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As a professional yachtsman, I have to
confess to being less than keen on delivery jobs. Like many of us, I do
them, but usually with a little trepidation. I can never be certain of the
condition of the vessel, the equipment on board (and whether it works!),
or the expectations of the owner. That is without the vagrancies of the
weather, with which all yachtsmen have to contend. However, this
particular one looked as if it would be different.
The job was delivering ‘Gizmo’, an Omega 46, from her build yard in Sweden
to Plymouth one April. She was a brand-new Ron Holland designed boat, main
driven and awash with navigational and safety gear. There was no time
pressure, Torbin, the owner, wanted to cruise through the Baltic, down the
Kiel Canal, across to the UK and along the south coast to Plymouth. For
the first part of the trip, Torbin’s wife and daughter would be on board.
After they left, we would pick up two friends of mine, Pat and Mags, for
the more testing trip home.
The yacht was all that I expected. After checking it out carefully, which
included having the yard remove the repeater speaker they had placed in
the binnacle, causing an inaccuracy of 90˚ on the steering compass because
of its magnet, we were ready to go. It was unnerving when in fog leaving
the fjord, we discovered that the radar was 180˚ offset, but otherwise all
equipment worked perfectly. It was a rare luxury to have a chart plotter
repeater at the helm’s position. Once in open water, the main went up the
22 metre mast, the self-tacking jib was unfurled and we creamed along at a
steady 7 knots. The crossing to Skagen was uneventful, as was the
subsequent cruise down the east coast of Denmark, much of it under power
as there was a surprising shortage of wind. It was delightful to visit
several small harbours that dot the coast, in each we received a warm
welcome and I had the opportunity to sample local delicacies under
Torbin’s tuition. The crew switch went like clockwork, as did the passage
of the Kiel Canal. A spectacular breakfast in Cuxhaven Yacht Club on
Easter Sunday morning was a little marred by the surprising information
that there was no fuel berth open in the commercial port for three days.
This meant a diversion to Helgoland (where, apparently,” they never
close”, to quote the Cuxhaven harbourmaster), as motoring the Kiel Canal
had depleted our reserves. A following sea from there made the crossing to
the UK uncomfortable, but nothing more. The joys of Dover and Brighton had
us ready for the last push to Plymouth.
At this point, we lost Pat. Climbing into his bunk, he had slipped and
fallen on his back. Although not seriously injured, he was in some
discomfort and it was decided to send him home on the train. We also had
to change our passage. With a west wind, it would have been a flog with it
on the nose if we stayed on the English side of the Channel. The aim was
to go to Cherbourg or Alderney, whichever the wind would allow, and from
there cross back to Plymouth. Admittedly, these would be two legs beating,
but I was confident that both the boat and the crew were fit for the task.
A long, but enjoyable day’s sail found us in Cherbourg by 2200. Bless the
restaurant in the marina for agreeing to cook us steaks, even though they
had officially closed. A good night’s sleep and an early start had us away
on the last leg of the journey in less than clement weather. A depression
was passing through, with all the classic features that are taught on
theory courses, but never seem to appear on the water. We were over the
shipping lanes as the cold front passed, taking the south westerly wind
round 45˚ to a westerly. “What a pain” was my thought – tacking would add
three hours onto our passage to Plymouth and Mayflower Marine, ‘Gizmo’s’
new berth. However, although we had rather rough seas, the wind at 25
knots was barrelling us along at 6 knots, even with the two reefs in the
main, and the sky was beautifully blue.
It was around 1705 that I noticed I needed to use more helm than I
expected to correct luffing in the gusts. Then I was using almost full
rotation of the wheel. Then I was spinning the wheel with my forefinger.
Clearly, something was very wrong. Hoping it was a broken linkage, I
lifted the helm’s seat and spun the wheel both ways. The linkage moved
perfectly. As I closed the seat, I glanced over our starboard quarter.
Floating away was the spade rudder, plus at least some of the stock.
Alarmingly, with no lateral stability and the self-tacking jib, the boat
began to spin in tight circles, whilst arcing through around 130˚. I
suspected that watertight integrity might have been breached and didn’t
intend to carry out a damage assessment prior to shouting for help. In
thirty two years of yacht sailing, it was my first use of the mayday
button on a DSC radio. It is incredibly re-assuring when after the voice
follow-up, the airwaves come alive with responses. Brixham Coastguard
informed me the Salcombe lifeboat, Baltic Exchange II, was launching. At
that, I felt confident enough to go below and carry out a damage
assessment.
The outcome of the assessment showed me that the stock of the rudder had
parted below the watertight seal, which meant that we would not sink. I
contacted Brixham and downgraded the shout to a pan pan. All attempts to
get the main down, even in harnesses, failed, it was too dangerous with
the arcing of the boat. A coaster, ‘Sea Maid’, having heard our broadcast,
diverted to give us a lee, allowing us to drop the main. For this, I
remain very grateful. Then it was a matter of waiting for Marco Brimacombe
and the boys to reach us, which they did at 1820. Never was there a more
welcome sight in my sailing life. Towing us without a rudder proved
incredibly frustrating. Despite trailing 50 metre warps behind us, we were
yawing all over the place. Only once Marco came back to us with a huge
drogue did we crack the problem. I now carry one of those on my own yacht,
although coding requirement do not ask for it. We were on a buoy in
Salcombe by 2200. Ironically, when we went up to the King’s Arms to thank
the crew and buy them a beer, they were on the one freebee of the year as
the chairman of Baltic Exchange was visiting! The down side of that was
the photographs that appeared in the magazine of the Baltic Exchange a few
weeks later. As you might imagine, I was not looking like a happy clappy
chappie after a hard delivery and a lifeboat rescue! It took me a month
before I managed to catch Marco in the Fortescue and buy him that beer.
Once the boat was lifted in Salcombe, the cause of the problem was clear.
The rudder had a carbon fibre stock. A manufacturing defect meant that
only half of the rods had bonded. It was simply a matter of waiting for
enough wind and sea for the pressure to shear the stock. I am only
grateful that it happened in daylight twelve miles south of Salcombe. At
night, in poor visibility in the North Sea, might have led to a very
different outcome.
Tony Brown
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