Paracetamol and collapsed on my bunk. I awoke at 09.00 hrs in agony. A feeling of terror gripped me because of the terrible pain at the top of my spine. Convinced I had done serious damage to my neck, I wiggled my toes and fingers...everything worked, so slowly I sat up..to find that I had spent 14 hours with a head torch wedged between my neck and the firm bunk mattress.. I had been so tired I had not taken it off and had not noticed when it swung round as I lay down.
Looking in a mirror a Panda stared back at me..two black eyes from a swollen face. I drank luke warm tea, could not drink hot liquid I soon learned!!
Going on deck I inflated the Dinghy and lowered it over the side. I then set about repairing the auxiliary steering gear.
This is the result of my overboard, night time, full gale, lashing exercise.
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The steering gear had not in fact broken. I can only assume that when we ran into the floating object North of Finisterre the impact must have loosed the pinch fit of the lower bracket. Undetectable without getting into the water (which I did not do in Bilbao) it had come adrift in the massive seas in the gale a few days later. You can see the aperture that I mentioned in the top of the rudder. I got one rope through there while clinging to the ladder and used that rope to pull others through to complete the lashing.
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Repair complete, all ready for sea again.
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I spent the day resting, eating soup and crumbled up Digestive Biscuits in warm milk.. I know..but I'd run out of Porridge. In the evening I had my first mug of hot (ish) tea and I could hear a radio that a man fishing off the Breakwater had switched on. Johnny Nash sang, " I can see clearly now"
which seemed a good song for the occasion. I slept well that night, without the head torch, :lol: and sailed for the Portugese Algarve the next morning.

There's a funny post script to this yarn. At Portimao on the Algarve, I went to see a local Doctor. I stripped to the waist and after examining me he said I had torn the ligaments in my shoulder, but had not broken anything. He asked what had happened so I explained, to which he replied, " You must have prayed to God" I laughed and said No, but I had asked for strength to get myself out of the tangle I was in.
The thing was..he kept grinning. He was friendly enough, a sailing man too, so I asked why he was laughing and he pointed to the pendant I wear round my neck..
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And then he pointed to the name plate on his office door...Dr Jesus Rodrigues ... :rofl: :rofl:

He charged me one Euro to cover the paper work...:thumbsup:
 
Jeez Sax, you lead anything but a normal life, take care mate :)
 
Sax, extraordinary tale evocatively told... I could almost smell the brine.

At one stage I wondered if you had fouled on a submarine ( I believe such things can happen at sea -need to ask Bam).

I think your courage in sailing single handed (and your skill in being able to do so) despite all challenges is quite amazing. Great stories, and incredible pics. Those seas look really big to me!

Amazing! šŸ˜²

Alan
 
There have been instances of Submarines running foul of surface vessels, in fact there was an incident years ago when a Scottish Fishing Boat was sunk when her nets fouled a Submarine which was bound for the Submarine Base at Holy Loch.

Whatever I struck had been in the water a long time, it was weed covered, about 20 feet long, my boat was 32 feet, and in the brief glimpse I had of it there appeared to be some sort of rusty ring bolt or shackle fixed at one corner. I thought it was an old wooden Jetty or section of a pontoon. The only damage that I found much later on my keel was a scrape mark.
Luckily the Nicholson 32's have an underwater shape which allowed her to ride over the obstacle without ripping the keel off as would happen in some modern Fin Keel boats.

Here she is being lifted out in England months later.
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