A friend who often knows told me that at the time the crew hoisted the sail without turning the boat into the wind we should have called it all off. But that's hindsight.
It was my idea a while ago that we should interrupt our routine of entertaining our visitors with a sailing trip using the CSY yachts at the Lagoon and, instead, try out the newly acquired (used) catamaran anchored in front of the visiting professor (VP) residences. Maybe there would be more room to move around, sail much faster and just have a new experience. And a new experiences are always welcome on this here caribbean island, and certainly we got one this time.
EJ had made the arrangements last weekend. There were a lot of guests, 15 or so in total, and that would have been too much for the CSY yachts. There was small hesitation: the winds had been way up for almost two weeks, and the Bequia channel showed white caps day after day. Rumors had it that a fishing boat with three fishermen was lost and that a catamaran had turned over, waiting for repairs in the docks. I met with the owner (BW) of our chosen vessel, the Franz Kafka, the evening before, and he introduced me to the skipper: an old man of way over 60 years of age, somewhat frail looking, but with 50 years of sailing experience under his loosely fitting belt. He did not say much that evening (and neither during the next day). BW asked me whether I thought the weather was alright (who am I to know?) - and I replied that I did not see any problem, and if indeed the winds were on the high side, why not reef the sails and get on with it. You have one or two reefing stops on the mainsail? Sure, doc, we do! So, what's the problem then!
The next morning we were delayed by about half an hour because two deans had trouble getting up - but catamarans are fast boats, so that did not matter. We tuckered out through the exit Lagoon's buoys, and then I was puzzled why the helmsman (a young, sturdy guy with a slight grin permanently fixed in his face) was steering a figure eight course before setting sails - and then my puzzlement grew as they started hoisting up the main sail while lying broadside to a fierce wind. In fact, the sail got stuck on one of the stay lines, they had to fiddle a bit and winch it up with all force - and I was glad to not see them breaking the halyard or tearing the sail. Now, that sail did not look so good - a bit on the loose side, poorly fitting - but so what. We almost left without our skipper when the old man lost his balance while moving on deck and almost flew over the feeble (and inadequate looking) rail lines, catching himself in the last minute on one of the stay wires - I was going to ask whether he could swim but let it be.
Now our helmsman left the protected waters of the lagoon by steering a somewhat inconsistent, unsettled course. Maybe he was not quite awake yet. Soon they unfurled the jib: it went out with a bang, and the old skipper almost lost his breath trying to tighten the starboard jib sheet. Something did not look right: The sheet ran inside the mast stay, and the roller seemed at the wrong place so that the jib never could be tightened correctly. It flapped and banged around during the entire trip. I thought it should and could be furled in halfway, improving the situation, but did not want to appear as a wise guy. Never mind - maybe once we were on the right course sails might be properly trimmed.
But which was the right course? Normally you head straight for the lower end of Bequia, 9 miles across. You do not head, as our helmsman did, to the northern end of the island, the detached rock referred to as Bequia Bullet. That's were the biggest waves and fiercest winds would be, particularly on a day where the winds were fierce already. Was I mistaken, and the trip actually was supposed to go to Mustique or along the east side of Bequia, as I had discussed with EJ 2 days earlier, only to discard any such idea in view of the presence of 2 young children and people who might get seasick?
Inspecting the boat and its deck, I found that everything seemed a bit less than ideal: the railing was low and consisted of feeble ropes, the deck as somewhat slippery, you could not see anything when sitting in the cockpit (in fact, the helmsman could hardly see anything because his high seat was off the post, and the post itself now was a hazardous object on which you might injure yourself if slipping or bouncing around, and there was no flaotation device with a line to thrown to a man-over-board. You would not want to jump around on the webbing in front of the cabin, it was made of thin rope and patched many times.
As we sailed along, picking up a decent speed, several things kept on puzzling me: nobody made an attempt to trim the sails, particularly the jib which kept on banging and flapping suboptimally in the wind. Thee owner, BW at with his wife and two children up front, unconcerned about anything - except in the beginning when he saw a wind and rain funnel in the distance mumbling a few words on whether we would soon hit a "squall" (so what, why be so concerned?). Despite the high winds and good speed we seemed to make nonetheless, the helmsman left the diesel engine running. I mentioned once or twice why he would not turn it off - finally I prevailed upon him and he, very hesitatingly, turned it off and instantly we were actually "sailing". EJ sensed the man's hesitation and suggested to him tat he should not listen to me and, if he felt better that way, to turn it back on.
