NOTE: This is a 3-part story and unfortunately the 1st section is missing…
As we approached J, the plan was to make the turn and quickly go up with the chute and try and out power The Bear. Being the ever so handy skipper, Dave announces that he will do the chute since he’s “never had a screw up or hourglass.” As we rounded, the chute and foredeck might have been pluperfect, but the starboard sheet line was not run outside the jib lines and a major jugscrew ensued which probably cost us half a minute. Anyway, we got the chute set, the ProSails special reacher jib down on the deck and were powering up quickly. Half way to P, we noticed The Bear had slowed rapidly and later their crew began taking down sails and folding them on the deck. With whitecaps appearing more and more frequently, the light air special Menace began to groan with the gusts that accompanied the fringe of an approaching thunderstorm. We passed The Bear and continued to experience higher and higher gusts. Menace began to heel more and more when we agreed the chute had to go and we went up with the heavy #1. By then the winds were probably over 25 kts and we generally had to shout to be heard. In preparing the number 1 for launch, one gust buffeted the sails so violently it hurled the sail overboard. Dave missed in his grab for it, but Wes, who seemed like the amazing “Stretching Man” from the cartoon Fantastic Four, was able to snag it. We were still over powered, but with careful helm inputs and trim, we stayed in control and continued to hold off the onslaught of the J-30 mafia nipping at our heels.
With everyone on the high side trying to be as heavy as possible, Dave and Trish began a technical discussion about lightning. Dave, a private pilot since 73 with over 2000 hours in-type, explained that sound travels roughly 358 meters/second or 1175 feet/second at sea level on a standard day. Since a mile has 5280 feet, you may roughly estimate the distance of a lightning strike from your position by counting the number of seconds from seeing the flash until the sound is heard. In other words, if you see a lightning bolt and measure 15 seconds until you hear the crack of thunder, it’s roughly 3 miles away, give or take. A couple of excellent distant bolts provided a practical exercise opportunity and by then, it was useful to have something to do because the rain and wind made the conditions miserable. Dave was still smarting after screwing up the turn at J and it did keep us focused on the conditions. “See, that one was about 5 miles away” said Trish. Jim then got involved and did an estimate counting one bolt at a three-mile range. Nina yelled out “we’re still over-powered – “How far till the P mark and we can go down wind?” Jim looked at the GPS and yelled back “six and one-half minutes to P mark.”
POW!
I knew something had happened, but for a moment was dazed and confused. I turned to look at Wes and he was yelling something at me, but I couldn’t hear him, but could only see his mouth moving. That’s when I noticed my ears were ringing. A few seconds later, I heard him say “Dave, we’ve been hit by lightning- look, it blew the electronics and windstay off the mast. I saw them fly off.” We looked around and everyone seemed OK. A bit later, I started smelling something burning. I yelled this at Wes, but don’t think he heard me. I yelled again “Something’s burning.” I turned to look around only to hear a shout “Stay high, we need the weight on the rail.” Ignoring the comment, I eased off the rail and reached for the running back winch to help stabilize me in the pitching conditions. Instantly my hand leaped back like it had been stung. Wes said “What’s the matter?” I yelled “the winch is red hot!” He looked puzzled and I slowly looked over into the companionway and down below.
What I saw next left me with a mixed concoction of feelings between nausea and fear: water was shooting into the boat from a through-hull connection about five inches in diameter. Just left of that one was another hole spraying water. I jumped down below, pulled back the carpet and was shocked to see water shooting up from four of the seven massive keel bolts. It appeared like a crack of sorts was opening and closing every time the mast caught a gust of wind. Pieces of smoldering fiberglass were floating in the rapidly filling cabin and I could hear unusual popping and cracking noises. The bottom of a wooden cabinet where the sink was located was blasted to pieces where it was bolted next to the mast and most of the splinters were beginning to float. Another shout from up above “Get back on the rail, we gotta have the weight.” I turned and yelled “We got trouble- were taking on a lot of water and I don’t think I can plug it.” Silence followed for a few seconds… then “What did you say?”
