“Jubilee” was on her trailer at Marsh Harbor Boatyard for the winter. I have another sailboat however, that we could use for a short excursion offshore. “Myrdie II” is a Compac 16 sloop built in 1982. This is a very seaworthy craft for its size, weighing about 1,100 pounds and having a self-draining cockpit and a board covering the companionway to the small cabin to keep a breaking sea from swamping the interior.
We drove to Beaufort, SC, on a Friday afternoon, launched Myrdie II at Beaufort Yacht and Sailing Club (BYSC) and prepared her for sailing Saturday and Sunday. The weather predicted for Saturday was for temperatures in the 40s, rain, and north to northeasterly winds at 15 to 20 knots. For Sunday, the temperature would rise into the 50s and the winds would be a bit lighter, clocking to the east and southeast, but the seas would be large. Sunday’s ground swells, 5 to 7 feet offshore, and 8 to 10 feet closer in, would be generated in the Gulf Stream, some 60 miles offshore, on Saturday and Saturday night as the northeast wind would be blowing in the exact opposite direction from the flow of the Stream. This would be a perfect weekend to accomplish what we were setting out to do: Test ourselves in tough conditions.
You really never know what a person is like until you work with him (or her) under stress. Had this weekend been one of just a pleasant sail, we would not have come to know each other as we did in these stressful conditions.
Our objective was to sail from Beaufort north and east about 20 nautical miles (nm) on The Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) Saturday to Dataw Marina. On Sunday we would sail east from Dataw into the Atlantic, then turn south to Port Royal Sound, west into the Sound, and north on the Beaufort River back to BYSC. Sunday’s voyage would be about 40 nm as the crow flies. Tacking into the wind most of the day would add another 16 nm.
Saturday’s trip to Dataw was cold and wet. We learned the value of well-insulated gloves and competent foul weather gear. The little Compac sailboat had no trouble handling the 15-20 kt winds, and, although chilled nearly to the bone, this was a fine test of equipment and positive attitude.
Sunday would turn out to be quite a challenge. We left the Dataw dock at 7 AM, in the pre-dawn gray with a misty rain and wind directly on the nose. We used Myrdie’s 2 HP Honda outboard to motor out into the Atlantic. S we left the Morgan River into the Atlantic, we hoisted the sails and turned southeast across the bay on a route that in normal conditions would be fine. However, these were not normal conditions. We soon found ourselves in a field of breakers. Waves start to break when the height of the wave matches the depth of the water. We were in water with an 8 to 10 foot depth, plenty for the 3-foot 3-inch draft of a Compac 16. The 5 to 7-foot waves grew in the shallow water to 8 to 10 feet, and they were breaking all around us. We put the board into the companionway. We tacked over to Starboard and cranked up the motor to get to deeper water. Then, a wave broke over the cockpit, sweeping away everything that was loose including our detachable navigation lights and, more seriously, the lanyard that keeps open the kill switch on the motor. JD became seasick, reporting with humor that Vitamin Water tastes about the same coming up as it does going down. With the kill switch closed the motor would not start. We took another breaker over the boat, and to water in the cockpit was so high that it willed my sea boots. JD found me a small cord that I wrapped around the kill switch to keep it open, and the little Honda came back to life.
As we motor sailed to deeper water and the cockpit drained, I was suddenly struck with about 10 minutes of seasickness. This came from focusing on fixing the kill switch while the boat was being tossed around. Have you ever tried to read a book as a passenger in car on a bouncy dirt road? It was sort of like that, times ten.
When we got out about 4 miles from shore the lumps of sea settled down and we tacked back to port. The sea was mixed. The wind had clocked to the east-southeast, but the big waves were coming from the northeast. I’ll have to say that there is a wondrous feeling surfing down the face of a following sea while beating to windward. My mal-de-mer had passed quickly and, although my feet were getting cold, I was again enjoying our voyage. JD remained under the weather, and his head was spinning like he reported the compass to be doing (do not try to use a cheap compass offshore).
We beat to windward throughout the afternoon. The wind continued to clock to the right, ultimately coming from the southwest. We had several worries. First, we were expected to arrive at BYSC by around 5 PM and we knew our friends attending a party at the club would be worrying about us. Second, sundown would be around 5:30 PM, and we had lost our navigation lights overboard. Third, high tide was expected around 6 PM in Port Royal Sound, and, after that, we would be facing an adverse current for the approximately 10 nm up the Beaufort River to our destination at BYSC. A further complication could develop if we took the planned Baypoint Reach shortcut into Port Royal Sound. The concern was that the waves could be breaking, as earlier in the day, when we got close to shore. The alternative was to sail several miles farther out to a place where we could cross into the channel leading to the Sound. That would take too much time. With that alternative we would surely be at sea after dark and facing an adverse tide. We decided to go for the Baypoint Reach.
The Reach is a narrow (about 100 feet wide) channel running east-west just off the southern point of Phillips Island. I had never been there before but had noted it on both the electronic and paper charts. We approached the Reach with caution, looking for possible breakers that would cause us to abandon the route. Sailing a west-northwest course, we could see huge breakers ahead. We kept sailing, closer and closer to the breakers in front of us, knowing we could tack out if we needed to abandon. Suddenly, we could see the Reach, like a alley of calm between the reef and the land. The moment felt like Moses must have felt as the Red Sea parted to enable the Exodus from Egypt. On the port side, waves were crashing on a reef. On starboard, waves broke on shore. We cruised through the channel with the help of the little Honda just after 5:30, as the light dimmed to twilight.
As we cleared the Reach and heaved a sigh of relief, JD called Frank Pontious’ home, hoping he would get the message that we were safe and would arrive at BYSC around 7:30. My cell phone’s battery was dead, so we did not have his mobile number. Meanwhile, at the BYSC party, our friends were indeed starting to worry about us. They decided around 6 PM to organize a search. Frank went home to retrieve his GPS while others started to launch his boat. He just happened to check his phone messages as he got his GPS. This was very fortunate, and so the search was called off and our friends relaxed and waited for our arrival.
As we came into the dock at BYSC, JD was apologetic about being too sick to be at the helm. I assured him that it was no problem for me to be at the helm for 12 ½ hours, and in fact it was a good test of endurance for the both of us. JD seemed unsure if he had passed the test. He said he had read that seasickness lasts only 2 or 3 days at the most and that he was sure he would be OK in our voyage to Bermuda, which would last about 8 days. I really liked his positive attitude. He will be a fine teammate all the way to Nova Scotia.
3/6/2010
