West of the Quator

by Cheryl Bartlam DuBois

3***KNOTS – One nautical mile (knot) per hour is the equivalent to 115 miles per hour.

  4****HURRICANE HOLE – A safe hurricane anchorage which is protected totally from the sea and partially from the wind.

  5*****OLD ISLAND HURRICANE SAYING – “June too soon; July stand by; August come you must; September you’ll remember; end of October all over.” However in recent years, October would have to be revised as “End of October wish it were over.”

  6*SNOOPY ISLAND – A small man-made island just inside Simpson Bay Lagoon next to the Dutch bridge in St. Maarten – illegally filled from the sand dredged from the channel under the bridge in the 70’s. The island, unused for anything other than an anchorage for South African yachties for years, is now home to a marina and several businesses. It has unfortunately become a barrier which prevents the water from flowing freely in and out through the bridge – resulting in a very polluted body of water on the southwest end of the lagoon.

  7**HEADER – A quick wind change that brings the wind closer to the head of your boat, requiring that you fall off the wind and change course, or you will go into irons.

  8***TRANSOM – The sterns of the hulls or the farthest aft point on a catamaran.

  9*ROUTE DU RHUM RACE – A French single-handed multihull race leaving from France, crosses the Atlantic Ocean, and ends on the French island of Guadeloupe. 10**

  10**GUADELOUPE – A large butterfly shaped island right in the center of the West Indian chain of islands, originally inhabited by the Carib Indians who resisted Columbus’ invasion. A hundred years later, the French succeeded where the Spanish had failed and drove the Caribs off the island, planted sugarcane, and established a slavery based plantation system. The British stepped in and took over for four years in the 18th century until they signed the Treaty of Paris – exchanging Canada for Guadeloupe – then came back later that century to take it over again. Finally’, the French sent in Victor Hughes, a Black Nationalist, to arm Guadeloupe slaves and drive out the British. Once the British left – Hughes decided to kill most of the island’s Royalists and attack U.S. ships – causing the U.S. to declare war on France. The prosperous island continued to be a pawn between the British and the French for centuries. Today it remains solidly in possession of the French

  11*REEFED – The past tense of reefing a boat’s sails as a method of lessening or shortening sail due to higher winds, where one ties the sail up so that it’s shorter – not to be misconstrued with reefing the boat, which might find one high and dry on a coral reef.

  12**TRAMPOLINE – A netting or webbing of straps that replace portions of the deck between the hulls of a multihull in order to cut down on windage under the boat, and the overall weight. Also, the open weave of a foredeck trampoline helps prevent capsize if the boat does a nose dive into a wave – it allows water to pass freely through the trampoline reducing the tripping effect.

  13***PFD’S – Personal Flotation Devices or life vests equipped with a strobe-type light, fluorescent tape, and a Class S or Mini EPIRB for rough weather.

  14****EPIRB – Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon – A modern day S.O.S. device which is invaluable for any vessel leaving radio range (20 miles), which transmits a signal on aircraft frequencies or to passing satellites, supposing of course that there is one or the other within range to receive the signal and report your high tech MAYDAY call for help.

  15*SABA – The smallest and the tallest of the Netherlands Antilles, known as “The Unspoiled Queen.” Saba is nothing more than a tropical volcano jutting out of the sea claiming an airport more dangerous than St. Barth, which greatly resembles landing on the deck of an aircraft carrier 1000 feet in the air. Upon arriving in the tiny villages of the Bottom, St. John’s, or Hell’s Gate, one could easily believe that they had accidentally stumbled into Hobbitland. The top being the opposite of Hell – an incredibly lush rain forest. It’s greatest value to the Leeward Islands has always been the tallest peak in that part of the ocean which offered the tallest antenna for the Saba Radio16** station.

  16**SABA RADIO – A now defunct, land/sea radio/phone station based on the top of Saba – the tallest island around the vicinity which provided the closest thing to reliable phone service the islands had to offer.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Weathering the Storm

  “To be in hell is to drift, to be in heaven is to steer.”

