D/M-20 SPARKMAN & STEPHENS 34 (Swarbrick)

S&S 34 monohullD/M 20

Monohull, Sparkman & Stephens

33' x 6 Tons, Fin Keel

Seasquid

Force 9+ Conditions

File D/M-19, obtained from Ben Tucker, Australia - Vessel name Gypsy2, hailing port Hobart, monohull sloop designed by Sparkman & Stephens and built by Swarbrick, LOA 33' x LWL 25' x Beam 10' x Draft 5' 10" x 6 Tons - Fin keel - Drogue: Seasquid on 150' (45m) x 7/16" (11mm) kermantle dynamic nylon double braid rode plus 6ft (2m) of 8mm chain - Deployed in  deep water midway on passage from Hobart, Australia to Bluff, New Zealand in winds of 45 knots gusting to 60kt and breaking seas of 20 - 30 ft. (6 - 10m) - Surfing down waves was inhibited, and speed was reduced to about 4 knots during 18 hours of deployment

Ben Tucker has over 70,000 miles of sailing experience, plus a million miles as an officer on a container ship. On this occasion he was sailing from Australia to New Zealand in early summer when he get caught in a strong gale:

On passage from Hobart to Bluff in early summer we got caught in a nasty low with strong westerly winds. Over the day the wind and seas built and quite suddenly it went from fun fast downwind sailing to dangerous just on dusk. We dropped the deep reefed main, and eventually ran with just a scrap of the roller reefing headsail set. As the seas built up we started surfing too fast for comfort down the front of the seas and deployed a sea squid on about 45 meters of 11mm kernmantle dynamic nylon rope that had previously been used for climbing.  About 2 meters of 8 mm chain was shackled between the drogue and the warp. 

The drogue immediately slowed us down and controlled the surfing. 

But a big problem with our setup was soon revealed, the stretch in the drogue warp, coupled with the short line and only a short length of lightweight chain caused the drogue to break free of the approaching wave and fly forward towards us through the air about 10 meters and then re-engage, this would allow the boat to accelerate quickly to 7 or 8 knots until the drogue reengaged and with a brutal jerk it then slowed us down again to around 4 knots, this would often rip the drogue back out of the water again, repeating the cycle.

It was clear that the wavelength was around 100 meters or so, as the drogue was visible behind us on the approaching crest when we were near the trough.

It was deployed off the port quarter with no bridle to keep it clear of the windvane. We added a length of 19mm polypropylene line approximately 100 meters long in parallel with the drogue. This slowed us down enough that the drogue remained in the water with a more steady pull. 

We rode out the night hand steering with a small scrap of jib sheeted tight amidships and the drogue and warp behind.  Many times the cockpit filled with water, and were buffeted badly by the bigger crests, bouncing down the wave face. But by early morning it had eased significantly. 

We found that the windvane had been damaged by the drogue line at some point, and the plastic sea squid drogue had a bad crack in it, probably due to the tumbling as it flew through the air, then tangled with the chain and reengaged. 

the biggest lesson was to avoid using a dynamic rope with a drogue, Have at least 100 meters of warp available and plenty of heavy chain on the end to keep it well under water.  

The next time I used a drogue sailing to Antarctica on my 33 foot yacht Snow Petrel I had no issues with a much longer line, approximately 120 meters of 18mm polypropylene and 10 meters of 10mm chain using a Seabrake HSD 300 and the pull was very steady and consistent.

Once again we have problems with drogues skipping out of the waves, in this case exacerbated by using a very stretchy climbing rope as a rode. Elasticity is crucial in the rode for a para-anchor so as to prevent shock loading, but in a drogue a non-stretchy rode, combined with some weight at the drogue end, helps to keep the rode submerged leading to a more constant rode tension.

Ben notes that the wave length was about 100m and the drogue rode about half that. One would expect that this might work well, placing the drogue on the back of the when one needs it most, ie surfing down the face of the same wave, but in this case the extreme stretching of the rode seems to have counteracted this, resulting in the drogue pulling out of the water with the concomitant rapid acceleration of the boat.

As the Furgusons on St. Leger (D/M 17) found, one needs to either have a long rode with more weight to cover a wider range of conditions (as did Ben Tucker on his next adventure), or else be able to adjust it from the cockpit to specifically tune it to the conditions at the time.

S/T-17 Trimaran, Kantola

S/T-17

Trimaran, Kantola

34' x 24' x 3 Tons

28-Ft. Dia. Parachute Sea Anchor

Force 9-10 Conditions

File S/T-17, obtained from Richard R. Barrie, Van Nuys, CA. - Vessel name Fifth Fox, hailing port Channel Islands, CA, trimaran designed by Jay Kantola, LOA 34' x Beam 24' x Draft 3' x 3 Tons - Sea anchor: 28-ft. Diameter C-9 military class parachute on 400' x 3/4" nylon three strand tether and bridle arms of 100' each, with 3/4" galvanized swivel - No trip-line - Deployed in a Pacific storm in deep water about 1000 miles west of Guadalajara, Mexico, with winds of 55-70 knots and seas of 20 ft. - Vessel's bow yawed 10° - Drift was estimated to be 12 n.m. during 72 hours at sea anchor.