The skipper never said a word or gave any instructions to the helmsman who began steering a kind of zigzag course, mainly in the direction of the Bequia Bullet. Halfway across the channel this began to concern me quite seriously and I broke my vow of silence. I mumbled something to the skipper about the strange course, pointing out that we needed to get to the end of the island some 2-3 miles further to the right, otherwise we would loose wind and would have to run fully before the wind or even jibe. He did not respond, and neither did the helmsman. The latter never managed to keep the boat on anything resembling a straight course. At one point, however, the skipper decided to furl in the jib somewhat. Instead of winching it back in he pulled by hand, and the wildly flapping jib actually rolled in in the most untidy way I have ever seen. I also eyed the main sail, trying to figure out how one would reef it if necessary (we had talked about it the night before, right?). I saw no provision for reefing - no sheets, no nothing other then the reef eyes in the sail. I asked the skipper about reef sheets or lines - and he assured me that they did not have any! What could I say - I only could hope that in a true emergency we would be able to find some lines somewhere which could be cut to size!
Eventually, after the midway point, I became more and more concerned. Something seemed wrong. What if there was a man-over-board problem, would our crew be able to do the right thing to get the guy back in? It would have been seriously difficult to keep an eye on a drifting object (not even marked by a red floatation device) in the rough seas and navigate efficiently in the high wind and execute a productive turn and search maneuver. And more serious trouble lay ahead: Closer to Bequia Point the white caps looked much fiercer and the waves higher. That was expected - but why on earth did that guy steer directly into this inferno?
Now I became more determined: I stopped mumbling and began talking louder: You have to turn downwind NOW and aim for the end of the island. We do NOT want to sail into the high seas off the Bullet. The helmsman then responded and sailed downwind more - but now his steering became even more erratic and he could not keep the boat in a straight line. You could see the white in his eyes, looking back at the dancing dinghy, cranking the wheel in whichever direction excepot the one he should have. I saw his left hand twitching to reach for the engine starter key - he then clasped it and after a few seconds could not help it - he started the engine again. I cannot say whether he then steered the boat any better than before - most certainly his course was still erratic and unsteady, but at least we now seemed to avoid the worst of the channel waves and winds and generally headed into the right direction.
The guests and crew were entertained all along by handing bottles of soft drink and beer to them - nobody showed any signs of concern, only I seemed to be disturbed but kept it to myself.
We approached the island end steadily, but eventually my prediction was fulfilled: closer to the end the winds became more erratic and fell off, and so our speed went down. After our course change we surfed some substantial waves and the dinghy, towed on a long line, was shooting towards us on a loose line when it hit the slopes. Many dinghies have been lost that way, and I suggested to take in the line so it would not bounce and dance sideways too much, but the skipper took no action suggesting that on a short line it would crash into the hull of the boat. Well that was a minor matter and I let it be.
While running before the wind, with engine and floppy sails (the transom never as adjusted for this) the helmsman continued changing course and eventually made things worse by sailing away from the island at times (maybe he wanted to go to St. Lucia?), and I became concerned about the boom. Too late - it suddenly came crashing across when, without warnings, the guy actually seemed to jibe before the wind, and we were very lucky that nobody was standing upright in its way. A few minutes later he did it again - never giving anyone a warning. Enough is enough - I went to see BW and told him that this type of negligence now was serious: someone could get killed, and I requested that he or someone (our silent skipper with 50 years of experience on the high seas?) has to instruct the helmsman that he could NOT do this.
Eventually our troubles seemed to be over and we sailed around the point into the Admiralty Bay of Bequia. Before we reached it the crew suddenly took down all sails. Too bad: Some of the funnest sailing is to be had right in the Bay where you usually hit high, if somewhat squally, winds on flat water - fun sailing to the book! Never mind!
I became somewhat puzzled over the slow progress we were making under power. What size engine did you have on this vessel, BW? A 30 hp diesel engine! That seemed hardly adequate, I felt. I also had found out by now that our helmsman was a mechanic: BW had asked him to come along (as the skipper explained to me later) in case "something should go wrong with the engine". My-o-my, the management was showing signs of weak confidence, that's what I concluded. And man on the helm was not a sailor, he was a mechanic.
