The Boat Story

 

 

When I decided to build a boat, the Bruce Roberts Charter 45 which Trevor had recommended through his exciting presentations of it, I was still of two minds and still am. On the one hand life needed something, some great adventure, to enhance its otherwise pitiful being, me. On the other it needed rules and regulations to mix its advent into a soliloquous harmony, not too much or too little, just enough, to be.

 

It was this need that drove me to work and back each day in the hope that I could one day retire to a home on the coast and a boat which could take me across the world’s oceans should that ever become necessary.

 

I had been born into a family of friends who shared to a lesser extent at least a love of water and boats and a deep respect for the Ocean. My Great Grandfather, William Henry Hart was a purser on the Union Castle Lines. He founded a ship chandler business in Durban under the name WH Hart & Co, Pty, Ltd. The address was 114 Melbourne Rd, Durban. My grandfather worked for him before the war but when he came back he went farming. His name was Reginald William Wenham Hart. My grandfather told me his father was a sailmaker from Portsmouth who needed to be moved out as is the way one moves up in the world and was given a post as purser on the Union Castle Royal Mail ships. Sail makers from Portsmouth in the latter 1800’s were, revered by the crown as they had always been the cornerstone of the challenge of the sea. Sails on the sailing ships which fought the battles with Napoleons Fleets and the Spanish Armada were like the motors of Formula 1 cars today, challenging other manufacturers to the pole position in the industry. Dominating the seas was not only reliant on the ships, the tall, broad, voluminous creatures of wood and iron, but of the canvas, up to 56000 square feet of sail which was stretched between the Spars hung on the masts of the  Kings Fleet.

 

My Grandfather carried this passion for the sea long after 1926 when the family Chandlers, Hart and Company, closed down due to the competition they were getting from iron sails. He could sometimes be caught muttering sail related comments as one would probably have heard from the men on the workboats which were used to load and unload sailing ships in Durban harbour. Although sailing ships still carried the record for passages across the oceans, steamships gradually gave way to the modern oil burning ships which would become so large as to dominate the seas.

 

The stories of William Henry Hart raged to the point of many speculations being circulated quite contrary to the evidence. He had apparently dived overboard the Union Castle Liner he was on in an attempt to save a seaman who had fallen, or jumped, overboard. For his bravery in 1887 he was awarded a price of 5000 pds and a two year concession to operate a chandlery on St Helena

 

In the beginning God made man. Then man made a boat. The boat’s name was Charlotte. Charlotte lived in the water in a mangrove. There were many things in the mangrove. There were snakes in the water and Herons to eat them. There were loads of fish and the Herons ate them too. One day there was even a large truck filled with petroleum fuel in the water. The truck had fallen off a bridge. There were many people trying to contain the petroleum fuel. Everyone gave up smoking that day. It was a great day.

 

There were other days. There was the day that she arrived from Cape Town by Road. Oh what a day! No one to meet us. Klaus was held up at the Toyota plant. Eventually Billy Bear arrived and promptly located us next to him on the hard where we would continue the building process. The interior kit had been fitted.Fibreglass tanks, some to carry water, some to carry diesel, were fitted. I did not know at that stage which tanks I would be using for either. There were 4 keel tanks of 180l each and 6 side tanks at 120 litres each. The rudder had been fitted. I still had to fit steering gear. Ballast in the form of 4,8 tonnes of lead ingots had been added in the factory. To launch she still neededamast, sails, a motor, plumbing, electrification, an interior finish and some deck hardware apart from a coating of sealant on her fibreglass hull before a few coats of anti-fouling.

 

Then there was the launch. Recommended course of action was to rent a suitable low bed and take her around to Fisherman’s wharf where she would be lowered into the water by a crane. We took the cheaper route, hired a crane and lifted her onto the Club trailer. Before we could let her into the water on the cradle we had to wait for a boat which had sunk on her moorings to be re-floated onto the cradle and towed out into the yard where we were waiting. Would I mind sharing the crane. The owner was flat broke and couldn’t afford to have his vessel lifted off the cradle. Charlotte would have to be launched another day! I agreed to sharing the crane.