Sailing to Los Angeles from Panama, Richard Barrie decided to take one long - 1000 mile - tack out to sea and back, avoiding the Pagagayos, Tehuantepeckers and other hazards that one ordinarily associates with the Central American coast. However, Fifth Fox ran into a storm well offshore. Transcript:

During the last week of May, 1984, my wife and I with our two daughters left the Las Perlas Islands in Panama, and headed back to California. The first two weeks of the trip north were idyllic, 15-20 knots beam reaching with the spinnaker and the Tiller-Master doing all the work. During the second week of June the wind gradually went northwest and increased.

Before noon on the second day of the wind shift, a strong gust hit us (we had put a reef in the main, but still had a 120 genoa up) and the lower after stay on the port side parted at deck level. My first thought was to deploy the parachute, fix the shroud and continue on. We deployed the chute off the stern [on the fly] going downwind without a trip line in moderate conditions. I fully expected to replace the lower shroud and continue on. While sitting to the chute during the first hour or so, I went up the mast with a new Sta-Lock attached to a new lower stay. While I was at the spreaders attempting to exchange the wire, the wind quickly increased from a steady 30-35 knots to a steady 50 knots with higher gusts, with the sea state increasing rapidly. I had never been seasick in all my life, yet I became nauseous. I could not continue with the work aloft so came down the mast and jury-rigged the lower at the deck with some wire clamps. That took the S-curve out of the mast so we could sail if the chute let go.

After sitting on the parachute anchor for a few hours, I was in the cockpit when a huge wave pushed the boat up to the crest and back on the rudder. The rudder had been locked in place amidships with the Tiller-Master. In the middle of this particularly large cresting wave, I heard a sickening crack and looked down and saw the tiller head starting to swing independently of the tiller. It was very apparent what was wrong. Fortunately there was a hole in the rudder blade itself, so with a stout line tied to the port float near the transom, I dove in the sea and rove this line through the rudder blade, with a knot on either side, then on to the starboard float. This action no doubt saved the rudder....

For the next three days we were anchored to the parachute, with the wind screaming and the waves cresting. While it was difficult to sleep soundly, we could at least sleep. As time wore on, it became apparent that we and the boat were safe, even with the wind flicking salt water bullets at us at 50 or 60 knots. The wind moderated to 35 knots after the third day and we cast off the lines and sailed up to the float and retrieved the parachute quite easily. Previously we had deployed the parachute with a trip line and it fouled rather quickly. I resolved then never to use a trip line again. I will now carry two parachutes for insurance.

I took star shots each evening and morning during our three day stay in this part of the ocean and was quite surprised to find that we moved only 12 miles in a southeasterly direction.

S/C-18 Catamaran, Island Spirit

S/C-18

Catamaran, Island Spirit

34' x 22' x 6.7 Tons

18-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8 Conditions

 

File S/C-18, obtained from Colin Kenny, Riebeek, South Africa - Vessel name Manx, hailing port Cape Town, catamaran, designed by Phil Southwell, LOA 34' x Beam 22' x Draft 3' 4" x 6.7 Tons - Sea anchor: 18-ft. Diameter Para-Tech on 500' x 5/8" nylon three strand tether and bridle arms of 60' each, with 5/8" stainless steel swivel - No trip line - Deployed in a gale in deep water about 800 miles ESE of Rio de Janeiro with winds of 35-40 knots and seas of 30 ft. - Vessel's bow yawed 20° - Drift was estimated to be 17 n.m. during 40 hours at sea anchor.

rio

Colin Kenny sailed Manx to a first place finish (multihull class) in the 1996 Cape Town to Rio Race. He deployed a para-anchor because of a combination of injury and bad weather on the return trip. Transcript:

We took part in the Rothmans Cape to Rio race in MANX, a 35' Southwell-designed catamaran displacing 6.7 tons. She was fitted with an Aerorig - the first unstayed carbon rig seen in this country. After a race dogged (if you will excuse the pun) by light winds, we arrived in Rio in 26 days 4 hours to finish first overall in the multihull category by a matter of 40 hours.

After spending three weeks in the islands south of Rio, we left for Cape Town on 25 February. We were sailing double handed, myself and Sue, who has only been sailing for the past year. The winds were SE instead of the anticipated westerlies. Heading south with a view to picking up the south westerlies we made good progress.

On the afternoon of 4 March, after having put in a third reef because of increasing winds and a deteriorating sea state, I was struck by the boom whilst returning to the cockpit and knocked unconscious. I was only out for about five minutes but had sustained a nasty gash on the head, which bled profusely. After coming round, I was in a confused state of mind and Sue sought assistance by putting out a PAN PAN radio call, but to no avail. We were more successful when we tried Inmarsat C. In addition, we finally raised Cape Town Radio and received the necessary medical advice. Being so far from land (our position was 33° 30' S and 31° 25' W) all we could do was monitor vital signs for the next 12 hours and hope for the best. Suffice it to say that those were the longest hours imaginable. Fortunately there were no complications.

