As expected, the wind the next day was light. Even the gusts were only ten knots. The wind came and went in all directions, which had us sailing south sometimes, or sailing west other times. Ithaca could only sail at two or three knots or drift slowly at sea.
After the previous crazy night, Pierre and I were very tired. Our son, Ruwan, volunteered to do the day watch for us, so we could catch some sleep with the advantage of light wind during the day.
Actually, the task of a boat watch is simple. One only needs to look around at intervals of a few minutes to check if there are unusual things at sea. For example, there may be boats around us that were not shown in the AIS (Automatic Identification System), or other things like whales, dolphins, seals, and seabirds that might appear in the sea. In the case of the wind direction and force change, Pierre and I would be aware of the sails and the boat movement, even in our sleep. To assist her brother, Rulin took the responsibility of writing the sail log and cleaning dishes in the kitchen.
The sun slanted to the west, and the wind ceased. The boat was reluctantly moving forward by the current. Slowly, the scarlet sun was buried in the horizon; clouds in the sky scribbled by nature suddenly became alive and brightened with colours in the rays of sunlight. The sea was so calm as if the water were flowing slowly like silk, in the reflection of the sunset and colourful clouds. As the dusk was falling, the world was painted from pinkish red to orange red and then to blackish red, and the gap between was the blue sky fading out. All these colours blended and created all kinds of purple, shining on the sea like a dream. Standing there and staring at the splendid nature paintings, we forgot all the worries and were completely immersed in the most beautiful sunset we had ever seen.
The sky finally changed into complete darkness, and it was another moonless and starless night. Our hoped-for southeasterly wind had come; the smooth sea was soon broken, as well as the waves. The wind built quickly and, after midnight, the wind speed had climbed up more than 20 knots. We quickly put a second reef to the mainsails and genoa. The wind was continually increasing, and soon reached 35 knots and gusted over 40 knots. The boat was now moving fast.
At the times, our failed-replaced autopilot in Port Elizabeth was roaring and screaming in our ears. The waves were getting higher and higher. The autopilot started to show errors when it was out of control; we had to manually adjust the sail angle all the times to keep our course, or else the boat might be blown sidewards by the wind and waves. In this circumstance, how could we possibly continue with the normal three-hour night shift? We'd rather do half-hour shifts. In this case, neither of us were able to sleep or rest. One was navigating in front of the steering wheel, highly concentrated; and the other was standing by the side and giving a hand whenever it was required. This was way too exhausting!
Just as our eyes and legs were becoming extremely tired, the rudder stopped responding without any sign. The boat and sails instantly lost control and started to turn around and drift at sea. This was destined to be a restless night.
The rudder failure was a serious problem for us. Without a rudder, the boat could not be steered; and the rudder is at the bottom of the boat, in the cold water, which is the most difficult place to repair. We've heard a lot of tragedies caused by broken rudders. The most likely outcome for such a boat could be -- either sunk because of water leakage; washed ashore or on reefs; or swallowed by the waves and never be seen again. Any of the above outcomes were enough to make my heart miss a beat. With this in my mind, my blood was rushing, and I could perceive the goosebumps and bristling hair; my skin went cold but my forehead was full of sweat. All these body chemical reactions were felt so clearly because of the fear. It was like an electric shock; I felt that even time had slowed down around me.
However, what could we do?
All I wanted was to cry, to yell, and to escape, but where could I escape from the present reality? Looking at Pierre, I saw the panic and helplessness too in his eyes. You could say that the situation was that we reaped what we had sowed. Sailing at sea is a "game" that you play on your own. Most of the time, it is impossible to ask for help from outside when you are in trouble.
The children had sensed our nervous and panic. This made Pierre and me immediately notice our responsibility as their parents. At that moment, protecting the children and making them feel safe was more important than anything else. Even if we must pretend, we must pretend to be calm in the face of danger. If we collapse, who else could they rely on? Realizing this, Pierre and I started to think about the current situation without any wasted words.
