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Big Freakin' Sails

593K views 3K replies 293 participants last post by  smackdaddy 
#1 ·
Okay - this thread is for people that ACTUALLY LIKE Big Freakin' Sails (note for morons: the verb, not the noun). BFS simply means sailing that pushes limits - whatever those limits may be. And herein lies the rub...and the reason I need to explain a couple of things so people don't start foaming at the mouth right off the bat.

There has been a tremendous amount of hubbub over this "philosophy" in another thread - but that thread apparently "came with a lot of baggage" - to the point that the topic itself got lost in the fog of war. So, this is an attempt to start cleanly.

It must be understood that the love for the adventure and excitement of hard sailing is just as valid and robust in the newbie as it is in the big-sailing old salt. The gap between the two is experience and knowledge. And the goal here is not to fill that gap by quashing the spirit of adventure and excitement with a deluge of cynicism and technicality - but to help us all learn, if and when the time comes, how to better handle that moment when mother nature starts rising beyond our sailing abilities. Because if you keep sailing - it will happen, period. And as you'll see, it can get very frightening very quickly.

For an old salt, these limits will obviously be worlds beyond those of the typical newbie. That old salt will probably snicker at the point at which the newbie becomes terrified - understandably so. Yet, there will inevitably be an even more seasoned salt that will, in turn, snicker at the snickerer when he/she soils his/her own breeches in a blow. It's all subjective and un-ownable.

Therefore, the BFS factor of a newbie experiencing a hard heel and wayward helm for the very first time is just as exciting, important, and valuable (in BFS terms) as the old salt battling a 50 knot gale. It's just about the attitude with which the exploit is approached and remembered - and taken into account as they go back out for more. There are great stories and valuable lessons in both experiences - as well as great opportunities for good hearted slams on the brave posters (which is valuable as well). That's BFS.

So, to be clear this thread is JUST AS MUCH FOR THE SAILING NEWBIE (of which I am one) as it is for the old salt. It's a place to tell your story, listen to others', learn some lessons, and discuss the merits or detractions of Big Freakin' Sails.

The following inaugural BFS stories illustrate what this thread is all about. As I said, I'm a newbie - and you see my first BFS story below. You can then compare that with the other great BFS stories thereafter (sometimes edited to protect the innocent) which I think are great tales from great sailors; they cover the spectrum of "pushing the limits". Then, hopefully, you'll throw down some BFS of your own (either your own story, stories you admire, or stories that are just flat-out lies but with great BFS value - whatever).

Now, let's have some fun...shall we?
 
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#1,559 ·
Scott, glad you made it! I can't even imagine what that must've been like.

Smack, St. Auggie is on the east coast of Florida, my friend. Chalk that up for the Easties. And he gets extra points for the twister-360-to-invert along with a BFS Purple Heart (I just made that one up) for his injuries.

And you're not supposed to fly a hull on the Geminis, much less two hulls!! :D
 
#1,561 ·
I'd point out that his rescue was facilitated by the fact that he was sitting on the flipped cat's hull—which is much easier to spot than a person floating all by themselves in the middle of nowhere.
 
#1,565 ·
One of the scariest things is swimming back into the cabin thinking there is an air pocket inside. The air pocket was under the cabin sole. There was nothing but boat soup in the cabin. You might as well not have safety gear on board if you can't find it or get to it. You would be surprised at what I sailed with on my person for the next year until the fear tapered off to a healthy respect.
 
#1,567 ·
A couple of years ago my brother and I took off after breakfast in an old fiberglass boat with a new 4-stroke on totally glassy water. We diagonaled over a small boat wake and the boat rolled 180. We had been sitting on our jackets. They stayed stuck to the seats and the old, non-compliant boat went straight to the bottom with the jackets. It was a 1-1/4 mile swim to shore. I doubt we would have made it but were picked up by a fisherman. I wear my jacket now. Its amazing how fast things can turn to crap.
 
#1,568 ·
Okay - XS is obviously too humble to pimp the story so I'll be happy to do it...it's just too insane to not have here...

(I've X'd the last name to cut down on the groupies that would otherwise be following him around)

Waterspout flips 32-foot catamaran
July 19, 2006

Scott X knew he might be in trouble when he saw the white wall of water. A tornado had just skipped off land into the Atlantic off Jacksonville Beach, Fla., and it was churning toward him.

"I had only a couple of minutes to react," says X, 43, who was delivering a friend's 32-foot sailing catamaran April 9 from upriver of Jacksonville to St. Augustine, Fla. Anticipating some big gusts, he eased the traveler and main sheet. Then the unthinkable happened.

