Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
December 17, 2004
Nearly two weeks ago, my friend and I set sail for Palmyra, an atoll 1,000 miles south of Oahu. During the week-long passage to this wildlife refuge, I liked to daydream about our arrival there.
How thrilling it would be to drive my boat down that entrance channel. How proudly I’d drop my anchor in that idyllic lagoon.
When we did arrive in Palmyra last Tuesday, however, my strongest emotions were gratitude and relief. I was grateful that neither Alex nor I was injured, relieved we were not adrift in the Pacific Ocean.
The calamity happened on day six. After a night of 30-knot winds and large, confused swells, sunrise brought lighter winds and more organized waves. We unfurled the jib to full size and settled down for a pleasant downwind sail, hoping it would continue for the last 300 miles to Palmyra.
Alex and I were eating Goldfish crackers in the cockpit when we heard a little pop. A second later, to our utter astonishment, the forestay, jib and roller reefing gear were lying in the water next to the boat.
The forestay, a thick wire crucial for holding up the mast, among other things, had broken off the masthead. Since its other end was still attached at the bow of the boat, the mass of equipment lay draped over the lifelines, bending the stanchions as it headed beneath the listing boat.
Alex and I stood with jaws agape. “The jib fell down,” he said. Indeed it had. My new sail drifted gracefully beneath the water’s surface like a giant white manta ray.
We jumped to action. I jammed the gear shift into reverse, thus preventing the propeller from winding the loose lines around its shaft (I’d learned my lesson off Makapuu).
While Alex freed the forestay from the bow, I went below to turn off the wind generator. The mast’s now-slack backstays were swaying into it and threatening to break its blades.
Now, only one rope held the jib and its broken back to the boat. Should the two of us try to haul it aboard? A swell rolled the boat, and the mast again swayed backward. Alex held the jib sheet in his hand. “Let it go,” I said.
Whenever I regret sending that gear to the bottom of the ocean, I remember one thing: It hadn’t fallen on us. Also, abandoning the jib gave us time to fasten two halyards to the bow to mimic a forestay. It prevented the mast from toppling.
Since we didn’t have enough fuel to motor the rest of the way, the satellite phone suddenly became my most valuable piece of equipment. Craig explained how to sail the boat in this condition, and in a couple of hours we were on our way, slowly but safely.
Three days later the Palmyra crew, informed of our mishap, met us at the channel entrance and escorted us in. It was a glorious moment. Maybe not the arrival I’d imagined, but then that’s the nature of adventures.
Thanks to my boat mentors, Craig and Gerard, the parts we need for repairs are on their way. In the meantime, no anchorage has ever looked so beautiful.