PAN PAN Mary Constance

by Nancy Knudsen on 12 Dec 2006 Why do the worst things always happen at night? Something wakes me – it’s dark – I am immediately alert but don’t know why. There’s something different. Then I realise that the boat has turned – the motion is different. The HF radio is also crackling – that’s odd. I leap out of bed and stagger to the companionway.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve turned the boat south Nance,’ comes the weary voice.

‘What? Why?’

‘’It’s Mary Constance – I just got an email – lucky I opened them – I normally don’t at three am - their shroud has parted, and they have called a Pan Pan – they are in danger of losing their mast. We’re about 70 miles away, if the wind keeps up we could be there by three o’clock tomorrow’

‘We could motor.’

‘No, if we can’t fix the problem they may have to motor, although in this jerky sea even that’s precarious. They have three days fuel, and land is seven days away – they may need our fuel. I have some rigging wire, but I don’t know how they could attach it and I don’t know if it’s the right size even for them. Sorry about the crackling. I’ve emailed them to open their SSB onto 4149 the ARC frequency. Go back to sleep.’

‘Ohhhhh’

It’s the sailor’s worst nightmare. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing for me to do, and I go back to bed. The world has changed. Until now, all our goals had been about how to get to St Lucia comfortably and quickly. That’s over now; we have more important issues at hand.

It turns out to be a fight against time. We reach them by 5.00pm the next day, and the sun is nearing the horizon. We have been communicating by VHF radio as soon as we were close enough, and another yacht in the vicinity has picked up the transmission.

Messenger is an English yacht, also on their way to the Caribbean. They volunteer also to change course to stand by in case we need assistance of some sort. (Fuel, I think, yes, maybe fuel)

Ted has turned the boat into shambles looking for snap locks and cap shrouds, stuff hidden away among all the stuff you hope you’ll never need. You can’t walk through the saloon, stuff is piled high – sails, bags, provisions, blankets, tools, spares. The rigging wire takes up half the saloon.

His forehead is shining, wet. He’s parcelling the stuff up in several bags, and then tying it in a life jacket. The wire he will have to send separately.

The wind has dropped, but the sea is still uncomfortably high. However, we have no guarantee that it won’t be worse tomorrow – it’s the best it’s been for a few days, so we want to do the transfer this afternoon. There’s a lot of tension on our boat – heaven knows, I think, what it is like on Mary Constance.

The plan is for me to make a pass with Blackwattle, close enough for Mary C to throw a line reliably to our boat. ‘No no’ I think. ‘In this sea, the masts are all over the place – how will I ever be able to get close enough to throw a line?’ But O say nothing. There’s no answer anyone can give.

There’ll be two passes, one with the rigging line, then the parcel of spares. Ted will tie each to the caught line – we will both have stopped our engines to avoid getting them around the prop at this point – and throw them overboard.

We both put fenders on the agreed passing sides. ‘No no,’ I think. ‘Our masts will clash first and both come down – we won’t need fenders, it’s ridiculous’ But I say nothing. We must do it.

We go for it. I come alongside, and Ted is shouting. ‘Closer closer. Nancy CLOSER YOU ARE TOO FAR AWAY.’ I edge closer and closer.

I am sweating. My hands on the wheel are slippery. I don’t think I am breathing. Ted’s voice goes on from the deck, ‘COME ON! CLOSER! CLOSER! YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT AT THIS RATE!’

Mary Constance is having trouble keeping the boat at a constant angle. It’s not surprising in this sea. She points, first her stern, then her beam at us as I angle closer. ‘COME OOOOON!’

‘The masts!’ I yell, ‘The masts!’, but I am not sure than any words come out.

Finally, Mike on Mary Constance throws a mouse – a light line, tied to a heavier one. ‘KILL!’ I hear. We both cut our motors. Ted grabs the line and runs to the stern, where he will pull the heavy line in and tie it to the big coil of wire and throw it overboard.

‘STOP THE BOAT! I’M LOSING IT’

‘I’M IN NEUTRAL!’ I shout back. I can’t look to see what’s happening. My eyes are on Mary Constance’s bow, which has turned dangerously towards us. Finally, after an age, an agony of waiting, ‘OK GO!’ I put her into gear and roar away from the other boat.

Now I look back, and I can see Ted doing a victory war dance on the aft deck.

‘NANCE, YOU’VE JUST GOT TO GET CLOSER!’ he says, coming in to get the second package - adrenaline flowing, steamed up,

‘I know I know.’

The next two runs are unsuccessful – we cannot line the boats up and it’s too dangerous to approach, so we abort each time.

The fourth run is successful, and this time it is Mike on Mary Constance who is waving the yellow life jacket full of spare parts above his head on their aft deck.

‘I’m having a beer’ says Ted. (It’s his first one for two weeks)

So far, so good. Nothing can be done tonight, so we put the boats on a port tack, (which Mary Constance can manage as there’s no pressure on the starboard rigging) with a small scrap of headsail, and we drift overnight, keeping in touch every now and then by VHF radio.

It’s the tension that is killing, not knowing whether the fix will actually work or not.

However, in the morning we rendezvous again, and with some talking back and forth, Mike climbs the mast, inserts the new rig, then at the deck attaches the fitting. By lunch time, the deed is done. Mary Constance has a new starboard shroud.

All the way through the events of the previous 36 hours, both Mike and Jos have been solid, sane, very together, and even cheerful. Now the emotion shows in both their voices as they communicate the news of the success of the operation to both Messenger, who is still standing by, and us.

Mike’s voice is breaking with relief, and the joy is palpable in Jos’s words. They’re a gutsy pair. In addition, the children, Pippa and Justine, who manned the radio constantly while parents were busy, seemed unaware of any drama – what a star act from the parents!

So we’re all on our way again. Only eight days to St Lucia. Let’s go!

Nancy Knudsen, Sail-World's Cruising Editor and her husband Ted Nobbs are sailing their Petersen 46 in the 2006 ARC. Nancy is providing voice reports, images & text, using the Mailasail compression system with a satellite phone.