The twisting tower of water "lifted the boat up 20 to 25 feet in the air, and it started rotating," X says. The waterspout flipped the Gemini and slammed it deck-down into the water. X was thrown from the aft end of the cockpit into the cabin.

"I had to swim out," he says.

As he struggled out from under the boat, his leg became tangled in loose radar arch cables. He ripped most of the tip off one finger and gashed his thumb trying to free himself. After surfacing, he climbed onto the underside of the deck between the hulls.

He was wearing just a T-shirt, shorts and boat shoes. It was 5:30 p.m., and a front was moving through, bringing cold rain and wind. The Gemini had capsized four miles southeast of the St. Johns River, 2-1/2 miles off the beach, but it might as well have been 50 miles. X says he knew if he was going to spend the night out there, he would have to keep warm.

"It was all about fighting off hypothermia until somebody found me," he says. It also was about staying with the boat. That night he would look longingly to shore and see traffic lights changing and the flashing neon signs of the beach bars. He was tempted to try and swim to shore or take the kayak he had lashed to the back of the boat.

But he resisted the urge. "Stay with your boat," X had always told his sailing students. He decided to follow his own advice.

He dived back under the boat and into the cabin to find a life jacket and warm clothes. He searched for the PFDs he knew the owner had stowed somewhere on the boat but couldn't find them. He tried to find his own life jacket, which he had left on the chart table. It had flares, a flashlight and a strobe hanging on it. He couldn't find that or the hand-held VHF that also had been on the table. All he could grab in the few minutes he had to swim through the cabin on one breath of air were a foul-weather jacket and a 4-foot-long foam seat cushion.

Back on the overturned boat, he wrapped his torso in the foam cushion and zipped the jacket on around it. Then he flipped up the hood and drew the strings tight around his head, and slipped the T-shirt over the jacket.

X was ready to hunker down and wait for rescue. He thought the storm would send a lot of anglers scurrying back to port, but only one came his way - just 50 yards distant. The helmsman was bucking head winds and seas and driving rain. X is sure he never saw the cat. That night two freighters passed within a stone's throw of him. X at first was hopeful someone would spot him on radar, but no one did, which scared him because then he thought the ship might run him down.

Cold rain and hail pelted him. Lightning struck on the water around him. Winds that night shifted from onshore to offshore, kicking up 3- to 5-foot seas. Waves knocked him off the overturned hull eight times. Each time he crawled back on and tried to dig his fingers into the space between the retractable centerboards and the side of the keel box to hold on. His hands became numb, and he shivered uncontrollably.

The catamaran's mast was dragging on the bottom, the boat drifting in a mile-diameter circle. The tide wasn't carrying him out to sea, nor was it taking him ashore, as X had hoped.

In Charleston, S.C., where X has been working as shipwright on the tall ship Spirit of South Carolina, his wife, Karen, was worried. He had left a float plan: He would be sailing close to shore - no farther out than 15 miles - and he would be into St. Augustine by 8 p.m., no later than 10 p.m. He had told her if he hadn't called by midnight, something was awry.

Karen X called the Coast Guard shortly after midnight. The agency sent a helicopter out before dawn - X heard it - and a C-130. The 87-foot cutter Kingfisher based out of Mayport, Fla., set out about dawn to search between Jacksonville and St. Augustine. On its first pass south just 10 minutes out of Mayport, the Kingfisher crew spotted X.

"He was sitting on one of the hulls, and as soon as he saw us he stood up and started waving his arms at us," says Lt. j.g. Matthew Baker, Kingfisher's commanding officer.

Kingfisher's small-boat crew took him aboard. "The amazing thing about this story is that he was in the water for 15 hours," says Baker. "When we picked him up, he still was in excellent condition, all things considered." The water was 68 degrees. X' body temperature had dropped 2 degrees, but he was alert and moving about.

"This is always a rewarding job," says Baker. "But it's extra special when we can get someone back to their family like this."

X, whose home is in St. Augustine, was taking the boat from 60 miles up the St. Johns River to St. Augustine for repairs and delivery to Annapolis, Md., for sale. The capsized Gemini eventually broke its mast and grounded upside-down on the beach with most of its cabin torn off. Flipped right-side up and dragged off the beach, the water-logged boat eventually sank in breakers in 25 feet of water while under tow.

X sums up the passage gone awry: "It was a long, cold night."
 