 

The launch itself was probably the highlight of her life, apart from the losing of the mast, which I will narrate later. Billy, who is quite a handy guy to have around, had had a bump of concrete laid over the join between the slab of concrete at the foot of the slip and the upper part of the slip in the hope that the end slab, which was being undermined by current in the canal, would not slip into the canal. This meant that, in order to launch bigger vessels like Charlotte, the cradle had to ride over the bump as this would be necessary to reach deeper water where she would float off the cradle. Well, after a number of tries we were considering bringing in a low bed for the run around to fisherman’s wharf. We tried tying the cradle to the boat so that the cradle would be lifted over the bump during high tide. No luck there. Finally we decide to wait for low tide, which was at midnight, to let cradle and all fly down the slip, in so doing to reach sufficient speed to run over the bump. It was a calm night. Not a breath of wind. Only a lonely streetlight to break the darkness. Trevor Molver pulled her up with the tractor. With a flick of his wrist the steel cable flew off the tow bar sending the contraption, a 45 foot fibreglass yacht with mast and all tied to the cradle, a low trailer with four large wheels and one high side to tie the boat to, trundling down towards the by now very low water line. The bump was about three to four meters from the water. Launches of this vessel from slips is usually performed at Spring Highs to get the maximum water under her keel.  Would she make it. If she went all the way over the cradle would probably run over the end of the slip and sink into the silt canal. ARGHH. Who said being a Pirate was easy?

 

Wham, bam, thank you Ma’am ! The wheels closest to the water hit the bump lifted up and went over. The cradlesframe soon caught the bump, the whole thing slowed, still with its lower end in the air. Fortunately there was still some energy in the system and she went the extra inch to teeter butt down to the water’s edge. What a sight. A 45’ Yacht pointing 45 degrees into the air sitting on a cradle with its front wheels also in the air. And now the wait. Would there be enough water to lift her off at high tide? The gentleman whose large fishing boat was refloated earlier had left me his 3 tonne chain blocks. We would be able to pull Charlotte off the cradle if necessary.

 

And so we waited. Trevor had gone to bed at midnight. He slept in his garage and was obviously very tired. We wouldn’t need to call on him again. I was advised to get in the boat so as to monitor events as the tide rose. A good Idea. At about 3 am I heard a trickling of water. Where was it coming from?

 

I checked the bilge. There was a trickle of water coming from the aft end. Makes sense. The water is rising there. So where is it coming from. Check the cockpit drains. No problem there. Where next? The stern tubes seemed to be fine. Well packed. Hmmm? Open the lockers. What’s this? Water trickling through the rudder stock? Oh yes I hadn’t packed it very well. It was above the water line. Not above the water line now. At the angle she was sitting the rudder stock was depressed well below the water line. At that time of the morning I had neither the tools nor the packing to redo the job. I had a roll of amalgamating tape and taped it up until the trickle stopped. Problem solved for now!

 

Gradually she lifted off the cradle. I removed the ropes. By High tide the toe of her keel was still sitting on the cradle. I hooked up the chain blocks and started cranking the lever. At first, nothing. Then she gave way. Slipping all the way into the water. Yay! No one to cheer, the sun hadn’t risen yet. What’s next? Check the rudder stock. The tape around the packed bearing and the rudder stock would compromise the steering. The tape had broken away by now but the housing wasn’t leaking anymore as it was now above the water line. Great. Start the engine! OK. I hadn’t done that since I checked it out on the farm when the farmer who sold it to me had started it. It was too big for his boat. He helped me to install it but I hadn’t started it yet. Will it start?

 

I hooked upher batteries. I hadn’t installed her switches yet. I jammed the solenoid wire against the positive terminal of her starter motor. The solenoid pulled inturning the starter, engaging the Bendix and cranking the engine. GRR, GRRR, GRRR. Nothing.  I tickled her fuel pump with my finger until fuel gushed over it. Try again. GRRR GRRRGRRR, bang! Again. GRRR GRRRGRRR, bang bangbang chug chugchug.

 

“Where is all this smoke coming from? It seems the exhaust isn’t properly sealed on the manifold. I will have to redo that.”

