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Home > Replacing An Intermediate Shroud At Sea
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Replacing an Intermediate Shroud at Sea by Vincent Bossley
Making good time sailing into the advancing twilight of yet another magnificent tropicalevening, all is well with the world and she is feeling quite grand, settling in for a goodnights' progress toward Manihi. Skipping along on a port tack, her cutwater effortlesslyslicing through the faintly ruffled but slinky water, she knows she is cutting a fine image,and just faintly irritated she has no gallery of onlookers to acknowledge her finery. Hercrew appreciate the show, but some recognition from others would do wonders for herself esteem - she likes to show off just as much as the next ship! Pride always comesbefore a fall and with no warning whatsoever and certainly with no foreknowledge on herpart or the crew a thundering crack shatters the evening calm. Her captain and siblingcrew race up the companionway to see Anglo crew staring skyward at a lazily swingingstarboard intermediate shroud. It has parted at the upper spreader tang, dropped into ahalf hoop and now drooping out to starboard.
Aghast, her crew stare at one another.Having heard and read many stories of yachts losing their rigs at sea, thousands of milesfrom the nearest yard, because of failed rigging, they are speechless for a few moments.The scene before their eyes spells disaster if they cannot effect a solution quickly. Shebrings her head around through the wind, and into the hove to position. She is mostremorseful but hasn't time to worry about that now. Fortunately, the weather is benignand her crew determine that providing they remain on a port tack, the port side riggingwill take the very considerable strain. Equatorial darkness is now upon them, so theysecure the swinging end to the starboard lifelines and plan to jury rig another shroud inthe morning. Immediate crisis over she returns to her heading, gingerly gathering speedagain with no apparent problem.
'Phew, that was tricky', she thinks. Maybe she will get out of this one relatively lightly?
Head down and serious she now wants to atone for her earlier rush of vanity.Over an obligatory nerve settling cup of coffee, her shaken crew discuss the problem.Firstly, Manihi Atoll being sparsely inhabited and therefore unlikely to be of assistance isstruck off the itinerary. Her course is altered to Rangiroa Atoll which has the greatestpopulation in the Tuamotus'. Fishing is the mainstay income earner for most of theseatolls and that means boats, ropes, cables, wires, will be in abundance - sailors are thesame the world over! Into their second cup and with their minds more settled with somereasoned thinking, the major implications of the problem appear to recede for the moment.Given that if all things remain equal, most of her sailing will be on the port tack the entireway to Tahiti, where they know all things marine are available. They are carrying aconsiderable length of spectra rope and this will be fashioned into a replacementshroud tomorrow. This Spectra line has an even lower stretch factor than Kevlar and if itcan be drawn down tight enough over the spreaders and onto the deck fittings it maysuffice until they make landfall in Papeete.
When Mother Nature is in the frame, nothing is equal. She carries out her vocation at herdiscretion. Running a printout from the weatherfax shows no alteration in the weatherpattern anywhere in the area of the ocean they are sailing - just the steady SSE trades thewhole way across this sector. Within an hour of their mishap however, cloud covers thenight sky, blackening out the stars. The rising wind backs, bringing rain with it, and ourlittle ship is continually buffeted. It is suddenly squall like, with winds up to thirty knotsand likely to come from any direction. Thirty minutes into these conditions, the captivehoop of steel wrestles itself free and commences a pattern of wild arcs amidships. Itsmain target is the mainmast and every few seconds this eleven millimetre diameter steelpunch wants to embed itself into the aluminium spar. The tang originally attached to theend has long since disappeared into the sea with a loud hiss, leaving a lethal steel rod hellbent on penetrating anything in its swooping path. Aluminium, wood or a skull wouldmake no difference, in that all would accept the flying projectile to a depth dependant onits own physical resistance.
Her mainsail had been dropped earlier at the beginning of the squall attack, and she issailing under genoa only, therefore her sails are under no threat of damage. How toquickly secure this flailing missile and survive before it wreaks major havoc? With a nowheaving deck her skipper, lifejacketed and clipping onto the jackline, scramblesportside. Crew, shining the weaving spotlight in the general direction through the rain,observe the wet and glistening shroud flashing back and forth through the beam - theyare thankful to be in the cockpit still. Her captain, crouching low and dodging it at thesame time, attempts to catch it as it swoops past.
By the time it reaches the end of its arcto port it is way too high anyway, and out of reach - so plan A is not going to succeed.By now, it has whacked the mast many times already, fortunately, not always head on.Crew, seeing the black shape slumped in the port scupper think he has given up or beenhit. He rises again, this time with the port side halyard loose in his hand and followingseveral misses manages to catch the tip in the slack halyard, whip the cord around thesteel as many times as possible, draw it down taut and fix it to a port side pad eye. Jobdone, he straightens and scuttles back into the cockpit grinning from ear to ear. No doubthe thinks he is a hero now, not realising that it was a pure stroke of luck the shroudcaught in the halyard on its wildly gyrating path. However, the possibility of any furtherimmediate damage being eliminated, she is content, allowing him to bask in his thirtyseconds of fame. Tomorrow is another day, when options will be examined, but for nowcosy bunks are awaiting. Filled they are, leaving the remaining crew on watch to ponderwhat might have been.
