A stranding

Tuesday 15th September 2009, day 333, 7,182 miles. 12° 00’.05 N, 061° 43’.29 W.
Le Phare Bleu, Egmont Bay, Grenada


We were having tea in the cockpit yesterday afternoon, Anthony watching a yacht come into the bay. “Look over there”, he said “She’s going fast. I’d watch that reef if I were her, she’s getting a bit …”

… at which point she stopped dead.

The stern swung round, swivelling about the suddenly immobile keel, and there she was, broadside on to the waves, immobile. We paused only to grab deck shoes and sped off in the dinghy to see what we could do.

By the time we got there, she was hard aground, heeling over in the shallow water. The engine was going full speed, putting out clouds of smoke, as the lone sailor tried desperately to force the boat back into safe water. But the engine of a yacht like that has enough power to push a floating boat along at a steady 5 knots, nowhere near enough to force that same weight, partially at best supported by water, over a rough and possibly uphill surface. And the yacht was heeling so badly by now that half the time the prop was only partially submerged, throwing up a great churning wash of spray, but providing no forward power
.
Each successive wave lifted her up, pushed her further in over the reef, and then threw her down with a crash. With each pounding on the sharp unyielding coral, the whole boat shuddered, the rigging clanging as the mast whipped and snatched under the force of the impact. The skipper was on deck, clinging to the guard rails, trying to keep his footing on the sloping surface as the boat was thrown around, not knowing what to do to save her.

She was a large and solid boat, a 53ft long Halberg Rassy, better able than many to withstand the blows without starting to break up, but without proper outside help, it was quickly apparent that she would end her days on that reef, stripped of everything of value, her owner’s prized possessions taken off, and left to gradually sink into nothing more than a little wreck symbol on a chart.

In a tiny dinghy with a little 8 hp outboard, we knew we weren’t going to be the boat that pulled her to safety, but our first thought was to see if we could take her bow anchor and lay it out a short distance away, to at least stop her getting swept further onto the reef. We made our way under the bow, riding the waves to keep from being swept onto the stricken yacht, but the sailor, in a state of shock, let the anchor fall right down, and its weight was such that we just couldn’t pull it up.

More dinghies were now arriving, plus a larger rib with a decent sized engine. Someone dived into the water, to see where the yacht was lying on the reef and which was her easiest way off. Had she been swept over the biggest obstacle, and was best placed to let the next few waves sweep her right over and back into clear water? Or was she merely getting pushed further and further onto coral from which the only escape was the way she had come in?

For the next hours, all the boats around tried everything they could. By now, the water she was in was so shallow that the other boats had to keep clear, and a strong swimmer took lines to and from them. The powerful rib got a line on her, with which she held pressure steady so that with each wave the yacht could be eased slightly in the right direction. A couple of sailors joined the skipper on board to co-ordinate the efforts, and raised the sails to both heel the boat and provide some forward momentum. The mast halyard was lowered into the water and swum out to another powerful rib, which pulled the boat over so as to further reduce her effective depth. Rather than take her anchor out, a spare anchor was dropped some distance away, and the warp taken back to the yacht, on which the crew winched each time the pressure eased, gradually inching her off. Lines broke regularly, a cleat ripped off one of the rescuing boats under the pressure, but each time new lines were swum out, and the process started again.

All of this effort, so many people, and yet painfully slow progress. Would it be enough to get the boat free before the coral and the seas pounded a hole in her side?

By six o’clock, it was clear the yacht was not coming off the reef before darkness fell. But she was so far over the reef, that the biggest waves were not reaching her, reducing the battering the hull was taking, and the tide was coming in, giving some hope that she might just float enough to be dragged clear.

As night came on, the attending boats disappeared and returned, with torches, more fuel, warm or waterproof clothing, ready to spend the night standing by in shifts in case the situation worsened.

The rib’s towing line had parted yet again, and in the darkness it was too dangerous for her to try to pick up another one, so the only rescue efforts until daylight would come from the crew on board, painstakingly winching on the second anchor, heaving the yacht forward inch by inch.

Success came so suddenly it took us all by surprise. The yacht had been gradually coming upright, and all of a sudden, there she was free, making off at full speed under her two sails. The surrounding dinghies all yelled and whistled, but the crew were so busy winching on the anchor they didn’t notice for a while, and then a brief pandemonium set in while they tried to work out which way they were going, how to stop the boat, were they heading for the reef on the other side of the entrance? The anchor caught them and brought them to a halt in the middle of the channel, and we left them slowly sorting out the tangle of line and halyards, before motoring her gently to a nearby pontoon.

The following day she was still floating, a testimony to the solidity of this class of boat. She was awaiting the start of a barrage of tests to see if her internal structure had survived as well as the hull. How many other boats would have withstood that sort of pounding?

Thank heavens, the potential disaster ended well. Teamwork paid off, the boat was saved, and nobody was seriously hurt. But the desperate sight of that beautiful ship, powerless and at the mercy of the waves, was both terrifying and heartbreaking, and one I hope never to see again.