Overwhelmed by the storm! How we handled it (and what we learned)
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Nine Beaufort (strong gale) on a J80. Remember the 2019 Bol d’Or storm? In August, it happened again: here is the account of our contributor Luigi Gallerani, who at the helm J80 of the CERN Yachting Club (of which he is president), tells us how he and his crew handled the 45-knot gusts that swept through August 2020 Geneva and Petit Lac, the western part of Lake Geneva. (opening photo by Loris von Siebenthal)
SO WE WEATHERED THE STORM
Preparation and a good crew, to these two elements I think goes the credit for facing, without any particular problems, the 9 beaufort storm that hit our boat.
Every Thursday at 6 pm, our club organizes social outings. Clear skies with a few clouds, warm weather, and the classic light NE wind called the “White wind” were blowing over Port Choiseul in Versoix.
We had looked at the forecast, and knew that a severe thunderstorm would arrive by 7:30 p.m., a fairly common phenomenon; however, no MeteoSuisse alert for the lake had been issued yet, so many boats were sailing. The 26-degree lake water and light until late in the evening, however, were an added security. We therefore prepared to go out.
As a crew I had four other members, one man and 3 women, I knew they had done several outings and training in our club, they had good experience. Among the available club cabin cruisers (two Surprise, J70, J80, Dynamic 3000, Gibsea) knowing about the forecast, I chose to sail on the J80, the only B-class boat.
In port, I decided preemptively to lower jib and ask the crew to rig the storm jib. Mainsail already reefed (only one hand available). Everyone wore life jackets. Verifying a full tank of gas for the small four-horsepower outboard, we went out.
There were gennaker conditions. For about an hour we sailed with full mainsail and storming, definitely under sail, since all the other boats under sail, were rigging the genoa. This excess of caution sparked some hilarity on board, and I’m sure at the dock as well, but this choice made me very comfortable, because I knew the boat was ready. By character, what gets me into trouble as a skipper is more the sense of unpreparedness and delay in the maneuver, whatever it may be, than the difficulty of the conditions to be faced per se.
Understand what wind will come. If a strong thunderstorm surge had hit Geneva, the wind would have turned 180 degrees, so in order to stay around the port of Versoix, I decided to sail south, on the slack right toward the storm. There were calm conditions, and the crew got to practice rigging and hoisting the gennaker. Seeing the gait of other boats closer to the storm front gave me constant valuable insights into the extent of the incoming conditions.
High wind warning. Around 7 p.m., the situation changed rapidly, the sky began to get very dark over Geneva to a heavy precipitation fell on the city. My crew lowered the gennaker in less than a minute, and I asked them to completely dismast the sheets to have a clean deck. High-wind warning beacons came on in the harbor. At that moment, we immediately and changed course, upwind gait ideal for reefing, heading north. If the flapping came, I was to be located aft of the wind, heading toward open water.
The storm. After about 3 minutes, the warning lights (40 flashes per minute) changed from high wind to storm (90 flashes per minute). I realized that this was not going to be a simple thunderstorm. This is the second time in 10 years that I have seen the headlights on. The first was two years ago while attending the Bol d’Or, at the time I managed to get back into port well in advance on the Surprise. The conditions were identical, only now faster. I knew that pandemonium would shortly happen. Two cabin cruisers were returning to port, where I saw a lot of movement. Many clubs were out, so I decided: staying in the middle of the lake, away from the coast, and not even trying to get back in was the safest option.
Lower mainsail! There was no wind yet, in fact it was almost calm upwind. I immediately called for the mainsail to be completely lowered, and here my crew really proved to be fast. Immediately rigged the main sail to the boom in 3 places with straps. They did their best to clear the lines. Turned on the outboard, left in neutral. After a few seconds a wall of freezing water and the first gusts of 4-5 beaufort hit us, aft. At the helm I focused on the course, pointing by slack to the middle of the lake where there were no other boats, ironed the backstay, and afterwards asked 2 crew members to go to the cabin and close the tambucci and turn on the lights. We sailed at the tormentine slack for about a minute.
Nothing could be seen then the pandemonium. I saw the aerosol of water raised by the wind coming. The waves in a few seconds rose a meter, maybe two I don’t know exactly, started rolling and pecking the boat. Maximum visibility 100 meters. Torrential rain and the first two gusts gave the tree a tremendous jolt. The boat started to accelerate and went into glide. The mast began to vibrate making a totally unreassuring metallic sound, and a fine catenary formed on the forestay, despite the fact that backstay and storm halyard were cocked to iron. One more lash like that and we lose the tree I thought.
Boat lying down. The noise is deafening, we barely understand each other and the crew while shouting. A series of strong gusts in combination with a wave larger than the others upwind, laid the boat on its left side, fortunately it did not “intraverse.” Myself and the other two remaining on deck, both almost ended up in the water, sickle submerged. My second grabbed onto the boom, but this lowered the boom to winch height, so I rushed aft to avoid catching the boom on my side, screaming to let go immediately! When on board, the roll seems more pronounced, but I don’t think in reality the boat has ever tilted more than 70 degrees. After a while the boat came back up, and it rolled to starboard, and then rolled left again. So it was dangerous; I had to stay much more focused to prevent it from happening again. I decided to roll the tormentor as well before putting the tree at risk. My crew succeeded in the first, long live the blender. With no sails, we were sailing aft at what I estimated, from the boat’s behavior, to be about 6 to 8 knots. We lost some fuel from the canister, which spilled, but the engine to my surprise stayed running.
