Lucaya, Grand Bahama Island to Saint Simons Island GA April 19
We left you as we were rolling and pitching, having done all we could
about corralling the flopping hourglassed genoa, in heavy seas and
winds.
By this time, about 7AM, we're well offshore, nearly 90 miles due East
(due to our delay in turning West in dealing with the genoa) of the
entrance to Saint Simons Island Sound. In addition to being carried
north by the Gulf Stream all that time, in order to blanket the genoa,
requiring that we go NE to have the wind behind us, we've been carried
to near the eastern edge of the Gulf Stream. Of course, in all this,
the wind has continued to clock and build, now coming out of close to
WSW (I noted with, apologies herewith, that in the first installment I'd
called the wind SE - it was SW, thus our eastward movement). The
forecast from NOAA and Chris Parker has it that we'll be experiencing
20-25 knot winds with squalls and gusts to 40 knots. Our forward
motion would put that at a close beat - about 30* or less to the
apparent wind - so we reluctantly turned on the engine again. I didn't
really expect to make very good progress, so our new ETA would be 9AM
the next morning.
With the main sheeted tight, our rolling diminished as we turned west
into the - let's just say "fresh" - breeze and motored ahead. We had
about a 6' bag in the genoa, which was flapping mightily, giving about
a quarter turn on each flap, to the furler and the associated gear.
However, aside from the presumed damage that would eventually do to
our sail, all still appeared well, noise level and rig-shaking aside.
By 11AM, it was apparent that we were getting some drive from the
sail, as well. Nice to have some good news! Our ETA based on dead
reckoning, using our new speed, improved to midnight. Our engine was
very happy, too, with the oil pressure maxed, and our sometimes-flaky
temperature gauge in a very comfortable range.
Accordingly, I upped RPMs by 50 at a time, until the temperature rose
beyond 200, and then backed off just a bit, to 2650 RPM. With the
mainsail's drive helping Perky, our iron genoa, we were now making 7
knots toward our destination. WooHoo! That would put us at the
entrance to Saint Simons Sound by about 8:30 PM. However, it's a long
channel due to the shoalings and reefs present, and we were headed for
a spot up the Frederica River, adding about 2 hours to the trip. There's
also a pretty good tidal current there, and with our computer's two
navigation programs not sharing tide information, and, apparently, our
chartplotter's chips not having information on the specific spot we
were heading to, we didn't know if that would help or hinder.
Adding to unease about our genoa, the wind and seas picked up notably
(not that they were benign to begin with!) at 5:30 PM, reducing our
speed to only 6 knots due to the very tight beat pushing nearly
directly at us. However, by 6 PM we had only 18 miles to go to our
waypoint at the entrance, and we hit it at 8:45 as we entered the
channel. Of course, once we got inside all the shoals and reefs, the
seas settled down, and so did we.
The lighted marker buoys in the channel were very faint, and we had to
strain to see them, but always found them before it became an issue.
About halfway in, a very large motor vessel was apparently headed
directly for us, but when we hailed, he acknowledged us and said he
had us in sight, expecting a very clear berth. That indeed turned out
to be the case, but it had a very curious look to it as it passed. We
never could figure out what it was, as it looked like a ferry, but its
departure was pretty late, and we couldn't think of where it might be
headed; we thought it might be one of those dinner-cruise/gambling
sort of boats, but if that were the case, it would have been very late
for them to leave, so we were left scratching our heads about it :{))
Of course, where we were going was up a minor river, and there were
only daymarks to keep us out of the very shallow water outside the
channel. Even in the daytime, we've sometimes found them challenging
to see, so I got out on the bow with the spotlight, successfully
spotting all but one well in advance. That unspotted one passed a bit
closer than I like - but, happily, still well enough off that there
was no risk of collision with it. Finally, after a nerve-wracking
passage up the river, we were "home" - the anchorage nearby to
Frederica Yacht Club, home to our friend's boat, and in which slip we'd
eventually get comfortable. By 10:30, after making sure we'd not
impinge on any of the other boats anchored there, nor the breakwater
dock for the Yacht Club (actually just condo docks; no facilities of
any sort for the usual yacht club environment), we were safely on the
hook, and welcomed our dive into our comfy berth.
