Bellingham, Washington, USA. 7 August 2002
Dear Everybody
Here we are, safe and well in Washington State - though our arrival on the North American mainland was not quite as we had planned. Of which, more anon!
We left Hawaii for Vancouver on Monday 8 July and spent the next five days in mainly overcast conditions, beating into winds that ranged between 15 and 28 knots. Not the most comfortable point of sail, but we made good progress, albeit at that stage heading in the ‘wrong’ direction (north-west instead of north-east). One of the features of the sailing route from Hawaii to Vancouver is the presence of the Pacific High, which normally sits about midway between Hawaii and Canada. As you will undoubtedly (!?) recall from your meteorology lessons, a high pressure system produces winds which, in the Northern Hemisphere, revolve in a clockwise direction around its centre. Although it can add several hundred miles to the trip, the normal sailing route takes one round the edge of the High. When we set off, the High was positioned further west than usual - hence our heading, to pick up its southern edge a few hundred miles north-west of Hawaii. The closer we got to the High, the more favourable, though lighter, the winds became. We were then faced with the decision whether to continue round its western edge or to motor through the almost calm centre until we started picking up the westerly winds around its northern edge. The latter alternative had much appeal, as it would reduce the total journey time by two or three days and would give us some respite from the discomfort of the previous few days. So we switched on the engine and spent a couple of mainly sunny days heading due north in an almost flat sea. As the wind started to pick up, now from the south-west, we were able to give the engine a rest and to start sailing again, this time in a straight line towards Vancouver. Still nearly 2000 miles to go, but we were pleased that at last we had turned the corner and were heading towards, instead of away from, our destination. The weather had now become significantly cooler, as had the sea temperature, and the sunshine of the previous two days gave way to grey, overcast skies with occasional fog. However, the wind was steadily increasing and we were making excellent progress when suddenly the mainsail halyard (the rope which holds up the mainsail) broke, leaving us sailing with only the genoa and staysail (the two sails at the front of the boat). We were pleased to find that we lost very little speed without the mainsail, and decided to wait until we had quieter, less windy conditions before fixing the problem (which necessitated a trip to the top of the mast).
After a couple more days, early on 19 July, the wind was down to about 10 knots, and although there was still a rather uncomfortable swell, conditions seemed right to reattach the main halyard. Island Way has mast steps which allow me climb the mast, and I always attach a safety line which is controlled by Barbara at the base of the mast. So, with the bosun’s chair securely attached to me and clipped on to the spinnaker halyard (the other rope which goes up to the top of the mast), I climbed up to the top of the mast and tried to feed a weighted ‘messenger’ line through the sheave (pulley) at the top, which we could then attach to the main halyard to draw it up through the mast. After several failed attempts, I decided to come back down to change the weight on the end of the messenger line so that it would feed through the sheave more easily. On the way down, I lost my footing on one of the steps and found myself in midair, swinging out on the end of the spinnaker halyard - happily still held fast on a winch by Barbara at the bottom of the mast. The boat was rolling quite a bit, and after some interesting aerial acrobatics I managed to grab hold of one of the shrouds (the wire bits holding the mast up), and get back to the mast to continue my descent. However, during my unpremeditated circus act, my back had come into rather sharp contact with one of the shrouds, and by the time I got back to the cockpit it was quite sore - as it turned out, just badly bruised, though at the time I was worried that I might have cracked a rib. We were both feeling a bit shocked and a cup of tea was definitely called for! So, while I got comfortable in the cockpit, Barbara went below to make the tea. While all this had been going on the wind had continued to die, and the boat had almost stopped moving. To give us a bit more speed (which would also ease the rolling motion) I switched on the engine just as Barbara rejoined me in the cockpit. Suddenly the visibility, which until then had been quite good, reduced to almost zero as a bank of fog swept in. At the same moment, dead ahead of us and about two boat-lengths away, we saw the side of large white fishing boat looming out of the fog. It was so close that we had no time to take avoiding action, and we collided. The fishing boat had a series of steel cages deployed along its side, facing outwards at an angle of 45 degrees. They were just below Island Way’s mast height, and we listened with dumbstruck horror as our beautiful boat was stripped of her starboard side rigging and dismasted. The fishing boat, whose name we just had time to write down, continued on its northerly course and was rapidly swallowed up in the fog. We were left, apparently alone, with our stricken and seriously damaged boat. After making a MAYDAY call and getting our liferaft ready to launch, we then went forward to assess the damage. The broken section of mast and the two forward sails were hanging in the water, the deck was cracked on both sides just behind the bow area, and there was a long crack in the bow itself, about two feet above the waterline. Mercifully, we were not sinking - in fact no water was coming into the boat at all - so we then started to tackle the job of cutting away all the rigging that was still attached. While we were doing this the other boat - the Horai Maru 31, a 200-foot Japanese squid fishing boat - returned, and I don’t think we have ever been so relieved to see another boat!
