Aboard No Boundaries
July 11, 2009
When our engine failed about a mile out to sea after leaving Cape May, Larry felt justified in his concern that the diesel mechanic had not explained either the problem or the solution to our diesel engine failure. However, during their conversations, Larry had come to the conclusion that one possible explanation did exist, and he decided to pursue it. He began to work on the engine, and once again, I tacked up and down, more or less holding our position. About three hours later, Larry came back up into the cockpit and started the engine. It started. It ran. It did not stop. We left the sails up and we headed north. It was an act of faith to believe that the problem was actually solved, but we had to try. We couldn’t stay in sight of New Jersey forever.
After an hour or so, Larry felt confident that the engine was good to go. We turned it off and sailed. The evening came, and we were still sailing. Following winds do not give a lot of speed, and they wallow the boat a lot. If we were ever going to be seasick, this was the time, and to our great relief, we passed the test. We haven’t missed a meal yet.
When it came time to change course, we needed the jibs, which were on the port side, to cross over to the starboard side of the boat. All went well until the sails should have filled. Then we discovered that the staysail sheet (the rope that controls the staysail) was caught on something. Nothing we could do from the cockpit was successful in freeing that sheet, so someone needed to go forward.
At this point, we were probably forty miles from the nearest land. It was about 10PM, and there were two of us on the boat. It is no time for risky behavior. We both wear our lifejackets any time we exit the cockpit under way, or any time the water is rough or any time we are alone in the cockpit, and always after dark. So both of us had our lifejackets on. Larry attached his tether and tethered himself to the boat in order to go forward to see what was causing the staysail not to deploy on the starboard side.
Since it was dark, we turned on the spreader lights. Then he could see where the snarl had occurred, clear it, and return safely to the cockpit.
We try to practice safe behavior at all times. We never go on deck when the water is rough, as, for example when our following seas developed into waves consistently 8-10 feet high. We do not try to see what sort of stunt we can perform when blue water rushes over the bow. However, the next day, we were compelled to try some things that were pretty risky, because if we didn’t get this job done, we would have had nothing but tatters where our genoa (the large jib) used to be.
The morning of July 8 was beautiful. Our course was northeasterly, and we had a beautiful wind on the port beam, 15-20 knots, gusting to 25. The main and the staysail had carried us through the night. We wanted to take advantage of this good wind by deploying the genoa. That process takes only a few minutes, and soon it was fully spread out. Larry attached the sheet (the rope that controls the sail) to the big winch and began to crank the sail in to make it perform better. Suddenly there was a boom, and the big sail flapped free. The clew, the attachment point for the control lines, had burst. The clew is the most stressed point of the sail, and it is normal for it to experience extreme wear. We had not realized, however, the degree of wear, until it parted under stress, under way.
The engine was running as we had begun the sail deployment, and it continued to run as we considered what to do. If we had stopped the engine, we would have been adrift, out of control, and there was no telling where the boat would go. We needed to keep the engine running and the autopilot steering on a course with no charted obstructions while we pulled in the genoa and secured it. It wouldn’t be easy. This is the part that led us to what would otherwise be crazy and risky behavior.
Larry went forward first, tethered to the boat. He turned the furling reel by hand to reel in the genoa. It resisted with all its might, which is considerable, but eventually the sail was furled around the stay. However, it wasn’t going to stay there just to be nice. When Larry let go of the reel just for a minute, the sail was half unfurled before he even realized it. He grabbed it again and reeled it back.
At this point, it was my turn to tether up and go forward. The bow of the boat is encircled with strong rails firmly anchored to protect anyone who goes there. The railing structure is called the bow pulpit. As we worked there that day, I thought that maybe it is called a pulpit because of all the praying that goes on there.
Each of us tethered ourselves to that pulpit. I knelt, the right attitude for prayer, and held on to the furling reel with all my might. Larry had the hard job. He needed to secure the genoa in a way that would prevent it from unfurling and therefore from shredding itself in the wind. He used a boat hook very much as if it were a crochet hook. He tied a strong cord to the hook and held it against the furled genoa as high as he could reach. Then, very carefully, he tied a series of knots around both genoa and boathook, sliding them carefully up as high as possible, working his way down the boathook until he got to the bottom. He tied the last knot and it was done. The genoa was furled and locked down. It wasn’t going anywhere.
The work was not as simple as it sounds when I describe it. While Larry was doing this work, the boat continued to move forward under engine power, steered by the autopilot, climbing up waves and sliding down waves. Waves came at the boat under the power of wind, currents and we don’t know what. They seemed to come from everywhere. Sometimes they crashed against the bow with great spray. Sometimes we dived into huge troughs between waves and then climbed high up the sides of the trough. The sun was shining. The sky and the sea were blue. Waves rose and fell. Whitecaps sparkled. It was a wild ride, but it was beautiful.
If anyone had told me to go that bow pulpit and stand there for an hour just to see what it was like, I would have told said that the whole idea was madness. I would never have gone there for entertainment. However, in this situation, I went there, because we could not afford to have our genoa shredded. We need this sail in order to sail with any power or speed. We plan to replace it, but even if a replacement were on order, it would not have made sense to let that sail self-destruct. We had to save it. So we did.
This is part of the learning that goes with our new life. We cruise, because we can’t not do it. It takes all we have to give, and it gives back 110%. You can’t outgive God. One of the pastors I knew in my childhood said that over and over, and he is right. We have responded to his leading into this life, and I have wondered often what it is we are supposed to learn or to do here. I am learning that part of the learning is about faith and commitment. We have faith in God and faith in each other. We are committed to the life we are called to, and determined to make the most of God’s provision for this life. He gave us this sail, and it is our job to make it work until God gives us another. This life is very much about showing our gratitude for what God provides and refusing to let any of it get away without serving its intended purpose. It would be unthinkable to fail to respect what God has given us in his gracious provision for this dream.
It was truly awe-inspiring to be on the bow of our boat in all that wind and wave and to be able to do what needed to be done. It makes me believe ever more firmly that God can and God will provide what we need when we need it from now until forever. Amen.