squalls, lee shores and lost steering

Florida to Belize (Day 4)

There’s some lumpy weather heading our way, but for now, there is next to no wind. We make the most of this opportunity and begin to stow the accumulated clutter from the past few days of living aboard 24/7. I find an ice scoop underneath the oven. It’s now easier to funnel ice into our water bottles. Ben is genuinely beaming.

Ben: Finding that has to make your blog. It’s a real story. It’s the scoop of the century.

The breeze picks up to 12 knots, and we heel over. We are sending it on the Code Zero. 8 knots of boat speed. The wind clocks round 90 degrees, so we pop up the Jib and try to furl the Code Zero. It was not easy to furl, with the Zero right against the Jib, and took us a few attempts to become satisfied with our sausage. We resolve to try furling the Zero with just the Staysail up next time.

We are dodging squalls. Or at least trying to. I’m helming. Charles is in the shower. Ben is asleep. We are sailing upwind, in a South West direction, parallel to the Cuban coast. The wind starts backing, moving anticlockwise. I follow it round to avoid tacking. As the wind speed increases, I bear away. It keeps backing. We are now pointing South, directly at Cuba, fast approaching shallows. We have a mile of sea room, but I’m alone on deck, and we need to tack. I shout for Charles, who emerges with just a towel on.

We turn on Otto the autopilot and put in a reef. Just like that, the wind subsides to 12 knots. Ben pops his head up. Low boat speed. Why have we reefed? Charles says it’s good practice. And besides, we have been dodging squalls.

I take the helm back from Otto. We are still heading towards the shallows, but less aggressively so, and the wind has decreased. There should be enough time for Charles to put some clothes on before we need to tack.

Out of nowhere, we get 30 knots. We start heeling, I shout for main sheet off, Ben starts to dump it, but a gust causes us to round up. The helm is heavy and I am desperately trying to bring us back down. But I go too far, and now we really are overpowered. As we prepare to tack, I hand over the helm to Charles. We round up again. We lose steering.

We are now heading fast towards a lee shore, and the shallows are not far away.

What happens next is all rather a blur. But in some order or another, we realise Otto is still capable of steering for us, we get the Jib away and the Staysail out, tack North (away from the shallows) using the autopilot and put another reef in the main.

Safe to say, I’m very glad Charles got the autopilot working before leaving Florida!

With some newfound sea room in our pockets, I check the weather radar. Just our luck, it’s a huge squall - stretching from to the south-western end of Cuba. It will be with us for a while yet.

Charles climbs down into the lazarette. He passes up the emergency tiller. By fitting this, we can regain hand steering whilst Charles fixes our ability to steer with the wheel. But there’s a problem: it doesn’t fit. Either the cube of metal above the rudder which the tiller attaches to, or the tiller itself, or both seem to have warped. But in any case, they no longer fit together. Otto stays on.

Charles fixes the steering cable. We get the wheel (and our ability to steer) back.

On reflection, we all stayed remarkably calm. I do think that being well drilled in dealing with the stressful scenarios which inevitably crop up racing helped and stood us in good stead here.

The wind subsides. I check the forecast. Milton is now a hurricane. And bigger. And sooner. Tropical storm force winds are predicted to reach the western tip of Cuba around midnight Monday into Tuesday. We are hoping to be at the western tip of Cuba by midday tomorrow. That would give us 12 hours spare to run from it.

Despite a pretty sunset, it is now raining. We decide not to braai. I go down below to prep dinner. Steak and potatoes, but this time with some vegetables. I don’t get very far. The electrics start sparking.

There is a leak directly above the electronics panel. We have to turn off the AC section of the panel, meaning no hob/oven (i.e. no hot dinner) and no internet (i.e. no more weather/hurricane updates). We try to prevent the leak from reaching the electricity panel, mopping up the water with rags and kitchen roll and towels. And we just have to hope it dries out. We eat ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner.

The winds have been light for hours, but it’s nasty sea state. As I head off watch, we shake the reef out. As I doze off, a squall hits. Ben and Charles are preparing to tack. Otto is on the helm. I pop my lifejacket on and stand in the companionway, just in case. There’s a gust. Charles shouts for -10 degrees and I hit the button. We’re very heeled over. There’s a call to dump the main sheet, and I let it run free. We are moving: 9.5 knots speed over ground. Water is pouring through the open hatches. I go down to close them. We talk about taking a reef. I ask whether they want the spreader lights back on. Not just yet. Ben suggests I snooze wearing my lifejacket, just in case they decide to soon. Believe me - it’s a look!

I’m back down below. I can hear things clattering about, and water rushing over the decks above my head, and Argonaut groaning as she embraces another wave. There is lightning close by.

I’m glad I kept my lifejacket on. I’m back up on deck as we need to put in two reefs, furl the jib, and put the staysail out. It’s 35 knots. Charles goes to the mast to hank on the reefing lines to the main. Ben is pulling the staysail sheet, but it gets stuck, so goes forward to sort out the mess. I happily remain in the cockpit, in my pyjamas and lifejacket.

We sailed four hours worth of distance in just an hour and a half.

There’s a lull.

Ben: Can we put the Jib up?

The torrential downpours continue.

Ben: Oohhh 116, shall we get the Zero out?

Charles takes a small swig of whisky, then immediately pronounces that he couldn’t possibly do any more manoeuvres tonight.

I am on watch in four hours. Better get some sleep. I close my eyes, but catch the edge of a conversation between Ben and Charles on the topic of whether or not to tack:

Ben: I don’t see any reason to give up our searoom. It has proven to be quite a useful resource.

Cue laughter on all sides.

I sleep. I helm. I sleep. I awake abruptly to a shout.

Ben: SMOKE!

Having hoped the electronics panel would be dry by morning, they had turned the AC power on in order to get a weather update. Charles shouts for Ben to take the helm, all but launches himself down the companionway, and turns the house power off. Although the rain has stopped, waves are crashing over the bow, and water is still seeping in. The panel is wet again.

We should be beating, sailing as upwind as we can, but we cannot afford to take another wave over the bow. So we need to sail less aggressively upwind, 70 degrees true. It will take us longer to reach the western point of Cuba this will, but it’s the only way to try slow down the weather ingress and preserve our electronics, until we can fix the leak more permanently come dawn. Putting distance between us and hurricane Milton has become just that little bit harder.

Leg: Havana, Cuba to San Antonio Bank, Cuba