There Was a Storm; the Ropes Tore the Skin from Our Hands. Messina, Force 11

When we berthed alongside at the very end of the visitors’ pontoon in the marina of the Sicilian town of Messina that afternoon, we had no idea what kind of night lay ahead! Messina is a port on the strait of the same name, separating Sicily from mainland Italy. Newly arrived yachts are separated from the waters of the strait by nothing more than a narrow floating visitors’ pontoon. There are no moorings for visitors; boats berth alongside. After dinner, the wind rose sharply, and the sea beyond the pontoon suddenly turned into a boiling cauldron. An hour later, waves were already breaking over the pontoon, and we were glancing anxiously at the horizon. Darkness fell—and it began. At eleven in the evening, there was a strange bang. One of the springs had parted. Andrey replaced it with a thicker rope, checked the others and took shelter in the wheelhouse. At about one in the morning, squalls and a thunderstorm struck the strait. The waves are raging, and the wind is holding steady at 50 knots. Suddenly, a louder bang makes us jump, and after that the boat’s motion becomes chaotic. All hands on deck! The captain leapt out on deck and shouted: “All hands on deck!” Two mooring lines and one spring had parted at the same time. The yacht, 12 metres long and weighing 14 tonnes, was left hanging on a single rope in a severe storm. Pitch darkness, torrential rain and flashes of lightning (we had switched off the electricity so as not to turn ourselves into a lightning rod). The boat’s stern is being slammed against the pontoon from five metres away. A light is glowing in the office ashore, but the duty attendant cannot see us... Now this really was an “All hands on deck!” moment: for the first time in months at sea, I needed my radio operator skills, but in my panic I forgot to switch the set from “open sea” to “near shore,” and failed the test. My frantic calls of “Messina Marina, Marina Messina, Sailing Yacht Lady Mary need your help!” only frightened my daughter and disappeared into nowhere. I put on my foul-weather gear and crawled out on deck. Second hour of the storm I am at the helm, moving the engine control lever from astern to ahead at my husband’s signal. An arm raised upwards means astern; an arm held out to the side means ahead. An hour ago, after roaring instructions to me through the din of sea and sky, illuminated only by lightning, the captain crawled forward to the bow. Ever since, he has been throwing a loop from the bow towards the pontoon, but the lasso stubbornly refuses to catch on the cleat. The boat is swinging from side to side, veering as much as 80 degrees away from the pontoon, and also pitching up and down by about three metres... The captain is barely visible through the wall of rain. I am struggling not to burst into tears with fear, praying as I hold the helm and signal towards the marina office. I probably look like a windmill, but these methodical sweeps of my arms are meant to say, “Somebooody! Heeelp us!!!” Hanging by a thread... Two-year-old Lada is asleep in the aft cabin, thank God, unaware of anything. But Nastya’s terrified eyes appeared only once in the wheelhouse doorway. After that, she sat silently below, waiting for the storm—or the world—to end). Have you ever had that feeling—something terrible is happening to you, you know you’re done for, but you still cannot believe it has come for you? And yet the Grim Reaper is already looming right in front of your nose? Perhaps nothing terrible would have happened, and we could have motored out into open water if the last spring had parted. But something tells me my husband only said that to reassure me. Rescue At last, someone on the neighbouring catamaran noticed us. At about three, someone got up to see who had been running their engine at high revs for so long. Since few people are keen to put to sea in weather like that, the man decided to check. Never in my life had I been so happy to see people as I was at that moment: three sailors with their hoods pulled down over their faces appeared directly opposite me. They raised their clasped hands above their heads and shook them reassuringly: “We’re here!” And I shouted back in pure Russian: “Thank you, guys, thank you!” I nearly threw my arms around their necks, across the raging waves and three metres above the abyss. Secured! By then, Andryukha had finally managed to get the loop over the cleat... For another forty minutes, three men ashore and one aboard secured tremendously thick, stiff ropes, while I crawled around on all fours, pulling the fabric covering from the grooves around the stern: it was catching the wind badly. Our rescuers said they had recorded a wind speed of 74 knots. Then they added, “To hell with a visitors’ pontoon like this—we’re going to another marina.” And they left that same morning. We’re beginning to understand where our dreams have brought us! 🙂 The moon is already shining, and there are hardly any waves, but I am still keeping watch, just in case. 5 a.m., 26 March.