 

 She was running.  I opened the hatches to let smoke out. In the quiet of the still morning air she looked like she was on fire!. Now where was that mooring? After trying the gears I cast off and drifted into the canal. She looked like a fire breathing dragon spilling smoke from its nostrils!  Engaging the gears for a few seconds at a time we drifted across the silt canal towards the rope moorings at D20 at the Bluff Yacht Club. Squeezing in between the other boats there I picked up the lizard line and hauled her on to the bouys to which I attached Charlotte, fore and aft. We were home!

 

Or what about the day we went sailing for the first time?

 

What was it? A Saturday morning. I had one of those moments, you know, like all is well with the world. “Let us try the motor!”, I said to Sue who was rummaging around as if she did not have anything to do.  “It is running isn’t it?” she asked”. “Well, yes, I need to give her a bit of a run” I said, meaning that I wasn’t sure how long she would last. The gear box was also a bit suspect. We were all aboard so all we had to do was to free her from her moorings and reverse off into the canal. We freed her off and reversed into the canal! Well, presto, we were off. I managed to get her out from between the boats without any serious bumps or scrapes. By that time I had fitted the foresail onto it’s roller furler, a device which is essentially a tube of aluminium set on a bearing of nylon running most of the way up the forestay. The aluminium tube is essentially sections of aluminium extruded with grooves to take a sail with a bolt rope in the luff. The sail’s luff is then drawn into the groove using a halyard until the luff is tight against the tack which is attached to the boat at the lower end of the stay to which it is fitted. The aluminium tube is then rolled around the stay by using a furling line. The furling line is essentially what a landlubber would call a rope which is set on a drum attached to the base of the aluminium tube which turns when the line is pulled to roll up the sail around the aluminium tube or gets rolled up itself when the sheets are drawn to open the sail. The furling line can be cleated at any point to set an amount of sail as required by the skipper.

 

So,why not? A lovely breeze picking up from the south. Just the ticket. We were going north, down the silt canal towards Maydon Canal, past the shipbuilding yards and the Dry Dock. Out came the sheets.The sheets are lines, in themselves ropes in an outer casing, which are attached to the clews of the sails and used to control the sails. The sail opened and we were off. I felt the tug of the sail against the water as it parted at the bow, heeling Charlotte over like an ardent lover. Sue was a little worried. No problem. This was an expression I had learned while Sue and I we were in Mauritius on honeymoon. We will cross that bridge when we come to it. There are so many people that could help us if we run into trouble.

 

What a lovely sail! Bright new cloth and so smooth! Charlotte was going a little slow but was picking up speed as we progressed, passing by the ships loading or unloading at Maydon Wharf. The wind was picking up. The South African East Coast is home of strong South Westerly winds, sometimes known as a buster. This wasn’t a buster. It was one of those graceful winds that gradually grew into a full blown gale with the sun shining and the temperature dropping but no cloud. A lovely day. A buster arrives suddenly in a purple grey cloud of weather often bringing stinging rain in its strong gale.

 

Durban Harbour was deep blue in the morning light, the wave gurgling off the bow crisp and white. The Genoa was fully unfurled and the port side sheet tight as she hauled us passed the T Jetty. I eased off a little so that we wouldn’t catch up to the small steamer ahead of us driving a bow wave reminiscent of a detergent advertisement. We were doing more than six knots. The wind was by now blowing a full 45 knots. Behind us a ferry was running up our tail and inside was a smaller boat losing water as we powered by.  It was time to slow down because Charlotte didn’t have Offshore Clearance yet and anyhow we needed to get out of the traffic to call Port Control! The huge stern of a ship loading at F shed was coming up fast.

 

I prepared to gybe and threw her wheel to port, flipped the port sheet off the winch and hauled in to Starboard. She went through 90 degrees and stopped.

 

“What are you doing?”’ I yelled at Sue.

 

“I’m doing what you told me”, she yelled back in a shrill voice.

 

I had asked Sue to hold the wheel while I gybed the sail. She did so. Sue was always a great help when it came to managing things, even Charlotte. Sue was not very keen on sailing but always stood by her man. She did many things that a man would be proud of. I went for the winch where I need to cast off the starboard sheet as I had to reduce sail while I looked for the problem. It would not budge! What I needed was some muscle. I tugged and I wrenched. It wouldn’t move.

