| CRUISING ADVENTURES TALE THE FIRST We departed Swan Quarter, NC, for the Outer Banks island of Ocracoke around 8:30 am, after trailering all night from our inland North Carolina home port. With a NOAA forecast of Northeasterly winds of 10 knots and waves of 2-3 feet, we knew we were taking on borderline conditions in a 21 foot San Juan sailboat for the Pamlico Sound. With the Sound's long orientation of nearly 70 miles from Northeast to Southwest and shallow depths (10 feet is often the deepest), the Pamlico can kick up some steep waves in no time with a wind from either of these directions. We would soon find out how bad it could be. Claiborne Young, in his authoritative work The Cruising Guide to Coastal North Carolina, states "... that breezes over ten knots, particularly from the northeast, can stir up an unwelcome chop. A 15 knot wind can render a cruise downright uncomfortable, and gusts of 20 knots or more are dangerous." While we had read Claiborne's words, we didn't heed his warning. Actually, it was too much faith in someone else's weather forecast which helped lead us astray. But we were eager to get underway. Our annual cruise on the coast, entitled "The Big Chill Weekend," is a time for old chums to get together, reflect on the past, and more importantly, keep in touch with each other's present. While it is not unlike a thousand other reunions going on around the country, it is ours, and it is sailing out in the "big water." And the Pamlico Sound, some thirty miles across and seventy miles wide, is big water to we inland sailors from Lake Norman. The wind and waves seemed light at first, and I even apologized to the crew for my timidity in putting up the 100 % jib as opposed to the larger genoa. I figured they'd let me make the headsail change when I called for it. We called on the VHF to the Coast Guard station at Ocracoke just to make certain we weren't being deceived by the conditions, as we were still in the lee of the northern shore. After I explained that we were outbound for Ocracoke and concerned about the conditions there, the polite young man offered to read us the NOAA forecast which we had already listened to on the NOAA frequency. He said that was all he could do. We passed on that, thanked him and turned off the radio. After a pleasant two hour sail, the thought crossed my mind to consider the genoa. The waves hadn't increased, although the wind was now gusting over ten. We had headed east-southeast for the islands and were now several miles off the shore, so we didn't think we were in the lee of the shore. However, we hadn't passed all of the land in the direction of the wind, so we held off. If there was one good decision we made that weekend, that was it. Within fifteen minutes of this decision, we passed all land astern, and then the fun started. The wind seemed to increase a little, but the waves, being pushed across nearly fifty miles of open, ten foot deep water, had built to pretty big proportions. These fellows were in the five to seven foot range, which, if they had been further apart, would have been OK. As it was, they were often less than a San Juan 21 boat-length apart, and exactly 90 degrees from our intended course. This meant we would crest one, kick the rudder hard to surf across the backside of it, and barely get to the trough before we'd have to kick the rudder hard over to get aimed even 45 degrees at the next one. My younger brother Kevin was at the helm for the majority of this four hour torture test, and he did an admirable job at his task. As we were out of sight of land, we did need to navigate, and since I had the charts, I tackled this job. Tim Shaw, an old college friend, watched the compass course and hiked out a lot. During the course of the six hour crossing, we took solid water over the side only a handful of times, although the bow seemed constantly immersed. If we were not quick with our turn into each wave, we were given an aqua blue reminder in the form of the next wave breaking over the boat. The little boat took the beating well, probably better than her crew, although it seemed that each and every fitting on the sturdy craft developed some type of leak during the crossing. Sighting markers was nearly impossible due to the heaving action of the boat and the desire to hang on. We finally made the narrow Ocracoke channel near the submerged dredge, and the waves diminished substantially. The channel is for the state run Ocracoke ferry, and the waters outside the channel are measured in inches. The breaking waves on the shoals outside the channel were frothing, filling the air with spray. We were very happy to be in the home stretch, and lowered the jib. To enter Ocracoke harbor, a boat sailing south must actually pass the entrance and do a "U-Turn" to the east and north around a channel junction marker. We rounded this just as if it were a racing mark back at Lake Norman, and headed back into the wind. At this point, just 100 yards shy of the sanctuary, we ran aground. This is no big deal in a swing keel boat, so we just cranked the keel up a bit and continued on, however, the time we spent aground would cost us dearly. About 75 yards from the narrow harbor entrance, our main sail outhaul let go. A knot, weary from hours of extreme abuse, simply let go, and the main sail flaked vertically to the mast like the new Hood main sail stow-away furling system. We quickly lost way and began to drift out of the channel. While brother Kevin went below and hunted furiously for the anchor, I attempted to start the motor, which had, of course, been drowned by a breaking "rouge wave" on the way over. It did not start in time, and we were aground, right under the