I've been trying to write and re-write everything that happened last month, but it always comes out rather rambling and unreadable. But time is ticking on and before long we'll probably have some other misadventure to report so I've trimmed down the story for posting. It's turned out a little dry so I've spiced things up with pictures on penguins and a video of a seal.
The Sail South
It was Friday the 15th of June, and moral was low. We had left Sao Francisco on the morning of Sunday the 10th, looking at a passage of 4 or 5 days to Rio Grande Do Sul, about 450 miles south. It was now day 6, and we still had 200 miles to go. Provisions – diesel, cigarettes, dry clothes, food and general enthusiasm were - if not low - at least countable, and rationing was taking place.
To put it bluntly, it had been a really shitty run. We were working with nasty current, at times 2 knots running against us, Rebel was feeling sluggish, and the weather had been varied but almost entirely useless: very light winds from the north, strong winds from the south, and long periods of total calm. Think patches of fog descended frequently, and squalls and thunderstorms threatened nightly.
These 6 days had included various celebrations - my birthday on the 13th, which John firmly refused to acknowledge; Brazilian Valentine's Day on the 14th, which John firmly refused to acknowledge; and crossing in to 30 degrees south, which we both now wished we hadn't acknowledged.
But on this Friday the pressure gauge, which for the last week had steadfastly refused to do anything interesting, shifted down 3-millibars, and we were greeted with a decent wind behind us. I came off watch, after covering 20 miles or so in 4 hours, feeling that we were finally making some ground. At this rate, we would be in by the weekend. When I woke up, John had had a similar performance most watch, but the wind had done a 180 and was blowing from the south. I did a perfunctory glance at the barometer. It was down another 5 millibars. Double-take. Nope, I had read it wrong; actually, it was down another 6 millibars. Oh Shiii...
We continued beating in to the southerly wind, 20 to 25 knots. When the storm first hit, I was on the helm as John was making his way up to put in another reef. Our wind-speed dial has a maximum readout of 50 knots; it went off the dial. This part – and it's not to be the last – is a bit of a blur, but John distinctly remembers standing on the mast whilst trying to drop the main. I distinctly remember – and it's not to be the last – cowering in the well of the cockpit. We struggled to get the boat downwind, but finally she came off the wind Rebel levelled out. We got in the headsail, so we were running bare-poles – that is, no sail up. The next conversation goes down in personal history as the worst case of “speaking too soon”:
“So, “, reflected John, “was that a knockdown?”
“I don't think so, not quite.” I said. “But that's the closest we're ever going to get.”.
The Storm
Bit of figures gumf: Literally, this wasn't in the category “storm”; that is, a force 10 - with wind of 48 to 55 knots. It is described in the books as “survival tactics”, and as “[...] seldom experienced inland. Trees uprooted, considerable structural damage occurs”. We felt winds of this speed, but, on average, we were reading about 40-45 knots (taking in to account “sailing” downwind at 4-5 knots), increasing to 45-50 at times. Gusts peaked at 50+ and lulls down to 30-35. So in technicality it was a fair blow of force 9. Force 9 is described as merely "survival conditions".
But, running down wind bare-poles, the wind is less relevant; the sea condition is the main concern. You don't want to be pooped - that is, a wave breaking on or over the stern and flooding the cockpit; and you don't want to broach - not having enough steerage, getting pulled up side-on to weather, and taking a wave side-on which can knock you down.
Perhaps a better indicator of the conditions is that we had a tanker running “in station” with us. That is, a tanker was concerned enough about the conditions to run alongside us for a period of 3 to 4 hours, in case we were in distress.
The sea state was of medium size, but frequent and powerful. We continued throughout to run bare-poles and for a while stream warps (to slow down the vessel and to induce waves to break behind). Most of the sailing literature suggests having sail up in these conditions to keep control of the boat. We felt that with our set up we had control of the vessel and although the waves were frequent, we had enough steerage to keep us downwind.
We hit the storm at 5pm, and we lasted till 11pm until we were knocked down. I was on the helm, John was in the cockpit trying to sleep. I shirk at the use of the word “rouge wave”, but the 2 or 3 waves that came in succession were much larger and powerful than any we were dealt in the first 5 hours. The sound of the wave woke up John. I had enough time to shout some form of expletive before it broke on us, and we pooped. The power of this first wave knocked us both briefly unconscious. I was thrown against the steering wheel then back against the backstay. John was flung against the washboards.
The cockpit flooded, and this first wave is probably responsible for wiping out a lot of the deck gear: life rings; dan-bouy; bending the self-steering. There was possibly a second wave which was responsible for us broaching. We were just regaining composure when the third wave knocked us down. The period of time between the first wave hitting and us getting knocked down was probably 5-10 seconds.
Again the next part is very hazy. My first memory was being tangled up in the guard-rail with one leg over the side. John was fully submerged. We were of course both clipped on to the boat. I wasn't aware of us being knocked down at all until a good few seconds after coming back up again. After a period of unknown seconds I pulled the boat downwind and we started bailing out the cockpit.
