Nice video.
Those 37s are good looking boats.
From: CnC-List <[email protected]> On Behalf Of NORTHERN LIGHT via
CnC-List
Sent: Thursday, July 9, 2020 10:45 AM
To: [email protected]
Cc: NORTHERN LIGHT <[email protected]>
Subject: Stus-List C&C 37 vs Hurricane Dorian
Hey guys,
sorry for the dramatic title, it was not meant to look like clickbait on a YT
channel :)
But here’s a little story for the C&C community:
I spent the last 4 years prepping my boat, Northern Light for a passage to
Europe and the Med, and finally last summer I left from Nova Scotia,
destination, Azores. Just before hitting the Gulf Stream, on a windless day
while motoring gently at 1500 rpm when my world turned upside down. The cockpit
floor started shaking and the most horrendous grinding noise coming from under
the binnacle…I stopped the engine, and went back in my bunk for some thinking.
What could that have been? I put a Gopro on a boat hook and checked the prop to
see if I had snagged a fishing line or something. All looked good underneath. I
opened the engine hatch, all looked ok, I opened the cockpit access hatch and
looked at the shaft, all was well, the shaft was not overheating. I started the
engine again and it ran fine. I put it in gear and all sounded normal.
“I must be getting my hallucinations,” I thought. It was about the right time,
after 3 days offshore, with some degree of sleep deprivation, normal SOP. So I
proceeded to make some Vietnamese noodles and enjoy the calm day with a Podcast.
Half and hour later, the horror returns. Same noise, metal on metal. Yup, you
guessed it guys, the tranny went bust, on a calm day, approaching the shipping
lanes between New York and the English Channel.
But that was only the beginning of the story. Because the wind returned with a
vengeance hours later and two foils on the furler detached at the top and now
my 110% North jib got stuck between the two extrusions. When I tried to furl, I
could only furl the bottom part of the sail, the top key flying like a burgee
flag.
After sorting out the mess as best I could, I called on my crew Flavio (Italian
based in Barcelona, long time friend with whom I crossed the Pacific some years
back) and told him that we now have 2 problems. Back into my bunk for more
thinking…
I now still had about 1500 miles to the Azores, I had no engine and no headsail
I could count on. As hard as that decision was, it became clear that I had to
abort the mission and return to base. Flavio was in agreement with me, so we
put the tail between our legs and ran back to the motherland.
But wait, we’re not done yet…on the way back a vicious gale caught us over
something called Emerald Bank. Guess why it called emerald…because the depth
goes from 4000m to 300m and the waves are green, very green. It wasn’t the
wind, but the sea state that forced me to heave to for 7 hours. Later on, the
boys at Shinning Waters Marine told me that’s where the schooners used to break
in half and disappear during storms in the past century or two.
This shall pass too, I thought, although by the sound of things below, we might
never see that day.
Finally we did start sailing back under main and a little bit of jib but as we
came closer to the coast the wind died. We were now going on the rocks at
Peggy’s Cove. Out goes the dinghy, we inflate it on deck with a swell throwing
us around, I out the outboard on, more acrobatics, lash the dinghy on the hind
quarter and my little Tohatsu was now giving us 2.5 knots of steerage. 8 hours
later we pick up a mooring in St. Margaret’s Bay, unassisted, unaided except
for large amounts of coffee. Our friends Jim and Sue welcome us in their home,
we drink beers, eat ribs and wondered what just happened. The goodbye party
took place just 5 days earlier in the same company. Flavio and I look like two
racoons who just had an unpleasant turn of events.
Now, you’d think this is enough to make a story end happily ever after, but no
Sir, we’ve still a ways to go…
It took two months to find another, second hand transmission, and rebuild my
old one. Now the hurricane season was in full swing, so too late to go to
Europe. In my vast wisdom, I thought let’s go to the Bras d’Or Lakes, have a
little fun so we at least get something out of this unlucky summer…unlucky
being the key word here.
We set out and do a nice overnighter along the coast, being boarded twice by
the RCMP fast tenders in the process, once in zero visibility with a dense fog
and drizzle. Seeing a black 26-foot tender with 6 large, commando-dressed
officers pull alongside in those conditions makes you think you’re once again
hallucinating.