  George Bernard Shaw

  The reality of their circumstances had finally set in and Rob was destined, it seemed, to weather out the storm both metaphorically and literally. He was on a runaway barge and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t find a way to get off the boat. He knew that he had to face this last hurdle that now loomed before them on the horizon, and he had decided that whatever the outcome, it was his fate and he was now finally man enough to own it. Rob was confident that Alex would be able to pull them through. But, as I mentioned earlier, Alex, although quite adept at her seamanship skills, had no first hand experience in riding out a storm at sea. Only in theory had she prepared herself for such an event should the time ever come that she needed to perform such a service, and it seemed that the time had indeed come to prove her skill.

  Knowing it would only get worse, before it got better, Alex had decided that Rob should take the first watch since the seas were still only about twelve feet high and the wind was gusting no higher than fifty knots by the time darkness had fallen upon them. Alex unclipped her harness and hooked up Rob in the cockpit, then went below to try and get an updated weather report from Saba Radio. The news wasn’t good. It seemed that the storm had actually slowed its forward momentum and intensified with winds now gusting to 120 knots, and it seemed to be building even stronger as it moved its way northeast towards them. Since it was moving at about eight miles per hour it meant that they would likely be feeling the leading edge of it long before midnight, since they were only making way to the south at approximately ten to twelve knots. Alex checked the chart and plotted their course since they had left the harbor. She was on her course – a heading of 140 degrees, braving a straight shot southeast on a starboard tack with the wind out of the south. They would stay west of Antigua and east of St. Kitts and Nevis shooting the margin between the two, which would have never even been a concern on a normal night, but tonight required close attention.

  The other concern that Alex had was that there were a dozen other boats, that she knew of, tacking around on approximately the same course, not to mention the fact that they would be heading into shipping lanes once they had cleared Montserrat and Antigua. Luckily, they were fast enough to at some point out-sail the other boats and pass them by, but until then, it would be touch and go. Just to be certain, Alex checked the radar to confirm that there was nothing that she had missed on the horizon in the immediate area. The last thing she could possibly think about was resting even though her whole body already ached with tension. Instead, she attempted to eat a bite of dried fish in order to keep up her strength, but her stomach was in knots. Giving up on the concept of food she gulped down a warm cup of coffee from a thermos that Christian had been thoughtful enough to make for them before he’d gone ashore.

  An hour later, it was already a roller coaster ride with seas ahead of them the size of large hills. The bows were starting to punch through the waves rather than ride over them due to the speed they were making and it was becoming extremely difficult to maneuver below deck as Alex tried time and time again to raise someone, anyone, on the radio for an update on the storm’s progress. It seemed no one heard, or they were too preoccupied coping with the storm themselves to answer. What Alex couldn’t confirm, but suspected no matter how unlikely, was that the storm had turned and had actually started heading east. With the increasing size of the swells pushing in from the southwest, Alex knew that something big was close behind it, and indeed, she was right. The storm had done the improbable – it had turned east and was headed right for St. Maarten and St. Barth.

  About every ten minutes or
so Rob would find Alex’s head poking out the com-panionway to make certain that he was okay, especially when a squall would blow past increasing the wind speed to sometimes almost half again in gusts. After another hour had passed, Alex had given up on rest of any kind and had sent Rob inside to monitor the radar as they passed the other boats. She clipped herself into her harness and took the helm from Rob, who although concerned to leave her in the cockpit alone, was quite relieved that his watch had ended. It was tiring, backbreaking work steering in that kind of sea, since one had to drive the boat up and over the swell fighting the tug and pull of the wind and the sea as it pitched and tossed the boat around.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier if we were sailing downwind instead of beating ourselves and the boat to death,” shouted Rob looking white as a ghost as much from the chill as from the shear fear of the force of the storm – now that he had a voyeur’s perspective.

  “That would take us right back to where it’s heading,” Alex shouted back. “We want to get as far south of this thing as we can. The problem is, it seems like it’s turned and come east on us. That has to be what’s causing these massive swells.”