When it rains it pours. We needed to inspect the rudder in the back cabin, but the cabin lights couldn't be switched on. It was out of the blue! Even the power connection in the cabin was off. Why and how? It was working just fine on the previous night! To work in the dark, we would have to use a torch, which made the work more difficult.
First of all, we needed to check whether there was any water leaking in the cabin. No. Good! We were relatively safe. Second, we must drop the sail immediately. The boat would be drifting slower without sails. Even if we were going to be blown ashore, this would save more time for us. Next, how far were we away from the nearest shore? 18 nautical miles. It was fortunate. At least we should be safe for some hours.
What on earth was the problem with the rudder? First, we thought that it might be related to the shaft that troubled us the previous night. And sure enough, the fast-moving boat caused the shaft to pull backwards continuously, and then the propeller at the end connected on the shaft stuck in the rudder at the back, which resulted in the manoeuvre of the rudder, but this was not the only problem we had.
Our rudder was a board size of half-meter wide and two-meter long. The large board needed to fight the waves to steer the boat, and it was controlled by a hydraulic ram. The one end of hydraulic ram was fixed on a stainless-steel plate, which was mounted on the hull with four screws, and now all these screws had snapped off. The hydraulic ram was out of control and in each wave, it bumped on the hull, like attacking the boat with a metal arm. It had made a small pit on the hull. Fortunately or unfortunately, our hull was strong and heavy -- if the hull got a hole or cracked, it would be the end of us.
Besides, we should thank the design of the boat; the problem was inside the cabin at least. If it were in the lazarette at the stern, we would need to work on the deck, which was more troublesome. Moreover, our rudder was still there, there was no need to jump into the cold water to tie up a spare rudder. We were lucky!
Once the cause of the rudder failure was found, we could breathe again. To solve the problem, the first job was to pull and fasten the shaft to a safe place, and not let it fall off to the position where to stuck in the rudder.
Again, we lifted the cabin floorboard; all miscellaneous objects stored under the floorboard had to be taken out, and the cabin suddenly became messy. Pierre and I were busy with the shaft, and the two children looked after the floorboards standing on the sides and all the loose objects on the floor. With some tremendous strength, Pierre was able to tie the shaft with a rope to a sturdy bulkhead beneath the floor.
Repairing the hydraulic ram was much more difficult because it was in a place we struggled to reach. The rudder became very hard to control in the waves. I could hardly hold its arm -- how was possible to keep it still at a position in order to insert screws into the holes of two metal plates!?
We decided to settle for second best by putting a thinner screw of 6mm to get the position right. Pierre and I swapped our positions. He was going to hold the arm and I would take charge of the screws. With all his strength in fighting the force from the rudder, Pierre pulled the hydraulic arm to the place where I could put the thin screws in. But before we could be happy about it, one wave hit the boat, the screws we put in bent immediately and stuck in the metal plate. This was bad! The thin screw was supposed to be used as a quick solution; we were supposed to take out and replace it with a thicker one in our next step.
It was a lot harder to remove the screws than put them in. Pierre couldn't cut them off with the pliers, so we changed tools to an electrical saw, but the position was difficult to work with the saw. The boat was continuously rocking in the waves. We were more likely to cut the hydraulic ram instead of the deformed screws. When the saw blade finally reached the screw with luck, the blade snapped off. How disappointing! In the end, Pierre used a hand saw to cut off those deformed screws.
We stored many spare parts on board. When we bought small items like screws, we would buy some extra. However, in the two boxes of screws, we could not find four screws of the right size. The reason was the hydraulic ram had never been broken before. At last, we used seven or eight washers to fill the space for the two over-long screws. The arm of the hydraulic ram was eventually fastened on the metal plate, and the autopilot was back to operation.
When the job was done, it was after dawn. The children had gone back to sleep. For the second time, Pierre and I had a night's toil and could not sleep a wink.
Raise the sails, Ithaca was back to its route, to our destination port – Gansbaai. Recalling the experience of the previous nights, we heaved a sigh of relief and felt exceptionally cheerful. We had conquered our fear and gone through one more test of the sea.