In the end, it was about a 51 hour trip, castoff to anchored firmly,
and, not counting the detour miles, an average of over 6 knots. Our
move into the slip was another minor adventure, in that the Watkins
that we'd expected to take out to the mooring I'd helped the other of
my Saint Simons Island angels establish had entirely dead batteries -
and no charger aboard. After obtaining a charger from the aforesaid
mooring owner, and after much charging and no success, an offer of an
open slip into which to pull her for a time was made by another of the
condo docks' owners.
Accordingly we made plans to tow her around to that slip, but when we
first tried, even with two dinghies working very hard, low tide had
her very fast aground. Throwing out an anchor to keep her from
swinging into the adjacent boat in the double slip (we'd gotten her
almost out of the slip), we secured the stern and waited for high tide
the next day.
Oops. The Edson cable steering mechanism I'd made plans to help the
first angel repair had failed, and the helm was hard over to
starboard. (That it happened then, and not on the weekend sail that he
and some friends had made not long before was certainly a blessing.
Imagine having her out in a stiff breeze, current, tight channel, and
failing in a hard-over position. Things might have gotten very
interesting, very quickly!
That hard-over position made towing a bit challenging, but eventually
we succeeded in backing her into the proffered slip and breathed a
sigh of relief. No rest for the weary, however, as we wanted to get
our boat into the now-vacant slip, too, and slack tide was the best
time to do it.
Off we zoom to Flying Pig, giving Lydia's mom instruction on where to
stand and how to toss the lines as we came in, and Lydia buzzed back
to the dock to catch. Of course, as is the case in most marina
environments, as it turned out, there were others there happy to help.
As I came in, the tide had turned, and there was a bit of a breeze,
so, despite my confident expectations of nailing it, I went around
when I found myself in an uncomfortable attitude. However, I'm pleased
to say that the second time was a charm, and as is usually the case
when I dock, I cautioned the line-holder not to throw it, but instead
hand it to the person on the dock as I nestled her into position, and
we were soon secure.
Damage assessment would have to wait for another day, as I didn't want
to be taking down the damaged genoa (it had torn in several places,
looking a bit like an aged flag in the unsecured areas) in anything
other than dead calm. That day arrived in short order, however, and I
discovered, as I prepared to drop the sail, that the clevis pin
holding the bottom of the genoa had apparently thrown its locking
ring, and, of course, soon after, the clevis pin itself. That allowed
the sail to ride up in the slide into which the luff rode by a few
inches. Whether that contributed to our challenges in furling I can't
say, but certainly, it didn't enhance the performance of the sail from
the time it happened!
Before I could drop the sail, though, I had to get all the lashings
and turnings and rat's nest of lines undone. I saw that the sheets had
both been damaged close to the tack of the genoa, and that all the
rotations of the furler had not only severed the spinnaker halyard at
the top of the mast, it had chewed through the furler line. The furler
line just needs shortening by the few inches involved, whipping, and
reinstallation, so that's no big deal. Likewise, the sheets needed
only to be milked (pulling down the cover to make the inner section
firm), damaged section (again, only a few inches) cut off, whipped and
heat-sealed. However, the spinnaker halyard was cut in the middle, so
another (now our 3rd!) would have to be ordered.
Once I had all the lines removed, and the
counter-folding/counter-wrapped undone and the sail unfurled, the sail
could come down easily. Yeah, right. The hoist came down about a third
of the way and stuck firmly. Up/down/up again, it still stuck. I could
see nothing to suggest why it should be hung up, so the only solution
was to go up the mast and pull myself out over the forestay.
Furlers use foils to contain the luff of the sail. They're made in
sections, with inner joints to keep them together. They're under no
tension - they just provide a track to take the sail up, so are under
no particular lengthwise pressure, either tension or compression. That's
very comforting, given what I saw when I discovered the source of the
jam. The sections are held in place by roller pins - hollow pins that
have a seam in them which causes them to push outward under pressure,
preventing movement in ordinary circumstances.
