The Concordia capsize



The ill-fated Concordia

 THE OFFICER OF THE WATCH simply didn’t know enough to avoid a capsize. That’s the conclusion of an investigation by the Transportation Safety Board of Canada into the loss of the 189-foot barquentine Concordia off the coast of Brazil last February.

The tall ship was part of an elite private-school program called Class Afloat, based in Nova Scotia, Canada, and was carrying 48 students, eight teachers, and eight crewmembers. The steel-hulled ship was built in 1992. All 64 people aboard were rescued from liferafts after two days adrift.

The investigation report says: “Despite changes in the wind conditions in the 60 to 75 minutes preceding the occurrence, and the fact that several squalls were being tracked, both visually and on the radar, the second officer did not perceive any threat to the vessel.

“As the apparent wind speed increased with the onset of the squall, the vessel’s heel angle reached roughly 23 degrees for approximately two to three minutes without mitigating action being taken.

“The forward and aft deckhouses had not been fully secured weathertight and, therefore, the vessel’s righting ability at large angles was reduced and protection against the ingress of water was compromised. As a result, downflooding progressed until the vessel lost all stability and capsized.”

The report added that while the second officer had the proper Canadian certification, his training “didn’t include sufficient information about stability guidance.”

In a radio interview, the ship’s master, Captain Bill Curry, who was below in his cabin at the time, said she suffered a 100-degree knockdown within 15 seconds and her masts were in the water. She sank in minutes.

The board of enquiry is now recommending that officers who have been certified to sail are trained in “stability guidance information.” Presumably that means knowing that a sailing ship can capsize.

Talk about bolting the stable door . . . is it possible that an officer on a square-rigger did not know his ship could capsize in a squall? Is it really possible that he just stood there and watched squalls approaching? Didn’t he know enough to reduce sail, close the doors in those ungainly deckhouses, and maybe change course to run downwind? Was the Concordia properly ballasted? Was she designed to recover from a knockdown, like any decent yacht?

So many questions, but the mainstream Press doesn’t know enough to ask them. But no matter what conclusions the board of enquiry came to, I’d like to hear the second officer’s story for myself.

Today’s Thought
Little minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune, but great minds rise above it.
— Washington Irvine, Sketch Book: Philip of Pokanoket.


Tailpiece
“Are you sure your wife knows you’ve invited me home for dinner?”
“Of course, yes — we were still arguing bitterly about it when I left the house this morning.”

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Quizzing your skipper

SOMETIMES PEOPLE NEW TO SAILING ask me: “How can I tell if the skipper I sail with knows his stuff? Is it safe to be with him? Will he teach me the right way to do things?”

Well, it’s not always easy to tell. Skippers are, by necessity, dictators. There can be no democracy on a sailboat, or very little anyhow. And dictators are very hard to read. But all the same, you may gather some clues about your skipper’s competence if you keep your eyes and ears open. Here are six ways for a neophyte crew to evaluate a skipper:

1. The spinnaker won’t come down. There’s a sandbar ahead. The foredeck hand just fell overboard. What does your skipper do?

► Give incomprehensible orders in short, sharp screams.[3]

► Shout “Hang on tight. We’re going aground!”[0]

► Panic and faint.[3]

2. You point out politely to the skipper that he’s passing the wrong side of a channel buoy. Does he:

► Ignore you?[3]

► Laugh hysterically?[2]

► Check the depth sounder?[0]

3. The engine turns over but won’t start. Does the skipper:

► Mouth foul oaths about his diesel mechanic?[2]

► Fall on his knees and pray?[3]

► Check if the engine stop knob is still out?[0]

4. Someone anchors too close. Does your skipper:

► Shrug and pour himself another rum?[2]

► Scream at them to go away?[3]

► Move quietly away and anchor somewhere else?[0]

5. You’re caught in stays while tacking in a narrow channel. A container ship approaches from ahead at 15 knots. Does your skipper:

► Call for engine power?[2]

► Back the jib?[0]

► Stand paralyzed with his mouth open?[3]

6. You’re caught in sudden heavy fog while nearing a busy harbor entrance. Does your skipper:

► Reverse course and go back the way you came at top speed?[3]

► Reduce speed and call all ships on Channel 16 giving his position and course?[0]

► Put out a Mayday call on Channel 16?[3]

7. The galley is on fire, the holding tank is overflowing, the cockpit crew has just jammed her finger in a winch and . . . but enough is enough.


