West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

  Disappointed that their little sojourn had come to an end, yet grateful that they had been allowed the time together, Alex and Rob packed up the dinghy and took off the sail covers preparing to head for home. By the time they had gotten underway, the winds had picked up to a brisk twenty-five knots from the southeast, and by the time they had traveled the downwind leg along the coast of St. Maarten to Simpson Bay, it was gusting up to thirty-five, raising the stakes ever so slightly. As far as Alex was concerned, this was a bad sign. It meant that the storm was probably closer to the east than predicted and was probably traveling faster and growing stronger than anyone had thought. Luckily, the seas had not had a chance to build, which made it easier for the growing line up of boats in Simpson Bay to make their way through the bridge to seek safety from the approaching storm.

  The Island Fever arrived at the bridge with a few hours to spare before its opening so Rob decided to take the dinghy and go ashore to pick up Christian. That way he could assist them in readying the boat should their approaching tropical storm (33 – 64 knots of wind – or 39 74 mph), decide to become a hurricane.

  Everyone was quite relieved to see the Island Fever round the point, especially Grandma and Grandpa since the coconut telegraph lines had been sizzling with the news of the weather heading their way. Grandpa had been busy and had already gotten all of his hurricane shutters closed and had put away all the outdoor furniture and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. The last thing anyone wanted in a hurricane was to have flying lawn chairs hurtling past at a hundred miles or more per hour. Grandma had already filled the sinks and every available jar, pot, and pan with water. She had brought out the candles and the flashlights since she knew that the first two things to go on the island would be electricity once again, and of course water that was safe to drink, since the flooding from the rain often washed sewage and unwanted debris into their cistern. And, depending on the severity of the storm, they were likely to be without such for at least a week, if not more, until the little island could regroup from such an emergency.

  Although, Grandpa knew that Rob and Alex would likely as not stay with their boat, as most sailors do, he invited them to weather out the storm in their little cottage under the swaying palms. After all, it had survived sixty years of hurricanes and was still as far as Grandpa was concerned, the safest spot to weather out a storm on the island, since it was on the leeward side and nestled under the palm trees.

  Rob thanked him and, as Grandpa had predicted, said that he would be sitting out the storm on board with Alex, but he would greatly appreciate it if Lambchop and Old Henry could weather it out in Grandma and Grandpa’s shed. Even better than that, Grandma had already made them a comfy bed, in which to pass the storm, in her shower. With his mind set at ease that his pals were well looked after, Rob headed over to the marina to pick up Christian where, Grandpa informed him, he was picking up some extra money helping to move their boats off the dock.

  On his way into the lagoon, Rob swung by the Island Fever to give Alex an update and let her know that he’d be back in time to help her with the bridge opening.

  “Swing by the storage locker and pick up a couple cases of canned food and fill the extra water jugs,” called Alex, shouting to be heard over the fifteen horsepower dinghy engine as Rob backed away from the boat. He gave her a thumbs up, then headed off at full speed under the bridge –through the cut, and around Snoopy Island6* to the marina. There he found Christian just putting the last boat from the dock on its mooring. Within minutes they had hit the storage locker and picked up their stores and extra water jugs, which they had stashed away just for such emergencies. Then after filling them on the dock, Christian jumped in the dinghy and headed back to Simpson Bay with Rob.

  Without an engine, getting the Island Fever in through the bridge would not be a cake-walk, but the wind was just forward of their beam, making it an easy shot to sail right through the cut with just her mains and a baby staysail. That is of course, if they didn’t get a header7** as they came through the channel. Christian would stay in the dinghy in order to lend assistance should it be needed, but Rob had every confidence that Alex had the situation well under control.

  By the time Rob had returned through the bridge to meet Alex, the seas had already started to build and the swells were wrapping around the rock jetty and rolling into the bay like soldiers marching into shore. Alex lowered the engine box to the floating position for Christian to motor the dinghy close enough for Rob to climb aboard, since the boat was still underway. Then she winched him up so he could climb over the back bridge-deck – the seas being too big to safely board on the transom.8*** It was ten minutes to five by the time Rob was back on board with Alex, and she was tacking back and forth at the end of the line-up like an anxious race horse waiting for the starting gate to open. As planned, Christian stayed with the Dinghy Fever, motoring behind the boat, mirroring its every move.

  Once on board, Rob learned that Alex had just received an update on the storm – the reports they had received earlier had been a bit delayed. It seemed that the storm had done the unlikely and had changed course and was now heading northeast, which would bring it substantially closer to the island than they had thought, even though it would likely stay on the other side of the Anegada Passage and wreak havoc with the Virgins. The effects of the storm, which at that point could possibly reach a category one proportion hurricane, were expected to hit Sint Maarten/St. Martin by just after dark. Not only was it closer, but it had officially been upgraded to a hurricane (64 knots). Now, there was no time to loose and it would take every spare minute once they were inside to get their anchors out, the sails off, and the boat battened down for the slightly more than inclement weather which was about to hit.

