Thursday, October 5, 2017

Coral Sea Memories

0600 position 25-35S 166-39E. Day's run 229 miles. 252 miles to go to Norfolk Island.

Yesterday morning as we were clearing New Caledonia's barrier reef Michael and I were looking at the paper chart of our route to Norfolk Island. It is always prudent to validate the accuracy of vector (digital) charts by comparing them with raster (paper) charts when you are in unfamiliar waters. As we examined the paper chart I realized that it was the same one Rob had used to navigate with when I sailed with him aboard Windward Passage forty years ago. I could see Windward Passage's track north from the coast of Australia into the Coral Sea and right into the path of a tropical cyclone plotted in pencil on the chart.

We had no idea that a cyclone was brewing when we departed Maloolaba, a small boat harbor just north of Brisbane, in late February 1978. It got overcast as the coast of Australia disappeared to the west and the weather started deteriorating. We learned about the storm on the high seas weather radio, but by that time there was nowhere to hide. It looked like the storm, which was moving to the east, would pass by to the north of us. Since the winds rotate clockwise around a low pressure system in the southern hemisphere, that would put the wind behind us as we headed north. That part was fortunate; The wind was pushing us in the direction we wanted to go.

Our first concern was a couple of reefs directly in our path in the Coral Sea. Back then we had no satellite navigation systems; We navigated with a sextant. Since it was 100% overcast we couldn't take any celestial sights, so we were navigating by DR (dead reckoning). We hadn't had a position fix for more than 24 hours when we passed through the forty mile wide channel between the reefs, and we strained to see the lighthouses on both before sunrise. We never saw either, but we did pass a cargo vessel that was pitching and rolling in the heavy wind and seas just holding its own and barely making headway as it traveled in the other direction.

As the winds and seas increased we reefed the sails down more and more until we were eventually running under bare poles. I remember the boat surging to ten knots of speed on the front of the waves and dropping to four knots on the backs, power provided solely by the wind on the rigging. It got windier and windier, I have no idea how windy because our anemometer wasn't working, but it was difficult to stand up on deck without holding on.

The seas were getting larger and breaking more often as well. We had been getting hit occasionally by big breakers, but they hadn't been a problem as long as the boat was aimed straight down the waves when they hit. The breakers would hit Windward Passage's wide transom, some water would come aboard, and the boat would surf out in front of the wave. On the second night of the storm when it was the windiest, I recall dozing in my bunk below when I heard a particularly large breaking wave approaching. Apparently Les Gabriel, who was on helm at the time, didn't get the boat square to the seas because the breaking wave broached the boat and knocked us down putting Windward Passage's mast into the water.

Windward Passage was twenty one feet wide and had a centerline bulkhead just aft of the main mast. The ten foot wide crew cabin was on the starboard side of the bulkhead with six berths, two uppers and two lowers against the hull and an upper and lower berth against the bulkhead forward. There was a bureau of drawers aft of the bulkhead bunks. All four of the bunks against the hull were occupied when we broached, with the centerline pair of bunks empty. I was in the aft lower berth and managed to stay there by holding on when we broached, but my three adjacent shipmates, who were asleep, flew across the cabin, the one above me landing on top of the bureau of drawers and the other two in the bunks across the cabin.

I pulled on my foul weather gear and hurried into the aft cabin to find Rob at the chart table as Windward Passage started to right herself. He had been below entering the log when we broached. We rushed up on deck to find Les, who had been thrown out to the end of his harness tether line as the boat laid on her side, back on deck when she righted herself. He was uninjured but in shock, so Rob and I carried him below after another crew member came on deck to take the wheel.

The broach resulted in a significant amount of damage. The bow pulpit was badly bent, three lifeline stanchions had been ripped out of the deck, and the fold up seats on both sides of the centerline cockpit behind the mast were torn off of their hinges. One of my shipmates in the crew cabin had landed head first against the centerline bulkhead and we thought at first that he might have injured his neck, but a day later he was up and about.

Twelve hours later later the cyclone had moved far enough to the east that the weather started improving, and a day later it was flat calm and we were under power.

Thinking back on that storm, I was surprised that I was never frightened. I think we were all operating in a state of mild shock, still completely functional but somehow insulated from fear. I regret that I never took any photos during the rough stuff. Every time I came on watch conditions were worse than before, and I thought that trend would continue. I figured that I'd get pictures during the next watch, and then the next thing I knew the worst was over. No point in taking pictures then.

Good times, and I'm glad Rob still has that chart as a memento.

We have been concerned that the windy trade wind conditions over the past few days would have built an uncomfortable sea offshore, but we were surprised to find remarkably smooth conditions once we cleared New Caledonia's barrier reef. We have been screaming south on a close reach averaging better than eight knots with hardly a drop of water on deck. We departed with a triple reefed mainsail and double reefed jib, and with the wind up near twenty knots we still have plenty of power. We haven't quite been able to lay Norfolk, but the forecast indicates that we will start to get lifted soon.

Last night the wind eased up a bit and we unrolled the jib. I got kamakazi attacked twice during the night by flying fish. One hit me on the arm and the other whacked me in the head. Fortunately, I had my foul weather gear on at the time so I didn't get slimed.

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1 comment:

  1. Such clear descriptions of events of 40 years ago! I can barely remember what I had for breakfast!

    ReplyDelete