Prologue

s/v Kerry Deare of Barnegat is a 28 foot sloop designed by Carl Alberg and built in 1981 by Cape Dory Yachts of Massachusetts. I've owned her since she was built, and have made many modifications and additions to her for single-handed ocean sailing. This is the story of her 1994 solo passage from Florida to Bermuda, and of some of the things that happened along the way.

Part One: Preparation

Sailing from eastern Florida to Bermuda in May 1994 was not exactly an unplanned event, but the circumstances surrounding the venture did have something of a casual air. I had originally intended to make Florida-to-Bermuda the first leg in a cruise to the UK, but concerns about the safe useful life of Kerry Deare's rigging kept me on the left side of the Atlantic for another year. As things happened, the concerns were warranted.

Kerry Deare of Barnegat is a 28 foot sloop designed by Carl Alberg and built by Cape Dory Yachts in Massachusetts in 1981. I've owned her since she was built, and have made a number of modifications and additions to her for single-handed ocean sailing (details are in the Bermuda I story elsewhere in these pages). Her visit to Bermuda covered in this story evolved from a proposed trans-Atlantic passage to the UK. The plan was scuttled and after several modifications it evolved into a cruise to Bermuda enroute to the northeast United States for the summer season of 1994. 

We finally cut the docklines at St. Petersburg FL on 20th April 1994, having spent a completely decadent winter on the sunny west coast of Florida. We wanted to arrive on the east coast of Florida with time in hand to prepare for the 1000 nautical mile jaunt to Bermuda, and also with time to pick and choose among weather windows. The one we chose didn't have a particularly beautiful view, but we survived.

We spent a week at Stuart Anchorage in Florida, and another week at Fort Pierce Yachting Center. A minor complication this trip was that I'd been using an 8' hard dinghy instead of the inflatable, and I had to arrange to carry it on deck. The only possible location was the foredeck, since a life raft occupies the cabin top. Of course on a 28' boat the foredeck real estate is rather limited, and sail handling offshore became difficult and awkward. This may in some way have contributed to the events that followed, but there was no alternative.

Part Two: Departure

I finally left Florida at 1000 local on 9th May 1994, headed for the Gulf Stream in light air. We took departure from the Fort Pierce Inlet sea buoy at 1039 and were able to set the number one genoa at about 1130 and go sailing, the first opportunity in some time. 

After about 3 hours it went light, and the diesel came back to life, throbbing away as she would for a considerable portion of the first 3 1/2 days of this Kerry Deare's second solo voyage to Bermuda. Although I carry extra fuel, Kerry Deare's range under power is still just over 300 nautical miles, and it was beginning to look like a long trip.  Often we didn't have a breath of air. My strategy developed into motoring at reduced Rpm's when the wind went light, and I set a fuel limit below which we would not go. We still needed over 600 nautical miles under sail, and at times I didn't see from where the 600 would come. Of course it did come from somewhere, but at the time...

We sailed intermittently our first night at sea, and on the second morning at breakfast I tried to burn the ship to the waterline. I was unable to do so, but did manage to remove a considerable amount of skin from the back of my right hand. I'd left 2 paper towels inside the Origo stove to prevent fuel evaporation.  When I didn't remove them prior to using the stove, they caught fire and at least part of hell broke loose. My hand still bears the scars.

Part Three: Days at Sea

By 1000 local on 10th May (1400 Zulu or GMT) we'd made 109.9 NM, the best 24 hour run we'd see for another 7 days. Although most of the distance was under power, it still counted as distance to the destination, so complaints were not in order. I'd been hoping for an optimistic 120 NM average, which is about what we'd been averaging offshore for many years. 

The first equipment casualty this trip was the distance log, which runs off an old Kenyon speedometer. The speedo was doing just fine, but the log just decided to stop. This was more an inconvenience than a danger. Our actual distance through the water is important for the DR plot, but we can survive with an estimate. In fact the 24 hour runs I quote are based on GPS point-to-point distances (and hence do not include tacks).

