Trip to Bermuda - January 2001

I've written press releases. I know how to spin an ordinary story into a compelling exciting story. So, when I read the following extract from Reid and Laurence's press release regarding our upcoming departure from NYC to Bermuda on 20 January, I wasn't overly worried: ...

"A midwinter departure from New York City demands the ultimate of a sailor's skill and courage," Captain Reid Stowe said. "In recent years many more climbers have reached the top of Mt. Everest than sailors who have shoveled feet of snow off their decks, broken the ice barrier with their motor and voyaged through stormy freezing weather." From the skyscrapers of contemporary New York City, the course is set for Bermuda. "The North Atlantic in winter between New York City and Bermuda is one of the most treacherous stretches in the world," Herb Hilkenberg, a well-known weather router for ocean voyages, said. "The strong, freezing winds and constant spiraling storms that meet warm counter-flowing waters of the Gulf Stream create survival situations." ...

Well guess what? If anything, the press release turned out to be quite accurate. The boat was Anne, a hand built schooner with a very traditional gaff rig, constructed by its owner, Reid Stowe over 20 years ago. This is a heavy boat, 70' long plus another 10' of bowsprit, weighing over 57 tons. She has a full keel and relatively short thick masts. Her construction is hand laid fiberglass over a tensile steel frame. She needs a fair breeze to move her. Anne is short on modern conveniences but her rig is sturdy and well-found.

The crew consisted of Reid (captain) and his wife, French born Laurence, who has sailed with Reid on two previous voyages of 100 days and 200 days. Reid and Laurence someday hope to set a world record by sailing 1000 days without touching land or re-provisioning. In addition there was me - John Doswell, a Hell's Kitchen software developer and founder of Friends of Hudson River Park, and Dee Dee Maucher, a graphic designer and founder of an athletic training program called Inside Momentum. I have sailed for the past 30 years, including a previous North Atlantic crossing to the Azores, during which we encountered a four day run of two back-to-back gales near Sable Island off New Foundland (scene of the infamous Perfect Storm). Dee Dee also had a transatlantic crossing under her belt on the tall ship Belle Espoir.

New York City videographers Ryan Thompson and Steven Blank rounded out the crew, and are documenting the entire voyage. This is their first sailing experience.

The entire 3 month trip is to be as follows: NYC to Bermuda, on to St. Barts and then to Trinidad, staying through Carnival. After that back north, planning to arrive back in the City around March or early April. My plan was to sail the first leg to Bermuda, then fly back. Between work and meetings on Hudson River Park, that's about all the time I could spare. As Reid said to me a couple of years ago, regarding the proposed 1000 day voyage, the real challenge is not the sea, or provisions, or water or anything like that. It's being able to shed yourself of all land-based commitments for a three year period.

On the Thursday prior to departure, I accompanied Reid and Laurence on a major shopping trip to the greengrocer at Chelsea Market and later to Western Beef. The plan was to buy provisions for the entire 3-month voyage. Everything we bought was by the case. We were far beyond shopping carts - two employees worked with us with hand trucks as we bought case after case of plantains, cabbages, potatoes, leeks, carrots, oranges, onions, peppers, and so forth. 24 dozen eggs. About 30 cases in all, enough to cram a station wagon full, including the passenger seat. At Western Beef we bought pasta and sauce, cereals, cheeses and a variety of nonessential snack foods - 2 overloaded shopping carts full. Back at the pier we took aboard about 1700 gallons of water. We also removed a van full of stuff from the boat - a TV, stereo, Ried's paintings, other stuff. By Friday evening, everything had been taken below and carefully stowed for the trip - or so we thought.

0900 - 20 January 2001 - Departure

We cast off from Pier 63 Maritime at just after 9 AM on 20 January 2001, with an eye on catching the ebb tidal stream to give us a 3-4 knot boost down the North River. About 100 well-wishers were on hand for the departure. Most of them then boarded the historic NYC Fireboat John J. Harvey or historic tugboat Bertha to accompany us down the river. Harvey gave us three separate water displays, the last one near the Statue of Liberty, before turning back. Bertha stayed with us until about a mile beyond the Verrazano Bridge, where she finally tooted and slowly turned back, leaving us alone headed toward the North Atlantic. The weather was cold and gray. We were expecting to hit a gale either later that day or early the next, but there was no evidence of one yet. All sails were up, and we streamed along at a good 8 or more knots.