OK, lets get to an anchorage and have some fun in Bequia. But before we got on shore, we had a half hour or more of another special experience trying to anchor the Franz Kafka: I noticed that the two free crew members, BW and the skipper, were nervously eying the harbor in front of us and seemed quite unsettled on where to go and anchor. They were heading towards the very far away Plantation House beach, and I mentioned to them that it would be very unproductive if we stayed right there because we would have to dinghy for hours to get to the dock at the Gingerbread House or the Frangipani - why not anchor right in front of these docks. So they tuckered in that direction, becoming increasingly worried about where to let down the anchor. I pointed out to them a fine spot, and the helmsman missed it on his first try - in fact, unexplicably he revved up the engin just when he was supposed to slow down and stop. So, around we went in an idiotic circle trying again to reach the magic spot. The guys forgot to take in the dinghy line, and it just about was going to wrap around the prop when I managed to pull it out of the way and tie the dinghy broadsides. Then we had an admirer: one of the well known Rasta captains from CSY came by on a dinghy and made some comments - he was much puzzled by the maneuvers we were making and shouted some suggestions , but then he left us to our fate: he said that the dinghy was mashing up the sides of the catamaran - and now wonder, with the back and forth and circling we were performing. After the second or third try we got close to the intended anchor spot, and the anchor went down. The helmsman never backed up into the anchor line to set it or test it. The skipper stood near the line, and nodded his head when I asked him whether it was tight and not slipping (but he never put his hands to it to test for slippage...). As I thought we were now ready to disembark, they suddenly decided that the anchor was not tight and hauled it up again - but instead of moving off a few feet and set it again (after all, there were dozens of boats anchored nicely all around us), they decided to give up altogether and move off to Princess Margaret Beach, a half a mile further south, our eventual resting spot. So almost half an hour later we arrived there, and now the searching for an anchor spot was somewhat easier to them, although there procedure still looked awkward. They actually set two anchors - the only boat in our class to do this that day, but so what.
The helmsman now got the dinghy ready. He was supposed to set off some of us right at the beach - and for inexplicable reasons insisted on tuckering up alongside the beach for hundreds of meters. Talking about efficiency. Later I heard that he had tried to discharge a dinghy full of passengers at the beach directly and promptly managed to sink it!
I had enough - I jumped out at the beach and hiked back to Bequia - a short 5-10 min walk. All others decided to be dinghied to Bequia which took in total another 20-30 min.
In Bequia I met the CSY skipper who was just coming up with a private boat and costumer form Trinidad. I asked him whether he knew any of the people on our catamaran and what their sailing experience was, in his opinion. He said that he was puzzled when he saw us maneuvering, that he thought that BW was too cheap to hire a qualified crew, and that he would consider ours as an ill-prepared and -manned expedition he would not want to be part of. He and is private costumer actually considered giving us all a ride back to SVG later - but they could not accommodate 15 people.
Later I met with EJ on shore and suggested to him that in case of a possible worsening of the weather we might be in some trouble on the way back, that in my judgement we were dealing with a poor vessel and a totally inexperienced and ignorant crew and that we all should take the ferry boat back at 5 PM rather then setting foot on the Franz Kafka again. He mumbled something about "safety first' and that he thought that the boat had taken students to and from Bequia before (I guess suggesting that it must be possible to get back on it), and in te end decided to not follow my suggestion. And I can understand this: it would have meant admitting to unsuspecting and distinguished visitors that we had hired an inadequate boat!
Now I had to make up my own mind: Franz Kafka or Ferry? I decided in favor of the Franz Kafka because I could ill afford to "desert" the group and needed to show some solidarity. However, first I needed to have a word with BW. I swam over to the boat and talked to him and the old skipper, while our mechanic helmsman was skippering about in the dinghy: I told them to their face that we were sailing with a helmsman who had absolutely no idea of how to handle a sailing vessel and that I or the others would not come back aboard unless something definitive was done: 1) Someone else had to skipper the boat, on a course had to be decided upon and adhered to. I further suggested that with this underpowered boat it would be unproductive to sail up the usual route along the island towards the Bequia Bullet. I feared our progress would be very slow and then, in case of a worsening weather situation, we would hit the high waves and winds with an unreefable sail etc. etc. Instead, it might be better to turn towards Kingstown earlier, make use of a broadside wind and maybe sail fast before loosing too much in the current - and in any case, it would be preferable to be on the St. Vincent side of the channel and power up on that side, where the wind should be less and possibilities for an emergency anchoring would be plentiful before darkness. They held a council and essentially agreed.