Day 2 offshore gave another 94 NM, day 3 an additional 95, and finally at 0220 Z 13th May a light southerly filled in that, after backing into the east for 3 days, and then clocking into the southwest, would be our ticket to Bermuda. We had a few adventures in store before then, but the next 10 hours were, according to the logbook, "very pretty sailing." 

At day 4 we could claim only another 83 miles.  I should have been thankful for such bounty, but I immediately started thinking about water restriction routines, etc. It seems that once at sea one always projects current conditions out to eternity.

At 0445 Z on 14 May (5th day), the breeze filled in about NxE and we went onto port tack with the number one genoa, finally laying a reasonable course for Bermuda. Spirits aboard picked up rather quickly, as did the angle of heel. Even though life at 25 degrees aslant was a bit uncomfortable I let things go as they might, thankful for any sailing.

Part Four: Trouble 

At 1110 (all times UTC) I tucked in the first reef and she was doing better, but with the number one genoa still up she was a little pressed. However going forward and climbing over the dink to change headsails was not appealing. I figured I'd carry on a bit longer, since both the sky, my take on local conditions, and the NMN weather out of Norfolk did not indicate much over 15 to 18 apparent. As usual, Herb on Southbound II was a little more pessimistic, but I solved that problem with the on-off switch on the HF radio. The 1400 14th May log entry reads: "On our ear, but making miles."

The day 5 tally, also at 1400, showed a slight improvement to 87 NM, and the news boosted ship's morale a bit. We'd still reach Bermuda with water in the tanks, but not with braggin' rights on boat speed. The 1553 entry sums up the situation: "Still sailing well, hard on port tack w/#1, 1 reef. Well heeled and well aslant, but moving finally. Even if not exactly in the chosen direction." I went below and continued with the 900 page Oxford History of Britain.

At about 2000 Zulu, I heard a loud bang that sounded like a collision. I looked into the bilge, which was dry.  Then I went on deck to check the rig and sails. The mast was where I'd left it, we were still moving on port tack, and I could see nothing else askew. I went below assuming that we had actually hit something, but had suffered no damage. After playing with the navigation for 5 or 10 minutes, I felt we might be a little better on starboard tack and went on deck to take her about. It was then that I noticed the genoa sagging off about 4 feet to leeward, and the headstay waving in the breeze. Incredibly, I had not seen this on the earlier inspection. The 2010 entry, entered later, reads: "Headstay let go. *#@!%."

Part Five: Jury Duty

I immediately disconnected the steering vane and ran the boat dead downwind. The electric autopilot was still in place for hours of motoring and I set it to keep her dead before the wind, meanwhile wondering why the deck-stepped mast was still standing. 

I next went forward and let go the genoa halyard, intending to bring the sail aboard and secure the halyard at the bow as a temporary head stay. The number one genoa went for a swim along the starboard side, but somehow I hauled the sail (and approximately a ton of water) aboard and over the dink.  Next I snapped the jib halyard shackle onto the tack shackle at the stemhead and went back to the mast to tension the halyard. 

As I took a few wraps around the winch and began to grind, I saw that the genoa halyard had come loose and was now unsecured, dangling in the air about a third of the way up the mast. Things were getting tense.

A boat pole didn't help retrieve the halyard, so after several tries I climbed the lower third of the mast chimp fashion and grabbed the shackle. This time I was more effective in securing it and winching the halyard taught. 

I next took the spinnaker halyard, which had been secured to a ring on the pulpit, and ran it over the anchor roller and around to the bobstay fitting, where it was secured with its own shackle. There were now 2 lines to the bow and the mast was temporarily secure.

I brought Kerry Deare onto the wind a bit, sheeted the reefed main home, tied the tiller down, and she sat hove to, approximately 450 miles from Bermuda, and 525 miles from Florida. It was time to slow down and figure the next few steps.

Part Six: Repair Details

The headstay had parted at the lower toggle, where a barrel fitting had snapped completely in half. This particular make of toggle is a barrel-shaped bronze piece with a threaded stud to fit the turnbuckle barrel. A stainless strap wraps around the barrel and is drilled for the clevis pin. The stud cracked just where it exits the barrel, indicating that the toggle had not been "toggling" very well. Close examination showed discoloration at the crack indicating the problem had existed for some time. Evidently the added headstay sag due to too much sail area had brought the situation to a head (a defenseless pun).

