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“Were you ever in a storm?” It’s the most frequently asked question we get asked when talking about our 16 month, 10,000 mile trip from Bellingham, WA to Auckland, NZ on our CSY 44, Imagine. The question implies that we were doing something out of the ordinary and dangerous. Mostly, I just answer, “yes,” and leave it at that. But actually, the question brings up a number of issues. What is a storm? Were we ever in danger? Were we scared? Were we properly prepared to take on the elements as a family with small children? From the time my husband was a child and read Dove by Robin L. Graham, he has dreamed of sailing to the South Pacific. Storms were just one thing on our list of concerns when we turned that dream into reality. We had extra heavy anchors, hurricane lines, harnesses, reinforced lifelines, and a hard sailing dinghy that we hoped would get us to land in the event of abandoning ship into the life raft. Still, when we left on the trip, I was essentially inexperienced with an actual storm at sea. My husband has sailed in many locations and many conditions, the worst being his trip from San Diego to Bellingham on a yacht delivery. As in life, what a person can handle has much to do with his or her previous experience. To an Alaskan fisherman, the definition of extreme conditions will be much different than the average weekend boater in the San Juans. The Beaufort Scale defines a storm as 48-55 knots of wind, or when trees become uprooted and structural damage occurs. Our first and worst “storm” was technically a “severe gale,” which is one level lower. In early December 2004, we found ourselves sitting out some nasty weather in a bay on the outside of Baja. Because of the wind blasting the anchorage, we were not able to get to shore in the dinghy. For the previous few days we had been listening to the weather, and trying to decide if the gale that was working it’s way down from Oregon was finished or not. On Monday afternoon we got reports that the wind would be in the 20-25 knot range over night. I figured, if we’re going to be stuck on board because of the wind, we might as well be moving. In that case leaving in the late afternoon gave us the best chance to arrive the next day before dark. There were five boats in Asuncion planning to leave together. The first captain gave the word that they were pulling anchor at around 4 PM, so with a herd mentality, we all got ready and headed out together. Homer’s Odyssey was in the lead and radioed back to say that the seas and wind outside of the bay were great. So one by one we left, Loon, Icarian, Solmate and Imagine.
At first it was a dream sail. We had the mainsail reefed down as a precaution and the full genoa out. The seas were calm because the wind was from the east. If we stayed within a few miles of land, the swell didn’t have a chance to build. We got in a groove and Pete went to bed right after dinner. As a few hours went by we averaged speeds around 7 knots. We passed Loon and then the wind began to build. I put the kids to bed around 7 PM because I felt very nervous having them in the cockpit. The moon had not risen yet and the darkness was so thick, I couldn’t see them on the bench across from me. The wind was beginning to take the tops off the waves and create spray. Shortly after getting them tucked in, a wave came over the side and slopped into the cockpit right where they had been sitting. I must admit, I didn’t handle that very well. On the whole trip down so far, we hadn’t had a drop of water over the side. CSY’s are heavy boats that don’t heel much and that wave was the first indication that Mother Nature was going to get the upper hand that night. As our speed ocasionally hit 10.5 knots, I confirmed with Icarian that the wind was in the low 20’s.
Pete got up to take in the genny, put up the staysail and assume watch duty. Waves continued to climb aboard over the leeward rail and heavy spray pelted us from windward. The wind picked up and the gusts knocked us around enough that even while in our deep center cockpit, we were glad to be harnessed in. Gusts reaching 46 knots made it impossible to sleep in the sea bunk. Every few minutes I’d be airborne. Loon had technical difficulties with their autopilot and had to hand steer through the night. At one point we all saw a green light streak through the sky. A few minutes of radio mayhem ensued as we tried to figure out who had shot off a flare. In hindsight we decided it must have been a meteor, because other boats 100 miles to the south had seen it too. Our Monitor wind vane did a great job steering and the boat handled the conditions better than the crew, as adrenaline levels remained high. I think the five captains were having an adventure but the women were having second thoughts. I got up around 2:30 AM to give Pete a break from the cockpit. Weather of that strength at home headlines the 5:00 AM news. Out at sea, you rely on your boat, your captain, your preparedness and your prayers. The noise was phenomenal as wave after wave crashed into the hull and the sails and rigging strained. The motion was enough to throw me across the cockpit and the cold added to the tension. The winds were a consistent 30-35 knots out of the east with gusts to 46. The kids slept in the aft cabin, which was accessible only from the cockpit. As much as I wanted to check on them, the amount of spray pelting into the cockpit onto their door prohibited me from opening it. After worrying about their safely for a long while, my mothering instincts got the best of me and I opened the door. The huge bed across the back, which we later divided midship with a lee cloth, appeared empty. With my heart pounding, I aimed my light at the farthest back corner where to my relief, both kids, as well as about a dozen stuffed animals, slumbered in a heap. If they could sleep through the din, more power to them. With the apparent wind forward of the beam, our course became difficult to comfortably hold. We had fallen off as many degrees as we felt we could lose to ease the apparent wind, but were still beam to the seas and wind. I stayed dry under the dodger but the instinct to duck and tense up when a wall of water came at me, became exhausting. Luckily the gale was short lived and before my watch was over, around 5:30 AM, the wind had died back down to a reasonable 20 kts or so. Things smoothed out and we relaxed a bit. By mid morning we actually had to use the motor to make it all the way into San Juanico. The only equipment difficulty we had was a fouled prop. Pete had to jump in outside the bay and remove a lobster pot float. It’s unfortunate that we ran them over, but understandable why we didn’t see them. We debriefed with the other crews about everyone’s experience, and many said it was the worst weather they’d ever been out in. Now, after sailing 10,000 miles across the Pacific, my perspective on storms has changed. We spent many passages in 30-35 knots and celebrated the speed it brought us. We no longer considered 15 knots to be our optimum sailing weather, because we knew that downwind in 20-25 Imagine was in her element. By the time we embarked on our last passage of the trip, I was able to face heavy weather conditions with a sense of humor. In my log about our trip from Tonga to New Zealand, I compared the ride to “Splash Mountain.” We had 20-25 knots on the beam and 35 knot gusts, but my fear had been overcome by experience. The good thing about weathering the first storm is that it gives you confidence to meet the next one. Did we ever get into difficulties? Yes. We had bad weather, we had emotional lows, and we had an unfortunate encouter with a coral head. But, we made friendships that will last a lifetime, we visited places many people have never even heard of and we have those memories to keep us warm. Life offers no guarantee that it will be storm free, but I’ve learned that it’s what you do with the experience that shapes your future. ...back to 48° North title page.
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