Twenty four hours after the accident, we had even more drama. We were on a reciprocal course heading NE (in case we needed assistance). Sailing with triple-reefed main and no headsail (damaged the previous day) and using engines for improved direction in very strange, mountainous seas, we were concerned as to how we were going to make it through the night. In addition I was extremely weak after the accident. On the radio we heard that Tigress, a 38' Prout catamaran [in the same region], had deployed her para-anchor. Speaking to them on the radio they were astonished at the difference in outlook subsequent to deploying the anchor. They urged us to do the same.

I had some misgivings as I did not have the necessary primary float, trip lines or recovery float. Instead we lashed two fenders together to act as the primary float, and a small fender as the recovery float, but without a [full] trip line. With great difficulty, we deployed the anchor to windward. I say with great difficulty since we did not have a trampoline to walk on - it had UV degraded and been ripped away by constant wave action. Since our bridle was to be cleated to primary cleats on the cross-beam and backed up by secondary cleats on the bow, it was tricky, to say the least, to crawl forward and cleat the bridle ends and get the tether through the stanchions on the cross-beam, thereby ensuring that they would not snag and run free. The para-anchor was deployed off the starboard (windward) bow. Initially it looked as if we had made a mistake, as the tether was swept under the bow and I had visions of it passing below the keel and snagging the sail-drive. I snubbed the tether, the anchor began deploying and the bow started to swing around. We released more tether, snubbing the line at intervals until the full 500 feet of tether was out on 60 foot bridles.

It was miraculous how easy the boat felt - as if someone had switched off the wind and sea conditions. Yaw was minimal - 10° (if that) to either side. It had taken us a fair amount of time to prepare both ourselves and the anchor, but we had no idea how satisfying our efforts would prove to be. It was now 20:00 and we settled down to a peaceful night. At 01:30 Sue, braving the black night, high seas, 35 knots of wind (and no trampoline), checked the bridle [leading directly off cleats, no chocks] for chafe - nothing! Similarly at dawn - no chafe. After lying at anchor for 40 hours, we were surprised to find no signs of chafe. I can only think that because we had a longer rode out than ordinarily required, the stretch of the nylon was such that there was next to no additional stress on the boat and the cleats, and hence the rode....

At 10:00 on 7 March, after 40 hours at anchor, we hauled it in - the rode was pulled through the bow roller and winched in using the winch on the boom. The two larger fenders (primary float) were missing, but the small additional fender we had attached to the float line was still there. The chute was partially collapsed and, as a consequence, tangled. However it was clearly still functioning, although not as effectively.

After visiting Tristan da Cunha for a medical check-up, we encountered four gales on the trot, but the sea state was never as severe as that which we had encountered on the Bromley Plateau. We sailed under storm jib alone, which proved effective. There were times when we took a lot of water over the boat, however the conditions were never bad enough to deploy the para-anchor again. But the simple knowledge of how effective it had been and that we could deploy it again and expect the same results gave us a great deal of confidence (not over-confidence!) in our ability to sum up the situation and continue sailing. We had an ace up our sleeve. We arrived back in Cape Town on Easter Monday, 8 April 1996. To say that I was impressed with the para-anchor would be a gross understatement - I am mightily impressed.... Any multihull skipper that goes to sea without a para-anchor is being foolhardy. 

S/M-39 Lotus 9.2 Cutter

S/M-39

Lotus 9.2 Cutter

30' x 4 Tons, Low Aspect Fin/Skeg

12-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 10 Conditions

 

File S/M-39, obtained from Ann and Jim Wilson, Christchurch, New Zealand - Vessel name Karoro, hailing port Moncks Bay, NZ, Lotus 9.2 sloop, designed by Alan Wright, LOA 30' 2" x LWL 26' 3" x Beam 11' x Draft 5' 6" x 4 Tons - Low aspect fin keel & skeg rudder - Sea anchor: 12-ft. Diameter Para-Tech on 2 lengths of 220' x 5/8" nylon three-strand rode plus 120' of chain and a 35 lb. plow anchor, with 1/2" stainless steel swivel - Partial trip-line - Deployed in a storm in deep water about 400 miles ENE of the North Cape of New Zealand, with sustained winds of 50 knots and seas of 20 feet and greater - Vessel's bow yawed 20° - Drift was about 10 n.m. during 15 hours at sea anchor.

In March 1966, New Zealander Jim Wilson used a 12-ft. Para-Tech sea anchor on Karoro in a gale during a coastal passage from Dunedin to Christchurch. Four months later, en route to Tonga, he used it again in a much heavier storm.

new_zealand

The sea anchor - deployed on two lengths of 220' x 5/8" rope, knotted together with bowlines - held the bow into the waves for a period of fifteen hours, the vessel yawing through a total arc of about 30-45° (about 20° off to each side). The sea anchor was then lost when the rode failed at one of the knots.