Ocracoke lighthouse and Coast Guard Station. No problem. Just crank up the swing keel some more, right? Well, that's what we did. What we should have done was get the motor going, or fix the outhaul on the sail first. As we cranked, we blew further and further aground, and the motor continued to fail to start. I can authoritatively state that a San Juan 21 will not float in less than 18 " of water, which is what we were in. I got the motor started with a fresh spark plug in just a few minutes, and hopped out to push. Only then did I realize just how shallow it was. The tops of my socks didn't get wet. I made crew number two, Tim, get his only pair of sneakers wet by getting out and pushing. Finally, with all three of us out of the boat pushing, the motor going full tilt, and some good luck, we did started. Looking much like the Jamaican Bobsled team from "Cool Runnings", We pushed Obi-Juan across ten feet of sand bar back to deep water. The boat seemed as relieved as we were to get off the sand. At least the bottom wasn't rock. We later learned that the Coast Guard had been boarding nearly every boat which entered the harbor for a routine inspection. Well, the fellows at the Coast Guard station didn't board us when we finally tied up. They knew we couldn't be drug smugglers. THanks God for the kind people at the Edwards' Motel in Ocracoke. They found us a room and even let us dry all our soaked clothes. Please patronize their establishment. We also love the folks at the Island Inn on Ocrascoke, and of course, the Jolly Roger! TALE THE SECOND - 10 years later - Over Memorial Day weekend my family and I chartered a 36 PDQ sailing catamaran to go from Oriental to Ocracoke on the Outer Banks. The sailing experience was a good one, and it is always fun to be out of sight of land, but several big lessons were learned.
First, the cat is THE way to cruise. We had all the room we could evenr want, the heeling was minimal, and everyone had a great time. PDQ makes a very nice vessel. IT IS WIDE, and that can make for some interesting handing in tight quarters however! Secondly, we survived and extreme thunderstorm/squall on Saturday May 23 that hit most of the Outer Banks. Winds were clocked at up to 70 mph, although the winds that hit us didn’t exceed 55 mph. We were (fortunately or unfortunately) at anchor in Silver Lake at Ocracoke in about 15 feet of water. We had out 30 feet of heavy chain and 60 feet of line with a 30 lb plow type anchor. Because of the close proximity of other boats and docks, you can’t always let out as much scope as you would like. As the word of the storm’s approach reached us, we began to batten down all hatches (literally!) and added 30 feet more of anchor line. We now had 120 feet of line/chain out.....surely enough for a thunderstorm in harbor! We chose not to set a second anchor because we knew as the storm passed the wind would shift dramatically, the boat would swing, and possibly wrap the two ropes around each other, making it difficult to weigh anchor on Sunday. We also started the engines (in neutral) and turned on all exterior lights and the VHF radio.
As the storm hit, a wall of water (rain) came across the sound, blocking all visibility. The winds were moderate to strong, up to 20 knots. No problem. Then as the strongest part of the cell passed by, the wind shifted and velocity jumped above 40 knots. Several boats began to drag anchor toward us. At this point, most of the crew had retired below. The rain was blowing horizontal and was stinging my face with every drop. A further gust started the halyards to wailing and at this point our anchor broke loose. We quickly started drifting toward docks. I put the engines in gear and accelerated the port engine, as that was the side that was turning to leeward. I noticed a large (45 foot?) trawler had also dragged and was close to hitting a large pier. He was out on the foredeck weighing anchor to re-set. Several smaller boats also dragged anchor, but seemed to re-set before going around.
We pushed our selves away from the docks with the port engine running hard. Cats have a lot of windage and very little in the water, so the wind is the biggest factor in maneuvering. The anchor seemed to have re-set a little, but we didn’t have any confidence in that. The wind was pushing the port hull downwind and toward the shore line. With the port engine running ahead and occasional backing the starboard engine, we held our own for a few minutes and the wind eased just a bit and shifted another 30 degrees to the north. This allowed us some breathing room and time to make certain that the anchor had re-set.
We survived the encounter that cause several boats to drag (usually the ones with lots of windage) in our harbor. In Beaufort, NC, 30 miles to the southwest, several boats went aground or sank during this same storm, forcing several Coast Guard Rescues. They recorded wind speeds in Beaufort of 70 mph.
The remainder of ouyr trip to Ocracoke was the usual...gtreat seafood, great fellowship and a cruise home to savior it all. Four of the many interesting things that we learned were: Ocracoke harbor’s mud is so soft that it really isn’t great holding ground; having twin screws set 20 feet apart can be a great aid in tight maneuvering; you can’t have enough scope in a storm; and don’t underestimate mother nature’s power. We did a few things right: we had let out more scope; we were prepared for the boat to drag with engines running and crew ready; we kept our cool even in a crisis. - and as Arnold said "We'll be back!"
Reprinted from "Confessions of a Trailer Sailor" by Michael Robinson
Copyright © 1996, 1997
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