1100 - 20 January 2001 - Sandy Hook

We passed the last point of land, Sandy Hook, NJ at about 1100 but we never saw it. About 1300 we passed Ambrose light, once the location of the lightship Ambrose until she was replaced by an oil derrick style tower in the 60's. By now the winds had freshened (as sailors say) to near gale force - not yet 40 knots but pretty stiff. But beyond being heeled over about 25 degrees, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Our intention was to get as many miles between us and land as possible before the gale hit, a common practice for blue water sailors. 100 miles would be OK, 200 better. The winds were out of the north-north-east so we were able to steer a course southeast on a near beam reach, (wind coming from the side), the best point of sailing. Around this time, we passed a whale, who spouted water and played with us for several minutes before swimming away. By 1400, we started to reduce sail, as winds were rising to gale force.

1400 - 20 January 2001 - Gale, then Storm

Dropping or reefing a sail on Anne is no simple matter, even with a calm breeze. When the winds are above 40 knots, it's a real challenge. All crew suit up in foul weather gear and safety harnesses. Not easy when the boat is heeled 30 degrees and constantly in motion. Finally we're all on deck. Reid is amazing - moving around the boat like a gazelle. The rest of us are crawling low, snapping our life harnesses on to anything that looks sturdy. The force of the wind on the sails makes lowering a sail just as labor intensive as raising one. The boom is sheeted out, and held in a position as close as perpendicular to the wind as possible by means of a heavy preventer line. Then down hauls are lead to one of the winches, and the gaff (the boom at the top of the sail) is dragged down inch by inch. First the peak, then the throat, then the peak again, until the gaff is nearly down. In spite of the lazy jacks, portions of the sail spill out to the side and have to be wrestled back and wrapped with heavy ties. There are dozens upon dozens of lines to contend with - sheets, halyards, topping lifts, down hauls, preventers, reefing lines and so forth. In order to transfer the load off the winch once a line has been hauled in tight, a smaller transfer line is used to tie a pair of stopper hitches on the line under tension so that it can eased off the winch and tied directly to a cleat, freeing up the winch for another job. Couple all that with two green video technicians learning the ropes as they go, plus trying to capture the moment on video, and it gets even more exciting. Then add the roar of the wind so loud you can barely hear someone shout from 20 feet away, the bowsprit crashing deep into the water, then rising 30' above the water, only to crash in underwater again a few seconds later, the regular wave from alongside that splashes across the entire deck. Five people, two hours, just to get a reef in the mainsail.

The winds continued to intensify, moving from gale to storm force (winds in the 48+ knot range). Seas were 10 to 15 feet with occasional 20 footers, and the surface of the ocean was covered with white streaming foam. The scene described above was repeated four times through the night of the 20th and into the dawn of the 21st. No thought was given to cooking. By dawn the skies had cleared, the winds were back down, but the seas were even higher. It's normal to have higher seas near the end of a storm and for several hours after a storm has passed. We would be treated to this pattern three more times before we landed in Bermuda, although we didn't know it at the time. Being exhausted, we sailed under a stay sail alone all day, even though we could have raised more sail. That evening, we ate our first hot meal - a chicken gumbo that my wife, Jean, had precooked prior to departure, along with pasta, a salad, and hot tea. During the storm, most of our provisions had shifted and numerous other objects had been strewn about, creating a mess below decks. We were living in a salad. But we were sailing south east, directly toward Bermuda, and the boat was doing just fine.

0900 - 22 January 2001 - 500 miles to go

This morning we took the first GPS fix since departure. GPS is a satellite based Global Position System used by all mariners. Our installed GPS had failed (water had penetrated it's waterproof case) so we were relying on two handheld units, which worked well throughout the passage. Our 0900 fix showed us to be 150 miles southeast of New York City, on a perfect line toward Bermuda. If anything, we wanted to be a bit more east, since you can't approach Bermuda from the North or West due to the barrier reefs. After a hot breakfast (oatmeal with raisins and coffee), we spent the day on sail and rigging repairs, as well as below decks cleanup. By afternoon, we were eager to raise some more sail and pick up some speed. Porpoises kept us company for awhile. By evening we had nearly all sails back up and were breezing right along.