So after a short 2 hours at the beach and a gourmet barbecue prepared by the deans (so they said - mainly it was done by a maid, right?), we were ready to embark on the return journey. I pressed for a timely departure: start loading at 2:30, depart by 3 - but that had been decided upon much earlier already. At 2:30 or slightly thereafter the mechanic went to get the dinghy tied down at the other end of the beach. He took his bloody time - and so the delays added up, and eventually it was almost 3:30 when we started heading back.
Sailing around he island tip and facing the channel waters, they headed straight for St. Vincent, under power and sail (with another broadside hoist!), but only using the main and not the jib. Now the winds faced us almost straight on, at almost 20 or so knots. Waves were high and relatively short - a nice chop. Although heading straight into the wind almost, the skipper (it was he who had been delegated to be the helmsman on the way back, the mechanic having been demoted to a standby,for an engine breakdown) and the main boom was not trimmed right and the sail kept on fluffing all the time. I suggested tightening it so we could head into the wind with some more efficiency, but Eddie, the skipper, suggested we will do that later when farther away into the cannel. Ok then. He actually kept a steady course, much better then the fellow in the morning, but what about our speed? Clearly whenever he lost the wind and the sail fluffed, which happened all the time, the boat did not move at all. When he caught the wind again, we made very slow progress. Looking at the dinghy line, progress was very slow indeed; the dinghy did not throw up a bow wave and the tow line sometimes was totally slack ( we even may have moved backwards at times, driven by wind and waves). I carefully observed landmarks on the coast line and eventually determined that we were making progress, though slowly. I gave up hopes of reaching the lagoon at a reasonable time. In Bequia I had assured one of our VPs that he should be able to reach his plane departure at 8:30 without trouble, although mentioning that the absolute and sure way to reach his plane would be by using the ferry.
The old skipper held to his course. Another sail boat flew by us with great speed - having out a jib and ruuning its engine. It was powered well, we were not, that was quite certain. The skipper actually showed a small sign of concern: he smoked a lot and I must admire him for being able to light his cigarette with matches in the high wind. The guests seemed relatively content, any concern they may have had they did not really show, although I am sure I had not really managed to hide my personal concerns all the time along.
2/3 of the way over towards Kingstown I gave the skipper some relief and took the helm - only to make a very curious discovery; I, too, lost the wind quite often, despite holding the boat to leeward all the time. In fact, I then noted that I was turning the wheel in one direction only, namely to the left at all the time, again and again. Never to the right. I commented to the skipper that there was something wrong with the steering. He said it was hydraulic, apparently driven by a hand-activated oil pumping device in the shaft. Clearly, the hydraulics were leaking. I looked back that the rudder while turning the wheel to the left: it did not move unless I cranked the wheel more vigorously - then the rudder flipped a bit in the intended direction and we regained the wind. But while holding the wheel, the rudder slid back slowly! This now explained the problems the helmsman had on the way over: he could not steer properly with a slipping rudder. A nightmare began to unfold before my eyes: the leaking seal would break any moment and we would be rudderless!
Moving closer to Kingstown, after what seemed like hours of beating against the wind (without ever tightening the mains ail - which eventually I did as we lost more and more direction due to changing winds as was expected closer to the big island), it was clear that we would get close to land only way west of the lagoon. And finally we ended up opposite Fort Charlotte before executing a tack and skippering up the coast. Meanwhile the ferry had arrived in Kingstown harbor - it was now 6 PM, an hour after our ususal return time at the Lagoon. The poor engine did not propel us too fast, but we moved , passing the Rock Fort off Young Island in fading daylight, and eventually we tuckered through the two buoys and reached the anchor place for the Franz Kafka at about 7:20 in total darkness!
The best experiences in life are those involving trouble with a good ending. The trouble on this trip was not evident to most of ours guests. One noticed that something was peculiar about the steering, but nobody ever noticed that we had an incompetent crew. I mean, totally incompetent. Instead, when I talked to one of the guests later, she said "oh, I thought that's the way it always is". She and the others had enjoyed the trip thoroughly - what more can one ask for as a host! And why did I become so concerned?
THE END