Some further thoughts on being "rescued"

I've been a-pondering our little bit of excitement last Wednesday morning, as you do. There are lessons to be learnt which may be of value to a wider audience so forgive me if I have a waffle about it ...

Lesson 1. Double check your fittings after any change

It's pretty obvious that the furling line was never actually shackled back on after the genoa came off for the lift out last June. It's a bit of a kludge anyway as the furling drum only has one attachment point to which the genoa tack is shackled. The shackle that prevents the furling line from escaping from the drum when the genoa is set is then attached to the genoa tack shackle

Without that shackle in place, the only thing preventing it from coming off completely is the eye splice and shackle not twisting around in the slot. On Wednesday morning our luck, which had obviously held for nearly a year, ran out and it escaped from the slot allowing the genoa to unroll completely.

That, of itself, was not a disaster. Having to go forward and drop the genoa onto the deck and then lash it to the rail in the conditions was not my idea of fun but it was a job that had to be done and indeed was done successfully without, of itself, further mishap.

However, herein doth lie ...

Lesson 2. Secure all coiled lines

Disaster is rarely if ever the consequence of a single event. And indeed here was a classic example of one problem leading to another unforeseen one. We have always, since buying Erbas, coiled up the main halyard after hoisting the sail and then wedged the coil in the corner of the spray hood. It's never shown the slightest inclination to budge from that location even in some pretty heavy weather

Well on Wednesday it decided to make a bid for freedom, slid down between the spray hood and the cabin side and then went overboard. It, of course, promptly wrapped itself around the prop stopping the engine dead.

We were, I ought to point out, already motor sailing in order to claw our way around the end of the Niuewpoort Bank, a shoal about five miles off the Belgian coast, which I didn't want to sail across in rough weather. The genoa was fully furled before it came unravelled and the engine was in gear with the main pinned in. When the genoa unfurled itself, it seemed to make sense to keep her up to windward as she was whilst sorting it out.

And that leads to ...

"Lesson" 3. Don't make a bad situation worse

I've put "lesson" in inverted commas because, in fact, we did not make a bad situation any worse.

There were things we could have attempted to do ...

We could have set up the removable inner forestay and hoisted either the No.1 jib or the storm jib

We could have anchored where we were

We could have attempted to dive and clear the prop ourselves

We could have attempted to sail back into Nieuwpoort and even attempted to come alongside a pontoon somewhere under sail

All of the above have been suggested in various conversations and trust me on this all of the above and more went through my mind at the time once we had the initial situation under control and Erbas sailing under reefed main alone

I also considered whether we could set the No.1 jib and carry on across the North Sea without an engine, as well as considering whether Ostend (about five hours away under sail) was a better / safer option than Nieuwpoort (about an hour away)

With the exception of setting up the inner forestay (which I'll come to in a moment) all of the above options were, in my opinion, bad options with a very real risk of compounding the situation and making things very much worse.

Bear in mind that we had 25 to 28 knots of wind across the deck and seas of a metre or more running. Conditions were on the limit (for us at least) even before things went awry.

Anchoring out there in those conditions was not an option to be contemplated except in the direst emergency. And diving under the boat would have been nigh on suicidal.

Pressing on in a compromised boat, even if we'd set the No.1 or the storm jib, would have been foolish when a safe haven was close at hand and I was fully aware that there were SAR facilities available at Niuewpoort.

It was abundantly clear that the only sensible option was to reverse course and return to the nearest safe haven and sort our shit out before trying again, hopefully the following day.

Erbas demonstrated what an outstanding sea boat the Sabre 27 is by behaving extremely well under reefed headsail alone in a solid F6 gusting 7. We were able to get her on the wind and hold the course back towards the harbour mouth without a great deal of difficulty.

So now we come to the decision to issue a Pan Pan and request assistance.

Firstly, why a "Pan Pan" and not either a "Mayday" or a "routine traffic" call.

We were not in any immediate danger. We had the situation under control, for the time being at least, and we had some ability to manoeuvre and options to improve that if necessary (back to the inner forestay again). Therefore, a "Mayday" was not appropriate.

