Christa Bashes To Windward

I had another one of those fantastic days here in the tropics. My day started as it has over
the past two months since I arrived in the Virgin Islands aboard Christa, my 1975
Westsail32. Naturally arising with the birthing of the sun as a rooster crows in the early
morning light, I light the stove to heat some water for the customary coffee injection and
a quick peek out the hatch. As usual I have a slight relaxation reflex when noting Christa
had not moved overnight. Things have not always been choked with such delight, as this
particular morning is since I left on a lazy circumnavigation in September 2007. I found I
was woefully naive regarding the thorny path and the sheer mental strain of bashing into
the teeth of the trades. If I’d known now what I didn’t know then I’d sailed to the Virgin
Islands via Bermuda. However I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

I purchased Christa while on active duty with the U.S. Coast Guard (USCG) in San
Francisco Bay in 1998. I came across the lore of the Westsail32 in a most curious way.
While stationed at Point Judith Rhode Island in 1991, I was a Motor Life Boat (MLB)
coxswain and battled first hand the Halloween Storm of October 1991 that eventually
gained fame as the “Perfect Storm.” While not directly involved in any of the rescues
chronicled in Sebastian Jung’s excellent book, I keenly followed in real time the mirade
of problems the Coast Guard had on its hands. But I especially remember reading the
situation reports (SITREPS) regarding Westsail32 Satori and the plight of her crew. After
the loss of the fishing vessel Andrea Gail, the Queen Elizabeth 2 being struck by a 100
foot wave in the North Atlantic and the Coast Guard Cutter Tamaroa struggling so
mightily in the seaway to get to Satori, I was surprised to find out that Satori, after being
abandoned washed up on the beach just fine and dandy with no damage a few days later. I
thought to myself now that is a seaworthy vessel. Well fast forward a few years later, the
dream of sailing around the world solidified in my head, I was thumbing through the
classifieds in the back of Latitude38 when it happened. Bam! There it was, a Westsail32
for sale and I remembered that that was the make of Satori. Not long after that I was the
proud owner of a 1975 Westsail32 named Christa purchased in Vallejo.

I spent the next 9 years, living aboard Christa in Alameda and Sausalito in the San
Francisco Bay, Woods Hole on Cape Cod and Newport Rhode Island learning how to sail
her, upgrading her and generally soaking into life afloat. I took several offshore voyages
up and down the California coast, gunkholing around the Cape and the jewels of
Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and the Elizabeth Islands. Coupled with all the water under
my keel while in the Coast Guard, including time in the southern ocean aboard a Polar
Class Icebreaker, the breaking bar of the Columbia River and several trips to the Bering
Sea I thought I had a clue, but the ocean is no place for hubris. You see, I do have all
kinds of valuable seamanship experience. But nothing really had prepared me for the
difficulty of single-handing a 32-foot sailboat. Now I don’t want to over play the
difficulty and as the younger generation likes to say, “I’m just keeping it real.” This is my
experience and I’ve have come to learn it is similar and then vastly different from what
others have experienced. What I can say is it is not similar to what is portrayed in glossy
sailing magazines. I don’t think a magazine would really be able to capture the
experience anyway, plus it may impact sales. Can the full vibe of an intense experience,
like sailing be explained? Not hardly, it must be experienced.

Here is a recap of some of my travels thus far. I departed Newport Rhode Island in
September 2007 where I spent the summer at the Newport Navy Base Marina taking care
of last minute preparations and fulfilling my last remaining obligations to the USCG.
With a continuous eye toward the tropics, ever mindful of the hurricane season I made
my way down Long Island Sound. My good buddy John, whom I had been stationed with
in the Coast Guard many years before, joined me for a nostalgic stop in Point Judith RI
where we had been stationed together. We continued down Long Island Sound with stops
in Port Jefferson Long Island and then Port Washington where we hunkered down for a
few days of repairs and waiting out horrible weather. With the tide tables in hand we
negotiated Hell Gate and sailed down the East River with Manhattan to starboard. A truly
beautiful experience that was made more poignant as the date was September 11th and my
brother and his family live just a stones throw away in the East Village. With a salute
John and I left Lady Liberty to starboard and sailed under the Verranzano Bridge. The
Atlantic greeted us with a fair current and a fresh NNW breeze. With the Monitor
Steering Vane in charge we rounded Sandy Hook bound for Atlantic City, but as the day
waned so did the wind. A sail change was in order and out came the green monster, my
new cruising spinnaker. As the sunset and with the spinnaker pulling us along, it nearly
brought tears to my eyes. I’m not exaggerating, it was truly amazing.

Sadly John departed in Atlantic City as employment called and I continued my journey
down the U.S. east coast. I sailed to Deltaville Virginia in the Chesapeake via the
Delaware Bay and C&D Canal to haul out for a bottom job, replacement of the boomkin
and a new seacock. As the days grew colder and shorter I meandered down the Inter
Coastal Waterway (ICW) at a good clip of 50 miles or so a day. The cold fronts
advancing from the west were strong and near constant, but I was able make an outside
ocean passage with 18 wonderful sailing hours from South Carolina to northern Florida
bypassing the very shallow sections of the ICW in Georgia.