  By now the seas had grown to well over twenty feet and every other wave would find its way into the cockpit, or pound the underside of the bridgedeck with such force it sounded as if the boat had been hit with a battering ram. As her bows punched through the waves, the Island Fever would shudder so badly from the impact, even Alex wondered how long the boat could take the pounding. Alex was thankful for the giant fishpot they’d taken between the hulls, for without it, she may have never found the failing wood under the bridgedeck. Had they sailed out in this with the boat in its previous condition, she would never have survived this sea. Funny how something that appeared to be a catastrophe at the time, turned out to be a life saving occurrence designed by a larger power. Now, Alex was confident that the boat was likely to out survive them when pinch came to shove, and assured Rob that everything was under control.

  Normally, the Island Fever could make good anywhere from nine to fifteen knots of headway on this point of sail in heavy winds, but with the winds now gusting well over seventy, the boat was pushing its limits of speed with the size of the sea. Alex left the harbor with the most prudent sail area the boat could carry in the conditions ahead a reefed baby-staysail, a double reefed main-staysail. and a triple reefed main, so that they wouldn’t bury her bows into the oncoming seas. She had planned ahead when she reefed the sails knowing that the easiest to lose in an emergency would be the mainstaysail if the weather got really rough. What Alex hadn’t counted on was the huge sea that was relentlessly slamming into the bridge deck, slowing the boat down between waves. The result was severe compression on the boat, and the last thing she wanted was to start breaking rudders, or boards, or even, God forbid, her rig. Alex was starting to consider dropping the mainstaysail entirely since there was no race to win except the one to try and stay as much ahead of the storm as possible, and of course to stay alive. Although, she didn’t relish the idea of having to go up on the deckhouse to tie down the sail.

  By midnight, Alex and Rob were wading in greenwater1* in the cockpit which was now washing over the deckhouse like a waterfall. In fact, Alex had resorted to wearing her mask and snorkel just so she could see and breathe. The wind was gusting to well over seventy-five knots although the seas had grown a little smaller over the last hour due to the fact that they were, for the moment, tucked behind St. Kitts and Nevis. But now that they were nearing the passage between Nevis and Montserrat, the seas would start rolling in through the gap, slamming the boat hard. The time had finally come, to Alex’s dismay – to lose the mainstaysail entirely. She yelled over the howling wind for Rob to tighten the topping lift,2** while she ground the mainstaysail sheet in as tight as it would go. She knew that if the boom wasn’t tight when the sail came down, she would never be able to keep the thrashing sail under control, which could result in a torn sail or worse –injury to herself or Rob.

  Alex turned the deck lights on and waited until the squalls subsided. Then she instructed Rob to turn up into the wind. She steeled herself for the dangerous task ahead as she started the arduous crawl on her stomach out of the cockpit and onto the deck – then up onto the deckhouse with her lifeline attached to the jack-lines that she had rigged along the deck prior to leaving St. Maarten. Her mask allowed her to see in the pelting spray off the bows, not to mention the spume flying off the wave tops. Her rain gear was being pelted so hard it felt as if she were being hit with hailstones, and the wind was so strong she literally had to hold herself down on the deck for fear of being blown overboard. Once she reached the top of the deckhouse, Rob eased the halyard for the mainstaysail from the cockpit. With his help, Alex managed to safely lash the sail to the boom with the tail of the jib halyard, without having it shredded to bits by the wind or getting too badly beaten by it herself. Battened sails4**** in that sort of wind had been known to put out eyes, break bones, and kill sailors just from the sheer force of the wind filling the sail as it was released. It was now two in the morning. They had made good at least seventy or more miles from St. Maarten, which meant the storm must be huge since they were now sitting at least sixty miles from the eye and they were still feeling winds the magnitude of a worse than average hurricane.

