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After days of gale force wind, the last six hours were looking like we were through the worst of it. The waves were starting to become lazy and the wind was backing off in fits and spurts. My wife Kay, on her watch, had been flying the full jib on the whisker pole and doing only 4-5 knots. I was just coming on watch when the wind began to rise once again. We had a partially furled jib out on the pole and were starting to get overpowered – REALLY overpowered. I furled in more jib and shortened the pole. This had minimal effect so I furled in all but a few square feet of the jib and we slowed down to 4.5 knots. It was time for the trisail. Even though this sail had a bigger area than the small piece of jib, it would get the pole out of the equation and bring the boat’s center of effort in, giving her better balance. I thought for a while about what needed to be done and called Kay on deck to help me with the sail change. She quickly got her harness back on and joined me in the cockpit. As we were freeing up winches and organizing sheets to accommodate the trisail, a huge wave from the South broke over Little Wing’s beam, rolling her to starboard. We had had a following sea from the Southeast for three days with an occasional large South swell. This one had our name on it because we had slowed the boat and we were busy working on the sail change – we didn’t even see it coming. The wave train overtook us and in the blink of an eye we were under water. All I could think was, “My God, were going to roll all the way.” I was on the starboard (downwind) side and Kay was on port. Completely submerged, I looked up and could see Kay’s legs dangling below the surface of the water. My instinct was to grab her and swim up and out of the cockpit. I had forgotten we were both tethered in. Before I had the chance to act, my head was above the surface and I realized we were slowly coming back up. Thank God. I looked to leeward and saw the port spreader tips just coming out of the water. It is from this that I deduced that we were knocked down past 90 degrees – possibly 110 or 120. Once the boat righted herself (bless you Little Wing), Kay and I stared at each other in shock and disbelief. Did that really happen? We went over so fast. We quickly saw things were not good. Poppit, our hard dinghy which we store on the cabin top, was dragging alongside. The autopilot ram on the tiller was dangling behind the boat, held on by the power cord. The starboard cowl vent had been sheered off by the dinghy, the dodger was torn up and the frame bent. I rescued the tiller pilot and Kay took the helm. I went forward to secure the dinghy and assess the situation. As I was wrestling the dinghy back aboard I grabbed a shroud to steady myself and noticed it was slack …”What the hell?” I thought and looked up at the mast. It was then I knew we were really in trouble. The mast was severely bent where the whisker pole was connected. The force of the water in the tiny piece of jib had shoved the pole back, kinking the mast. The entire rig was slack. If I had just acted to change sail five minutes earlier, this wouldn’t have happened. If I had simply rolled in the jib completely and gone bare poled for a while we might have gotten wet but would still have had our mast. If only I..... We couldn’t sail without risking losing the rig. Kay and I went numb. While Kay steered under bare poles in the SE swell, I went below to check the engine – it was our only hope of getting to Suwarrow. I’ve heard of engines jumping off their mounts during knockdowns, damaging the transmissions and breaking the shaft seal, potentially sinking the boat. Even though we had all the hatches closed and tightly sealed, there was three inches of water above the floor. The floorboards themselves were out and alongside the starboard side of the boat. The interior was a wreck. The engine was OK so I went back on deck and fired it up. I put out a “Pan Pan” call to the other boats in VHF range. Immediately Jack Spiess on Tracen J from Seattle responded. Then Mike on Argonaut, also from Seattle, then Julia Taylor on Macy out of Rhode Island. I advised them of our situation. We were without a working rig, the SSB was toast and the autopilot didn’t work. They radioed our situation forward to the boats nearing Suwarrow and eventually to John, the caretaker of the Atoll. Everyone knew our situation. This helped me relax a little. I went below again and gathered our ditch bag. I put our SAT phone in another waterproof bag along with our passports, computer bag and “Bear”, Kay’s teddy bear which I think she loves more than me… especially now. We had to be prepared to abandon ship if things got further out of control, just in case. I also got out our rigging cutters. If the mast came down, I wanted to cut it loose as fast as possible. Also, I dug out our sea anchor and rigged it to the 600' of 3/4" three-strand line we have for heaving to in storm conditions. Besides being totally soaked, I determined Little Wing was not taking on any more water. I went back on deck. It was then I realized Kay was suffering from mild shock. She was gripping the tiller, wide eyed and unable to speak. My heart broke. This isn’t what I promised her cruising would be like. I got her below and administered a mild sedative, then put her in the port bunk… the only dry place in the boat. Back on deck, I radioed everyone and updated them. We were okay. Little Wing had enough fuel to get to Suwarrow. The mast was pumping in the 35-45 knot wind, but seemed to be stable. Macy was six miles behind us, upwind, and advised us they would slow down and stay with us until we reach Suwarrow. They were our guardian angel that night. By this time it was totally dark… until then I hadn’t even noticed. So now it was time to get to land. The rest of the night was a blur. I hand steered for almost 20 hours, going 5 1/2 knots bare poled, using the engine only to maintain steerage. But this is only the preamble to the story. The real story is the amazing generosity which we experienced once we arrived in Suwarrow the next afternoon. Brett and Naomi Shirley on Fearless out of Marina del Rey, were already anchored inside the atoll. They had battled the weather for four days, anchored and then got in their inflatable dinghy and went back out the pass to help us pilot Little Wing in. I was exhausted and knew I could potentially make