#1,569 ·
Humble, now there's a word not often used to describe me! I've single-handedly crossed both the Atlantic and Pacific, kayaked many a first descent over 50-75ft waterfalls, climbed to the top of the tallest peaks of most of the continents, and braved marriage not once but twice. The point I was trying to make in my post is that whether you go looking for it or not, given enough time on the water, IT will find you. I am very methodical in all that I do.[Karen and others who know me say I'm anal or at least an a$$] No matter how proactive you are on the water, you are still only perfect here on Sailnet. On the water , you can only hope to understand the rules well enough to stay in the game, you'll never win it. I was fortunate to know enough to get to go home to my wife, son , and unborn daughter. We all read about people we think did stupid things, paid the price, and we say "What an idiot, I would never have done that!" We all have our moments. I was glad that I didn't spend the night out there with anyone else.Don't get me wrong, I'm never one to back down from much of anything, but when it's back in my face, should I be surprised? When you read about someone having "a long, cold night," remember that , in time , they may be reading about you. No matter how well you plan,life can always come up with something you never even thought of.
 
#1,571 ·
Fascinating story and your advice is good. What was the weather like before the twister hit? Did you see the weather system coming?
 
#1,570 · (Edited)
It's been a while, That I have taken the boat out on a overnight sail. I left the dock at 5:30 pm Saturday knowing that storms were being called for. The only the thing storm really bother was the Yankee's ball game. I got soaked and it was a little rough for a bit, however I was enjoying myself.

I love sailing at night as it clears my mind. Just me and the boat. I just haven't done enough of it this season. Last night reaffirmed why I love sailing after all these years. It is magical. The sky cleared and the stars were out when I was pulling back into the Marina at 4:00 am this morning,

I am sorry for the quality of the pics. It was blowing and raining and the boat was moving. The bigger truth is, I need to learn how to use my wifes fancy digital camera.

New York's First Lady


Ground Zero from the water
 
#1,573 ·
zz had a wild ride. 23.5 knots! And a dismast!

Sounds like they kept it together and did a great job minimizing damage...

(PS - Bubb, AWESOME story and pics dude. Nice.)

My first multihull experience didn't go as planned. Was fun, and a very wet and fast ride, but I'll let the owner/skipper tell the story. Winds were forecasted to be steady 20-25 with some websites calling for winds up to 35, we didn't see 35, maybe 30.

Begin forwarded message:

Sailed super conservative. Main reefed well below 50% of SA. Started under jib and then sailed first two gybes with screecher. Gybed back to port for the river and hoisted the small chute. Boat felt absolutely great. No slamming, no loading, mast rock solid - no pumping, bow up attitude, new top speed (23.5knots) and finger tip control on the helm.
Smiles all around. Then an explosion heard in my left ear (I think it was parts of the shackle(s) that hold together the uppers, checks and tensioner letting go) and the mast buckled at the intermediates/baby stay (I may have the sequence wrong; things happened fast).

Recovered all the wire (none broken, mast, and sails. Tear in spin and two tears in luff of main. Minor damage to bowsprit attachment at bow.
Screecher halyard badly frayed.

Kevin Duffy, his friend Trevor (not sure last name), and John Nicholson all did a fantastic job of securing gear, minimizing further damage, and cleaning up. I really want to stress this as I can't say enough god things about them collectively an individually. No panic, just calm, cool, and collected.

I think the only thing we eventually lost overboard (or ws stolen from the boat last night) ws the tensioners from both sides and a shackle. I coiled all the wire and stripped as much as I could from the mast this morning (BTW its really shocking how much all that wires weighs!!!).

I thought everyone would know because I heard a call on the radio about a tri losing its mast. We immediately responded that all were on board, in lifejackets, safe and cleaing up and that we did not need or want any assistance. I also radioed that we were abandoning the race and thought I got a response from the RC. That is not intended as a commentary on any previous events; its just the way it played out for us. I needed to stay down wind as the only thing holding the lower half of the mast up was the wind in the remaining main and did not want anyone getting in our way as we secured stuff. We had adequate sea room; the only thing that culd have meesed us up was a boat in the way so I was glad folks stayed clear. There was a large sailing vessel (pretty classic looking
boat) that did head towards us to render aid if it ws needed but he/she seemed to understand what we were doing and they gave us the searoom we needed. Don't know who that was but I owe them a thanks. Anyway, like I said the crew did great, got a line forward to support the remaining stump, and then we eased into the wind and slowely lowered what was left to the deck.

Anybody know somebody with an F27 mast for sale? Boat sure looks sad all cleaned up with no mast.

Not sure what will hapen with insurance but next time the boat will be painted blue and named Viagra. Our fleet might be getting a rep of not being able to keep it up!!