Gently swinging from her mast head, her captain surveys the scene all around him. Abrilliant tropical morning, swept fresh and crystal clean by the overnight rain, leaves ascintillating picture. Three hundred and sixty degrees of perfect and sparkling blue discencircles her, holding her permanently captive, dead centre. Swivelling his head, hemarvels at the outrageous extent of it. Endless, like a womans' love, the blue oceanseemingly stretches to infinity. The canopy overhead is without blemish, but for severalfluffy and harmless looking thunderheads dotted low on the horizon in the south westquadrant. Probably hovering over some distant speck of land, but being so far off, cannotbe seen over the horizon. For the rest, a broad canvas of wide shades of blue, lightlybrushed with glittering sparkles as the sun reflects from the wave tips in the wispy breeze.No camera, restricted as they are to a small window, will ever be capable of capturing theoverall uplifting feeling of seeing and being part of such a scene. Pumped full with atranquil joy of being alive, her captain turns his head to the job at hand.Dawn breaking, as it had this morning, into a beautiful unruffled day with only a lightbreeze on her stern, her captain had decided a trip up the mast was in order to see whatcould be done about her errant shroud. He would also inspect Miguels' swage on herforestay.
'Waste of time even looking at that!' she says, ever practical, 'good or bad, what does heimagine he could do about it out here?'
Human nature being what it is, there was no way he wasn't going to be hoisted up theextra height to the truk for an inspection. Apart from anything else, that is as high as hecan go on her and he will go there! Normally at sea, a trip up the mast would only becontemplated in an emergency. Five degrees of movement on deck translates to a fifteento twenty degree arc up here. It is imperative that the mast is clamped firmly between thethighs of the climber to avoid swinging out and slamming back into the spar. Theseyoungsters doing a round the world race, go up in all weathers - the fearlessness of youthno doubt propelling them. One becomes a little more prudent with age.
Miguels' engineering masterpiece is of course flawless and he feels a spurt of affectionfor that moustachioed man and the product of his craft. Three thousand five hundrednautical miles in their wake, toiling he will be still. Drinking in the view, lingering aslong as is practicable without the crew on deck becoming suspicious, distracted (it's atwenty metre drop to the deck!) or just leaving him up there, he hails the deck to lowerhim to the intermediate spreader. Hooked to his belt is the spectra line, and in hispouch a replacement tang. Glancing down the whole length of rope all the way to thedeck, he is momentarily fascinated by the convoluted gyration it takes from in close tothe mast, to way out over the sea. With its woven diamond blue and white pattern it looksmuch like a very long and very lazy python, snaking all the way up to his rear end!
'Come on', she checks him, 'get on with the job!'
It is relatively easy to double loop the spectra cord through the tang, hook it into thekeyhole in the mast and drop the two loose ends down to deck level for attaching to thedeck fitting. On the way down he checks the leather spreader end covers for wear.Back on deck with several inner thigh skin burns, the results of which are depositedsomewhere up and down the mast, the episode is shared over a cooling beer - cannot rushthese jobs at sea!
Thoughts of lazy days in those far off, but approaching ever closer, fabled south seaislands, spur them on, and her captain and Anglo crew set about drawing down the juryrig shroud as taut as their combined strength will allow. With no block and tackle systemavailable that would work in this situation, they will have to rely on pure physicalstrength. This is quite considerable in Anglo crew but her captain's contribution will besomewhat puny by comparison. Being on the starboard side, the slack side, they surprisethemselves as to the degree of tension they are able to exact upon the brute. Even tensionwith its twin intermediate shroud on the port side is not so much an issue now, as havingin place a rig that will keep the standing rigging upright without breaking or collapsing.In the event, the product of their exertions preserves this premise admirably all the way toPapeete Port. Meanwhile, the arrival of a platter of steaming scones liberally coated withglobs of rapidly melting bright yellow butter part way through the operation, undoubtedlyinject them with sufficient hairy chested drive to crank down that extra pound or tworequired.
'Men!' she thinks, 'they're so easy!'
The completed assembly, without too close an inspection, looks passably shipshape.Strong enough for fair to moderate weather anyway, and her crew admire theirresourceful handiwork from her cockpit. Both she and her captain pray for the Trades tohold until Tahiti.
You can download the complete 'Voyage of the Little Ship Tere Moana' on my website www.sailboat2adventure.com
Vincent Bossley is a publisher and lives on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, Australia. He has is own website http://www.sailboat2adventure.com for cruising sailors, sailors planning their lifetime adventure, armchair sailors, virtual sailors and in fact anyone who has ever dreamed of sailing the oceans of this beautiful planet of ours.
About the Author
Vincent Bossley is a publisher and lives on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, Australia. He has is own website http://www.sailboat2adventure.com for cruising sailors, sailors planning their lifetime adventure, armchair sailors, virtual sailors and in fact anyone who has ever dreamed of sailing the oceans of this beautiful planet of ours.
You can find him on www.sailboat2adventure.com
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