Sometime after losing the sea anchor, Karoro was rolled while lying a-hull. This incident confirms the opinion rendered by Peter Blake in File D/T-1: "I don't think lying a-hull is a mode of survival that one should contemplate if conditions are really severe. In moderate conditions, if you're not too worried about the sea state, maybe it's OK. But lying a-hull in a storm is a recipe for being rolled, or having the deck or the cabin top stove in and heavy water come inside. I think that the other approaches are better. Even though lying a-hull is natural and sort of easy, I definitely don't think it's a tactic that people should use, unless they haven't got another option." Most safety experts concur that lying a-hull in a storm is a recipe for disaster.

Here is a transcript of the feedback obtained from Ann and Jim Wilson:

After three good days of sailing to the northeast, out of Gisborne, making over 120 miles a day, we began to feel anxious about warnings of storm-force winds heading our way. The wind increased gradually in intensity and it became clear we would soon be in the storm. Jim went out and put both storm sails up. The mainsail had to be completely removed from the mast to make room for the small orange trysail. The storm jib was hanked onto the [removable] inner forestay, and the furling headsail rolled up completely and lashed. This took some time and Jim finally staggered below, wet and weary. The sails felt comfortable [with the vessel hove-to], but the wind kept gaining in intensity and the forecast was frightening - a band of storm-force winds, 50 knots, 400 miles wide. Soon the waves had become mountainous. I was too scared to look at them.

About 1500 hrs Jim decided to take the storm sails down and put out the sea anchor. He collected three lots of chain, one from under the floor boards, and quietly deliberated on which to use. Then the slow ritual of dressing up and harnessing and emerging into the wild, wet cockpit to sort out sea anchor, buoys and buckets of rope, tying everything up. The sails had to be removed and stowed below, and he finally moved all the gear to the bow. It was starting to get dark. He said he had to get it right the first time or we'd have had it. That put me into a mild state of panic. I followed his movements like a hawk, terrified he'd be washed overboard by a crashing wave and left dangling by his harness. He was wedged in the bow trying to untangle a maze of rope. The wind and waves crashing over were making it worse and his life line kept getting tangled as well. I suddenly felt he'd never sort it out on his own. I began to knock on the hatch window and yell over the sound of the storm, asking if I should come and help. He finally beckoned me out, so I took the headlamp and clipped onto the safety line. Once outside, the force of the wind was terrifying. I was so scared of getting washed off I practically crawled up to the bow and between us we went about untangling the mess of rope.

I found the free end he was looking for, tied the first buoy on and threw it over on Jim's instructions. I hurriedly played out the line which floated backwards. "Bring it in again," shouted Jim, "it's gone under the boat!" I suddenly saw the futility of it all. "It's hopeless," I shouted. At that he said, "OK, OK, throw out the other buoy." Over it went and then finally over went the sea anchor at last. Jim played out the warp and then the chain, and slowly we swung around into the waves. I found it hard to believe it was so much trouble. The whole performance had taken over three hours. (We have since devised a much easier system of deploying it from the cockpit, with chain already through the bow anchor roller fitting, with restraining pin in place, and the chain led back along the toerail, lashed in easy-release fashion, to the cockpit. We should, of course, have devised and tried this system before setting off.)

I crawled back inside. The gentle hove-to movement had changed to a jerky sideways rock, but now we were parting the waves with the bow and not taking them every which way. Jim finally came below and after a cup of hot chocolate we crashed into bed. I discovered that the high pitched whine of the wind, and the way it ascended the scale as it increased in volume, was what depressed me most. That, and the way it stayed at a high pitch for long periods without dropping, and all the frantic rattles and quivering in the rigging and the sudden loud bang as a wave hit us and the water pouring over the decking. I suddenly remembered the wax ear plugs I'd brought along for diving. I jammed a couple in my ears and blissfully all sound disappeared. Only the motion remained. It got me through the night. I think we all had a reasonably good sleep.

Saturday morning, June 22, suddenly Guy said "We're going backwards." Jim saw the loose chain out of the front hatch and said, "My God I think we've lost the sea anchor." My hand flew to my mouth in horror as Jim raced about. "It's OK," said Guy, "it's a much nicer motion now" [the vessel now lying a-hull]. I thought of the sea anchor floating away behind us. Poor Jim was struggling away at the bow, winding in the chain. He'd put so much effort into researching, buying and setting up the sea anchor, and phutt! Just like that, it was gone. He came in and said that the sea anchor warp had broken. He could hardly believe it. It was the same one he'd been towed by, off Akaroa, when the skeg and rudder went. Though he had been towed on these warps, under wild conditions, and therefore thought them tried and true, they were getting old; worse, we only had thimbles spliced in one end of each of the two, the other ends being bowline-knotted, which although tested before under tow (and afterwards, amazingly, the bowlines were undone quite easily) we should have known that a knot is a weak point; and it was at one of the knots that the rope broke.