 

We were headed for the wharf. Whoa, slow down. Acursory check revealed that the mechanical steering had parted where a bolt had been loosened to investigate the strain in the cabinet. Due to the strain the integrity of the steering would depend on that bolt.  I had to try to stop the boat before we hit the wharf.

 

I managed to get the motor started and into gear. I increased revs to get her to power out of the predicament. Nothing. I thought there was a bit of movement related to my efforts in the bow but I might have been mistaken. I tried reverse. I thought she slowed a bit but we were still closing on the wharf. What a time to find out that the gearbox wasn’t working.

 

Not having prepared to anchor I tried to get the anchor out. The chain wouldn’t come out of the locker. She had an itsy bitsyteeny weeny yellow Polka dot bikini! Not quite but close. The through hull fitting I had used for the feeder tube had spigots inside which were used for interlocking couplings. An itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow bit of brass which was now coupling with the chain. I didn’t have the time to sit and play with it. I managed to get the sail to back and we slowed considerably. The technique of backing the foresail, known as heaving to, is used to stop the boat. Now was a good time.

 

Miraculously the wind had also dropped. I think it was Sue’s ardent prayers. With the foresail still unfurled we drifted slowly towards the wharf.

 

The tide was full and the wharf came up in a heaving motion. I yelled at someone on the wharf to help fend off but he was obviously somewhere else. I eventually got him to understand perhaps he was in charge and had called someone to help. By that time a small group of people appeared near the huge Bollard. They understood. I rushed to the bow where the not so good rendition of a stemhead fitting had crushed a piece of concrete out of the wall and was lying askew on the bow. The Starboard pulpit, a frame of stainless steel on the bow which provides some security to crew working on the bow was bashing itself out of shape on the concrete as the light swell lifted and dropped Charlotte. I had fenders out on the starboard side which were of no use at all. A huge tractor tyre had been deployed on the wharf to act as fenders for the ships which moor there. The tyre, being bigger than Charlotte’s big fenders, prevented them from touching the supporting surface of the wharf. At least it was clear of crustacean growth which would have ground Charlotte’s fibreglass hull to dust, but what was this oily blackness. Oh well, I will get that cleaned up once we get settled on an anchor.

 

As we approached the wharf I had noticed some sort of a structure adjacent to the sheer of the wall which made up the wharf. I found out that it was quite sharp. The new sail which was still taught on the winch billowed up against the structure. My heart went taught with the expectation that it would soon be shredded. Someone hailed me from a small boat approaching. Would we need a hand? Was everything OK? Clearly they had seen that we were in trouble and wanted to help. “Yes, please, I am having trouble getting the sheet off the winch and could do with a strong hand to get it off!” To this day I don’t know the fellow’s name. He came onboard and tried getting the sheet off the winch. Cut it? He asked politely. Even in those days 16mm lines were pretty expensive and these were still new. “Let’s try it together” I suggested. We both got a hand to the sheet and pulled. Once, twice. RRip! The braided protective casing gave way and it came free. Hastily I rolled up the genoa on its furler but not without it running across a sharp edge on the steel structure. I would have to have the new sail repaired before I could use it again. Charlotte was by now more responsive. Our rescuers offered to tow us to safety. I would have to get the steering bolt tightened before we moved. As the gears were slipping and there was very little thrust coming from the propeller, I asked our rescuers to tow us to the anchorage at Point Yacht Club. The gear box was an old one. As the farmer who sold it to me had said, “We got it off a cement mixer!” I don’t think it came off a cement mixer but it was huge. The plates were worn and needed some adjustment. I had decided to use it as I couldn’t get a suitable box. I had tried everywhere I knew. I had found a Borg Warner which was suitable for a 7 degree set in the propeller shaft. Charlotte’s propeller shaft was set horizontal so the box would not be suitable. There were others but they were all too expensive. So I had taken a chance with the farmer’s box.

