In sailing, rather than indicate the specific speed of wind, the Beaufort Scale was created in 1805 by British Rear-Admiral, Sir Francis Beaufort to generalize 12 different stages. Force 0 represents a calm sea while Force 12 is a hurricane.
Force 10 is defined as winds of 55-63mph and...
"Very high waves with long overhanging crests. The resulting foam, in great patches, is blown in dense white streaks along the direction of the wind. On the whole the surface of the sea takes on a white appearance. The 'tumbling' of the sea becomes heavy and shock-like. Visibility affected."
The 1979 Fastnet race was struck by a Force 10 storm, in which 25 of the 306 yachts taking part were sunk or disabled due to high winds and heavy seas. Seventeen participants drowned. The ensuing book about the race, "Fastnet, Force 10" is probably one of the most well known books among sailors of any type.
A week ago, during the daylight hours of July 23rd, three days into our week of Clipper Venture Part C training (the last segment), our skipper Mark had slowly worked us through the steps of erecting our trysail. The trysail is a small triangular sail that's made of particularly heavy material (photo above). Used to replace the mainsail in the event of a storm, it offers the wind only a token but sturdy surface to blow against. It also allows one's boat to maintain at least some forward speed during a storm, and therefore allow control. The sail is also marked with a large orange circle to aid any rescue forces in finding one's boat, if necessary.
That evening, when Mark received a forecast of a Force 9 Gale for our area that night, he told us re-erect the trysail. We attached it and set up the lines, but left it lashed to the side of the boom. We had three reefs in our mainsail. Perhaps that would be enough of a reduction of sail to make it through the night.
I got off watch at midnight and, through a rare combination of lucky events, somehow had managed to be allocated a full eight hours in my bunk, a rare luxury on any watch system on any boat. I curled up in my bag and expected to sleep soundly until 8:00 a.m. but I woke up at 3:00 a.m.
It wasn't the pounding sea that woke me as much as the squeals of laughter and excitement that I heard coming from the cockpit down the companion way and reverberating throughout the entire boat. Ah, I thought to myself. It's come. The storm is here.
In my bunk I could feel the boat lurch and heave in long, slow motions underneath me and hear the corresponding exclamations above; "Wooo hooooooo!!!"
I'm probably missing something grand, I thought to myself, but it was so cozy and dry in my warm, four-layered bag and I knew it would be spraying water and high winds above. This might be your only chance, I'd tell myself, to helm in a true storm. I'd think this but still I'd pull the bag's open top tighter around my shoulders. Having the opportunity to rest on a voyage like anything we do in those boats usually takes priority over everything.
At 5:00 a.m. one of my crew came to my bunk and shook my shoulder. "Skipper's says you're needed to backup the crew on deck." Thankful for having the decision made for me, I got up and dressed in my foul weather gear. Passing Mark in the Nav Station as I started to climb the companion way steps, I gave him a thumbs up to show I was glad to be called upon and said, "It's not like I was sleeping, anyway."
"I though you might want to get in on this."
"I was laying there thinking that very thing," I told him. "Thanks."
The ensuing hours, as we approached Rotterdam for the starting point of the Wilberforce Race, rank up there with the highlights of the year for me, right below the Midnight dance of the bio-luminescent dolphins.
The predicted Force 9 Gale had risen to a Force 10 Storm. Because of the history of the 1979 Fastnet race, the mere words "Force 10" have an aura about them. On the other hand, the Fastnet race had "confused seas,'' that is, seas where the wind and tide moving in opposite directions, which creates huge and unpredictable waves.
Our sea in a Force 10 was surprisingly manageable. When my turn came to take the helm (everybody wanted a chance), I felt more like I was kayaking down huge but very slow moving mounds of water. At no time did anything feel frightening or out of control. With our trysail and storm jib (also a small, strong sail for the front of the boat) hoisted tightly, everything felt quite manageable and, most of all, fun. I understood the squeals of delight that had woken me a fe hours earlier. By the next morning, I had lost my voice, most likely from all the howling with glee I did on the helm during this Force 10.
From time to time we'd see a huge wave approaching and everyone would point and shout, "Yeeee haaaaaa" or something equivalent in either Mandarin Chinese or Malay.
Oh yeah. That reminds me. I haven't announced yet that I've been selected to be on the boat, Uniquely Singapore. And I'm utterly delighted about it. Photos of the boat can be found in my earlier blog entry, London delivery, where I was involved in sailing Uniquely Singapore from London back to Gosport.
Now, back to the story at hand.
One wave caught us unawares and, before we knew it, water was crashing down from the left side of the back half of the boat, pouring buckets of sea water down the companion way and onto skipper Mark below in the nav station on the right side of the boat. A few seconds later, with a look of "Why the hell didn't I do this earlier" on his face, he slide the companionway door insert, known as the washboard, into it's slot to prevent any further water from finding it's way down below.
I was in the cockpit at the helm when that large wave struck and I was up to my knees in water for a moment while the cockpit drains slowly vented the pool back into the ocean. In weather such as this, all people anywhere on deck have their safety lines attached to a hard point on the boats, so no one was at risk of being swept overboard by such waves.
The highlight of that morning and perhaps for even the entire week for me was when Yolyn took the helm from the person I'd handed it off to. Perhaps no taller than 5'2", her gaze was right over the top of the cockpit wheel. Earlier in the week, I'd seen Yolyn at the helm with wide eyes and a look of fearful concentration when the boat heeled over once a bit more than usual in the midst of what might have been only a Force 5 or 6 wind. I think it was her first time ever on helm and I wish I'd had my camera handy to photograph the almost humorous look on her face.
Perhaps 36 hours later, I sat in awe as I watched her on the helm during the Force 10; calm, relaxed, capable, and even enjoying the moment. To witness that kind of growth in any of us (and hopefully myself) is also one of the key aspects that motivates me in the experience of this race.
At dawn we had reached the entrance to the Nieuwe Maas river that leads to Rotterdam and sailed out of the storm while it still howled in the North Sea. We were schedule to arrive in Rotterdam at around noon but the storm had blown us in a bit earlier.
Below is a four minute video I made this morning from footage I took of fellow crew mates at the helm. After I'd had my chance, I rushed down to my bunk and grabbed my camera to come back up and record what I could before the experience was over.