I made a two week stop in Fort Pierce Florida to visit family for Thanksgiving and to
replace the wooden bowsprit with one of Bud Taplins, the patron saint of Westsails
stainless steel bowsprits. I have no real reason to think the wooden bowsprit had been
weakened by rot, but no full proof method to ease my worry existed. One call to Bud
kind of shored things up. Knowing I was heading out for a long trip, maybe years, Bud
says, “Well stainless doesn’t rot.” So with that I had myself a Visa moment. With one
week of near continuous labor I had replaced the old bowsprit. A quick side note. I do not
have an engineering background and this was one of those projects where I felt my
limited skills would be put to the test. As with most things aboard Christa, I
underestimated my skills and simply suffered from a confidence problem. The
replacement while not easy was logical. I’ve found this to be the case over and over again
on numerous projects. So for new boat owners, if you wonder how the fellow down the
dock became so good at boat maintance. Simple: Trial and error and copious amounts of
boat dollars.
With the hurricane season astern I left Miami with a west wind astern bound for Gun Cay
in the Bahamas. With my penchant for underestimation now fully established, I hit the
Gulf Stream with the wind just north of west. So the seas lumped up tossing Christa and
I, but Christa was able to sail nicely in the 17-knot breeze. It became rapidly apparent that
Gun Cay, Bimini or maybe even the entire Bahamian island chain was either moving with
the tectonic plates or perhaps I had underestimated the set of the Gulf Stream. I worked
hard all day trying to mitigate the set north and finally I entered the Bahamian bank
several miles north of Bimini. I had read about and seen the photographs of the intensity
of the water on the banks. I was not disappointed. The transition from the deep blue to the
shallow hues has been a highlight of my trip thus far. With good fortune and a west wind
still at my back I decided to skip Bimini and soldier on throughout the night and check in
at Chub Cay.

I did not particularly enjoy my Bahamian experience. I think a substantial part of my

disappointment with the Bahamas can be traced to the sheer relentless wind that plagued
my time in the chain. From what I gather, the winter of 2007/08 was a banner year for
trade winds. They blew and blew and blew and eased up very little. I largely based by
decision to head to the Caribbean via the thorny path based upon Bruce Van Sant’s guide.
While I don’t want to bash the guide because it really is chock full of great information
and gives one a starting point, I found it a bit optimistic. Bruce does clearly state if you
do X you will receive a serious pounding, so make sure you do the ten steps that make up
step Y. But in terms of the Bahamas I thought I’d just wait for a cold front to sweep
through from the north and I would just broad reach my way south. Simple. Well once
again my naiveté rears its head. Maybe some years that in fact is the case and just not the
year I clawed my way south. I would love to lay blame on the Westsail’s legendary lack
of windward ability but the fact is the Westsail is not that bad to windward and in any
event everyone struggles to windward. That is just the way it is. In terms of the Bahamas
you certainly can wait for a front with the associated clocking of the wind. However I
found few anchorages that offered all around protection and that meant at some point
during the front’s passage your going to be exposed. It usually meant riding a bucking
bronco and depending on the front’s length and characteristics meant a transit through a
reef at the other end in less than favorable conditions. This is exactly how I entered
Nassau. A large and well-marked entrance no doubt, but with a large following sea and 25
knots of wind coupled with the shipping traffic made things a challenge.

South from Nassau I continued to try and play the fronts sweeping down from the U.S.
east coast to my advantage. But add another complicating factor that I never took into
account prior to leaving. I met many other cruisers. Folks I really became attached to and
did not want to separate from. The herding instinct is real and as a single hander I found it
quiet intense. So folks sit in the cockpit and talk weather windows obsessively and I am
usually leading the charge. Any conversation that is steered elsewhere is swiftly brought
back to what counts, my lack of progress to windward. All cruisers have different comfort
levels and obviously some boats do some things better. A window for one is not a
window for another. But when the herd was leaving I surely did not want to be left
behind. I certainly was not stupid enough to knowingly launch out into a full gale just to
keep up, but it was more of how much of a pounding I was willing to take. The level of
pounding has a direct correlation to the amount of fixing you’ll do in the next port. And
so it was for my departure from Long Island just east of the Exumas. I left with four other
boats on a marginal forecast to try and make a run to Playa Cay well to the south and
east. The other boats had significant waterline advantage and so they quickly pulled
ahead. I listened on the radio as they started to labor as the wind increased and even
worse the wind direction was shifting. We were all being headed. As night fell I decided
to break off and make for Rum Cay for a nighttime landing. I pretty much did what your
not supposed to do. Enter a poorly charted, coral head strewn anchorage in 25 knots of
wind at night with exhaustion closing in. I had spoken with a Canadian boat that was in
the anchorage at Rum and asked what were the realities of entering with out coming to
grief. It was a go. I made it into the anchorage without incident and was most grateful
that the anchor dug in and held. The next day I awoke to a coral head 50ft astern of me
just below the surface. I was quickly gaining spirituality. While upset that my random
detour severed my ties from the herd, I quickly found another herd in the shape of one
boat, a 48 ft Mason with the Jansen family aboard. I had briefly chatted with them in
Long Island but now here they were in Rum Cay and further more they were listening to
my death defying nighttime entrance on channel 68 and illuminated the Adamo with their
spreader lights. Those lights were like a beacon to a tired sailor and gave me a critical
reference point on a dark night. I couldn’t have been more appreciative. As usual the
wind just cranked for the next two weeks, but the time I spent in Rum Cay with the
Jansen’s was truly special. I think they feed me every single night aboard Adamo.