 

We took a line from the small boat and set off across the bay, back around T jetty, towards the Point Yacht Club’s chain moorings. Along the way our rescuer decided that he would like to cast us off. I had to plead for them not to as I was in the way of traffic, would have to drop the anchor in the hope of getting the gear box fixed before we could proceed further. If they could get us to the chain moorings I could drop the anchor there until I got the gearbox fixed. Oh, they had thought that I could sail back. They were obviously motor men or they would have realised that by now there was little wind and we would have to motor to go anywhere. They relented and persisted in the tow until we reached the anchorage, where I thanked them profusely. I took a look around. We would be in no danger to other boats if the wind changed. I hoped that the anchor would hold. I had managed to get enough chain out of the locker to set an anchor which appeared to be holding.

 

Down below it was chaos. The cabin sole had been lifted to expose the motor which was mounted, sunk in between the engine mounting bulkheads, set along the opening of the keel. The gearbox was not easily accessible. I got it open and started fiddling with the adjusting screws. Now what did he say? Clockwise to tighten? I tried it both ways and eventually got the shaft to turn fast enough to get us going. There was still a problem though. The box would not stay in gear. I got Sue to hold it in with a stick until we got back to the Bluff Yacht Club and our mooring. The stick slipped a few times but Sue stoically went back to it once I had set it again. This happened a few times before we got back to our mooring where I was ignominiously abandoned.

 

After a few weeks I had managed to get the oily black coating which we had collected from the tractor tyre at O shed off Charlotte’s smooth white topsides. It took three applications of turpentine and a few rags to loosen the oil which had the consistency of grease. Having done so I would wipe away the softened coating only to be presented with another coating underneath.

 

I eventually removed the box which was full of water. The wet exhaust was leaking and needed some attention, leaving the gearbox soaked and without oil, which had floated on the water and into the bilge. I dried the box out, having stripped it back as far as I could. Some of the bolts were unrelenting and the assembly thereof something of a mystery. I had taken it off the boat and swung it into a dinghy which helped me to get it to the shore. Once there I had one of the Club labourers lift it into a wheel barrow which we used to get it to our garage. The garage was at the far end of the club premises.

 

There were some politics about garages. As some of us sailing types were often found to be living in the garages we were unpopular with other categories of member who were embarrassed by officials who frowned on the practise. I had managed to get hold of one of the larger garages which had been built to house some of the larger fishing boats. It was large enough to hold our washing machine, tumble drier and lounge suite leaving enough room for Sue and her ironing board.

 

What next? Over the following months I managed to get the main sail bent on. My friend Derek who worked at the bank, no he didn’t help finance this escapade, helped me with a few of the other jobs like getting the radar and ship’s lights to work by hauling me up the mast. We enjoyed a few less eventful sails in the harbour together. This gave us more experience with sail handling, engine handling, mooring, anchoring and simply how to enjoy the finer things of boating, like anchoring in the middle of nowhere to take a stroll on a sand bank exposing itself to the low tide.

 

The Voyage to Richards Bay

 

The year I had contracted to spend with the consultants in Westville was coming to an end. I would soon be without work. I managed to get work in Richards Bay where there were facilities for Charlotte. We spent a year there before I found someone, who happened to be the farmer who helped me with my motor, to take Charlotte to Richards Bay. I invited Derek to go along. It was recommended that I borrow a life raft but I bought one with the idea that it would serve me well to prepare for future cruises which I hoped would start happening. I sought special permission to take Charlotte to Richards Bay but was told that the basic requirements had to be met anyway. I managed to get her through her offshore clearance and it was A for away!

 

The weekend we chose to leave Dave, the farmer who had sold me the motor said he was concerned about his cattle as the heifers need inoculation and he had to do that that weekend. I said that well it didn’t matter much and he could stay but I would rather have him coming along. In the end he came along. The wind was forecast to become South Westerly, usually a gale but going in the right direction.

