Adventures in the Ocean: Alone with the Elements

Background

(Author's note - the narration comes from the perspective of Rob).

Buying a yacht abroad during a pandemic, when there is no opportunity to visit it in person, is fraught with certain problems. It is logical - it is very easy to get a pig in a poke. But in the months leading up to my solo trip to Ireland from Portimão via Madeira and the Azores to Sligo, I had gained a lot of confidence in the seller.

He provided excellent assistance in the preparation of the boat, which stood in dry dock for two years. The seller literally helped me in restoring and bringing the boat remotely. I sent him all the necessary materials and equipment by mail. He, in turn, documented every stage of finishing the yacht.

Moreover, it was thanks to him that we were able to deal with all the complex customs procedures (thank you, BREXIT!). The seller also paid all bills on my behalf and answered all my endless questions. In general, it is unlikely that he was to blame for at least something of what happened.

My new yacht was named Maria. This is a 1975 Contessa 32 boat. As I said, she stood in dry dock for two years. Accordingly, before going to sea, it was necessary to carry out all diagnostic measures. I personally attended and was more than satisfied.

But before embarking on a journey, it was decided to make a few important modifications. I replaced the anchor, installed a new VHF radio, as well as an IridiumGO satellite communications system. I did not forget about modern signal rockets.

Among other things, there was an old but fully functional AIS on board. Just in case, I installed a small new chartplotter with a built-in transponder. It seemed that I foresaw everything.

Problems with rigging and sails

The 455-mile journey from Portimão to Porto Santo in Madeira was measured and calm. The wind was up to force 4. Arriving in Porto Santo, I gave myself a small one-day weekend. I didn’t waste time in vain - I replenished the fuel supply by 80 liters in the tank plus 4 canisters of 20 liters each. All this splendor gave me a cruising range of 400 miles at a speed of 5 knots.

The crossing to Santa Maria in the Azores was also uneventful with winds up to 5.0. Immediately after leaving Terceira, where I was resting, the headwind was very strong. I thought about leaving the boat in the care of the autopilot and going to bed.

Mentally was in bed. Having finished all the work on the cockpit and checking the deck several times, I was already thinking of going to the saloon. But it was not there. Maria turned abruptly to windward. This jerk was accompanied by a loud bang. Looking out on deck, I saw a dangling and torn genoa.

Good thing I had a storm sail. I removed the remains of the genoa and set up an assault one. The boat was stabilized and now it does not roll from side to side. 

The autopilot is also not iron

I returned to the autopilot, but it, unfortunately, often turned off when trying to plot a longer route (although the final reason was, of course, not the duration of the route). In the end, we managed to pave at least some way. The boat moved towards Sligo, and I went to sleep. 

Alas, when Sligo was less than 800 miles away, the autopilot also failed. I decided to look into the problem. Carefully disassembling part of the “head” of the autopilot, I saw that a rusted live wire had shorted into two other terminals. There was no fuse on the side of the autopilot in the switchboard at all.

In the end, I secured the tiller with an elastic rope. With the help of another piece of the same rope, they managed to balance the storm staysail and mainsail. This is where my ingenuity ended. I was exhausted and very tired. There were no ideas. I fell asleep anyway and woke up with one of the many books I carried on board, Sailing Solo - Thoughts, Tips, Techniques and Tactics by Andrew Evans.

Within 15 minutes I reset the storm sail. Went downwind at an angle of just over 120°. I could get home without help. But I decided to get to Cork, where I could replace the autopilot.

broken mast

At 1400 hours, at 50 03 N 12 28 W, about 120 miles southwest of Fastnet, with wind gusts of over 30 knots, there was a sudden loud crack. And then absolute silence. Only the wind periodically howled. At that time I was in the cabin and did something.

The chain plate of the U-bolt of the left cap fairing failed, and the mast folded in half. By that time it was difficult to surprise me with something, but the mast blocked everything. Fortunately, the genoa was completely collapsed, the grotto was also not damaged. I packed my storm staysail, secured the collapsed part of the mast more securely. So…

By 15:30 I had cleared most of the damage on deck. He turned on the engine and went where his eyes look. I knew what it meant to manually steer the long haul to get to shore. My body was on the edge, and now I began to doubt my chances of getting out of this misfortune.

I had fuel. I would even say that there is a lot of fuel in stock. That was not the problem. I was exhausted by the constant "adventure". I just wanted to sleep. Stocks would have been enough, but the boat had to be steered. Alas, the nearest anchorage was a hundred miles away.

What's next? Where to swim?

I decided to head to Crosshaven, 190 miles away. There, as I knew, they would help me with the boat. I dressed in warm dry clothes, thick socks and dry shoes. This was reassuring as I worked out the next problem - how to pour fuel from 20-liter containers into the fuel tank.

Also, my AIS worked again after a few days without power (shield issue). Alas, I did not receive intelligible data from him. But the fact is, it worked. So someone will definitely find me. By some miracle, the switchboard was strained, but it worked. I was at the helm for 36 hours. The Fastnet lighthouse winked playfully at me most of the time.

Then at 06:00, after a beautiful sunrise, the engine stalled. Only one thing was spinning in my head: “Mast - okay. Autopilot is fine. But the engine…” All attempts to start it were in vain. At some point, I just collapsed to the floor and a stingy male tear rolled down my cheeks. I didn't even have the strength to cry. In the end, I just dialed the marina in Crosshaven (the only number I remember for some reason). The sweetest woman named Judy picked up the phone.

She called a tug and by 13:00 I was in another world. I was on a pontoon in the village of Kortmakcheri. This is a quiet seaside village on the coast. And next to me was Maria - no less haggard and shabby.

I am grateful to the crew of the RNLI Courtmacsherry lifeboat, dear Judy for letting me know my whereabouts, Norman Kean (salesperson) for helping me and Maria, and the people of Courtmacsherry who also helped a distressed sailor.

Lessons learned

Of course, any experience is a valuable source of knowledge. Especially one so complex. Here are a few useful points (I would even say that they are vital):

• Sleep is vital: lack of sleep will lead to an inability to make sound decisions. Lack of sleep impairs information processing and logical thought processes, and continued sleep deprivation will lead to hallucinations.
• Check the wiring and all the "sore" points of the yacht: Checking the wiring on the boat (which caused the failure of the autopilot) is beyond the scope of a normal inspection. My mistake is that I didn't check the autopilot wiring and the chain plate u-bolts.
• Know how to blow an engine: I should have practiced blowing an engine before leaving Portugal.

And the most important. This whole story, of course, is about overcoming, the sea luck of complexity. But the problem was different. I didn't want to call for help. Until recently, I did not want to call anyone for help. Don't neglect it. There are many more sympathetic people in the sea than it might seem at first glance. You can be the best in your league, but sometimes even the strongest need help.

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16.07.2022