Tomorrow There Was a Wave... A Storm and a Celebration

Tomorrow there was a wave... A storm and a celebration. Tropical Cyclone Owen, bearing its proud name, began spinning up somewhere near New Caledonia, in the western Pacific. Although Lady Mary was already running south through the subtropics, the cyclone clearly intended to catch up with her. With some trepidation, we waited to see whether it would develop into a hurricane or gradually fizzle out. A couple of days later, the captain announced that there would be no hurricane; we would get barely more than 45 knots of wind. Our passage plan was to sail down to the 37th parallel, to the point marked as Maria Theresa Island in Jules Verne, and then east along the 37th parallel. Before reaching the latitude we were aiming for, the leading edge of the cyclone’s circulation would hit us, and we would heave to through it. Then things would quieten down, the eye of the cyclone would pass over us, and once we reached our waypoint, its tail would kick us in the stern with a wind already weaker than 45 miles per hour. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., .., ,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,, .. Everything began at dawn. While I was wriggling out from under my sleeping bag, the yacht started bucking in time with the sudden wind. How hard is it blowing? I ask the captain. 30–35 knots. This is only the beginning. We furl the jib and set the mizzen. Wrestling into foul-weather gear is interspersed with acrobatic routines in the wheelhouse. The waves that had already been flying over the roof are now doing so with twice the force. It’s a good thing we no longer have to deal with the mainsail—it has been modestly lashed down since yesterday. The jib is in; we set the mizzen. The captain turns the boat’s bow 50–60 degrees to the waves. Helm to windward, mizzen sheeted hard on the centreline. In this position the bow tries to fall off, while the mizzen and the helm turned to windward prevent it. By adjusting the helm a few degrees left or right, we achieve no headway or sternway at all. And the yacht slowly drifts downwind at about 1 knot. With her hull and keel, the boat smooths the sea surface on the windward side, creating a “patch of turbulence.” Miraculously, the waves break against it just a few metres from the windward side. Force 8, and the barometer has fallen 20 divisions in twenty-four hours. Usually it’s no more than five. But we’re not worried, knowing that the worst of it is passing just north of us. We juggle cups of tea and bowls of food and keep trips to the galley to a minimum. The remnants of a Force 10 storm have whipped up the swell. Gloomy six-metre walls of water roll beneath us, foam flies over the high stern, and we watch, mesmerised, through the misted-up wheelhouse windows. All the vents are plugged and the hatches dogged down. It is raw and clammy from the moisture hanging in the air. Yet we chat, watch films and sip hot tea from a thermos. We simply know how to heave the boat to properly. If we were battling into the wind or hurtling along, driven by the storm, we would have had to work up quite a sweat. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., .., ,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,, .. And what will it be like on my birthday? Nastya wonders. The captain promises a relative lull tomorrow, followed by a slight increase in wind on her big day. Our young sailor has time to brace herself for a less-than-easy-going ocean celebration. During the night, the wind eases enough for us to set a scrap of headsail. Having moved about 15 miles along our course over the stormy day, we are making way again. The next day was gloomy, but the wind did not rise above 30 knots (about 55 km/h). We monitor the surrounding area, prepare surprises for our young sailor, while Nastya bakes her own cake. The congratulatory comments and letters we received that morning were the best present of all! Friends, everyone who wrote—huge thanks from one delighted young sailor! Your encouraging words made her birthday. Ah, if only you knew how exciting it is each time we establish contact with outer space, pick up the satellite with the antenna, hear the modem squeal, and then, in answer to the question, Well, did anything come through? get a satisfied Yeeeah. .. .. .. Besides your congratulations, the unusual location in the remotest part of the largest and deepest ocean, favourite films and Olivier salad, something else happened too. And Nastya will definitely remember this celebration for the rest of her life. The WAVE came.. .. Thank God, there was only one. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., .., ,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,,.. ..,, .. ,, ,, .., ..,, .. Rumour has it that waves taller than usual wander the ocean. Their crests crash down on anything in their path. They say every thousandth wave may be abnormal. Most people don’t believe in freak waves. BUT they exist. And we got caught by one. .. .. .. Lady Mary is very stable even in heavy rolling; 999 times 999 six-metre waves had become familiar and almost bearable to live with. Every fifth wave flew over the roof. But the crest of the freak wave laid our yacht over so far that the wheelhouse’s leeward side windows were submerged. The spreaders came within a couple of metres of touching the water. .. .. .. Yooo!!! I shrieked, and my cry drowned in the hiss of foam. Water poured across the deck and wheelhouse, finding every possible crack through which it could flood inside. Salty rain poured from the dogged-down overhead hatch onto the sofas, bowls of food and the birthday girl’s unfortunate face. Grapefruits, bowls of vegetables and tightly wedged thermos flasks tumbled out of boxes firmly lashed to the floor, bulkheads and table legs. Everything came crashing down from the starboard shelves, where, properly stowed and secured, nothing had ever flown off once in five years. And all of it floated in salty puddles in the saloon-galley and wheelhouse. Fastidious Nastya absolutely hates being drenched in seawater. Everything soaked with salt has to be rinsed with fresh water as thoroughly as possible, because salt absorbs moisture, and anything doused in seawater will remain wet forever. Especially now, when it’s +16 outside and airing the yacht is difficult. The birthday girl had to pull herself together, and within an hour we had almost cleared up the aftermath of the flood, hanging the fresh-water-rinsed blankets, T-shirts and trousers all around the boat.. .. . Three favourite films, a refreshing shower and a clean, pretty T-shirt, combined with a discussion of what was good about having a wave crash down on us, slowly and with some difficulty restored a serene smile to our young sailor’s face. The upside of being hit by a breaking wave was that it exposed our weak points. As soon as the weather permits, we’ll seal absolutely every hatch from the outside with sealant, screw additional netting onto the shelves, and modify the vent plugs. And now we’re just a little better prepared for the crap waiting for us in the Roaring Forties and Furious Fifties. Even the captain started wearing his safety tether at all times after the wave, something he had never done before.. .. .. .. Current coordinates: 37 degrees 23 minutes south latitude, 146 degrees 19 minutes west longitude. Temperature outside: +11 at night, +16 during the day. Summer at the latitude of the Mediterranean, hmm. Optimism to everyone!