 

We drove down from Richards Bay and arrived at the Bluff Yacht Club at about 11:00 on the Friday

 

A light North Easterly was blowing. It was a bright but overcast day with high thin cloud. Dave helped me cast off from my mooring for the last time and we slid through the boats at a gentle pace. We called in at the Point Yacht Club to pick up Derek who had had to work that morning. He lost his shoe coming aboard which was by way of the pulpit. We couldn’t berth properly but manage to bring the bow close enough to the international jetty for Dereck to get a hand to it. As he swung himself on is Slip Slop fell off. He managed to get on and we picked the shoe up with a boat hook. We backed off then turned up the canal towards the Harbour mouth. At about the T Jetty Dave called the Port Control who relented and let us go after Dave had given them the clear understanding that he was an experienced skipper and in charge.

 

Although the wind was on our nose Dave wanted some sail up and we complied. We beat down towards Blue Lagoon then up towards Umhlanga Rocks. At that point the wind dropped completely. Dave pointed to the South where the horizon was becoming a purplish grey colour. “You know what that is, don’t you?” asked Dave. “Well, yes, that’s the buster isn’t it?” I replied. “What is this all about a buster?” asked Dereck. Dave went on to explain in some gruesome detail what we were about to encounter. At this stage it was about 6 pm and we expected the buster in about half an hour. True to form the buster arrived at 6:30. What would you like to do? Asked Dave. “What do you mean?”I countered, not really sure what he was getting at. He was after all in charge! “How much sail shall we put up?” he clarified himself. “Oh”, Isaid, “the foresail is all we need. We could leave a bit open but it might be wise to wait without sail until the buster arrives. We can see what happens then. “Put the main up first” Dave said. I’m not one for using the main other than in a head wind when the main provides some stability. “No, I prefer that the genoa is the only sail we have up. I have a smaller inner foresail which we can use too.” Dave, who had been racing yachts since his University days, insisted on getting the main up as it would be impossible to raise it once we were going. I do believe he would have like to have tested the boat’s speed under these conditions. We complied. It is quite a job getting the 46 square meter sail up. The slides were still stiff and she was fully battened which meant that the pressure on the battened slides would provide extra resistance to the sliding motion. “I wish I had fitted that batten car system” I said out loud. The sail is attached to cars with bearings which make raising and lowering the sail a cinch. “Could you afford it?”asked Dave with a wry grin. At that time the Batcar system would have set me back R100000-00 which was five times more than the sail! I admitted that I couldn’t.

 

The knot in a reefing line where a loop is formed around the boom in order that the motion of the slides which attach the foot of the sail to the boom, usually a bowline, had come undone due to the size and stiffness of the line. I checked the others and Dereck offered to help. I said that the loop should be able to slip along the boom. Dereck misunderstood and put a slip knot in the line which would pull it tight around the boom. I tried to explain that the loop around the boom should be loose in order to permit the sail’s slides to travel freely along the boomed as the foot is tightened or eased to give the sail shape suitable to the dominant sailing conditions. He did not comprehend so I left it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a problem. I did not want to argue any further. My getting into arguments with people had a history of letting me down. Dereck was never one for fisticuffs but I have had enough to avoid arguments. Perhaps I needed to bop him one to draw his attention to the seriousness of the situation. I have notice how many senior managers use violence or the threat of violence in order to get their message across. I would just hope that all would be well and that I would be able to get the message across at some other time.

 

Once the sail was hoisted the foot remained baggy after tightening the outhaul. My heart sagged. I took a closer look. From where I was I could see the slide straining against the tightened reefing line. The reefing line would not budge and neither would the slide, nor the foot tighten, no matter how much tension was in the outhaul. Dereck was on the winch at the mast where the outhaul was on the drum. He said that he was having trouble getting the line on the winch. At that stage I had a single line approach to my running rigging. I had paired the outhaul with the first reef. The fact that the sail was fully raised meant that the reefing lines were fully extended and left little line to reach the outhaul. Now that the sail taking up extra slack it was difficult to get the loop of the line which was left to work with onto the winch. I went to the boom where Dereck’s slip knot was now so tight I might need to cut it away. I tugged at it and even suggested that I fetch my knife which had a marlin spike on it.

