Rattled and Ready

There are certain aspects of cruising that I fear but know with certainty that I'll have to face. These aspects are all related to the potential for damage to the boat or, worse, injury to the crew. From stubbed toes after kicking deck hardware through sinking and drowning, everything in between may fall under one of these fear-inducing scenarios.

Last night we were expecting squalls packing 30- to 35-knot winds and some rain. The probability of damage or injury in those conditions is low, assuming you do your due diligence. When it comes to dealing with fear I choose to take a systematic and over-engineered approach, and that's my due diligence. Fear, of course, needs to be addressed or it becomes a driving force in decision making.

The first logical step for me in last night's conditions, is to find a well protected harbor with good holding. Things worked out well in that regard, since we're moored in a harbor that has 360-degree protection. Also, the moorings here are designed to hold boats in place through hurricane season. Taia is currently moored to a chunk of cement that weighs 2 tons. The chain attached to the cement block is big, much bigger than our anchor chain. So I was satisfied with the level of protection and holding.

One thing I wasn't happy about but could not possibly change is the fact that this harbor is packed with boats. Especially yesterday, since the weather forecast looked so blustery. The harbor is like a can of sardines, packed tight with boats swinging on their moorings, some times as close as 3 meters from each other, depending on the swing angle. If a single mooring goes, the loose boat will certainly scrape its neighbors' hulls and appendages. Time to systematically over-engineer prevention.

Yesterday afternoon I dove and inspected the chain, shackles and swivel on the mooring. One of the shackles didn't look strong enough to hold an aircraft carrier hanging from a bridge, so I loosely joined the mooring lines and the chain with a few wraps of 3/8" dock line. If the shackle parted, the line might save us from blowing away in the wind and into other boats.

Up came the kayak after spending the last couple of weeks floating behind Taia. Anything that was loose on deck was brought into the protection of the cockpit enclosure or the cabin. I checked the running rigging, making sure no lines could come undone; I made sure the jib was properly furled with the sheets wrapped around the sail a couple of times; I put the Bahamian courtesy flag into the mains'l bag and put away our Canadian flag. Finally, I moved the dinghy from its normal place beside Taia to behind it; that way it wouldn't rub against the hull when the chop picked up.

Before going to bed Natalia and I put up and zippered all the panels of the cockpit enclosure. And so we went to bed and read and slept. Until around midnight, that is, when the rain started its meek and harmless sprinkle. Half an hour later both Natalia and I were in the cockpit with grave expressions on our faces.

The scene was dark and loud, punctuated by lightning. With every flash of lightning, we could see neighboring boats swinging and rolling in the chop around us. After each flash we saw pitch black and could only hear thunder and wind while Taia kept bucking her mooring lines. The boat heeled when gusts attacked it from slightly off the bow. The cockpit enclosure, with its soft canvas, groaned and flapped like it might detach itself from the boat any second.

I was rattled. So was Natalia. The kids slept, although Camila said this morning she was awake for a while.

As soon as the wind came down to 20 knots I went out on deck to inspect the mooring lines. Everything was perfect. I took advantage of the lull to open the deck fills to the water tanks, although it hasn't really rained that much.

This all may sound like we were in the middle of a hurricane, but we weren't. The wind speed instrument showed sustained winds of 30+ knots, with gusts in the mid 30's. So it wasn't that much wind, really. And the chop was minimal, since the harbor is so well protected. But it was the first time we saw this much wind while on the boat. Throughout the worst of it, I kept repeating to myself that we had done our due diligence and that cruisers talk about 40-knot winds at anchor like it's a common occurrence.

Of course, nothing bad happened. Thirty minutes later the wind came back down to 20 knots and we went back to bed. We slept peacefully through the rest of the night. The wind picked up again today, but only up to 28 knots or so. The squalls will continue through the rest of the day. But now we're not rattled in the least. Also, the fact that there's plenty of light to see around us makes any fears seem unfounded and silly.

Now, about lightning: lightning makes me shit my pants. Every time there's lightning I'm reminded of a scene from The Thin Red Line. In it, an officer walks around a group of cowering infantrymen in the middle of an artillery barrage. He tells them there's no point in moving around, as luck is the only determinant factor in who will live through the barrage. That's the kind of fear lightning induces in me. When there's a lot of it, I shit my pants and then try to calm down. And when the fireworks display is done I wash my pants. Then the sun comes out and I go swimming and smile again.

Our Austrian neighbors during one of the squalls today. The weather doesn't look threatening, does it?