A sight no sailor ever wants to sea...

[benny14 6]

From the Velux 5 Oceans Race... Chris Stanmore-Majors Blog. Something that one would never want to see, and hopefully should never have to deal with.

 

CSM'S BLOG: THAT SINKING FEELING

Spartan - Chris Stanmore-Major

 

23.05.2011 02:00

Boat Speed

 

14 kn

Lat.

 

43°46′00″N

Long.

 

40°43′57″W

At about 2200 UTC I came down off the deck into the cabin to be met by a sight no sailor can view without the cold grip of fear taking hold of his heart: water, deep water. Adrift on the surface weas everything passes for my life out here – clothes, magazines, drinking water bottles, freeze dried food packets and a myriad contents of a rubbish bag.

 

I had been on deck for about 40 minutes dropping the Code 5 ad changing to the Solent, trimming and tidying the deck, and we were doing about 18 knots. Spartan was flying. Standing on the top step it seemed impossible that so much water was inside the boat in such a small amount of time. My senses reeled taking in what seemed at that moment in time to be the end of my journey around the world less than a week before the finish.

 

There was no time to think, only act, so I stepped down into the largest body of water I have ever seen inside a boat and began problem solving. We were on starboard tack with the boat heeled to port and as I put my boot down into the shallower side of the flood on starboard it came to just below my knee. I noticed with grim resignation that the water on the lower port side was above the bunk with its level cutting halfway through the engine casing. I turned round and looked in front of the cockpit and there just in front of the bulkhead which divides the lazarette from the main cabin was a fountain of water shooting up and spraying the deckheads.

 

My initial thought was that we must have hit a submerged object and breached the hull. This is not merely an irksome problem to be worked through – in those initial moments it was a fight to save the boat. From a seamanship point of view there are two things that must happen simultaneously in this situation: stop the water coming in and get the water out. I decided to move first on the issue of getting the water out or at least start the process before addressing the leak.

 

Wading aft I undid the connections between the hull fittings that allow me to fill and drain the aft ballast tank and turned the intakes to discharge. I have had enough miles playing the ‘what if’ game by now and those idle moments suddenly paid dividends giving me a course of action without needing to think twice. I had been filling the aft ballast tanks while working on deck to make Spartan into a surfboard on the increasing Atlantic swells. Over 15 knots there is a need to keep her head up when she surfs to stop her digging in and slowing. I only needed to spin off the pipe connections and swivel the scoops - which were already - down to discharge.

 

Immediately there was a gurgling whirlpool in each pipemouth as the suction started to draw out the water. I think it was then I grabbed the liferaft and heaved it into the cockpit. No, I didn’t need it yet – you only step up into a liferaft – but I was not taking any chances. If something gave way I didn’t want to be looking for it in the dark.

 

With the intakes working at their maximum efficiency they soon began to make an impact on the ocean of water inside the boat. As I crouched there holding the pipes underwater and keeping the debris from blocking them I had a ringside seat for a sight I never want to see again. Under the yellow fluorescent lights of the cabin and my headtorch the water swept from side to side inches below my autopilot processors, splashing up the sides soaking me and everything inside the boat. If a rogue swell washed over those autopilots I knew life would suddenly get much more difficult. I would have to drop all sails and drift instantly losing the suction from the ballast scoops. This would mean bailing by hand as the electric pumps I had fitted that were already bailing automatically would not be able to deal with this volume of water and get ahead of the leak.

 

The main cabin is 25ft long and 20ft wide, and the water was still just under knee-deep. The water itself was cold but not freezing, but I noted with a grunt that when grabbing my fleece hat to go on deck earlier to deal with the Code 5 I had left my waterproof bag containing my clothes open and now everything intended to keep me warm was drenched and afloat. If I was going to get cold then I was going to be cold for a long time yet.

