Bequia, the GrenadinesSo we checked out of Bequia, a tiny island just barely south of St. Vincent, in the Grenadines. We were using this slice of tropical paradise to do a lot of nothing in pursuit of healing Dois’ foot injuries. It’s looking like healing may to take awhile and we’d really like to be closer to a doctor, so we decided a leisurely sail to Curaçao (ABC islands near Venezuela) seemed like a good idea. The path to Curaçao was said to be out of the hurricane belt and that’s not a small thing in this neck of the woods. Dois discovered he could not turn Ashika to port (what?! “That’s what I said Lauri, I cannot turn the boat left!”). Dois thought maybe we needed to add hydraulic fluid, of which we had none. Shades of the Mediterranean… Dois used a bottle of olive oil (while I quickly hid the coconut oil from Inspector Gadget). A few minutes later, we had no steerage at all. But Ashika smelled fine, like an Italian restaurant. Apparently the EVOO had bubbled out of the helm pump and simmered on the hot engine. (Update: Dois discovered later that the fill tube was cracked and the Olive oil likely just dripped right through.) But we had trouble finding the humor at the time. No steerage at the helm was terrifying. The wheel just spun. Dois, now in his Macgyver hat, had a plan B (and even a Plan C). First he cut the engine and raised the mizzen to better balance the boat with the Genoa, our large jib and the wind conditions. He added the wind-vane sail to the Hydrovane. There wasn’t much wind for the vane at the beginning of the trip, but now this wondrous piece of kit would come into its own and win us over all over again. It has it’s own rudder and steers by the wind via a sail. Even so… this night would be full of terrors. The weather was squally which meant wind from all ends of the compass. We were navigating around islands and freighters with only a wind-vane to steer the bus as the gusty winds tried to drive us towards boat eating reefs. We would adjust our path by tweaking the Hydrovane to steer us generally away from ruin. Ashika was responsive with the configuration and hit an all time record of 8.8 knots. That’s a whopping 10 mph! As the wind became more docile with daylight, Dois began working on the steering system by destroying our aft stateroom. It was a necessary evil as the hydraulic steering system and rudder post were under the bed. But it’s still a small boat with little extra room to store a mattress that’s not on the bed for the next four or more days, not to mention the boat version of box springs and all the bedding and pillows. Using a massive wrench to work the rudder post, he found that the “Ram” of the hydraulic system that moves Ashika rudder would not move to port (hence no left turns); the hydraulic Ram was jammed. We will not likely know what to do about that for a couple of weeks. Next he disconnected the ram and using the manly wrench again, he turned the post to see if the the rudder was jammed. It was not, thankfully, and that was a hole I am relieved we don’t have to go down. That would be a far bigger problem. So now Dois could work on plan C… just as soon as we could find the giant backup tiller and it’s attachment piece to install on to the rudder post. It’s a six foot long by 3 or 4 inches of teak with a massive 2’ x 5” steel bracket, much too big to lose in the belly of a small boat. It only took us 2 days to find. But then you don’t need an emergency tiller every day. The fourth night was brutal; nine to twelve foot waves boarded Ashika’s decks leaving us shell shocked and exhausted. The winds howled in the rigging and I was certain I could hear the chatter of my ancestors arguing among themselves. As I struggled to hear what they were saying, I was suddenly jerked awake by a violent rocking of the boat and items that had taken flight across the salon making a ruckus. Dois had decided to gybe the boat. Gybing is not easy in a storm even when systems are completely operable. But the new routine required one of us to go into the aft stateroom and untie the emergency tiller arrangement and turn the rudder slowly towards the new course, while another goes to to the stern deck to hand gybe the mizzen. Brutal on a heaving wet aft deck. Another person needs to run and jump in the cockpit and pull the staysail onto it’s new side, thus needing three people for the job. Dois did it by himself. 🎶 Hand gybe, hand gybe…doin that crazy hand gybe! 🎶 Apparently, when you store a laminated teak tiller in the bowels of a boat for 30 or 40 years, said tiller can delaminate during emergency use… causing an emergency. Luckily, Dois and I are experts in the exotic art of duct tape. We were now only 75 miles away from Curaçao. Unfortunately it was only 9am and that meant we would reach the entrance around midnight. So we had to slow down. We used up about half those miles to arrive 3 miles off the coast of Bonaire. I was reluctant to heave-to but we just didn’t have any better option. Dois backed the mizzen sail while I furled the staysail and wala! It was a pretty good option after all. We crabbed across the channel at about 1kt all night until Dois woke me up preparing the boat to make the final miles to Curaçao. It was 2am. I didn’t know he thought it was 5am and didn’t say anything because I wanted to beat the Saturday rush of tourist boats coming out of the narrow channel leading into Spanish Waters and our safe haven. We arrived close to 7am Saturday morning and were met by a crush of large Catamarans full of tourists that had no idea we were steering compromised and sleep deprived. We had been using the radio to warn others of our dilemma, but apparently nothing stops the path of commerce. Some got the message as I jumped out on deck and started waving my arms while others waved back as we backed off to start over. I don’t know if I can adequately draw a picture of the predicament we were in, but here I go; The emergency tiller fit onto the rudder post in the center of what is normally the aft stateroom. What was the thought process for designing an emergency tiller without thought or consideration for the need to see where the hell you are going with a 45’ (plus bowsprit) boat?? In doing a review of what went wrong in the first 2000 feet of a 1.5 mile path I offer these 4 critical elements:
Just as we came within 2 feet of running straight into a rock face, I managed a perfect reverse turn facing us back the way we came. As I was spinning the boat around into the obnoxious grey cloud I had created and noticed, thru the haze, a crowd had gathered at the Sandals resort across the channel to watch me as I yelled and spun. I must have looked stark raving mad because Dois could neither be seen nor heard. Apparently the manager got word of the spectacle going on outside his resort and called me on the VHF to offer his dock to seek safety at while he arranged for additional assistance. Dois is always a gentleman and would never accuse me of staging a mock rock attack just to get out of an unpleasant situation. But… he did wink at me as we changed positions and he miraculously maneuvered to the dock without further incident. In fairness, Dois wanted me to add here, that the dock resembled an airport runway and he used almost the entire length while dock workers chased Ashika to the end to catch our lines. The manager arranged for a boating company to come tow us to a safe anchorage. The main anchorages are very busy, so they towed us to one next to a lovely oil derrick. We would have the bay all to ourselves surrounded by boats that had sunk around the perimeter. But one thing we have learned over our years of being wandering Gypsies is that beggars cannot be choosers. The other thing we have learned is the Caribbean is chock full of kind and lovely people. peace.
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Dois Brock and Lauri Hamilton Brock splashed our boat Ashika into the Pacific April 2017 for a Round the World Tour.
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