We pulled out of Lossiemouth a tad before 9.00pm on Tuesday – as soon as we had sufficient water below our keel to exit the tight little harbor. The evening was stunning. Warm, blue skies with a few whisper clouds, the sun sitting low over the distant hills and we slipped eastwards towards the North Sea. We got the main sail up and presently the head sail, switched off the engine started delivering 8.0 knot plus speeds. The 10.00pm watch took over the cockpit and I went below to my bunk to try and get a little rest before my 2.00am watch. Given the ability of our crew – we had decided to deliver 2 X 4 hour watches with 2 folks per watch and with Barry helping out when we needed a sail change or whatever. After a relatively short sleep I was woken by flapping sheets banging on the deck above my head. The wind had backed and we were now running 30 degs off our course. Peter had been on the helm and he hadn’t responded and was clearly having trouble finding the wind – even though Simon (who was skippering the first part of this 180 mile passage) kept telling him to turn to port!
By the time Charlotte and I took control at 2.00am, we had sailed a significant distance off our track. After a little time to acclimate to what was going on – we tacked and started what I call the “punishment tack – the one that doesn’t get you any closer to your destination – it just positions you for the money tack. We then tacked to get on the money tack – the one that get’s you significantly towards your destination. But with further backing of the wind – there was precious little money going in the bank. More concerning was that the wind changes were associated with an approaching front and I could see lightening up ahead, behind and at the side of us. 

I asked Barry to come up and he and I put in a second reef in the main in anticipation of the front hitting us. We also reeled in the head sail. Charlotte kept asking me if I thought this storm would hit us – I had to be honest and tell her – yes it would – it was just a matter of time. Without over dramatizing – around 5.00 the storm hit us and we rolled away the head sail (it was and still is broken and we didn’t want to get caught not being able to shorten it – and we have to either roll it by hand or very cautiously using the furling line). We sheeted in the main, switched on the engine and just motored through it. We used the oven as a faraday cage and placed phones, iPads and our hand held radio inside in case we were stuck by lightening and needed to attract attention! 

We closed up the hatch with our washboards (the boards that prevent water from the cockpit going down into the Salon) and for the next 30 minutes I was on my own at the helm with the worst rain I have ever experienced – to the extent that it hurt my hands and my face. The lightening was all around and way too close for my comfort. The winds dropped (thank goodness) and the seas then went ominously flat – partially because of the force of the rain. When Simon relieved my shortly after 06.30 – I was ready for a hot drink and to dry out. The worst of the storm was behind us and we could see Peterhead off to our starboard. Off and on for the next 6 hours we got rain and thunder!

With the main up and little wind – we motor sailed on and went through a succession of squalls and showers until it started to dry up around mid day. We were making good time again, having been put about 5 hours behind getting to where Peterhead was a beam of us (because of wind changes and the storm). We try to deliver 6 knot hours and we were now delivering 7 knots and even 8 at time (being pushed by current from behind us). Our estimate of between 28 and 34 hours to do the passage was still looking good. I took over the skippering after Peterhead and appropriately started my hourly fixes on the chart – measuring our progress down the eastern seaboard of Scotland. Seeing a row of dots with circles around them, marked with time and distance is a wonderful thing. The storm had been uncomfortable, but not life threatening.

As Charlotte and I handed the watch over to Simon and Graham at midnight, we were dashing along at almost 8 knots with the power coming from the main and a little bit of engine to coax her along. We had avoided the head sail, but with the wind finally veering onto our starboard beam, we would be able to roll out some of the head sail and become a sail boat again. I recommended to Simon to work with Barry and to make sure he cleated off just enough of the furling line to make sure when he did pull out the sail – he only got the amount he needed. 

I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard the engine go off and the head sail furl out. Then there were horrendous bangs and crashes as the head sail sheets (the lines that attach to the foot of the sail and back to the cockpit to provide control and allow us to tack) were whipping against the deck and the side of the boat. Knowing Barry would be there – no need to worry – but there was a lot of noise. Next – the engine went back on. Very strange! Just before I was about to get up and see what the commotion was – Simon poked his head around my open cabin door and asked if I could join them on deck. The head sail had completely furled out – the wind had freshened to 20 plus knots and there was no way to furl it back in – as the furling line was now completely wound around the stay under the drum and not inside it. Barry was up at the bow trying to sort out the furling line, the sail was flapping out of control over the port side and we seemed to be hurtling along at break knock speeds (well 9 knots) pushed by the main sail and we were clearly out of control – in the dark in the middle of the Firth of Forth. My immediate action was to sheet in the head sail so at least it would stop uncontrollably flapping and it would give us more control over the boat. I then clipped on and worked my way to the front to see what Barry was trying to do. I had my wet weather coat on, but not the matching pants, just a pair of thin track pants on. I was soaked by the time I reached the bow. Barry was trying to unleash the furling line that was wrapped around the stay – so that we could at least then wind the drum and therefore the sail back in. However, the boat was ploughing into the waves and they were breaking directly across our bow and therefor us! I told Barry I was going to go back to the cockpit and heave the boat to – a move which stops the boat and let’s it sit safely so that you can work on things, catch your breath, have a cup of tea etc. I hadn’t done this with Tonic and so it would be trial and error. The maneuver involved turing the boat through the wind, backing the head sail (the wind gets on the wrong side for sailing) and then you turn the wheel to weather to balance the boat. When performed correctly, this is a great way to calm any terrible situation. The first attempt stopped the boat – but then she swiveled around and started to sail again. Second time she stopped and we just jogged along at about 1kt.

The problem with doing this, was that it relies on the head sail to do the heavy lifting and this was the sail that we really needed to get back in! I moved forward again and worked with Barry try and free up the furling line and get it back in its drum so we might be able to wind the sail in. After 30 minutes of trying – we had the furling line free, but the drum wouldn’t turn. We tried to manually wind the sail in but it had too much power and we kept losing it. It also kept whipping about and there was a real danger of it catching us and at best really slashing across our faces and at worst – knocking us over board. In the end we agree there was only one thing for it – drop the sail. In hind sight – we should have gone for this option immediately, but we were afraid with just the 2 of us we could end up losing an expensive sail. We needed to find the correct Halyard wound up on the sail. Because you generally don’t drop this sail (unless you need to Hank on a storm sail), neither of us knew which one it was. I plumbed for the biggest coil and God was certainly helping us – because it was. We dropped the sail, it went in the water on the starboard side, but we managed to pull if back on board and after a further half hour we had the things lashed to the guard rail. In the process we had dropped the main to reduce movement and that meant pulling down each fold and doing so while it was still partially powered up. My hands were a complete mess – chapped and soar from carpal tunnel syndrome!

We settled the boat and crew down, hoisted back the main and sailed off as if noting had happened.

Within 3 hours we were entering the natural anchorages at Holy Island at Dawn – a tricky set of maneuvers, but we made it in seamlessly and dropped the hook. I think the pure awe of the place overtook any thoughts about the issues we had just faced and we felt good about life. The serenely beautiful setting of Holy Island marked our return to England and also a significant number of miles closer to the end. It was hard to believe that we had come right around the North of Scotland and now we were on the way home.

Post Script. My partner in crime, Simon, felt badly about the head Sail incident – and I’m not too sure why. The sail just doesn’t work and he did what he should have done to prevent what happened from happening. Once it happened – he stayed in the cockpit to look after the others and coordinate at that end. He is very competent sailor and I would trust his judgement without question. 

Pip pip,

N