 

I looked forward and saw the engine casing was now above the water level but that the main batteries were still totally under it. The Raymarine autopilots were still functioning and keeping us on course at 15 knots, so I had lost the battle with the clothes but I was still winning the war. I just needed to hold my nerve and get on top of this situation. We were hundreds of miles from the coast with more water inside a boat than I had ever seen in 150,000 miles of sailing – it was hard to just sit there and keep cool.

 

I ran through scenarios in my head – what we might have hit so quietly that I didn’t hear it from on deck or feel it; what I needed to take into the liferaft if the worst came to the worst - personal items I could not let the sea consume and safety equipment that would be needed for the rescue.

 

I looked up at the silver pocket watch I have on the nav station which means a lot and has been around the world twice with me now. It was still ticking away peacefully on the nav station oblivious to the carnage. I concluded that however bad things looked at that moment there was still hope if something so delicate and precise could continue with its work unaffected. I was scared but it is remarkable how you can hold yourself together when trouble comes knocking if you can just have a moment to still yourself, think, gulp down fear and replace it with determination. That watch provided that determination.

 

After 15 minutes the water level was notably reduced and this was my first indication that we were not dealing with a full hull breach. The fountain beside me seemed to have slowed somewhat and I cautiously moved over to it. The hull under the rear bulkhead seemed to have a 3ft crack running along it but curiously the water coming out of it was coming with less and less force.

 

I left the pipes floating but still sucking and went to make a call to the race organisation who have a dedicated line to an on-duty watch keeper 24 hours a day. I reported I had a suspected hull breach but that I was getting on top of the water and I would call back in an hour. They in turn switched my tracker to poll every few minutes giving them pinpoint awareness of my position, speed and course.

 

The water was now down to ankle depth and it was time to start bailing by hand to clear each individual section of the main cabin. I bailed and bailed until my shoulders burnt like fire but with no-one to take over or help there was nothing to be done but keep going until I could be sure the battery tops were not covered and the autopilots and sat phone system were out of danger. With the flood under control I tentatively dried the relays in the engine control box, blew out all the water I could from the starter and crossing my fingers pressed the starter. The engine caught first time and I could see charge going into the batteries on the electronics panel. I sat on the companionway steps and gave small thanks under my breath to the Scandinavian gods of marine engineering.

 

It was at this point I called the duty watch keeper again to confirm I had the flooding under control and heard for the first time my EPIRB – emergency position-indicating radio beacon – had been set off and that Gutek and Derek had been diverted to my position. My heart sank. As a professional I would never set off an EPIRB unless I was getting into a liferaft and there was a serious or imminent threat to my life. This situation, although serious, was not that. Sailing in the way we do is about self-reliance and an individual’s problem-solving abilities. I was not sunk yet – in fact the water was down and it seemed to be staying down so I did not need assistance and was dumbfounded that others were, as I stood there ankle deep in water, racing to my help.

 

I confirmed with the race authority that I had not intentionally set off my EPIRB and while talking on the phone I checked the two internally mounted units. Neither were active but I realised the one in the main cabin must have been washed over by the roll of the water inside the boat. Being water activated it had started and then stopped transmitting. I kicked myself for not thinking about this during the prep of the boat and mounted the unit higher. It is true that it was fantastic to see how quickly the race control put their emergency plan into action and I know had I actually been abandoning the boat it would only have been a few hours before Gutek and Derek would have been with me to offer me a hand up out of that raft, no doubt with a Canadian rescue chopper overhead.

 

To put that process into motion without good reason opened a trapdoor beneath me. True there was still over a tonne of water in the boat, but round here we don’t give up until the lights go out and the water level interrupts the lighting of the panic cigarette. I felt terrible.

 

Still stung by the fact I had caused so much trouble for Derek and Gutek I began to conduct a thorough search of the entire boat to confirm there were no leaks apart from the one at the rear bulkhead. There were none so I turned my attention to a method of stopping the flow which earlier had been a geyser and now was little more than a trickle. With my headtorch on and the water down to a level which I could see I began to prod and poke around in the cracks. What was immediately obvious was that the hull was intact and there were no direct path from outside to inside. The relief was immediate and swept over me like a wave. I knew we would make it to La Rochelle yet.