Anyways, yes, we have a beautiful fortnight of cruising the serene inner sea of
Cape Breton, when a tropical storm is announced. Can’t remember the name of
that one, but she had a name for sure. That was ok, no problem, I have a 44-lbs
Rocna and 300-feet all chain rode, and we were tucked into Maskell’s Harbour, a
very protected anchorage in the Great Bras d’Or. But then I see on Predictwind
on my IridiumGo that Hurricane Dorian formed down south and was expected to
arrive to Nova Scotia within 5 days. Us and our cruising buddies Jim and Sue
start heading back to St. Margaret”s Bay. One day our friend’s engine
overheated so we had to turn back, and because of the prevailing winds the
progress was slow and frustrating. Meanwhile, Dorian was expected to veer
eastwards, out to sea, so the anxiety level was only moderate.
Ok, long story short, we never made it to base. Jim and Sue had friends in Ship
Harbour, a long 10-mile inlet deep inland and they suggested we tuck in there,
secure our boats and and stay at their place safely.
Incredibly, Dorian was going to cross Nova Scotia and we would be a direct hit.
In fact, in the middle of it when the moon came out and all went quiet between
75-knots from one direction and the other, we knew we were in the eye of the
hurricane.
We stripped everything off the boat, I found a spot at the head of the bay and
put out 100m chain on a depth of 8 meters. Jim found a little cove and anchored
with 2 anchors opposite each other.
I left the anchor light on so I could see her from the third floor of our
friend’s house. The wind came, the massive old maple in front of the house
toppled to the ground, the eye passed over us, and I was standing at that
window, watching through my binoculars as my ship was fighting to stay in
place. She was there until 5 am, I could still see the anchor light through the
wind and spray.
Then the storm surge came. The waves on the coast were reported to be 15
meters. Up where we were, maybe 3 meters, but that’s a lot. I knew that my 2
snubbers will have exploded by now, but would she hold her position?
Well, dawn brought us sad news. Jim and Sue’s boat was up on the rocks, next to
the local road.
I could still see the anchor light but Northern Light's mast was tilting so I
knew she went aground.
As soon as we could get in the dinghy, we drove over to have a look. She was
lying over on the port side by a tiny island, on a small piece of sand,
surrounded by massive granite boulders. The chain was bar-taut. I climbed
onboard at an angle, I touched the wheel and I could feel the rudder was moving
freely. I opened the companionway hatch and looked inside: no water. Lifted the
floor boards, no water. Checked the electrical panel, all was well. I started
the engine and told my wife, let’s do what the English do: put on the kettle
and let’s think.
The tide was going lower for another couple of hours. John, our friend with
whom we stayed the previous night came out with Jim in his aluminium tender.
John was a mussel farmer and that was his boat, equipped with a powerful 200hp
outboard. They helped me pull my anchor out, which as it turned out after
several attempts to free it from the bottom, was covered in 2 feet of mud. I
guess that’s what saved my boat.
As soon as tea was over, I went to the opposite shore and put out a breast
anchor, which I then winched tight as the tide was coming back in. for every
inch of tide we gained one inch of vertical clearance and closer to the deeper
channel. After a couple of hours of nail-bitting tension, suddenly I saw the
shore moving and realized we were free. We re-floated Northern Light with no
other assistance!!
And to finish this story, we sailed back to St. Margaret’s Bay, lifted the boat
out of the water immediately and found that the keel was damaged and the rudder
had actually split in half.
Luckily the insurance was there for us and this winter Northern Light had her
keel removed, the sump re-glassed and re-inforced, and now she has a new rudder
as well.
Over 30 boats were lost that night on the Northern Shore of Nova Scotia. A
reminder that even up north, we are not immune to large systems causing
wide-spread damage.
Here’s my Youtube Channel guys, for those interested in videos of a C&C 37 and
her adventurous life afloat:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCvlP6nYIW1STb_hl2fBlYwA?view_as=subscriber
my best regards,
Chris Tirtirau
SV Northern Light
C&C 37
_______________________________________________
Thanks everyone for supporting this list with your contributions. Each and
every one is greatly appreciated. If you want to support the list - use PayPal
to send contribution -- https://www.paypal.me/stumurray
