It could have been my Last Mistake- Survival Story

by Robert Barnett on 3 Dec 2007
It’s not the first mistake I’ve ever made and it probably won’t be the last but I think it nearly was.

Dene, my eldest son, in his early forties, had bought a Tasman 20 trailer yacht with the intention of giving his three boys the opportunity of learning to sail and at the same time the chance to spend time with himself and me, their grandfather. I have a particular liking for this Alan Wright model, having owned three trailer sailers in my lifetime, two of which were Tasman 20’s and over 50 years of sailing on board a variety of keelers and motor sailers formed the strong opinion that, for the cruising enthusiast on a modest budget, this little yacht is an ideal compromise. The yacht that Dene bought was found at The Mount, Tauranga in late 1988 and without sailing it we towed it, together with its 9hpYamaha outboard, back to my home in Auckland with the intention of readying it for a cruise with the boys over the Christmas holidays. The yacht’s name was Palantir 2

It was patently obvious from our initial inspection, that there was much work to be done and the agreed price was paid accordingly. Dene and his family live in Rotorua, so, as I was retired, the renovation became my fulltime job, with Dene paying for all materials and coming up to Auckland to help me most weekends. It never ceases to surprise me that someone with any appreciation of the forces that can be generated upon the standing rigging of even a 6 metre trailer yacht will attach shrouds, stays, stanchions and grab rails through the deck with 6mm stainless bolts nuts and 8mm O. D. washers.

All these fittings were replaced and backed with varnished 6mm plywood plates and 30mm O.D. stainless gutter washers as were the pushpit and pullpit. 12mm ply plates beefed up the stern, to support the rudder and outboard bracket. These were also fitted under the sheet winches. A half round bronze strip was fitted under the bridge deck to strengthen the mainsheet track and bolts securing both genoa sheet tracks were fitted with larger washers. We built a new kauri rudder stock and blade and bought a beautifully made laminated tiller. Sails were checked and repaired. The 'to do' list seemed endless but by Christmas 98 the boat was seaworthy and anything not done was mostly cosmetic.

In the afternoon of Boxing Day we set off from Half Moon Bay ramp and with two adults, three kids and way too much gear, sailed towards Islington Bay and two week’s holiday cruising. But that’s a story for another day.

In July 99 I had a triple bypass operation and in mid August, Dene suggested that a couple of days away on the yacht was the way to chase away my boredom blues. I didn’t need a lot of coaxing and with Dene convincing his mother that he would be doing all of the work we made plans for a Friday A.M. start to sail around Waiheke and be home by Sunday afternoon.

Because the yacht, by this time was on a swing mooring at Little Buckland’s Beach, it was necessary to row all of our equipment and supplies out in the dinghy. The choice made to use a mooring was a much better option to raising and lowering the mast every time we went sailing and it was close enough to Half Moon Bay ramp to haul out for below waterline maintenance.

The Friday that Dene and I set sail saw 20 knot plus westerly winds with a long fetch from Point England and fairly choppy conditions at the mooring so we elected to take a little 3 hp seagull instead of the Yamaha ( which is normally a two man exercise to transfer aboard.) The forecast was for 20 to 25 knot west to s/west winds and occasional rain through Friday with improving weather over of the remainder of the weekend. With this in mind, we left the river about 10-30am with 1 reef in the main and our working jib up and had a fast sail around the north of Browns Island before bearing away towards Motihi Channel and the west end of Waiheke.

The conditions were overcast and showery but with wet weather gear and our backs to the wind it was good, fast downhill sailing and by 12-45 we were running past Owhanaki Bay on a lessening breeze. By the time we had Oneroa abeam, the wind had dropped to about 12 knots, so we shook out the reef, put up the No 1 genoa and were sailing with the centre plate 1/3rd down. The weather, by now was pretty unpleasant with a persistent drizzle but we were bowling along, goosewinged and the boat was footing well. Approaching Thompson’s Point the rain stopped and Dene went below to make lunch while I took the helm.

The wind had backed to s/west so we sheeted the genoa back to the port side. In hindsight, I should have taken the opportunity to change down at that time but the yacht was tracking freely enough and the helm felt good. All the signs were there though as the wind had freshened a little and the temperature had dropped to an uncomfortable chill which was starting to have an adverse affect on me with my hands and feet really cold. I went below, put on an extra jersey, a towel around my neck and found my sailing gloves.

Dene called down from the cockpit 'Come and take a look at this'

As I came up through the hatch I looked aft and everything behind was hidden in dark grey rain. The temperature had noticeably dropped another couple of degrees and the s/west wind was building bringing with it huge black clouds bearing down fast to tower astern. I turned to put in the wash boards, prior to closing the main hatch but in my haste I jammed the top board tight in the slot and all of my diminished strength could not dislodge it.

The wind was increasing rapidly so it was too late to take in sail but I was not unduly concerned as we were running before it and I felt that we were in good control. The yacht was coursing on an even keel but Dene shouted that he needed to let the main sheet further out and for me to get a move on as the helm was getting heavy and I was covering the jam cleat. I replied that I had to get the hatch closed first which I managed to do after winning my fight with the wash boards.

My big mistake.

No sooner than had I secured the hatch, the storm struck like a runaway truck and the freezing cold rain came down in torrents with the wind driving the spume in blinding sheets. It must have been in the region of 45 knots. The main sheet was set in the middle of the track with the sail trimmed just off the spreader. As I was reaching for the jam cleat a massive gust slammed us over on our port side and at the same time rounded up the bow to starboard presenting the length of the hull to the swell and the driving rain and there she lay with her sails and mast almost flat in the water.

How Dene and I managed to hold on is an unclear blur but as we found ourselves standing upright on the port wall of the cockpit with the water up to our knees, I knew that we would be lucky to survive if we went into the sea. The Seagull outboard, clamped to its bracket, was completely submerged.

I watched in horror as the Windex dipped under as each as each swell passed beneath us and as I looked at the precarious angle of the deck and the water over the coach roof I wondered if it would be long before we capsized totally. I considered trying to climb across the cabin top to transfer some weight but as things transpired I’m glad I didn’t as it was difficult enough to just hang on. The hull was still, pretty much a water tight cocoon –the sea having not reached the side of the companion way or the hatches-but it must have been close to the point of balance where it would finally roll.

Dene, anticipating the worst, was full stretch attempting to uncleat the dinghy painter from the starboard quarter when, as we came off the back of a swell I watched, transfixed, as the peak so slowly at first rose out of the water and then emphatically and with a violent rush lifted towards vertical. Immediately, with all sail set and cleated as before, we took off on