 

Dereck insisted on giving it another pull. Perhaps it would free itself. After all it was a slip knot. “After all it was a slip knot”. He couldn’t get the line onto the winch. I suggested using the tailer only. He got the loop around the tailer. Dereck braced himself between the deck and the winch handle to give a stout pull. I had returned to the cockpit to figure it out. As I looked up the winch broke. Snapped off near the base where protruding gears weakened the structure. It did not just break. It snapped off completely. The inertia of the winch handle which had freed itself from the winch carried straight into Dereck’s face. There was blood everywhere. Dereck was apologising and imploring me not to worry while it looked to me that his nose had been severed from his face. A line of blood suggested that the nose had torn away completely. On closer inspection I found that the damage was not as severe as I had thought and that it was a simple bloody nose. I managed to salvage some of the winch while pinions and spring went bouncing on the deck towards the toe rail which, surprisingly, managed to stop at least one of the gears from bouncing into the ocean.

 

After getting Derek cleaned up we settled down to wait for the wind.

 

When it arrived the coolness licked at us. In the distance the horizon had disappeared behind the storm. What was a calm ocean with gently rolling swells half an hour ago was licked into a frenzy, the white caps gradually obliterating the light blue of the ocean. Very soon there was nothing but white spray in the air. It was getting dark. Should we shorten sail? It is good practise to shorten sail at night. It becomes difficult to work, to assess conditions and risks in the darkness.

 

“Let’s drop the main” said Dave. “Will it come down easily?” he asked. Considering a discussion held shortly before we raised the main I was surprised. Yes, I didn’t mind. I had had some practise raising and lowering sails in heavy weather. There were seven of us then, now there were only three.

 

I agreed to head up into the wind. Charlotte was struggling to point downwind. The wind was tearing through the rigging at 45 knots and more. The spray of the breaking waves was still visually penetrable in the dark. The main came down easily. Dereck Gave me a hand as we trussed up the sail on the boom as best we could. I had thought of reefing down to 3rd reef but the reefing rings would not reach the bull horn over the untidy folds of heavy new sail. At about that time Dave had commented that he didn’t know which way to turn the wheel as he couldn’t find the stops. “That’s OK Dave, there aren’t  any!” I nonchalantly replied. At that stage I was stumped as to where and how I would install stops. Rudders on boats are usually stopped short of 45 degrees to Port and Starboard. Charlotte has a mechanical system incorporating a gearbox which converts the rotational motion of the wheel to a translational motion of a stainless steel beam which pushes and pulls a lever set at 90 degrees to the direction of motion producing a rotational motion in the rudder stock and thence the rudder. Stops could be fitted externally to the hull preventing the rudder from moving beyond 43 degrees off the centreline of motion. I have never seen this but it is a possibility. Stops are usually fitted around the rudder stock at the packed gland housing the rudder stock. In Charlotte the gland is set fairly high, higher than the designers waterline which is often below the waterline when loaded.  Fitting stops here invites substantial construction in order to carry the loaded of a rudder under load.  At the time of our first voyage offshore I was relying on a wooden bulkhead to interfere with the travel of the stainless steel beam. At that stage the beam had crushed the plywood bulkhead rendering it free to travel. As the lever on the gearbox driving the stainless steel beam could now rotate freely through 360 degrees the rudder was behaving as a paddle moving back and forth as the wheel was turned in either direction making it difficult to guess where the rudder was and why we were moving in any particular direction. As I had familiarised myself with this behaviour I quickly discovered the position of the rudder and found that it wasn’t of much use anyway. The wind was too strong and overpowering the rudder in the white foaminess which was now the ocean surface. I suggested we roll up the Genoa in order to get more control over the boat.

 

Well yes, no fine! After a crash course in furling gear we managed to get the Genoa furled. It seemed that she wanted to go home! With the wind coming from the south the stern was being pushed around so that she faced into the wind and back to where we were coming from. We unrolled the furler a little, then a bit more. Charlotte still wouldn’t respond to the wheel. “Oh well, this can’t last forever” I said. Dave seemed irritated. “I hope this isn’t going to take all weekend. I had planned to inoculate my calves in the morning. Now it will have to wait until next weekend!” A little disappointed I suggested furling the genoa again as the Clew end was beating itself to shreds against the inner forestay. Although I had an inner foresail we had not hanked it on because Dave did not see the purpose of it. At that stage neither did I. It was just another sail which purpose was in fact being a storm sail. With all the wind and things I was loathe to start experimenting with a sail I had not yet used other to see that it fits.