Once we were stable we could start collecting ourselves. Firstly the electrics were out, and John went below and thankfully they came back on again. The damage was surprisingly minor. The radar mast was bent, everything was in disarray below, we had lost nearly everything from the cockpit and cockpit lockers, but the rig and mast was seemingly unharmed, the electrics – all bar the mast-head light – were functioning, the windows and forehatch were all in one piece.
Sailing books spend chapter after chapter discussing knock-downs: why they happen, what can be done to prevent it, the damage to be expected, and how to limit it. What is rarely discussed is the most important and obvious issue – you've now got to keep going. Youre cold, wet, exhausted, you may have lost equipment, everything below is soaked, and the conditions are just the same.
We had one silver-lining: the pressure was slowly climbing. After the knock-down at around 11pm, we continued in the same way until about 8 -9am when we started to see the wind subside. Force 8, then to force 7. We took turns steering, and napping in the well of the cockpit. We were pooped once or twice during the night, and, using pressure cookers to bail, we weren't close to being knocked down again.
Pinheira and Imbituba
Our goal, of course, was to put in to the nearest port. Unfortunately, the closest was 100 miles or so to the north. During the storm we had been moving easterly, and once it had subsided slightly we made progress north east, and finally could set a course north.
The leg to Pinheira took us from Saturday morning, when the wind had calmed enough to set a course, to midday on Monday. It was very hard going. The wind was strong behind us for the first 12 hours, then calmed, then a strong wind from the north, around 30 knots, lasted most of Sunday. Progress was slow, we were at the ends of exhaustion, and we had a couple of packets of biscuits and a can of coke or two in ways of nourishment.
The night of Sunday we were again becalmed, close to port, and we did a quick check over the engine and tried starting it up. A nasty clunking – probably something wrapped in the prop after being washed overboard – told us that we really weren't getting any breaks here. We had to wait till morning before investigating further. But during the night the wind again picked up from the south, and we made further progress. Again the wind was strong – force 7 and 8 at times – but at least it kept us moving towards port.
We sailed in to Pinheira monday morning – 10 days after setting out from a location about 100 miles north. We couldn't get close in to the fishing boats near the shore, but we dropped anchor in the bay. Making sure it was well dug in, we went below and started to recover. We slept most of the next 24 hours, with a gap on Monday evening to remount the cooker (which thankfully was otherwise unharmed) and cook our first meal for 4 days.
Tuesday morning we started making space below. The wind was still blowing strongly, and there was no chance of getting closer to shore to rowing. And we were both still rather shell-shocked. By Wednesday the conditions were still bad, but we needed to get ashore to get food. I flagged down a passing fisherman and he took me ashore while John stayed with the boat.
Pinheira, it turned it, was a lovely little fishing village, probably an excellent holiday get-away place during the middle of summer. Off season and looking for a place to recover and repair a boat, it couldn't have been much worse. There was a supermarket. Nothing else. No bank, no shops, no people. Whilst ashore the wind had picked up to near-gale force, so there was no way to get back to Rebel that day. I ended up sleeping in the only guest house that would open – above the supermarket.
A couple of days later we both managed to get ashore in the morning. When we tried a return journey rowing against 20 knots or so of wind, we made it about half-way, me paddling and John bailing, until we were swamped and the dingy sunk.
We swum/were washed up ashore and were taken in by a most simpatico Thor, would wined us, washed us, clothed us, and dined us, whilst local fishermen brought some of our supplies that were washing up on the beech. We were also leant a more robust boat to get back to Rebel. The next time we got ashore, our dingy had been rescued by more fishermen and was sitting for us on the beech.
There have been many great people both in Pinheira and Imbituba who have made the whole of June much more bearable, from the fishermen lobbing us fresh catch in the mornings to the Internet Guy and Lady who helped me sort out food, a room, and then got a bar open so he could buy me a beer. For these people to go out of their way to help out a couple of crazy, hairy, unwashed gringos with crappy Portuguese was truly above the call of duty and re-affirmed one of the many great things I've discovered in this country.
On day 9 of being at Pinheira, after finally getting some proper food back on board and the wind calming, we set off for Imbituba, a larger town 40 miles further south. The trip was excellent in that it was entirely uneventful weather- and boat-wise. In Pinheira we had seen the odd penguin or two around the anchorage. In the sail south, we passed hundreds making their migration north. Unfortunately penguins, most humorous whilst belling-sliding on ice-burgs, look less impressive on water, so the photographs aren't that gripping. In fact they look a bit like, at best, ducks.
We've been here in Imbituba for a week and a half now. The anchorage is much quieter, and, although a fair distance, the town has many more facilities and we've managed to sort out money, diesel, and proper supplies. So we're sitting here waiting for a clear weather window to do the final 300 mile trip down to Rio Grande and finally out of Brazil.
Along with the penguins, we've also been greeted by many seals. These photograph much better.
Today we went alongside the pontoon - our first time in nearly a year - and got all the sails off and sprayed everything down.
So we're pretty much all set for leaving this weekend. After deciding that taking the bus is probably the safer choice over flying, we've booked our route out - saturday night we leave here for Joinville, then hop on another bus to some other place I can't even remember the name of. Then we kill the night somehow and on Sunday morning get on a coach that goes all the way through to Buenos Aires, arriving some time unsociable Sunday night.