Adamo and I had a delightful transit under power from Rum Cay to the Turks and Caicos
Islands. They even leant me one of their sons for the transit, 16 year old Doug. They have
plenty to spare, a real baby factory aboard. My time in the T&C was spent replenishing
fuel and food. After being in the Bahamas which lacked, in my opinion decent food
stores, it was nice to get back to the endless aisles of food most westerners are used to.
The gaggle of boats in the anchorage in Provo were all waiting for a decent weather
window to stage ourselves to Big Sand Cay in the eastern portion of the islands. This
required motoring across the T&C Bank that carries about 7 feet and many many
uncharted coral heads. At sunrise I left with Adamo. It was a long day. I spent the
majority of the time standing on the spreaders. When I sighted coral heads I rapidly made
my way to the deck, disengaged the Tillerpilot and steered clear. Toward late afternoon
Adamo and I had made it safely across the bank and things were generally going
smoothly. Adamo and I downloaded the latest GRIB files and checked a fresh Offshore
Forecast. It was at this point that I made one of the worst calls I have ever made.

The forecast wasn’t to bad, east 15 to 22 knots with the wind easing halfway between
Turks and Caicos and the Dominican Republic. I should have known to introduce more of
a margin for error in my plan. I should have headed for Big Sand Cay as originally
planned instead of continuing on. But that herding instinct again was very strong. It was
one of those situations where some vessels departed for the Dominican Republic and
some decided to stage at Big Sand Cay as recommended in Van Sant’s guide. It is at these
times that having a strong vessel like the Westsail can become a disadvantage. You know
the vessel is up to the conditions, but always the more prudent question is whether the
captain and crew are equal to the task. Just as the sun was setting, the wind started to pick
up and as usual with Adamo’s 48 feet she quickly pulled ahead of me. By midnight I had
my handheld wind gauge pointed into the wind and sure enough 35 knots at deck level.
What the hell is this? I had tucked in a second reef in the main and with the staysail set
the boat was sailing just beautifully. Not overpowered and the windvane was in charge.
About halfway between Luperon Dominican Republic and T&C the seas had built to 10
feet or more, tough to say as it was a moonless night, but Christa had started to pound.
The wind was coming around to the southeast and I was unable to keep to my rumb line
for Luperon. No problem I thought, I’ll just take Bruce Van Sant’s sage advice that says
that if you get headed ease the sheets and head for Manzanillo in the western part of
Dominican Republic instead of bashing your brains out. And so I did. By the next
afternoon I was very tired after having been up and managing the boat for 45 hours with
little food. I was running almost straight down wind in large seas along the north coast of
the DR and couldn’t get the sails balanced correctly to prevent the windvane from
rounding the boat up so I was hand steering. I was now approaching the Monte Christi
Shoals, a dangerous reef and the wind was screaming due to the vigorous gradient wind
being accelerated by the mountainous headlands when I realized something that nearly
broke me. I’d have to round the shoals and then beat to windward for 17 miles, into 35-
knot winds and closely spaced turbulent breaking seas. My only options to avoid were to
head for the Ragged Islands in the Bahamas and give up my Caribbean cruise or head for
Fort Libre Haiti. I was able to raise on the radio a Southern Cross 35 who just had
plopped down their anchor in Manzanillo after the dreaded 17-mile beat. I figured if they
could do it so could I. And so it was. A Westsail32 beating into 35 knots and gusting
higher with breaking waves. I filled the cockpit up several times completely with
seawater gushing down the gunwhale. Once I realized that the boat could actually do this
I became exhilarated. I also thanked my lucky stars and Bud Taplin for having replaced
the bowsprit with the stainless steel model. The strain on the rig was extreme. Confidence
in the boat and its equipment become everything when the chips are down. Needless to
say I made it into Manzanillo.

I have more adventures to tell and lessons learned, especially about the 2008/09 hurricane
season I spent in Salinas Puerto Rico and my meeting the Burton Family. But I think that
is enough for now. I shall leave you with a quote from Peter Muilenburg’s book “Adrift
on a Sea of Blue Light.” He writes, “ So it goes, on land and sea, that all of life’s wrecks
force us to drag deep on the cup of knowledge and swallow its bitter but potent dregs. If
the ocean held no reefs or squalls, if no ships sank and no one ever drowned, who would
ever bother to go to sea?”

Christian Allaire, USCG (ret)

Aboard Christa on the Hook
Prince Rupert Bay, Dominica Windward Islands
March 2009
http://sailingvesselchrista.blogspot.com/