However, the situation was far from routine. We were in control as things stood but our ability to manoeuvre was inevitably compromised and we were sailing back across an inshore shipping lane towards a lee shore and a difficult harbour entrance in the conditions. Plus there was a significant cross tide to consider.

Therefore, I deemed a "Pan Pan" entirelty appropriate under the circumstances. Pan Pan is used where a situation is urgent but there is no grave and imminent danger to life. That pretty much sums up the position we were in.

Our Pan Pan call alerted Ostend Coastguard to our situation and location and thereafter they monitored our progress on radar and kept us apprised of the ETA of assistance by VHF. Had things gone pear shaped in a hurry, they would have been on the case right away.

Ostend Coastguard specifically asked if we were requesting the assistance of a tug. And that brings me to the decision not to attempt to enter harbour under sail with no engine.

Lee shore, cross tide, F6/7, metre plus seas, narrow entrance between very solid pier heads. No bloody fear!

I have a personal golden rule engraved on my heart - it's not often the sea that will kill you, it's the land that will ruin your day. Out at sea we were relatively safe and even if things went awry we would almost certainly have time and space to get to grips with the situation. Messing about within a stones throw of rocks and masonry it would have needed just the slightest mishap to turn a tricky situation into a potentially fatal disaster.

I was, I might also mention, fully aware that requesting a tug would result in a bill. (I was also aware that our insurance would probably cover it but that matters not a jot). I have another golden rule engraved on my heart and this one is as old as any tradition of seafaring and that is the old chestnut that "The preservation of life at sea takes priority over all other considerations"

A tow into harbour was the safe and prudent option with a virtual certainty of a happy outcome. "Ostend Coastguard, Yacht Erbas. Affirmative, I confirm that I require a tug".

In the identical circumstances I would make exactly the same decision every time

It is also worth noting the statement on our insurers, GJW Direct, claims advice page where they explicitly state "In the event of you requiring assistance from salvors it is imperative that you do not put life at risk by any delay in accepting salvage services"

 I said earlier that I'd come back to the matter of the inner forestay.

Quite simply, it proved unnecessary to set it up and hank on a jib. Erbas sailed back to within a mile or so of the harbour mouth under reefed mainsail and even, albeit on the second attempt, tacked and proved herself capable of clawing up to windward off the lee shore when I felt we were as close as it was prudent to sail (I actually expected to do no better than hold our position but she was actually making progress to windward. Not much progress I grant you but enough)

In summary, we had a gear failure and that crisis was compounded by a further mishap and at that point we stopped the rot before things got any worse and we got in safe and sound with an undamaged boat, an unharmed crew and in fair shape to sort ourselves out and have another go the following day. Considering all the things that could have happened, that's exactly the right outcome.

Whilst I'm on, one might question the decision to sail on Wednesday in the first place. We were fully aware that conditions would be tough out there and we chose to go for it. We've been out in worse, albeit not for an entire North Sea crossing, and we decided to give it a go.

Rik and I had already discussed whether we were happy or whether we should head back in shortly before things went pear shaped and we were both agreed that, whilst challenging, conditions were not beyond our limits.

We had a plan B of diverting into Ostend from the D1 buoy (another hour and a half or so into the passage) if we didn't feel up to continuing at that point and indeed a diversion into Ostend would remain an option for several hours thereafter and the necessary navigation preparation had been done in advance just in case.

We also had a consistent forecast across all services that conditions would moderate throughout the day


Do I regret the "go" decision? No

Would I "go" in those circumstances again? Don't know! It would depend on the crew, the circumstances and the time frame. I certainly wouldn't say "no, definitely not" but equally I can't honestly say "yeah, no problem"

Had we not had the mishap, I suspect we might well have ended up in Ostend because the winds didn't moderate as forecast until well into the evening. I suspect by the time we reached the TSS off Ostend, if not sooner, we'd have had enough

One thing is for sure, life is never dull when you're a sailor! (Well, actually, 14 hours motoring out of sixteen hours across the North Sea on Thursday was a bit tedious to be honest but hey ho)