Jim lashed the tiller to one side and we lay a-hull with no sails. The motion was certainly more comfortable. We put the wooden washboards in the lower half of the companionway and the clear, perspex panel in the top, and slid the hatch cover shut as usual. Sheer stupidity - had we had all the washboards in, instead of this flexible clear upper panel, we would have taken in very little water later.

It was mid-afternoon when we were knocked down. There was no warning. No roar as the rogue wave approached us. It was deceptively quiet and I had momentarily undone my car seat belt that Jim had rigged up in my bunk. I'm not sure why, but I certainly paid for that folly. It seemed like slow motion as I rolled out and hit the table, breaking it off the wall. Then the sound of rushing water. I looked up and saw a waterfall pouring through the gap in the companionway. The clear perspex panel had popped out like a cork. Then Jim was hauling me under the armpits. He said, "We've just been knocked down - we'll come up again." I don't remember coming back up. I was too busy making horrible groaning noises as I struggled to get air into my lungs. My legs were caught in a swirling tangle of quilt, twisting like seaweed in the water. Then I was tossed onto my bed. I seem to remember Jim and Guy baling with buckets.

There was a sharp pain in my ribs and I was straining to breathe, but only getting a small amount of air in. I hoped my lungs weren't perforated. Jim left off baling and raced to the radio. He got through to T.M. [Taupo Maritime] Radio and told them what had happened. "I think I've broken my ribs," I chattered through my teeth, while shivering. A doctor came on the radio and said to take my pulse and respiration, and to keep me as dry as possible. The storm was still raging. We had all the wooden washboards in but there was no guarantee that it wouldn't happen again. Jim and Guy were now as scared as me that we might have another knock down. Jim had strung me in my bunk even more firmly, but every time there was a loud bang on the side of Karoro I'd grab the rail and give a terrified shout.

By Sunday morning, June 23, the storm was over, but we were a depressing sight. I was immobile and on pain killers. The inside was a mess. The radar was out. The new spray dodger had ripped out its attachments, the frame and stainless steel grab rails bent. The VHF aerial was ripped off, and the wind arrow and lights on top of the mast were gone. Blessedly the sun came out. Jim wanted to carry on to Tonga, saying at least we'd be in warm waters then. I couldn't envisage another week at sea. Jim unhappily agreed to go back to New Zealand, although later he realized we'd done the sensible thing. He started the motor, checked out the chart, and found our closest option to be Great Barrier Island. We felt so lucky to have dry batteries, engine and GPS, and the SSB still working. Apart from me getting thrown out of my bunk, we had gotten knocked down on the best side, leaving the batteries high and dry. We turned and headed back. By evening there was some semblance of order.

The next few days are pretty much blurred in my mind. I remember constantly asking "what day is it?" Time seemed to go so slowly. Nights were quicker with escape into sleep. We ran into strong northwesterlies. By Monday we were beating into 40-knot winds.... On Tuesday night we were closing in, but Taupo Maritime Radio had for some time been broadcasting navigational warnings of the New Zealand Navy's target practice along the Coromandel Coast... we were right in their firing line! Jim contacted T.M.R. and told them we'd been knocked down, on our way back, and in the line of fire. It was comic. Racing into stormy winds and big waves, saved from the depths of the sea, only to be fired on by our own navy. Guy and I were cracking up - me painfully....

On the quiet, still, cloudy morning of Thursday June 27, 1996 we motored into Tauranga. I had dropped into a deep sleep. I finally came to with the sound of voices. Jim was talking to a man who was helping us tie up alongside the marine. We'd made it!

Did the Wilsons sell the boat and buy a cozy little sheep farm inland? No! Ann & Jim recently returned from another long trip! Jim Wilson's hand-written note on the filled out DDDB form that Victor Shane had been anxiously waiting for reads thus: "Just returned from 6 months on Karoro, to Tonga and back. No need for sea anchor this time - no knockdowns! But very glad we had a replacement on board. Wouldn't now go to sea without one."

 

 

S/M-32 Hunter 31 Sloop

HUNT31S/M-32

Hunter 31 Sloop

31' x 5 Tons, Fin Keel

15-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8 Conditions

 

File S/M-32, obtained from Chris Brann, Sausalito, CA. - Vessel name Snow Dragon, hailing port Juneau, Hunter sloop, designed by Cortland Steck, LOA 31' x LWL 28' x Beam 11' x Draft 5' 10" x 5 Tons - Fin keel - Sea anchor: 15-ft. Diameter Para-Tech on 150' x 5/8" nylon double braid with 1/2" stainless steel swivel - Partial trip line - Deployed in a low system in deep water about 150 miles west of Noumea, with winds of 45 knots and seas of 15-20 feet - Vessel's bow yawed 30° - Drift was 8 n.m. (confirmed by GPS) during 5 hours at sea anchor.