  Alex was getting worried now – not so much for their own safety since they were fairing okay even if it was tiring work, but about Grandma and Grandpa back on St. Maarten. Since they were well out of range of Saba Radio, Alex finally managed to raise someone at the SXM7* meteorological station on her SSB.8** It seemed that the hurricane was now stalled just slightly west of St. Barth, with an eye twenty-five miles in diameter. This meant that St. Maarten was sitting in the northern quadrant or the worst side of the storm, and likely getting beaten and battered by the relentless winds which were reportedly gusting on the island to well over 150 knots. But, worse than the winds were the southwest ten meter9*** seas that were pounding the leeward coast. In a nutshell, that little beach that Grandma and Grandpa’s cottage was sitting on was getting battered by thirty foot plus waves. Alex swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, panicked at the thought of Grandma and Grandpa’s safety – they should have gotten them to a safer location. However, Rob, who was getting more and more nervous by the minute about their own predicament assured her that Grandma and Grandpa would surely be okay. After all, they were seasoned hurricane experts. In fact they had probably survived more hurricanes than most people on the planet. But, what Rob didn’t realize, nor did Alex, was that Claire would build into the biggest storm of the century and take up residence on top of that tiny little island for the better part of a night and a day.

  Meanwhile, back on St. Maarten, due to the position of the storm and the counter clockwise rotation of a hurricane, the winds were indeed clocking dead into Simpson Bay and pushing the sea straight into Grandma and Grandpa’s beach. Grandma and Grandpa were starting to realize, like Alex, that they should have gotten out of there. The sound of the wind and sea inside their tiny cottage had become a deafening roar, like an endless freight train crossing over their little roof. The waves had already reached their front door high up the beach under those swaying palms, which now were menacingly bent over their vulnerable little abode, and Grandpa was beginning to realize that the cottage that he’d chosen this lifetime might soon become a raft after all. The radio report that Alex had received had greatly underestimated the wind velocity. In fact, the storm had been packing gusts over 175 knots on the SXM airport anemometer just before it had blown off the roof – before the storm had even reached its peak. Not to mention that this was the first storm ever to turn out of the west and push the shallow Caribbean sea full force towards those vulnerable little isles from Anguilla all the way to Venezuela.

  The wind had died down again making Grandpa realize that the eye had passed over their island for the second time. He was busy packing rags around the front door to keep the water out from the
waves which were crashing onto the beach with a deafening roar, and engulfing the foundation of their little cottage. Grandma was laying on her bed trying to rest, but had found herself doing more praying than sleeping, and Christian was in the bathroom trying to calm Lambchop and Old Henry who were pacing back and forth like expectant fathers. Suddenly without warning, a tremendous wave hit the little cottage with such force the front door was swept right off its hinges. Before they knew what hit them, the wave unleashed a torrent of water into their little home, turning furniture upside down, washing away their meager belong-ings, and sweeping Grandpa right off his feet. As the wave subsided, and Grandma’s mattress floated along with it right into the living room, she saw to her relief that Grandpa, although quite shaken and wet, was luckily uninjured. Wasting no time in escaping the next deluge, Lambchop and Henry swam as fast as their little legs would propel them, right out of the cottage on the rapidly ebbing tide.

  Concerned, seeing Lambchop and Henry fleeing into the treacherous storm, Christian ran out of the cottage after them as Grandpa struggled to pull himself back to his feet. Panicked about Christian’s well-being, Grandpa ran after him without even a thought for his own safety. Struggling to get past the floating debris, Grandma managed to make her way to the doorway, where she stood frantically yelling in vain into the blackness and the blinding rain for the two of them to come back inside. To Grandma’s utter dismay Grandpa and Christian were wandering around somewhere in the havoc of mother nature’s wrath that raged just outside her door.

  “What on earth is the old fool thinking, he’ll be killed out there in this!” cried Grandma realizing that they must be in the ‘eye of the storm10* since the wind had temporarily abated. She called their names into the blackness, but there was no answer. She couldn’t see it but she heard the next wave coming as it broke across the harbor and that little stretch of coral reef just off of what was left of their beach. By the time she could see the water, it was half way up the beach and nearly on top of their cottage, leaving little for Grandma to do other than seek refuge in her concrete shower. She was panicked at what would become of Grandpa who had nothing whatsoever to protect him from the wall of water which was seconds from devouring them in its huge, monstrous, black mouth.