In this case, the first foil section's roller pin had come halfway
out. It tapped in easily, and the sail came down - partway! Having
gained a clue (many say I'm pretty clueless, but I gather and hoard
clues every chance I get!), I immediately expected, and was proven
right about, more displaced pins. Those, fortunately, didn't require a
trip up the mast, just a bit of something for me to stand on. Shortly,
the sail was on deck, where we'd flaked it as well as we could in its
tattered condition. Rolling it up, we took it to the dock for closer
inspection.
It was a sorry sight. We flaked, folded and bagged it properly for
sending off, along with the spinnaker (already in its bag), courtesy
of a Mack Sails rep we'd met working on another boat in the marina, to
the Mack Sails shop in Stuart, FL. The sailmaker confirmed that there
were 4 panels that needed replacement, either due to shredding or
excessive wear. They were able to source the roller pins for me, and I'll
install new on each of the points where the foil sections meet, as
well as one at the very bottom. The cost, not counting the
transportation costs of very heavy stuff, given that we'd been able to
very economically purchase our sails, was nearly half what we'd paid
for it new, so very little time ago. Still, that's good news in that
the rest of it survived, and with new panels in a nearly-new sail, the
repair will be inconspicuous, if not invisible. We'll also have a fair
amount of material from which we can make sail bags, line bags, jerry
cans covers and the like, from the removed, worn sections.
Other good news was that the spinnaker didn't, in fact, have a small
seam separation as we'd originally thought, our several pinholes were
easily sticky-patched with very small dots, and the dousing chute was
repairable with the total time on the spinnaker being only a couple of
hours.
Other aftermaths include the apparent failure of our oil gauge, as it
remained maxed out. So, apparently, we weren't really at max pressure
(which isn't really surprising, given that it usually was halfway at
power revs, and about a quarter at idle), but instead have some
electronic or sender issues. I may have to replace the oil stuff, but
that was a recent purchase during our refit, so I'd be surprised to
see an actual failure there. Troubleshooting ahead!
Likewise, already on our list for replacement is our temperature
gauge. The original (to the boat when we bought her) had a top of only
200* - and since we have antifreeze which would allow higher
temperatures than that (despite a 180* thermostat which, when not
under stress, kept the temp solidly there), I got nervous each time it
approached the end. I really want to know what the temp is, not just
that it's up near 200! - thus the replacement during our refit.
However, frequently, perhaps due to the electronic box in the engine
room, which sends the information to the dial not being happy in the
heat, the dial would either peg or go to zero. Once it did that, it
stayed that way until the next time we ran the engine. Not informative
enough for me :{)) So, that's on the to-buy and to-do list, as well.
Either way, I'll have to get into the pedestal for the temp gauge, so
I could replace both the oil and temperature gauges at the same time.
We leave you here as we await the arrival of our repaired sails,
having gone to the mountains of GA for family time, not the least of
which was Lydia's help with her grandson, newly out of open-heart
surgery. When we return to the boat, we'll have the usual small boat
chores to accomplish, which will take a couple of weeks. I'll also
help our slip-providing angel with the repairs on his boat, dive our
auto-providing angel's mooring to retrieve his anchor which had fouled
on the abandoned (but now his) mooring, and, shortly head back to the
Bahamas.
Both of us have land-fever, the unease which full-time cruisers
develop very quickly when away from the boat and our lives on the
water, and we're most enthusiastic about our return :{)) We look
forward to hosting our angels aboard shortly after we get back to the
Bahamas, and continuing our adventures.
Stay tuned!
L8R
Skip and crew
--
Morgan 461 #2
SV Flying Pig KI4MPC
See our galleries at www.justpickone.org/skip/gallery !
Follow us at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheFlyingPigLog
and/or http://groups.google.com/group/flyingpiglog
"Believe me, my young friend, there is *nothing*-absolutely
nothing-half so
much worth doing as simply messing, messing-about-in-boats; messing
about in
boats-or *with* boats.
In or out of 'em, it doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter,
that's
the charm of it.
Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you arrive at your
destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never
get
anywhere at all, you're always busy, and you never do anything in
particular; and when you've done it there's always something else to
do, and
you can do it if you like, but you'd much better not."
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