Russ"

Smack, feel free to copy and paste.
-Trevor
 
#1,574 ·
Today marks the one-year anniversary of my BFS. Here is the story I wrote about it. This story and others can also be found in the link to my blog.

“Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan. Hello all stations. US Coast Guard Atlantic City has just received a report of an EPIRB signal located 100 miles east of Atlantic City. All vessels transiting the area are requested to keep a sharp lookout, assist if possible and report all sightings to the nearest Coast Guard unit.” I checked our own GPS position, 60 miles upwind of the reported location, and mentally calculated how long it would take us to reach them, at least 8 hours. But we were in survival conditions ourselves, hove to in a force 10 storm with wind gusting into the low 60s, an engine that wouldn’t start, and two crew members down with seasickness. An hour later I was relieved to hear on the radio that the Coast Guard had deployed a rescue helicopter to assist the vessel in distress.

Joy For All, a Farr 50 outfitted for offshore passage making, had left Mystic, CT the previous morning, motor-sailing in light wind from the southwest. Our destination was Hampton, VA, about 400 miles to the southwest where we would join the fleet gathering for the start of the Caribbean 1500 rally. The forecast was calling for a low producing northwest wind at 35 knots to arrive late Monday. We decided to head for the New Jersey coast where we would have a shorter fetch when the associated cold front arrived, and we could run down the coast on a reach. By Monday afternoon the forecast had changed. The low had slowed and was deepening, now producing winds of 45-55 knots with gusts to 60 knots. Tuesday morning at 0130 the front arrived, bringing a 90 degree wind shift immediately intensifying to 30 knots. We tacked, rolled up the genoa and reefed the main further. Engine on, we altered course to head for Atlantic City, 40 miles to windward.

The wind speed increased over the next several hours and the barometer dropped to 994 mb. By Tuesday afternoon our progress toward Atlantic City had slowed to about 2 knots. We were still 12 miles away, and it was apparent we would not reach safe harbor by nightfall. On the radio we heard Atlantic City turning vessels away. The west wind at 45 knots made it unsafe to enter the harbor.

All afternoon the waves breaking over the foredeck had been working on the dinghy lashings and by now the dinghy was lodged against the port stanchions. The lower lifeline had broken and the rigid bottom inflatable would soon be a danger to the boat. Someone would have to go forward. I turned the boat downwind while Gil hooked onto the jacklines with Joy acting as spotter. I tried to keep the boat as stable as possible, but the foredeck was still rolling quite a bit as we surfed down the backs of 12 foot waves at 11 knots. The apparent wind was reduced to 35-42 knots, we were no longer taking green water over the bow, but the foredeck work took longer than normal in those conditions and we held our breath until Gil returned to the safety of the cockpit.

The wind continued to build, now 50 knots sustained gusting to 60. Still motor-sailing with just a scrap of main to reduce the rolling, we idled the engine which caused it to stutter and then stall. All attempts to restart the engine were unsuccessful. Gil and I looked at teach other and I said, “Pull out some staysail.” We tried sailing southwest, then south, then southeast. As the sun was setting we made the decision to heave to. We pulled out enough main to balance the staysail and keep the bow about 70 degrees off the wind, locking the helm to windward. Immediately, the motion of the boat stabilized, heeling at 10 degrees and with a gentle roll as the waves passed under our hull. We were drifting toward the northeast at 3-4 knots, roughly parallel to the NJ shoreline but in the shipping lane. Shortly after we hove to, The Coast Guard hailed us on the radio to see if we were ok. Family had reported us missing when they couldn’t reach us on the sat phone. The cloud cover was so dense there was no satellite signal.

Gil and I took 3 hour watches to watch for ships, the other two crew still down with seasickness. No one felt like eating much, but we tried to stabilize the maelstrom in our stomachs with water and crackers. The wind was a constant howl, making it difficult to talk. I was very grateful for the cockpit enclosure as the temperature dropped into the low 30’s and the occasional wave broke over the cockpit, at times sending seawater down through the companionway hatch. I was cold in spite of three layers and practiced balancing against the motion of the boat to stay warm. We ran the generator to keep the cabin warm so we could ward off the chill between watches.