Chris Brann was a participant in Compuserve's mammoth drag device and storm tactics debate. The debate has since been "packaged" and placed in the library of the SAILING FORUM. When in Compuserve click on the traffic icon, type GO SAILING and look for a file called Thread on Drogues, Sea Anchors and Storms in the "Seamanship and Safety" library.

Brann cruised Alaskan waters with Snow Dragon, a fin-keeled Hunter 31, before sailing her all the way to Brisbane, Australia. Aside from two incidents of rudder failure, the boat held up fairly well. The failures were caused by the rudder manufacturer's use of smaller shaft dimensions, a defect since corrected by Hunter Marine (owners of older Hunters should make certain that their boats are not affected). The second incident of rudder failure occurred on the Noumea leg of the journey, where Brann had to deploy a sea anchor for damage control and attitude stabilization purposes. Transcript:

0300 November 26, front passed, wind backed to southwest, over 30 knots. 0410 We suddenly lost steering. After mounting the emergency tiller, checking cables and movement of the rudder post we realized we'd lost our rudder again. The seas were over 12 feet and continuing to build. The wind was 40-50 knots. With no rudder we fell into the trough, lying parallel to the waves. 0510 We deployed a 15 foot diameter parachute sea anchor from the bow... to prevent capsizing, and to try and stabilize the vessel while we built an emergency rudder. This held the bow into the waves. By now the wave crests were breaking regularly. The anchor was attached to the bow, via 300 feet of 5/8 inch double braid nylon. This made things a bit more comfortable, and it was easier to drill holes and so forth. Unfortunately, the outer covering [of the double braid] chafed, so I pulled enough rode in to put sound line on the cleats. This resulted in about 150 feet between the sea anchor and the bow. This was not enough line to absorb the energy....

At about 1000 a large wave broke over most of the vessel, filling the cockpit, even though it came from forward. The bow cleats are welded to a 1/4" stainless plate that is in turn bolted through the sides of the vessel. The strain [of the breaking wave] curled this plate through more than 90 degrees, crushed the pipe forming the legs of the cleats, and then broke the 5/8" line (breaking strength 14,400 lbs.) I determined that the line had broken rather than chafed through by observing that the ends of the strands were all about the same length and were slightly fused. The strain also curled the main plate holding the forestay. Loss of this plate would have meant loss of the mast. The structure of the boat was also damaged, opening the joint between the hull and deck on the port side, and we started to take water in through the gap.

1040 I rigged a trysail to try and stabilize the boat a bit, though it didn't really head it into the seas, and we were pretty much parallel to the waves for the rest of the day. We had crests break on the hull several times each hour, fortunately none of them were big enough to capsize us. I hung over the stern and dismounted the paddle from the wind vane (self-steering device) for use in building an emergency rudder, which occupied us for the rest of the day.

About 1600 the wind and seas had moderated, and we hoisted a storm staysail, streaming a 36" Galerider drogue from the stern. This got us moving towards Australia, though our course was still determined by the direction of the wave troughs. At 1900 wind was SSE 20-25 knots.... The next day we rigged the emergency rudder. It broke after a few hours, but we redesigned it and put it back on. We spent the next week improving the rudder and sailing to Australia.... Directional control was eventually established by a combination of jury rudder and a light drag towed behind the boat.... We tied to the customs wharf in Brisbane at 0720 local time on December 4.

Comments: This was a normal low pressure system, with wind and seas that would present no danger to a well-found boat equipped with a rudder. Two other vessels were nearby and in radio contact with us. One was 32' long, and the other 43'. Neither of them suffered any damage from the weather, and in fact both were able to rendezvous with us to provide additional lumber for use in making another emergency rudder in case our first one failed. Our problems were solely a result of the rudder failure.

What we'd do next time: Shackle all 300 feet of nylon line to the [steel] anchor and let out the [steel] anchor and 100-150 feet of chain. This approach was used by some friends on a 42 ft. Lord Nelson with success in the Tasman sea. In our case, while it lasted the sea anchor stabilized the boat quite a bit, especially compared to our gyrations without a rudder. 

S/C-10 Catamaran, Iroquois Mk II

S/C-10

Catamaran, Iroquois Mk II

30' x 14' x 3.5 Tons

12-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8-9 Conditions

 

File S/C-10, obtained from Rudolph L. Kirse, III, Palm Desert, CA. - Vessel name Banana Split, hailing port Palm Desert, Iroquois Mk II catamaran, designed by McAlphine Downie, LOA 30' 6" x Beam 14' x Draft 5' 6" (18" board up) x 3.5 Tons - Sea anchor: 12-ft. Diameter Para-Tech on 500' x 1/2" nylon three strand tether and bridle arms of 40' each, with 1/2" galvanized swivel - Full trip line - Deployed in a gale in deep water about 200 miles east of New York with winds of 40-50 knots and seas of 18-20 ft. - Vessel's bow yawed 10° - Drift was about 5-6 n.m. during 15 hours at sea anchor.

