Sep 24

Written by:
9/24/2010 3:39 AM 

Jargo, like most offshore sailboats are pretty strong craft. When I think about all the things that can go wrong at sea there are three that I fear the most. First and most frightening is a failure of the hull or a seacock that could quickly flood and sink the boat. Second is a failure of the standing rig that can potentially lead to a loss of the mast. Third is a failure of the steering system.

One hundred miles out of Rarotonga Jargo’s rig absorbed the violent shock of a massive roll allowing the sail to dump its wind and refill with a massive bang. Making breakfast a little before 8:00 a.m. I heard and felt the rig shudder. Running on deck I arrived just in time to witness the roller furling and headsail climb over the lifelines and drop suddenly into the sea. The broken forestay began to dance like a dragons tail with 19 razor sharp points whipping all across the foredeck.

Fearing the mast could buckle at any moment I ran forward, secured the broken forestay, and shackled the spinnaker halyard to the bow roller providing some forward support to the mast. Looking over the rail I could see the furling gear and sail in the water billowing like a giant jellyfish. The sail and furler were supported only by the jib sheets and furling line as the ancient furler design has an internal halyard proving no support from the top of the mast.

With every roll of the boat I took in some slack on the jib sheets and slowly wrestled the sail and mangled aluminum furler extrusions onto the side deck. Exhausted, I surveyed a twisted mess of metal and sail far beyond any hope of repair. The violence of the forestay failure seemed to penetrate my shocked mind and I responded with a violence of my own. The furler was a loss, but I’d be damned before I threw the sail overboard as well.

There was no way to slide the bolt rope from the twisted worm of extrusions. With a razor sharp knife, always ready at hand, I began to slice the sail from the furler as close to the bolt rope as possible. Slowly but surely the sail came free and I forced the mass into the forward hatch letting it drop below out of sight.

I needed wire for a new forestay. Inside the defunct extrusions was an internal halyard I thought might be useable. With a pair of bolt cutters I clipped off the upper swaged fitting and began to feed the wire halyard out of its track. Where the aluminum had folded and broken the track was pinched making it impossible to remove the cable in one length. Not willing to give up any usable material I continued to cut and pull out sections of cable as long as I could make them.

Once the cable was free I was left with four sections of the furling system. With a sick joy I plunged them overboard reveling in my now clear side deck. The wire I’d cut from the furler was useless, but I had to strengthen the rig with some sort of forestay.

The failed forestay parted just above its fitting on deck leaving me a piece of 1x19 wire just inches too short to repair. For an hour I rummaged through every spare parts box on board and came up with a dirty fix. 1x19 wire does not bend easily. Through sheer anger I doubled the broken end of the wire over on itself and secured the loop with three mechanical cable clamps. To that I attached a small turnbuckle, an anchor shackle, a foot long wire tack pendant from a sail, and another shackle connecting it all to the deck fitting. It was crude to say the least and I feared for my face and eyes as I began to tension the jury rigged forestay.

My hopes rose as I felt the tension come onto the stay. With the spinnaker halyard the backstays were soft and mushy, but now became firm. It wasn’t strong, but it was workable. With all the headsail and furling lines inboard I hoisted a double reefed main, mizzen sail, and put the engine on low revs. With ~10 knots of wind from behind I was making way again towards Palmerston Atoll.