Dawn arrived on Wednesday morning, and the wind died down to gale force, 35 to 45 knots. During the 17 hours we were hove to we had drifted about 50 miles back the way we had come. We were only about halfway to Hampton and the engine still wouldn’t start after changing the fuel filter and bleeding the fuel line. It was time to start sailing again. Sails sheeted in tight, we jibed slowly to a course of 210, close reaching but still a bit east of the bearing to Hampton. Hot oatmeal for breakfast revived the crew, and we were back up to our full complement of four, each taking a three hour watch. I was able to catch up on some much needed sleep and life returned to somewhat more normal for an offshore passage. We followed the wind shift to the northwest and we were able to sail through the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel as the sun was setting on Thursday afternoon. We were towed the final five miles to Blue Water Yachting Center in Hampton, VA, grateful to have arrived safely at our destination.

We were saddened to learn that the fate of the vessel and crew that had activated their EPIRB early Tuesday evening was not so positive. The vessel was a Swan 44 called Freefall that had been rolled and dismasted. The Coast Guard was able to rescue two people from the boat, but a third crew member lost his life. Phil Rubright from Detroit was a fellow member of the Great Lakes Singlehanded Society. We also heard of two additional vessels, a 67-footer and a 100-footer that remain missing. We agreed that we dealt with the situation as best we could. We monitored the forecast and were prepared for the approaching weather. We were uncomfortable, but never felt our lives were in danger, and we trusted our boat to keep us safe. We maintain a healthy respect for wind and water, but we will continue to head out to sea.
 
#1,575 ·
Wow - fantastic write-up Aerie.

Damn I love this thread. Best sailing stories - and sailors - on the net!

I remember the story of that Swan 44. Bad stuff. Didn't the skipper suffer a heart attack when he went into the water during the rescue?

Sounds like you guys did a phenomenal job of dealing with the conditions...and "going with the flow" instead of fighting it. I see it over and over - let the boat protect you...and have some oatmeal handy.
 
#1,577 ·
You can believe that Phil Rubright's death was one of the topics of conversation during GLSS events on the Great Lakes this summer. All three of the crew of Freefall were injured in the rollover and dismasting, which survivors said was caused by a rogue wave. Phil was the most severly injured, and so he was the first person the USCG wanted to remove from the disabled vessel. Since they prefer to take people out of the water and not off a boat, Phil and a rescue swimmer were in the water, but the rescue swimmer was injured, breaking his arm and therefore couldn't assist. The helicopter deployed a liferaft which Phil was able to get into, but unfortunately he was not able to stay in it when it capsized and was not able to get back into it due to his injuries and weakness caused by hypothermia. The first helicopter returned to shore with their injured swimmer, and by the time a second one reached the disabled vessel, Phil had died. The other two crew were still on the boat, which was still floating, and were rescued. We estimated 20-foot waves where we were, and those were big enough. The USCG estimated the waves were 40 feet where this rescue took place. Definitely the safest place to be in conditions like that is inside a boat, even if disabled, as long as it's not sinking. Stay warm and dry, then call for rescue once the conditions improve if you're not able to get the boat moving yourself.

Check the following links for further information about the Swan 44 Freefall and the Coast Guard rescue:
http://lifefloatingby.blogspot.com/2008/10/coast-guard-rescues-2-mt-pleasant.html
Rescue Video from a Coast Guard C-130
FWB official's daughter injured in fatal sailing accident
 
#1,583 ·


Actually, the goose neck came out of the mast. Something must have gone haywire with the rivets. Probably one size too small. No races until feb at this moment in time. My sons already are figureing out how to weld the holes close, a plate, and new rivets, this time the correct size diam etc etc..........

At least it was NOT the actual boom this time! oh yeah, it was djodenda's fault, he told me on my face book to take a picture of the boom incase we broke it! so its his fault, that is my story, and I'm sticking to it! LOLOLOL

Crazy day, from dead calms to over 20 into the upper 20's in minutes, then back to a calm in minutes. then it went from south winds at 15 to a north wind at 15 in less than 5 min too! wild day, came home very tired needless to say!
 
#1,585 ·
GREAT sail this afternoon. Only blowing 10 or so, but man it was nice! We're really starting to dial in on the sail trim a bit. There we were smoking a couple of other boats on a reach. Nice.

I did notice that you have to be careful at what you point you yell "Eat my wake losers!". Because even though you've overtaken them, it still takes about twenty minutes to get out of throwing range of their boat.

Anyone know how to get egg off old gel coat? I mean, lots of it?
 
#1,587 ·
Not sure if it was that one, or the other one, or both, or if it was the 3rd crew brian! The rivets that I used to fix the last literal boom break back in March/April pulled right out. Will probably weld the holes in the mast, ie fill them, then put a plate on the outside. and get the proper rivet gun to put in the next size larger rivets. Along with making sure the rivots are long enough to go thru the mast and make a reasonable backing so it will not pull out.
 
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