LESSONS LEARNED FROM A STUCK MAINSAIL

Written by Phillip Gillihan, SV Parallax

As W. C. Fields once said “I have told that story so often I have come to believe it myself”.

My story is about having to sail the last 4 days or so of the Caribbean rally with the mainsail stuck well and truly up in winds somewhat above average, in my 49 foot catamaran, Parallax.

Mainsail got stuck, winds came up, worried mainsail might rip, rig fail,  or most terrifying of horrors: I might have to actually drive the beast if the overworked auto pilot went on strike. So I thought it might be more fun to sort of unpack how Robby (that's admiral Robby to me), and I found ourselves in the middle of nowhere with a full and unrelentingly erect mainsail. 

Like most mid sized catamarans Parallax at 49 feet is equipped with a two to one main halyard.  The halyard block has two set screws to keep it from rotating in relation to the mainsail. If this block is allowed to rotate, the twist that invariably accumulates into the  halyard line as it reeves up and down the mast around the halyard block, one or more turning blocks and then the hoist winch, will over time cause the dead end part and working part of a 2 to 1 to intertwine together very tightly.

Post mortem of the block on Parallax shows that one set screw had obviously worn or broke and guess what, the other set screw was missing. Now I remember before we left Norfolk I knew that halyard had developed far too much twist.  I had pulled the halyard out of the clutch and turning block and tried to get rid of some of the twist, obviously not very effectively, and worse, the last 50 feet of halyard can't really be relieved of accumulated twist unless you go up the mast and release the bitter end on the dead end part allowing that last 50 feet or so to unravel.  I didn't do this.  I did grab the block and tested that it was locked by hand but I don't really recall inspecting the block. Was the set screw missing then, after 30,000 miles and two atlantic crossings? Had it worked out? When was the last time I really inspected it?

When I was learning to fly sailplanes my instructor would often caution me that sh## happens only after a series of failures/ mistakes , and most times you have an opportunity to break the chain of events. He also said if things went bad, fly the aircraft, fly it into the ground if it comes to it, but fly the aircraft otherwise you’re just a passenger.  This is a bit dramatic for a cruising sailor but the lesson is the same: you can always do something or at least try to do something,

In this case a thorough untwisting of the halyard and more importantly a rigorous inspection of the block might have saved me from some excitement. The chain begins. 

We had left Norfolk the night of the 4th and had sailed maybe 700 miles over the top of Bermuda in a nice east running stream and were beginning to bear south, east of Bermuda, Antigua bound.   A  freighter had raised us with the intention of passing to our starboard but after a couple hours  it was clear the freighter was not overtaking and we needed to turn south in front of him.  I raised the skipper with our intention to turn south to starboard and would he take us to port instead. 

No problem, except after a couple of minutes with us now directly in front of the freighter about 2-3 miles back, a relay on the autopilot computer power supply failed. We immediately crash jibed and before I could make sense of it all jibed again. I initially thought we had lost hydraulics as we had lost way and the manual hydraulic link steering, always bereft of any feedback, seemed ineffective.  I tripped the main halyard and Robby began furling the  jib. I knew without the press of sails I could lock a rudder and drive bulldozer style until we could get “outadaway”  of the freighter which occupied the first 50 places on my priority list.  I caught a glimmer of a low cloud on the dawning  eastern horizon to orient and realized I still had hydraulics and steered out of the way.  Robby had raised the freighter and explained we had a problem.  In the meantime the poor skipper watching on radar and AIS probably thought Parallax was crewed by a bunch of drunken monkeys.

The halyard on the mainsail obviously went slack in the commotion and the two jibes were not well executed or executed at all for that matter.  Did the block give way then or was it already broken? Without slack in the line there was no opportunity to entwine, but now with a slack halyard and a bit of a shock the two lines could have twisted together.  All conjecture and really nothing much we could have done differently anyway.  So after a couple minutes, I began to winch up the main and the freighter passed.

The winch sounded a bit loaded. Robby had the light on the reefing lines, batten ends and the lazy jacks, the usual culprits, but all running free.  I kept my toe on the switch. Hmmm,  but the sail went to full hoist no problem, luff tension looked good.  All ok at this point and even if there had been a twist I probably couldn't have seen it. Robbie drove and I went below to troubleshoot the autopilot. An hour later the spare relay was installed. No harm no foul.

We sailed on in light air and 50 miles south and east of Bermuda and with a cold front packing substantial wind bearing down on us, I decided that evening to reef a bit early. The main came down a couple feet maybe, no more, it was getting dark and I  couldn't really see if the halyard was running free. I put considerable tension on the reef luff downhaul with only a bit of give. I played around up and down for 10 minutes. The sail finally completely locked a foot or so below full hoist. I knew I had a problem and that it was at the very top of the mast.