The crew of the fishing boat signalled that they wanted to throw us lines, but as it seemed possible that Island Way would not survive the1500 mile trip to the mainland, we were anxious to rescue as much as we could - especially irreplaceable and valuable items. The crew waited while we packed half a dozen bags, and then they came alongside and we climbed aboard. They sent a team of engineers onto Island Way to cut away the remaining rigging, which took them no more than a few minutes using an electric disc cutter, and they then attached a massive tow-rope around the base of what was left of the mast. Our hopes were now rising that Island Way would make it to Seattle or Vancouver, and this was reinforced when, after the tow had begun, the engineers from the Horai Maru went back onto her to patch and fill the crack in her bow. However, during the evening the wind began to rise again and with it, the waves, and although the tow was still successful, there was clearly a lot of stress on Island Way’s weakened hull. About twelve hours later, in the early hours of the morning, we heard shouting and running on deck, and realised that the Horai Maru’s engines were running at idle speed. Fearing the worst, we went back to find the crew winching in the tow rope, with only the section of Island Way’s deck from the mast stump to the bow still attached to it. The stresses had evidently proved too much for her, and this deck section had torn away from the hull. You can imagine our distress, particularly when a careful search of the area revealed various things floating in the water which could only have got there if our boat had sunk. Now that we knew the worst had indeed happened, we agreed that the Horai Maru’s Captain should resume course for Seattle, still six days away, and we started the sombre task of putting together the long list of things which had gone down with our beloved Island Way.
During the journey to Seattle, we were impressed with the great generosity and kindness of the Japanese crew. Initially, communication was a problem, but it gradually emerged that two of them were able to speak some English, and conversation became possible, if not fluent. We were lent slippers to wear whenever we were outside the accommodation area (as in Japanese houses, shoes come off at the doorstep). We were given the First Engineer’s cabin, small but more than adequate for the two of us. And individual members of the crew kept popping in with presents of food and soft drinks - although the ship’s fare was plentiful and delicious, with lots of interesting Japanese dishes and wonderful seafood. The boat, which was kept spotlessly clean, also had a small bath-house, though the water in the tub was kept at such a scalding temperature that we were only able to use it a couple of times, while it was heating after a refill. Barbara, needless to say, made the most of this unexpected luxury!
After five days we reached the western end of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, which separates the US mainland from Vancouver Island. This narrow and busy stretch of water has a traffic separation zone to keep inbound shipping apart from the outbound. This necessitates a fair amount of radio conversation (not in Japanese!) with the US and Canadian Coastguard and Traffic authorities - so we were called to the bridge to help with the final stretch of the journey as far as Port Angeles, where a pilot came on board to take the Horai Maru to its dock in Seattle. Once safely arrived in Seattle on 25 July, we then had a series of phone calls to make - to family and friends whom we had already faxed via the Horai Maru’s satellite phone link, to reassure them that we were fine, and to our insurance company to get the ball rolling with them. The Horai Maru generously offered to let us stay on board while they were still in Seattle, which meant that we had accommodation conveniently in the heart of town for four days while we sorted out our next move. The most pressing needs were to find transport and accommodation, leading us to the very logical conclusion that we needed a motor home, which would solve both requirements. So, equipped with hire car and advice on where to concentrate our search, we set off to explore the world of second-hand RV (Recreational Vehicle!!) sales. By a small miracle, exactly what we were looking for happened to turn up as a trade-in with one of the dealers and two days later we were on the road with our $3,500, 25 year-old, 23-foot long Dodge Brittany. Since having the alternator replaced, so that we no longer have to start the day with a flat battery, we have been amazed to find that nearly everything works - the fridge, the stove, the lights, the water system and so on. We still have some discoveries to make, like whether the heating unit works, which we haven’t needed yet, but certainly will as winter approaches. Meanwhile we have a very comfortable and fairly inexpensive means of seeing the area, and of getting ourselves to British Columbia where we meet up with sister Suzie and her family at the end of this week. They, originally expecting a water-borne holiday on Island Way, will now be hiring an RV themselves and we are all planning to spend about ten days exploring Vancouver Island by land instead of by sea.
Since arriving in Seattle, we have met with nothing but kindness and hospitality. After leaving the Horai Maru we spent five wonderful days with a family whom we had met quite by chance in Hawaii, which gave us time to sort ourselves out before setting off towards Canada. We then spent two relaxing days with friends of cruising friends, at Lynnwood just north of Seattle. We are now staying near Bellingham, close to the Canadian border, with friends of our tenants in Port Solent.
We expect to start more or less full-time living in the motorhome from tomorrow, though, comfortable as it is, we do not expect this to become a permanent way of life. We are, of course, desperately sad to have lost Island Way. She was a unique home and we loved her dearly. We are, however, enormously thankful to be alive and in one piece and we are determined that this will not be the end of our cruising life. Once the insurance settlement comes through, we shall begin the search for another boat. We’ll start looking in the Vancouver/Seattle area, but we will be happy to start again from wherever the right boat happens to be. In the meantime, there’s a lot of British Columbia and Washington to be explored, and we look forward to seeing this part of the world from a different perspective.
We plan to continue our newsletters, initially from terra firma, and then from the new boat. However, the end of our time on Island Way seems like a good moment to revise our mailing list. Rather than asking you to tell us that you don’t want to be included in future instalments, we’ll simply say that if we don’t hear from you before we write the next one, we will assume that you no longer want to be on the list. Our address is still gayfordb@aol.com, but our on-board e-mail address (MZHU5@sailmail.com) is no longer valid. We are afraid that it may be a little while before we get the Hawaii (and subsequent) pictures onto our website, but when we finally get round to it, we’ll be sure to let you know.
With love to you all
John and Barbara