bad decisions entering the pass in this terrible weather. They zoomed out into the churning water and helped us bring Little Wing in safely. Meanwhile, the other boats inside saved the most protected spot in the anchorage for us. Before we had our anchor down, people radioed us offering us parts, diesel fuel, dry clothes. It was touching. We anchored and immediately dinghies descended on us. Everyone wanted to know how we were, what they could do to help. It brings tears to my eyes just writing about it. The next week at Suwarrow was bittersweet. Here we were in the most beautiful and remote (for us) part of the South Pacific. From Seattle to New Zealand, this was the least inhabited spot we would visit. This was a tiny 12 mile atoll, population six; the caretakers John and Veronica and their four young boys. Not a single human being for hundreds of miles in any direction. This is where we would have to fabricate a jury rig and somehow make it to American Samoa. The thought would have terrified us if not for the generosity of the 14 other boats anchored around us. We decided a tripod rig supporting the mast above the kink would be the best option and would enable us to fly the trisail and staysail. We would motorsail to Pago Pago. Jack and Marcia on Tracen J offered their 20 foot whisker pole. They didn’t mind if we destroyed it to make the rig. I was speechless. They wouldn’t accept anything in compensation, something I would have to remedy in the future. Brett and I set to work. We made our measurements and began cutting and bashing the pole into submission. With spare parts from Fearless and a banding clamp tool from Southern Cross, we made the connections and in two days had the job done. In that time Kay and Naomi made bread, chili, and other treats for the passage. Everyone in the anchorage came to inspect the rig. All agreed, the mast would hold. We took on 93 gallons of diesel offered from Second Wind, Macy and Cats Paw 4 (from Vancouver). We offloaded the equivalent weight in sails, anchors, and miscellaneous gear. Before leaving we went for a brief snorkel and found two manta rays the size of small cars. These beasts were 10-foot wing tip to wing tip. This is all we would see of this beautiful place and I swore we would someday be back to enjoy it more fully. When we left Bora Bora our American flag did not have a single thread out of place. By the time we arrived at Suwarrow it was shredded ¼ of the way through. Like many cruisers before us, we took it down, signed it, and hung it in the rafters of the hut on shore. It reads, “S/V Little Wing, knocked down 90 miles East of Suwarrow, July 19, 2008. Thank you all for your generosity. Craig and Kay Compton”. John, the caretaker, helped me hang it, said a prayer for us and we said our goodbyes. The weather window opened for our 448 mile dash to safety at Pago Pago, American Samoa. Fearless offered to be our “hospital ship” and shadow us the entire way, a huge undertaking which they did with skill and patience. Their Hunter 460 wanted to blast 7 1/2 knots yet they kept her near Little Wing which was limping along at 5 knots. In the entire four day passage they never left sight of us. They must have done 20 to 30 sail changes a day to keep Fearless in check. (Check out Fearless’ web site at www.fearlessmdr.com.) We motored the entire trip. Little Wing’s small sails gave her a tiny bit of lift which helped her overall speed by 20%. We made it safely to Pago Pago with 50 gallons of diesel to spare. None of this would have been possible if not for the amazing generosity of the sailors around us. As we entered the harbor in Pago Pago, cheers went up all around. By this time, everyone knew about our situation and all were relieved we had made it – Kay and I most of all. And that’s it. The story we wish we didn’t have to tell. But it happened and we have made many new friends because of it. As an aside, I called my dad the day we arrived in Suwarrow. After informing him of our situation I asked him to call Forespar, the mast manufacturer, to see what it would take to build a new mast and have it shipped to Pago Pago. My dad called them and told them our story. They informed him the wait would be three weeks before they could start, but would see what they could do and would call him back. One hour later they called him and said they had already started construction, it would be done in five days, what address should they ship it to in American Samoa?! Kay and I were in disbelief! I want to thank Forespar for their efforts and understanding of our situation. They came to the plate in our time of need. While we’re at it, Kay and I want to thank all the sailors out there who helped us. There are dozens if you include the people running the Maritime Mobile Net, the Pago Pago Yacht Club, Gordon Wunder on Vari, who knows American Samoa like the back of his hand and helped us with the logistics of shipping the mast and other parts, and of course all those who simply kept cheering for us. We especially want to thank those who were out there with us and, while trying to keep their own boats safe in a gale, never stopped taking care of us. Fearless from Marina del Rey, Macy from Jamestown, Tracen J from Seattle, Argonaut from Seattle, Scarlett O’Hara from San Diego, Blue Plains Drifter from San Francisco, and Elusive from Seattle. They were all there for us – we will never forget. So, here we are at anchor in Pago Pago harbor awaiting our new mast. It should be here in three weeks. We have much to do before we will be seaworthy again. The cyclone season will be starting in three months or so. We have to re-rig, sea trial and beat feet to Tonga and then to New Zealand in that time. At this point, we still think we can do it. And, we will try as long as there is hope. Pago Pago is much nicer than previously reported. It smells a bit from the tuna packing plants ashore, but the people are the nicest we have experienced so far. We couldn’t be luckier to be temporarily stranded here. I just want to quote Steve Bott from Elusive, who also suffered damage that same night in an inadvertent jibe. We were in the Pago Pago Yacht Club the other night having a beer and he said, “If I could live in a neighborhood back in the States filled with the people who have helped us these last few weeks, I probably would have never left.” Kay and I agree. ...back to 48° North title page.
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