Rudolph Kirse III, singlehander, mariner and author, was sailing Banana Split to Bermuda from Montauk, Long Island, when the barometer began to fall. The first paragraph of the following is an excerpt from an article entitled Gunkholing, by Rudolph Kirse III, appearing in the March/April 92 issue of Multihulls Magazine (reproduced by permission). The second paragraph is a transcript of the feedback Shane Victor received from Rudolph Kirse III:

By 4 p.m. a storm had sprung up off the south New Jersey coast. It was traveling north, winds gusting to 45 knots and creating 20-25 ft. seas. By 5 p.m. all sails were down, and I was running before the wind... back to Long Island. With a lee shore fast approaching and night setting in, I decided to come about and set a para-anchor on 500' of 1/2" line, with an accompanying float and trip line. It did all, and more, of what it was supposed to do. According to both the GPS and the Loran, I drifted no more than a third of a mile per hour, with the bows held into the waves and only spray coming on board. By noon of next day, the storm had passed (later I learned that three boats had sunk, and one person was lost).

Neither I nor the boat would be here without the sea anchor. This storm came up with no warning (VHF, NOAA, Fax, etc.). Everything worked well on deployment. Boat rode easily with some pounding on hulls (lee boards half down as per your suggestion) rudders up & lashed, virtually no pounding on cabin underside. Chafing was solved on bridle by putting "poly-tubing" on line, 3' sections before eye-splicing, then held in place by whippings. Float was 3' inflated ball type anchor float. At approx. 1:30 p.m. a commercial fishing boat ran over and cut the [full] trip line. Later on had many problems trying to get anchor in - dislocated my wrist while trying to winch in the parachute. Anchor was finally brought in by removing bridle from bow and floating it off, tied to four life jackets [then powering up to the recovery float].

 

S/C-9 Catamaran, Crowther

S/C-9

Catamaran, Crowther

36' x 17' x 6 Tons

24-Ft. Dia. Parachute Sea Anchor

Force 8-9 Conditions

 

File S/C-9, obtained from Gary Jones, Rockville, MD. - Vessel name Corinthian XIII, hailing port Chester River, MD, "Witness" catamaran, designed by Lock Crowther, LOA 36' x Beam 17' x Draft 2' x 6 Tons - Sea anchor: 24-ft. Diameter military chest reserve parachute on 450' x 3/4" nylon three strand rode and bridle arms of 25' each, with 5/8" galvanized swivel - Full trip line - Deployed in low system in shallow water (12-15 fathoms) about 50 miles SE of Cape Fear, NC, with winds of 35-45 knots and seas of 8-12 ft. - Vessel's bow yawed 10° - Drift was estimated to be 5 n.m. during 10 hours at sea anchor.

Parachute sea anchors are worth their weight in gold in difficult coastal situations with the wind on the rise and the crew sick and exhausted. Their low rate of drift means that they require practically no sea room, making them the only viable means of stopping the boat and calling "time out" in close quarters. Transcript:

Wind and sea started building about 1800 hrs as we came up on Frying Pan Shoals. With the wind on the nose and the sea becoming choppy we weren't making any progress toward Charleston, South Carolina. At midnight the wind had turned the sea white and many waves were coming over the bow. We were heavy with provisions for a long cruise and five people were aboard. One crew member got sick and the rest were exhausted from fighting the weather.

The prospect for weather during the next 8 hours sounded bad and we knew the chances of being set into the shoals were great, so we decided to set the chute. Holding onto the heaving deck with one hand and setting the chute was tough due to water coming over the bow. It took 1.5 hours to deploy the rig, but it worked great and gave us time to go below and get much-needed rest.

S/M-19 Aloha 30 Sloop

ALOHAS/M-19

Aloha 30 Sloop

30' x 3.5 Tons, Fin Keel

9-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8-9 Conditions

 

File S/M-19, obtained from Richard Brooker, Winnipeg, Canada - Vessel name Crocodile Rock, hailing port Winnipeg, Aloha 30 sloop designed by Ron Holland, LOA 30' x LWL 26' x Beam 10' x Draft 6' x 3.5 Tons - Fin keel - Sea anchor: 9-ft. diameter Para-Tech on 400' x 1/2" nylon three strand with 3/8" swivel - Deployed in shallow water (50 fathoms) about 30 miles off the Oregon coast, NW of the mouth of the Columbia River, in a low system with winds of 40-45 knots and seas of 10 feet - Vessel's bow yawed 20° - Drift was 4 n.m. during 18 hours at sea anchor.

No written feedback accompanied the completed DDDB form. In answering the question, "How many degrees did this vessel yaw from side to side?" the owner has checked the "20°" box and written the words "very stable" next to it.