After a hot supper (we even had a hot lunch this day) we all gathered in the cockpit under a starry canopy, and commented to each other on the incredible wild beauty of the North Atlantic at night, steep waves on either side, the boat moving ahead at 8+ knots with a great 30 knot breeze. Life just doesn't get any better than this, and we felt sorry for all those who wouldn't or couldn't experience this thrill and magic firsthand. We felt lucky, indeed.

1100 - 23 January 2001 - Crossing the Gulf Stream

We were all apprehensive about crossing the Gulf Stream. The warm current flowing north collides with heavy sea swells coming from the north east to create very confused and choppy seas. But after the storm of a two days ago, the Gulf Stream seemed tame by comparison. And what an amazing thing to have warm waves crash over the boat. We were sweating in our fowl weather gear. Nonetheless, it was a messy ride. By evening, winds were picking up again. We dropped some sails, now under foresail only, which is the condition we were in as we entered our second stint of high winds. This gale continued all night and diminished by the next day, followed by another 12 hours of heavy seas. This is actually more uncomfortable than simply being heeled over as the boat tends to rock back and forth as well as pitch up and down. getting around below decks is a big challenge. Using the head (bathroom) is an exciting experience. You need both legs and arms just to hold your position and not go slamming against the door and into the cabin beyond. A third arm would definitely be helpful here - a fourth, better yet.

We are now into a pattern of meals, watches, daytime repairs and cleanups (a constant activity), night time just watching the wheel and keeping an eye out for ships (of which we saw a grand total of three in nine days). The boat is exceptionally well balanced. Without benefit of a self-steering system, we simply adjusted the angle of the sails and tied off the wheel. We could go for hours with out even touching it. At other times, a slight adjustment (say, one spoke of the wheel ) was needed. Night watches were, for the most part, uneventful. We were sailing conservatively, not looking for speed, just constant progress. Just counting the days to Bermuda.

Another beautiful star-filled night - we decided it was time to let the folks back home know where we were. We broke out the satellite e-mail system and pecked in a simple short message:

To: (various e-mail addresses)
Subject: HALF WAY
Text: 5 DAYS 2 STORMS GOOD FOOD HEALTHY AND WARM LOVE TO ALL.

We waited for a satellite pass, the unit told us SATELLITE IN VIEW, a half hour later the message hadn't been sent. Plus no incoming e-mail and we knew there should be plenty. We tried several more times that evening and again the next day with no luck. Finally we gave up. Plus the winds were picking up again, we had work to do.

0900 - 25 January 2001 - Knockdown

The winds had been intensifying all night, moving back into storm range (above 45 knots, with gusts to 60). Seas were in the 20 to 30 foot range. It was about 0900. I was in my berth on the starboard side of the boat, which happened to be the lee side at the time (the side away from the wind) Ryan was asleep in his berth on the port side, slightly forward and across from mine. Steve was on watch, sitting on a seat on the lee side in the pilot house. Laurence and Dee Dee were sitting on a settee on the port side, also in the pilot house. Reid was further aft, in the process of suiting up prior to taking a tour of the deck. It was rough and heavy outside. The storm was in full swing.

All of a sudden, the entire boat turned completely over sideways and slammed into the water within seconds. The pilot house was underwater. Apparently a freak wave had developed and hit us on the port he galley was a mess, as were most of the spaces below decks. side. Ryan's lee cloth broke and he fell across the cabin, landing butt first in a closet which was, luckily, packed full of clothes. When I saw him, all I saw were arms and legs sticking out of the closet. He was stunned but unhurt. The force of the wave broke through the cargo hatch above and I got hit with a wave in my berth. I heard screams coming from the pilot house further aft. The screams (French screams - it was Laurence) frightened me more that anything on the entire trip. They sounded like grief and despair and I just imagined that the knockdown must have caused Reid to go overboard. Indeed, if the knockdown had come ten minutes later, it is likely that Reid would have been on deck and could easily have been blown overboard with little chance of rescue. As it turned out, Laurence and Dee Dee had flown across (actually straight down) the width of the pilot house. Dee Dee had landed on Steven and was unhurt. Laurence had hit her head and jaw on something hard, and was in pain. I was pretty happy to see Reid.