I must learn to sail without sails. The most difficult thing was to be able to keep the boat on the slack, and follow the waves, without crossing. It took me a while to understand how the boat responded without sails. I was reminded of the stories related to the use of the floating anchor, I grasped its usefulness, it would have been helpful to be restrained at the stern, but I also realized how prohibitively expensive it is to tinker with such equipment (which we did not have on board anyway).
In the storm everything is very fast. The reality of the storm, is that everything is very fast, you can barely keep yourself stable on board without falling off, and you don’t have time to look over your shoulder to see what waves are coming. My second started watching the waves for me, and it was helpful to be able to anticipate with the rudder. At that point everyone went down to the cabin except my second, and only two of us remained on deck. Every 5 minutes I asked them for news from the cabin, they told me it was okay except for some vomiting. My only real concern was that someone would end up overboard, so I yelled to my second to stay low and hold on. We were both sitting in the middle of the boat, lying upwind with our arms firmly on the drapes.
Power is needed in the bow. For about 5 minutes we continued dry-sailing, but I was helming badly. So we tried to open just a handkerchief of turmentine, I think about 1sqm, and that stabilized the boat considerably, I could hold the big slack and control the waves, without stressing the mast and being gentle on the rudder. Of course, I thought, why didn’t I do it five minutes earlier? At that point it was like being on a big drift.
Boat in place, crew safe, make sure to avoid collisions. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the lights of the beautiful steam ferry, a historic queen boat of the lake in regular service, also stern about a half mile away at my side. This reassured me even more: if he was there, downwind of me, it meant we were in the middle of the lake, far enough from the shoreline. We should have continued until the storm had passed. I asked look that there were no other boats around.
One can sail through the gale. The feeling that everything was under control that made me relax. I started helming much better. I looked around, estimated gusts to 40 knots of wind (SNG Anemometer will record 46 knots). The aerosol of water sweeping across the lake made everything white, the sky purple, the lightning and thunder and a few shadows of the Jura profiles. The waves were high and short, very different from those of the sea.
Thought. Poor people in the cabin, it must be a vomiting experience, on the other hand, on deck, freshwater splashes are not as annoying as saltwater splashes. Despite the conditions, my thoughts were a mix of concentration, fascination and over the next 10 minutes, a conscious tranquility, I won’t say well-being, but pleasant experience yes. There was no more maneuvering to be done or orders to be given: it’s all right I thought, the boat floats, it’s seaworthy and we’re handling it, better than that we can’t do, it’ll all be over soon…. And it’s fascinating. I even asked the crew from the cabin to “take pictures,” but I think my request was ignored (or they threw a few jabs at me).
But where are we? As soon as the mist cleared a bit, I recognized Coppet; we had traveled about 4 nautical miles from Genthood in about 30 minutes, with a handkerchief of torment (so averaging about 8 knots). In the distance a few blue lights from the rescue boats were starting to come out. I heard thunder coming from in front of me, the wind started to rotate, and always going very slack, I noticed that we were changing course. The central part of the storm cell had passed us; now we were catching the wind generated by the discharge of water at the back of the disturbance, in the opposite direction from before. That wind would calm the waves. Perfect! We would always be back in port on the slack. As the gusts diminished, we opened the whole tormentor and turned aft toward Versoix. Those in the cabin were able to leave; the worst was over.
Hoisting the mainsail and re-entry. With about 5 beaufort, against the waves, with only turmentine, we were almost stationary. We tried to give motor, but 4 outboard horsepower is useless, the propeller was jumping out of the water with every wave, so I asked to hoist the mainsail with one hand, and from there, it was an increasingly quiet sail to the harbor. Within half an hour it was all over, and we docked without any motor problems. There were signs of quite a disaster, capsized catamarans, boats with torn jibs, one cabin cruiser dismasted, and branches, pine cones, and miscellaneous material scattered everywhere. I asked the crew several times if they were okay, and other than a little fright and nausea, no apparent problems, and indeed, the first smiles.
Final thoughts on the J80 storm. Everything went well because we prepared well in advance, this is my first 9 bft storm experienced in sailing, a very educational experience from which we all learned a lot. Some sailing considerations. Without at least one crew person, a J80 is not manageable solo in a storm. The tormentor is essential, as is the windlass. We would never have been able to lower the jib, which would surely have been torn under gusts. Going forward with that roll on a daysailer is unthinkable. Visibility is reduced, sailing almost blind, unthinkable to pull out a smartphone with Navionics. A mistletoe would have come in handy to hold the boom up, eliminating a potential hazard. The wide cockpit with few handholds does not help, a lifeline in the middle of the boat would have been useful, we will arrange to rig it. The J80 actually proved manageable and safe, in a short-lived summer storm, by a beaufort above the limits of the approval category. A good crew that knows what to do, quickly, without messing up, is the real key to safety.
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