At this point maybe 60 miles south and east of Bermuda it was probably feasible to turn the thing around and get to St George before running full on into the approaching wind.  Rob absolutely vetoed going up the mast at night and I didn’t buck it. The Admiral was firm.  I never dreamed I couldn't get up the mast the next day and even if I had to cut the halyard I would cut the dead end and still retrieve the working part to hoist the sail on a single halyard, so we sailed on.  The next morning we are now 150 miles south of Bermuda, the seas are quite lumpy and the wind beginning to build from the north. 

We tried heaving to and then running at different courses to the wind and wave to pick what felt the easiest point of sail to go up the mast.  I rigged my bosun's chair, freed the topping lift to serve as a hoist, and after discussing with Robbie up I went.  Now a monohull in this situation can be pressed and heeled and the sail can actually support somewhat as you go aloft.  But a cat twittering and jerking is a different matter, you can't wrap around the mast with your legs with full sail and a bit over halfway as I tried to clear the second set of spreaders I came disattached.  If it had been a rodeo the clowns would have had me.  Back down on the deck we discussed giving it another try, maybe this time trying to rig a steadying line but there was mutiny of sorts as I insisted we try again and Rob said no.  One of us was confused about the chain of command. Obviously me. 

The front overtook and soon we were seeing 25 and the very rare gust to  35. These conditions  were going to be with us the next 3-4 days. Nothing left to do but sail the boat and keep as much load off the sails, rigging and autopilot as possible.  

At the beginning this wasn't too difficult, the wind was from the north and we sailed sorta on course to Antigua, putting some easting in the bank. Parallax is a reasonably fast cruising catamaran and by sailing low with preventer rigged and with enough jib out and pulling to balance the boat our speed was between 10 to 15.  The AWS most of the time was 15 or so.  The autopilot was working hard but not insanely. The top third of the  main was on the spreader just a bit but using the preventor as a vang sheet we could drop the boom further to leeward and still control the twist. Those of you who have raced in heavier air with spin up know the drill. Speed is your friend.  A bit fun actually.

But the second day the wind began to clock east and things got a bit more difficult.  We could still keep the AWS reasonable if we bore off in the now rare 30 gusts. We had easting in the bank so we began to spend some of it. 

Predictwind was showing solid magenta  and some pretty big gusts were in store this last 24 to 30 hours before we could pop out on the southern edge.  With the boom down to the shrouds and the main offering almost no angle of attack to the wind which we were now pushing to the beam, we occasionally would feather the boat in gusts.   The velocity shifts associated with the bigger gusts would pull the wind aft of the beam a bit which helped us keep the strain off the boat. Other than a sleepless night we were fine. 

The next day as the wind was abating I considered altering  course to Saint Martin where we could find a calm place to go up the mast.  I inquired on the Saltydawg app if anyone was in or diverting to Saint Martin to maybe give us a hand. But after studying the new forecast it appeared that if we sailed fast we could just make Antigua before the wind died and went south. So pressing on all the sail, we sailed into Falmouth early the 13th where my good buddies Steve Dyer ”Flash” and Harry Fugate “Off Piste” and crew Mark met us as we dropped the hook. I was rigged and ready to go.  10 minutes later I was up the mast, dropped the main, rigged a  single line halyard and we were ready to go. Thank you. The great thing about the Salty Dawgs are the friends you make over the years and the helping hands extended when you need it.

Thinking about things that could have been done to prevent or remedy the situation is interesting. Untwist the halyard and maybe a more thorough inspection of the block before we set sail? Did the  protesting winch give me one last chance? Finally and in my mind, the most important lesson learned at least for Robbie and I and others who sail as a couple, is devising a way to get to the top of the mast in conditions like these.   Like most of you I am no stranger to the top of the mast, sometimes underway.  The last time I was up the mast at sea in such conditions I didn't have to contend with a hoisted main and could cling to the mast.  That was no fun and my legs were pretty bruised for days.  After the failed first attempt we did discuss rigging a steadying line.  With a crew of three or more no problem, but with just the two of us it warrants a bit of thought, prep and maybe practice once or twice. Robbie at the winch is of course pretty occupied taking me up the mast, but if a steadying line had been led to a winch at the helm Robbie could have kept a few wraps on the line and made sure as she hoisted me up that there was always considerable tension on the steadying line -  a push pull operation. By slipping the steadying line  on the winch and even taking a hitch on the winch considerable tension could be maintained on the line.  I think this might have enabled me to get to the top.  We will practice. Hopefully lesson learned.