S/M-18 Crealock 34 Cutter

CREALOCKS/M-18

Crealock 34 Cutter

34' x 6.75 Tons, Low Aspect Fin/Skeg

15-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8-9 Conditions

 

File S/M-18, obtained from John R.S.Charlton, Oceanside, CA. - Vessel name Fancy Free II, hailing port Oceanside, Pacific Seacraft cutter designed by Bill Crealock, LOA 34' 1" x LWL 26' 2" x Beam 10' x Draft 4' 11" x 6.75 Tons - Low aspect fin keel and skeg rudder - Sea anchor: 15-ft. diameter Para-Tech on 300' x 1" nylon three strand with 1/2" stainless steel swivel - Deployed in deep water about 550 n.miles NE of Hawaii in a whole gale with winds of 40-50 knots and seas of 30 feet - Vessel's bow yawed 10° - Drift was reported to be "minimal" during 12 hours at sea anchor.

Fancy Free II was en route to Kaneohe, Hawaii from Oceanside, California in the month of January. She ran into a south-westerly gale and had to use her 15-ft. diameter Para-Tech sea anchor. Owner's handwritten remark reads thus:

Great product. Unfortunately, my helm was not lashed down securely - steering cable broke at quadrant. (Large wave lifted stern and rudder slammed over to "stops").

Fancy Free II is a sister ship to N'ISKU (see illustration in previous file). Both of these Crealocks behaved very well at sea anchor, yawing less than 10°. Note that N'ISKU used 400' x 1/2" nylon plus 50' of chain, while Fancy Free II used 300' of 1-inch nylon, and yet both boats behaved equally well. In looking for causality one has to put on a Sherlock Holmes hat and try to find some basic virtue in Bill Crealock's design, something that makes these boats yaw so little - probably the closeness of the CLR to the CE - while not losing sight of other variables such as the rode length that determines the relative positions of the boat and sea anchor.

S/M-17 Crealock 34 Cutter

CREALOCKS/M-17

Crealock 34 Cutter

34' x 6.75 Tons, Low Aspect Fin/Skeg

12-Ft. Dia. Sea Anchor

Force 8-9 Conditions

 

File S/M-17, obtained from Sandy and Les Bailey, Honolulu, HI. - Vessel name N'ISKU, hailing port Honolulu, Pacific Seacraft cutter designed by Bill Crealock, LOA 34' 1" x LWL 26' 2" x Beam 10' x Draft 4' 11" x 6.75 Tons - Low aspect fin keel and skeg rudder - Sea anchor: 12-ft. diameter Para-Tech on 400' x 1/2" nylon three strand with 50' of chain and 3/8" swivel - Deployed in deep water near 15° 49' N, 159° 48' W, in a gale with winds of 40-45 knots and seas of 16 feet - Vessel's bow yawed 10° - Drift was 15 miles during 14 hours at sea anchor.

 

N'ISKU was en route to Palmyra Atoll from Honolulu, when she ran into something akin to a Kona storm. A 12-ft. diameter Para-Tech sea anchor was then deployed, which held the bow of the yacht into the seas in a most satisfactory way. Transcript:

This was not a survival situation in the usual sense. On this passage, my wife and I had endured four successive days of 25+ knot easterly trade winds, all from ahead of the beam, with 12 to 14 foot seas from the same direction. The boat handled beautifully and we never felt threatened nor out of control, logging 150 to 160 miles per day. Unfortunately, persistent mal de mer had flattened my wife from the first day and then a streptococcal throat infection laid me low. These tribulations significantly reduced the pleasure of the sail and severely taxed our stamina. Nevertheless, we maintained our watches and did not feel it was unsafe to continue as long as conditions remained the same - which they didn't.

The wind piped up to 40 knots with higher gusts and veered a bit to the south. The seas built and became confused. The motion became most uncomfortable with a yaw component that made it very difficult for a couple of arthritic sexagenarians to get around. We then decided it was time for a little "rest and rehabilitation." We tried heaving-to under sail, but this did not prove satisfactory under those conditions. Over the side went the sea anchor and immediately our habitat became more livable. The major motion of the boat was now an almost gentle pitch, with occasional episodes of roll, but amazingly the uncomfortable yaw motion had vanished.

We used a 12 foot Para-Tech nylon parachute specifically designed as a sea anchor in a deployable storage bag. A large fender (8" x 24") served as the primary float and a smaller dinghy fender (3" x 12") at the end of 100 feet of 1/4" polypropylene was the trip line. Our rode consisted of 200 feet of three strand 1/2" nylon, 50 feet of 5/16" BBB chain and a second 200 feet of 1/2" nylon for a total of 450 feet. Swivels were used to attach the nylon rode to the anchor and to the chain (overkill perhaps). The nylon rode was led through a bow roller to cleats. Sufficient rode was released so that the bright yellow canopy of the sea anchor was visible in the crest of an oncoming swell as we were atop the crest of another wave. Three to four layers of fire hose were used for chafe protection at the roller.

We did not observe surge or shock loads on the rode. The boat always seemed to head into the wind and seas at the same angle (<10°) and did not sail about at anchor. The entire system worked perfectly, probably because of a) the length of the rode, b) the catenary induced by the chain in the middle of the rode, and c) the boat and anchor were in crests and troughs in synchrony. By morning the winds had abated to about 30 knots and backed into the east. The crew, still bruised, but very much refreshed by a night of rest, was eager to head south again.