  It was one minute to five – with the binoculars, Rob could see the lights flashing on the bridge and the gates starting to close to stop traffic. Within seconds the bridge tender had unlocked the bridge and was walking to the middle with the big lever which he inserted into the center hub. Once it was in, he walked the huge lever around in a circle to manually crank the swing bridge open. Gradually, the old bridge shuddered and creaked as it started to turn slowly clockwise. The bridge was rather antiquated and had long ago seen its better days. In fact, it had been retired some twenty years earlier from the Intracoastal Waterway in North Carolina to be replaced by a more modem version, and had been brought to the island by Holland in lieu of their dutious support of their little wanted territory. This aging bridge served as the only access on the Dutch side of the island into the lagoon.

  By that point the boats were all in a tight formation, lined up ready to rush through to safety the moment the channel was clear. Rob was nervous since it was his first time through the bridge, but he knew that within minutes they would be sitting on the hurricane mooring that Joey kept in front of the marina in the southwestern corner of the lagoon.

  As the first boat in the line-up pulled into the cut, they heard a loud scraping sound of metal on metal as the bridge’s opening carne to a grinding halt, causing the boats already idling in line to throw their engines into reverse, as their passage to the other side had been abruptly terminated. Alex could see the bridge tender running to look over the side at the gears, and the minute she saw him climb down to inspect the problem she knew they were in trouble.

  Within minutes, the radio was buzzing with sailors shouting for those in boats already anchored inside to come lend a hand, since there appeared to be some sort of serious problem with the gears which opened the bridge. In no time, dinghies were headed from all directions as sailors tied off on the bridge and climbed up the pilings in order to help old Roy, the bridge tender, get the bridge open. Christian motored over in the dinghy to get a first hand report and returned with the bad news – no matter how hard they tried it appeared that the bridge was stuck. One of the teeth on the large cog had broken off and had wedged itself in between the gears. Not only could they not open it the rest of the way – they couldn’
t get it closed. They even tried having one of the tugs lash a line to it and force it open, but it seemed that everyone’s prediction that the old bridge would surely give out one day soon had come true, and it had happened at the worst possible moment, at least for Rob and Alex and all the other boats in their current predicament. The situation was rapidly turning into an island emergency since at least twenty-six boats, which were now nearly on top of one another, were stuck outside their hurricane-safe harbor. They were all starting to panic since it looked as if they would not be riding out the storm in anything that resembled a safe hurricane hole.

  Alex’s heart sank since she knew that the boat was far too wide to make it through the French bridge safely, especially with the wind on her nose. It seemed that it was going to be one long night since their only real option was to head south to try and sail away from the storm, since she calculated that she should be able to sail out of the storm’s effects within a few hours. There was still a slim chance that she might make it into Oyster Pond or Le Gallion’s harbor on the eastern side of the island, but with the rapidly increasing size of the swell, even that possibility was likely closed out due to breaking waves. Had she only slipped in there when they were leaving Tintamarre, she thought berating herself. How could she have been so unprepared? But then again, how could she have known that this storm would do the unlikely.

  Alex had read reports that one of the cats caught in a hurricane at sea during the Route du Rhum Race,9* had actually just lowered their sails, lashed their rudders, pulled up their dagger boards and simply drifted through it like a raft with the wind just ahead of their beam – the waves sliding under them. Given a choice in the matter this definitely would not be her first. But with the swells already rolling in, there was no other safe harbor she could reach in time. Simpson, Great Bay, and Marigot all got pretty nasty from the swells wrapping around the island and were not a safe option.

  Alex looked at Rob guiltily, as if she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders – solely responsible for their predicament.

  “I trust your judgment. Whatever you say captain, just give the order, I’m behind you all the way,” said Rob to Alex attempting to bolster her confidence as he realized the gravity of the situation.

  Alex smiled, relaxing a little – eased by Rob’s faith in her.

  “By the way, does this thing have a name yet?

  “Yeah, it’s called Claire,” answered Alex.

  Rob’s heart sunk at the news, “Now I know we’re in trouble,” said Rob turning several shades of white, “That’s Sydney’s middle name.” Indeed, hurricane Sydney Claire was finally on its way and there was, it seemed, no stopping it. Alex smiled and kissed Rob, then she donned her captain’s hat knowing that she had a job to do and went to work. It was too rough to drop anchor so Alex turned the boat into the wind and waved for Christian, who was still motoring around, to tie the dinghy between the stems and climb on board via the engine box to help them ready the boat.

  It was about to be a very long night for the two of them and although Alex would have welcomed Christian’s help, she did not want to put the boy in jeopardy. As much as he argued, Alex insisted that he stay with Grandma and Grandpa. But, Christian was young and fearless, and he didn’t want to miss the excitement. He was committed to seeing the storm through with whatever he could do to help. After all, this was the first time Christian had finally felt he was part of a family. Somehow, Rob managed to convince him that Grandma and Grandpa needed him more and got him to take the dinghy ashore and put it into Grandpa’s shed where it would be safe. The last thing they needed on deck was anything to create more windage.