Guys, we’re out of the race, forget it!” A couple of faces looked down below and soon after I could hear activity on deck as Nina brought us hard about into the wind and a race began to take down the head sail. It’s amazing how fast you can run 27 feet and ten inches when you’re properly motivated. Next, I reached for the radio and placed a call to the committee boat. Immediately after, I recognized Danny Casanova’s voice on JackPot come back asking if we wanted them to drop out and render assistance. Both JackPot and Gritz were just a couple of hundred yards away and had seen the whole thing. Later we would hear that their hands tingled and hair stood on end at the exact moment we were struck. I asked JackPot to wait a second and let us assess our situation. We agreed we could probably handle it and for them to please continue, however, it was a real delight to have the inquiry. Thanks Danny. We later learned that George Hero on Gritz or his first mate had immediately placed a call to the U.S. Coast Guard station and informed them a boat was in trouble. We were about 6.5 miles from the harbor in pitching, confused seas, winds continuing and water pouring in. Jim then joined me down below as Nina, Wes, and Trish tended to matters above. Jim and Missy started a bucket brigade and were making excellent progress, we thought. Nina answered a Coast Guard radio call and informed them of our GPS coordinates. What seemed like just a couple of minutes later, Missy spotted the white hull with large red chevron stripe plowing through the rain with flashing light pointed exactly at us. It was a pleasant sight to say the least.
The USCG arrived and immediately determined our situation. Despite our best efforts of trying to plug holes, there were just too many and water continued to pour in. At one point, I estimate we had nearly a foot of water standing in the cabin and sloshing every which way. I heard a USCG sailor call for an engine powered snorkel and it was immediately placed below and started bailing. It wasn’t enough. Next he calls for the “P5” indicating “they can’t plug the damage, but this might keep up with the leaks. A gas powered larger pump was brought up and now operating at full speed. The water in the hull began to fall.
Soon, while tied along side the patrol craft, we began making our way back to the harbor at about two knots with a fire hose sized stream of water gushing out of the cabin. I remember the surprised look of folks at Crabby Joe’s, Schuberts and other waterfront places to see the Menace fastened to a USCG patrol craft with all the hoses and tubes shooting water over the side. What we didn’t realize is that our initial estimate was getting worse and worse, as composite structures normally do. Metallic hulls, like aluminum, generally have “graceful degradation” or they tend to bend and not crack suddenly. Fiberglass and other composite laminates, though often stronger and considerably higher Young’s modulus, fail all at once, acting like the true crystalline substances they are.
We idle gently down the harbor, make the turns, water continues to be pumped out at an enormous volume. A call has been placed ahead by some unknown angel and Sintes has come in and agreed to do an emergency haul out. Whoever you are, please let me know because every crew person on board owes you a cold one. Anyway, the Coast Guard takes us to within a boat length of the crane, then we fire up the little Menace motor and slip up to the dock. Within five minutes the boat is being lifted, but has already lowered another five inches, indicating just how much water was rushing in. They hauled her out and placed her on jackstands in the parking lot where she’s sitting right now. Next we filled out the emergency boarding report required by the U.S.C.G. and made arrangements with Steve Sintes and Susan Weaver for an evaluation and temporary storage. The USCG crew then shoved off giving the entire Menace crew an unexpected compliment in handling the deadly situation so coolly.
That’s essentially the end of this story except for the amazing number of supportive comments received that afternoon, that night, the next day and few days thereafter. I was astonished at the number of nurturing calls from NOYC, SYC and CSA racers asking if we were OK If we needed anything. What happened, is everyone OK? And, the oh so wonderful “You guys can sail with us until you get Menace fixed” calls. To all those that called, Thank you! To the member of the “Piranha Club” that left me a voice mail at home calling me a candy ass for dropping out: Don’t worry. I understand that you didn’t know the extent of our damage or actual situation and you are forgiven.
What I hope we learned from this is that sometimes you need to remember the basics. Everyone with two working eyes saw that storm approaching and common sense said we shouldn’t be out on a lake with 40 foot metal poles waving up in the air just begging to be kissed by a half million volts. We could have postponed for an hour, but Rob Grisoli and his race committee would have been cussed for the next year for making a decision and causing an interruption to our fun. Every Skipper is responsible for the safety of the crew and vessel once that mooring line drops and you are underway. Should we drop sails and run to the harbor every time a cloud approaches? Of course not. But in this case, we received a reminder that next time we’re out in conditions that deteriorate quickly, we should immediately be prepared for just about the worse thing that could happen. Yes, we all felt fortunate and I couldn’t have been better off than with the clear thinking, mature crew we had on board that day.
My special thanks to the crew of the U.S.C.G. Motor Lifeboat 47265, New Orleans Station: Skipper and BM3 Chris Farley, MK2 Tony Bondi, SN Steven Wilkes, MK3 Keith Budde and BM3 Josh Knight. I did learn that a 500-gallon per minute bilge pump is handy at times, but I hope we don’t have to start carrying them on blow boats! END