Laurence's injuries kept her in bed for the remainder of the voyage. (Later, in Bermuda, we were relieved to discover no concussion or broken bones, but it will take a while for her jaw to mend fully). The knockdown was a sobering event for all of us. There was no camera crew nearby to yell "Break! Grab some coffee. Hey guys, that was great! Can we get it again from another angle?". There was no 911. There was just us and the North Atlantic, and the North Atlantic was doing her thing. But, at the same time, the knockdown reinforced our confidence in the boat itself, which had righted itself and was sailing on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Which is how the boat had behaved since day one. This boat was happy. Thirty foot waves meant nothing to her. Fifty knot winds - great! Let them blow. We, on the other hand, were starting to get a bit tired of this. We needed a break. And Bermuda was still at least four days away. And what if it was still blowing like this when we got there? Bermuda is surrounded by reefs - how would we land?

Having no choice, and noting that the boat was still happily making her way toward Bermuda, we hunkered in. The next day, the storm reduced to a gale again, but this gale lasted two more full days with no signs of abating. We were now nearing Bermuda and we started taking fixes twice a day, trying to push the damn mark closer to Bermuda. We started having dreams about Bermuda. Each dream, the Laundromat was in a different place, the shower was up the hill, or down to the right, or behind that building. We made plans for a pint of Guinness at the local watering hole. One thing we never lost (in particular Steve, Ryan and I) was our sense of humor. Steve and Ryan, having survived Reid's crash course in sailing with flying colors, now had their sea legs. A gale seemed normal, no big thing. The evening's entertainment was to grab a couple of bottles of Chelsea Brewery's (donated) Winter Ale or Stout, two or three dry (rationed) cigarettes, and a bag of peanuts, go up into the cockpit, snap on safety harness (remembering the knockdown. Besides every 20 minutes or so a big one would wash across the deck) and just watch the storm for awhile, or talk about things. Steve and Ryan are planning to create a documentary about this cruise, and, with luck, start a video production company. Dee Dee want's to start holistic workshops for snowboarders and skiers. Me? I'm ready to retire and just sail.

2400 - 28 January 2001 - Bermuda

We first saw the glow of St. Georges from 50 miles out, barely visible, but right where it should be. It was still gale force, but we kept imagining that it was getting better. We were north east of Bermuda, and had been sailing in a southwesterly direction for the past 12 hours. This is a good approach as the big reefs are north, west and south of the island. Our destination was the second largest town in Bermuda, St. Georges. We would have to navigate a very narrow channel - The St. Georges Town Cut. Near dawn we could make out the 20 mile light near the harbor entrance. By daybreak we could see land. But it would take most of the day to get to port. During the day, the wind dropped to the 30s and 40s. Due to the wind direction, now more westerly, we needed to sail further south, then tack and crawl back northeast, angling in toward the cut. But we were close enough to contact the harbor master, who immediately called Jean back in New York with the news of arrival. At that moment (6:15 AM NY time) Jean, who had been monitoring the voyage from back in NYC, was getting ready to fly to Bermuda to meet us. She passed the word to several others that we were OK and arriving in Bermuda that day. Later that afternoon, as we were approaching the cut, we saw her plane fly overhead as it was landing.

What the hell! Jean gets up, eats breakfast, makes a few phone calls, takes a cab to the airport, enjoys a light snack in midair, and lands to meet us in Bermuda. This after we have been battling the elements for 9 days to end up at the same destination. Where's the justice?

1400 - 29 January 2001 - St. Georges

We land. We deal with Customs and Immigration and each pay our 15 bucks for the priviledge of visting Bermuda. Thanks to Jean, we have a hotel room for showers. It turns out that the Laundromat is up the hill to the right. We eat and drink in a local restaurant. Then we go back and hang around the boat for awhile, not wanting this moment to end. Soom I will have to get back to the city (more Hudson River Park meetings). The others will spend a week on cleanup and repairs, then head on south to St. Barts and then Trinidad. The local press catches us, and we get pictures and a story in the local gazette (somehow the knockdown has now become three knockdowns. C'mon, Reid. One was enough). And two days later, I'm back home in Hell's Kitchen on the West Side of Manhattan. The clerk at the 25-hour deli at 10th and 43rd has no clue: ("You been away for awhile." "Yeah. Bermuda" "Lucky you. Been cold back here").

The crew after arrival in Bermuda. Top, left to right: Steve Blank, Ryan Thompson and Reid Stowe. Middle, left to right, Laurence Guillian and Dee Dee Maucher. Bottom, John Doswell