  Rob was beginning to feel a little like Gilligan as they went about their checklist of things to do before the Island Fever headed out to sea on their slightly more than “Three hour cruise” – readying the boat for the treacherous night that lay ahead of them. They had much to do and Alex set Rob to the task as a commanding officer might dispense orders on a battleship – for once, Rob gladly obeyed. The headsail had to be removed, the baby staysail reefed,11* the main staysail double reefed, and the main triple reefed. The weight had to be balanced between the hulls, the RDF, radar, and all other navigational devices set in order – the SatNav being useless at this point due to their MIA satellite. Alex also decided to unlace and remove the aft trampoline12** to cut down on windage and sea under the boat. Their survival gear was broken out and of course, safety harnesses, life lines, and PFD’s13*** were prepared, each with its own EPIRB14**** attached in case, God forbid, one of them should go overboard.

  Once all the gear was assembled in the cockpit and Alex and Rob had donned their survival suits, their safety harnesses, and their PFD’s, Alex picked up one of the hand-held VHF radios to slip it into her waterproof pocket so that she could hear the radio outside the deckhouse once things got rough. But, to her amazement the case of the radio had expanded like a carton of milk that had sat in the sun a bit too long.

  She felt her stomach turn over as she realized that this could only mean one thing –the inside pressure of the radio was greater than the rapidly dropping barometer – signaling that the storm was even closer to them than had been predicted.

  Alex radioed Jeff at the marina on the boat’s VHF and requested that he notify the U.S. Coast Guard and the French Navy that the Island Fever and nearly a dozen other boats would be heading south towards Guadeloupe and likely as far south as Martinique if necessary. Several of the faster monohulls had headed around to the French bridge in Marigot in hopes of making it there before dark, and few boats had foolishly been brave enough to take their chances and stay anchored in Simpson Bay to ride out the storm.

  Ideally, Alex would have liked to have positioned herself in the southwestern or weakest quadrant of the storm, however this time luck was not on her side, and the best she could hope for was to get southeast of it as far and as fast as possible. Although it would be a beat until they out-sailed the grip of the storm, Alex knew that this would be the safest course to take. She was slightly uneasy about the untested newly rebuilt boat, but she had faith that her repairs were more sound than even the boats original construction.

  She also realized that just because the storm was currently on a heading which would bring it just due west of Sint Maarten, it didn’t mean that it might not change course and continue heading northwest towards Puerto Rico. What Alex didn’t know however, was that this storm had a mind of its own and would perform the improbable if not the impossible before the next forty-eight hours were over.

  Alex had been through many a hurricane, but the last thing that she wanted to tell Rob, was that this would be her first not sitting it out on a safe hurricane mooring. To Rob, Alex portrayed the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. But, he had to admit that he was feeling hesitation, terror, and trepidation at that point, which as far as he was concerned, qualified as out and out fear. Not only had Rob never sailed in a hurricane before, he had never even witnessed a hurricane. The fact that he was from the midwest however, and more than familiar with tornadoes, filled him with terror all the more. He had seen the destruction that tornadoes had caused in his hometown. If it was anything even remotely similar, then Rob was borderline scared out of his wits and he was starting to pray like he’d never prayed before. More even, than he had prayed when the drug dealers held him at gunpoint, or at morning mass in Catholic school to get him transferred out of Sister Agnus’ class. I attempted in vain to bolster his confidence but his mind had control of him, and he was too busy running scenarios of the worst that could happen, through his head, to listen to me.

  It was now almost 6:00 PM and there was still a little while before sunset, however the sky was so dark by that point that the light would likely be gone for all practical purposes by seven. The wind was now out of the south. Most of the other boats had motored in the same direction but they were much slower than the Island Fever and were still within sight by the time Alex sailed out of the bay on a port tack, carryi
ng the smallest amount of canvas the rig could carry and still retain enough speed to get them out of immediate danger before the brunt of the storm hit. By the time they were out of the harbor and off shore enough to tack and head south on her course – a compass heading of 140 degrees, the clouds were so low they could no longer see Saba15* or St. Barth. Alex headed out close-hauled against the south wind, relying solely on her instruments and a dead reckoning course she’d plotted on her chart.

  On shore, Grandma and Grandpa were beside themselves, since Christian had returned to tell them about the bridge not opening and that Alex and Rob had headed the Island Fever out to sea to ride out the storm. So, Grandma went to her room and lit a candle on her nightstand and started to pray for their safe return. Grandma and Grandpa had seen many a hurricane in their day and figured that they had seen the worst of them, but nothing had prepared them for what was to come. They had never seen a storm come from the west in their more than half a century of living there on that little stretch of beach. They were in fact, about to witness the storm of the century heap its wrath upon their little island.

  1*SPINNAKER FLYING – A sport which takes place off the bow of a boat with the spinnaker fully up, yet not sheeted in. In fact, the person flying the spinnaker sits in a sling strung between the two tacks of the sail and rides it up and down on the wind – often being dropped into the water when the wind dies.

  2**VHF RADIO – An FM radio band which is used on boats as a ship-to-ship and a ship-to-shore means of local communication. VHF transmissions are line-of-sight – consequently it is restricted to a limited geographical area – 10-15 miles for ship-to-shlp communications and 25-30 miles for ship-to-shore. These distances do however depend on the height of the transmitting and receiving antennas and could reach up to 40 or 50 miles if being transmitted from the top of a tall island.