The Fun Never Stops (or Another Oregonian Adventure)

See Chris' post below for the short story. This is the long story, from Tim's perspective: We left Newport, OR with a dream forecast: 30 knot NW winds and 8 to 10 foot seas for the next five days. But you can count on the weather to be something other than what was predicted. Planning a five day run to San Francisco, we were some 60 miles offshore, intending to give Cape Mendecino a wide berth, given the reputation of that particular piece of coastline. I celebrated our passage of the 42nd parallel, marking the border of California. Then, the wind picked up to 40, then 50 knots sustained, gusting to 65, the seas grew rapidly, and we decided to turn in. Due east of us was Crescent City, CA which looked like the only navigable entrance as the bar at Eureka was impassable, and there would be nothing else until around the Cape, which we really didn't want to be close to in that weather. The crew was weary and seasick. As wind and sea built we began forereaching (hove to, crawling only a little to windward but across the seas). With a deeply reefed mainsail alone and 2000 rpm from the engine it looked like we would just make Crescent City in 20 hours or so. The waves were now breaking, crashing over the boat, which was taking a beating. The rig rattled like I've never heard. The wind generator disintegrated (5 out of 6 blades). The dodger sides had been ripped away by the onslaught of water. The hatch could not be opened without a wave dowsing us below. The entire boat was soaked. The radar reflector was blown off its mast fittings. That's ok, I thought, we'll still make it as long as the engine doesn't... - it did. Frequent forays on deck to make regular checks every 15 minutes paid off, as we caught the overheat before any real damage occurred (like another blown out muffler). But we could not run the engine until the cause of the overheat was fixed. A few minutes lurching about in the engine room diagnosing the problem determined it was probably the impeller - that was a simple repair and I had the spares on board. As I removed the cap to the pump, I discovered the screws last used (probably by me) were not stainless or brass and were so rusted out and corroded that two of the heads just crumbled under the screw driver. This was no longer a simple repair. But without the engine we would be in this storm for days, blown south past the Cape until it all blew over and we could crawl into shore safely. I crawled in the bunk for a one hour catnap, while Austen did 15 minute deck checks. I could not think of any reliable way to jury rig an alternate raw water pump. The boat now disabled, I decided to call the Coast Guard. I emphasized there was no distress at that point but inquired of the possibility of a tow. They immediately dispatched a lifeboat. I wondered if the call was premature and I was of course feeling a twinge of guilt and incompetence that I couldn't handle a little storm. But in light of what then unfolded, the call was fortuitous. While the lifeboat was en route the the main halyard parted, then the third reefline parted, and the mainsail pulled out from most of it's mast slides, luffing and flapping in the raging wind. We had two storm sails aboard, both safely stowed under the dinghy - but I did not dare unlash it from the foredeck in those seas, as the boat heaved up and down by twenty feet every 10 seconds. Much less did I dare climb the mast the 15 feet needed to retrieve the wrapped and tangled mainsail. But as long as the rig stayed up, I thought, we'd be ok... then a clang and a rattle... looking out the port I saw a shroud (stay cable for the mast) with its turnbuckle attached, swinging in the wind on the leeward side. The risk of dismasting was now live and ominous. When the Coast Guard arrived, I braved the foredeck, jury rigged the shroud, and lashed the sail as best I could, hanging on for my life as wave after wave crashed over me with the force of a freight train. The Coast Guard Lifeboat made several approaches to throw me a heaving line, coming perilously close, literally flying off waves and falling off the next. Upwind and above me I watched the 80 foot steel cutter come crashing down each wave, then blasting its engines to avoid crashing into us! On the third attempt I finally got hold of the heaving line and wrestled the heavy tow line in, bracing myself against each breaking wave over the deck, pulling some more, bracing, pulling, bracing, fighting against the weight of the tow line in the water between the boats. Finally I got the bridle secured to the bow cleats and made my way aft and back below decks. Each of us then braced in a bunk for a 9 hour violent lurching tow into Brookings, Oregon. Our work is now cut out for us here with lots to do. On one hand I am envigorated and rewarded by the experience - it is nice to know I still have it in me. On the other hand I am getting way to old for this shit! More to the point are the many lessons learned, of seamanship, judgement and reverance for the sea - all of which I thought I had - and each of which I will never stop acquiring. I am not just "glad to be alive", but feeling very alive and living life to its fullest! For some aboard, it was an ordeal - for me, an adventure! The difference may be all one of attitude. If I have to stay up all night doing something, I'd rather be doing this than preparing closing submissions to a jury. Austen wants to join the Coast Guard. Perhaps I should have done so a long time ago - they were extraordinary and my hat is off to them. "Candine" performed better than I could ever expect, and I am almost as proud of her as I am of the crew that braved the experience with me - all of them, Liz, Chris and Austen, hung in like troopers. Having said all of that, there is much to be said for terra firma, which we are now appreciating like never before. As Chris lamented below, we were towed back to Oregon from California, but then, who can complain. Perhaps another week in Brookings, and we will all be ready to go again, on our sothward voyage of discovery.