From the forensic research we moved next to the engineering development stage.  By taking some tension off the backstay and tensioning the remains of the headstay with a 4-part tackle seized about 6 feet up the stay, I was able to fit a large galvanized pin shackle between the toggle strap at the stemhead and the now empty lower turnbuckle barrel. Having done so and secured the several cotter and shackle pins involved, I gingerly tensioned up the backstay. Nothing parted. 

I then set a 90% wire luff jib, thinking it might act as a second headstay if required. Once again we were sailing to Bermuda.  It was just slightly under two hours since the headstay had let go. I poured a warm scotch, neat.

Part Seven: Sailing Again

The wind was still on the head, and soon enough we showed something under 4 knots on either tack (with neither tack particularly pointing to the Bermuda Islands). By 1400 Z on 15th May, we could claim another 54.09 NM. This time instead of being disappointed with the result, I was jubilant. 

It seemed that against difficult odds, Kerry Deare was determined to visit Bermuda for her second time. She knew better than I what good times and new friends were waiting.

At 0115 Z, 16 May, the wind began to veer into the southeast and free up , and we were soon laying a course for Bermuda on starboard tack. The 1400 Z 16 May 24 hour distance showed 86.5 NM (neglecting tacks), with the wind going light once more. As it continued to veer, we were forced to tack downwind to keep the ship moving. The slatting and rolling at times was maddening. 

We now began the famous "ETA" game, assuming different speeds and conditions. The 1724 Z 16 May log entry reads: "Looks like no matter how we cut it, we get in Thurs [19 May 94] AM. So relax and enjoy." At 2230 Z I tucked in the first reef as the wind once again built, and Kerry Deare was set for the evening.

At 0300 Z 17th May it was getting bumpy so I tucked in a second reef (continuing with the #4 wire luff jib). We were getting about 20 to 25 knots SW, ahead of a weak cold front, and we were finally making reasonable time. At 0324 we broke the 200 NM distance barrier, with 199.9 NM remaining to Gibbs Hill Light. 

At 1400 Z 17 May, we could claim a 24 hour run of 128.9 NM, our best this trip. We'd been averaging just over 5.7 knots for over 12 hours, and the log notes: "Boiling downwind in very rough seas, so just holding on. Have had 2 drop boards in since last eve, but now all 3, and slide closed. Seems much calmer. Smile!" Later: "So rough last nite, had to put stbd settee cushion on cabin sole to get any rest." 

It was beginning to look like we'd make St. George's late Wednesday, rather than Thursday. We were rolling pretty well, and I believed at the time that we might still beat the cold front to Bermuda, but the rolling motion downwind was tiring.

Part Eight: Moving Along

The 0310 Z 18 May entry reads: "Voyage not over yet! Dumped 2nd reef and now we have T-storms all over the horizon." Later: "Got hit by T-storm, and self steerer just followed the wind. Pouring on deck so I just watched the GPS track display as Kerry Deare decided to try for South Africa. After the worst of the rain, jibed boat, reset steerer. Now fill in from NW?" Still later: "So much for beating the cold front to Bermuda. Now on port tack, one reef, 90% jib, vane, lightning and rain. Now thatsa wind shift!"

The wind finally did fill in NxW at about 15 and we were finally beam reaching comfortably for Bermuda. At 1354 Z 18th May, almost 9 days to the minute from Fort Pierce Municipal Marina, we made landfall on the southwest coast of Bermuda. The 1400 Z days run showed 126.8 NM. As we crossed the NE edge of Challenger Bank and came up briefly on soundings, I began resetting the clocks to local time. We were having a picture book cruise up the South Shore, under the lee. I relaxed with a hot shower and a warm scotch.

We cleared in at 1810 local on Ordnance Island, St. George's, and anchored in Convict Bay shortly thereafter. And so to bed...