 

Looking closely I understood the cracks followed the edge of the laminate used to secure the bulkhead into the boat. It was indeed about 3ft long but narrow and almost no water flowed from it any more. Suddenly the reason for the flooding became apparent. When I was on deck I opened the ballast intakes to fill the rear tanks. Once they are full they overflow through two valves in the stern and through the ballast pumps outlets into the cockpit. If you forget about them there is no issue, you are just slowing yourself down with the scoops extended. But after 30,000 miles bending and flexing on this race alone, not counting the 60,000 miles she did before that, including almost fully airborne leaps in the Southern Ocean and the fastest day of her life coming out of Charleston, Spartan’s rear bulkhead had partially delaminated from the hull allowing the full force of the two ballast intakes to be diverted into the cabin.

 

To give you an idea one intake can fill a 1.5-tonne tank in six minutes at 16 knots with the force in one pipe equivalent to a fireman’s hose. I had been on deck for 40 minutes with both intakes down assuming all the pressure would be released through the stern valve but not this time. With the failure of the bulkhead lamination the tanks overflowed directly into the cabin causing the sudden and dramatic flood. Happy to be wrong about the hull breach and buoyed by the fact that she was still sound, I bailed the remaining water down to just puddles and started to dry out electrical equipment and clothing.

 

When things were a bit more calm I called Derek and Gutek and apologised for them having to turn round and head back for me. If ever there were two greater gentlemen afloat I have yet to meet them and the positive thoughts and relief they had for me left me struggling to hold back my emotions. Their wasted time will be redressed by the race committee but in that moment neither was interested in that, they were only happy that I was safe and well.

 

Out here we take our lives in our hands on a daily basis – on the bowsprit, up the mast, a slip on the deck here, a whipping sail there – but it is life as we choose to live it. But to suddenly see that which should remain on the outside penetrate so completely the protective cocoon this boat represents to me I shall long remember after I have hung up my oilies for good. A tonne of water in the forepeak is one thing but many tonnes sloshing round in the main cabin, the largest section of the boat, inches from all the electrical systems that allow this boat to be handed solo is a totally different situation.

 

There is a saying that the sea will always exact the full penalty for any mistakes we make and experience tells me it will do so swiftly and with utter indifference. Last night I was reminded of this in a shocking and all too real manner. My heart still shrinks when I think of what might have happened if it had been the hull and not the bulkhead – if that jet of water I first saw in the half-light of my torch had not been so easily stopped. I’m fearful of what it would have felt like to step into that tiny precarious orange raft and watch as the thing I have made so many sacrifices for disappeared beneath the waves.

 

But also in the same instant I remember that although the night was dark, the water cold and my chances of helping myself extinguishing, my friends were already racing to my aid and despite feeling bad about calling them when they were not needed this was an incredibly uplifting realisation. My head is bloody but unbowed. La Rochelle lies ahead and we will get there if there is part of this boat left to paddle. My thanks to Derek and to Gutek for their swift actions and also to Brad who talked to me at length later that night and steadied my hand.

[cam 0]

blimin good read, cheers for posting that benny.

 

What a good option to have, disconnecting the ballast tank plumbing to allow draining of water in the hull in a crisis out the intake hull fitting. Sounds like he had this in mind as a plan b for just this event (and could undo them by hand quickly). Kind of like a venturi in a dinghy. What an excellent option to have actually.

 

Actually it always surprised me how quickly my small venturi drains alot of water from my main hull when I poke the nose in.

[splashprincess 17]

Chris has a fantastic writing style which is so readable, I hope that he writes a book about his round the world adventures. While he isn't winning on the water, he has been cleaning up all of the media prizes at the stopovers!