 

It did not take long to roll up the furler. There was only a short piece showing. It turned twice and stopped. I put tension on the winch handle refraining from forcing it, having learned that they do break. “The sail is caught on something” I yelled at Derek. Derek went to the foredeck to check. Initially he couldn’t see anything. He eventually found that the UV protection on the sail had unravelled enough and wrapped itself around the inner forestay rendering the sail bound to the inner forestay. To set it free the threads would have to be cut. To reach the threads meant climbing the inner forestay to a height of about 8 meters, something an experienced foredeck sailor could do with ease. In my midlife crisis I was not going to take a chance. We lived with the problem long after the wind settled.

 

At this stage I had started feeling tired and suggested that Derek take a nap. He objected suggesting that rather I take a nap as I must be feeling tired having raised the subject! I took a nap. An hour and a half later I was back up. I heard Derek and Dave having a heated debate on something or other. Derek has a way of asserting himself. I never did find out what it was about. Dave sent Derek down for a rest and I filled in for him until Dave decided it was his turn.

 

The wind eventually dropped a bit. We managed to start making way in the direction of choice. The wind had been blowing up into the 50 knot region rendering us helpless for about 4 hours, precious time for a racer.With the rag of sail the furler allowed us we weren’t going anywhere quickly. I eventually got the inner foresail up once we had raised the main to the second reef. Without a reefing winch I took the line onto one of the bigger winches on the side of the mast. The arrangement worked pretty well and I went over the outhaul and reefing line things with Dereck. Derek was an experienced dinghy sailor but had little experience on bigger boats. I am still a little puzzled that he could not see that his slip knot would cause a problem. I have known Dereck since childhood when we were Sea Scouts together. Derek and Neil shared a Dabchick which I enjoyed crewing on. We had been over knots a number of times. I think that he had focused on the slip knot to the extent where all else went astray, in particular the bowline which is probably the most important knot to any sailor. When attaching a reefing line to the boom, particularly where the foot of the sail is attached to the boom in some way, the reefing line shall be attached in a manner allowing the sail to travel along the boom freely. To this end a bowline is used to make a loop around itself once it has been wound around the boom. There is usually a cringle in the sail to allow the line to be fed through the sail as it is wound around the boom, particularly in the case of a bolt roped foot. Modern sails are often loose footed and do not have this problem.

 

The rest of the voyage was largely uneventful. Dave spent quite a lot of time below, preparing himself for the task of inoculating calves. We managed to get to Richards Bay by eleven the following morning. Dave managed to inoculate his calves.

 

Tied up to the wall at the Zululand Yacht Club, considering my predicament with the foresail, a lithe looking young guy asked me what I was going to do and offered to help. By the time I had the bosun’s chair hooked up he had already been up the baby stay and had cut the offending threads. I furled the sail thanking him profusely. “No problem” he said and was on his way. I later met his father who would well fit the description of an ancient mariner, but that’s another story! J

 

Having been assigned a walk on we were now in a position to relax and feel at home. We were living in a municipal house in town and settling in to suburban life. We did not have any beds and only my original lounge suite which had become badly soiled while we lived in the boat at the Bluff Yacht Club. I had a few loose mattresses which made sleeping on the floor more comfortable.

 

 

 

New Chapter – 1997-2006

The house in Veld-en-Vlei belonged to the Municipality where I worked

 

 

 

 

 

Stories still to be written :

 Sail to Durban with Paul – the first Sangoma Race

Sail to Durban with Paul, Virginia, Max, Dylan, Genevieve

Sail to Durban with Max and Mike

Sail to Durban with Dylan, Charlotte and Mikel

Sail to Inhaca with Gabriel

Sail to Inhaca with Pambrien

Sail to Bazaruto with Ocean Sailing

Sail to Inhambane with Kingfisher

1997-2001

Sailing to Madagascar- losing the mast etc.

Weekend sailing – losing the roller furler

Round the Ships Races

Wednesday Night Sailing.

Ted. Ted.

Ron. Ron.

The Shop. The Shop.