Add up the points at the end of the answers you chose, and if they come to more than 5, find yourself a new skipper. This one’s going to do you no good at all.

Today’s Thought
We learn from experience that men never learn anything from experience.
— George Bernard Shaw

Tailpiece
I hear the circus had to drop the human cannon-ball act because their ammunition ran away with the trapeze artist and they couldn’t find another performer of his caliber.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

The need to dream

IT’S NOT SOMETHING you hear much about, but a surprising number of sailors undertaking long voyages suffer from hallucinations caused by fatigue. Psychologist Dr. Glin Bennet, who interviewed competitors in a singlehanded race across the North Atlantic, discovered that 50 percent of them experienced one or more illusions or hallucinations.


I remember Frank Robb telling me of his experience one day in my office at the Natal Mercury newspaper in Durban, South Africa. Frank was an intrepid seaman, a fisherman and a sailboat owner who learned his lessons in the stormy waters of the Cape of Good Hope, and who sometimes voyaged rather farther afield.

He was singlehanding in his old gaffer when he encountered four days of rough weather in the Caribbean. As usual, he was deprived of wholesome sleep during that time, and when the storm subsided he wasn’t too sure of his position. But soon he spotted a fishing boat, and, in the distance, an island with a protected harbor.

He sailed in, waving to a launch crowded with sightseers, and found a good anchorage. With the last of his energy he lowered his anchor and went down below, where he passed out in the saloon floor.

Twelve hours later he woke up and went on deck. There was no land in sight, There were no boats around. Nothing but sea. The anchor was down, however, dangling uselessly at the end of eight fathoms of rode.

Luckily, he felt no anxiety about his hallucination. He realized that sleep deprivation had affected his judgment, and that his overtired mind had invented the island to relieve him of the anxiety that was preventing him from getting healing sleep.

We now know that dreams are important for mental health, and if storms prevent you from dreaming, your mind will eventually compensate with a parade of waking dreams called hallucinations. The good news is that hallucinations leave no bad effects on the mind, so there is nothing to be frightened of.

Today’s Thought
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
— Tennyson, The Higher Pantheism.

Tailpiece
“Boy we had some excitement at our place last night. We had a burglar in the house. You should have seen my husband coming down the stairs three at a time!”
“Did he catch the burglar?”
“Hell no, the burglar was upstairs.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

A critical choice

LAURA DEKKER is about to make one of the most important decisions of her young life. She is the sturdy little Dutch girl who is aiming to become the youngest person to sail around the world alone. Having just turned 16 on September 20, she is about to leave Darwin, Australia, on her 38-foot Jeanneau ketch, Guppy, on the return trip to Gibraltar, whence she started her record bid.


But which route is she going to take? North into the pirate-infested waters of North Africa and Arabia, up the Red Sea and into the Med? Or south, down around the Cape of Good Hope and straight up the Atlantic?


Laura herself refuses to say which way she’s going. Pirates can also read her blog,[1] she points out.


She’s about half-way around the world now, maybe a little more, and she has most of a year in which to claim the title from the Australian Jessica Watson, who scraped home to Sydney just before her 17th birthday.


Of course, there is no comparison between the two voyages because Watson’s was not only singlehanded, but non-stop and without any physical outside aid. And, significantly, she sailed via the world’s great capes, including Cape Horn.


Dekker, by comparison has been island-hopping and enjoying the local amenities on shore. Her father has joined her at crucial ports during the voyage to help her with repairs and general maintenance. And she’s taken the “easy” way around the world, via the Panama Canal.


Frankly, I don’t know what to think about young Laura. Her record, if she succeeds, will not be recognized by any official authority, and it will in any case be far less of an achievement than Jessica Watson’s.


But she is certainly an exceptionally capable young woman, no doubt of that. She is naturally very mature for her age, and she shows no fear of the sea. She only seems to be happy when her poor light-displacement fin-keeler is doing 7 knots with its foredeck submerged under cresting waves, and she arrived in Darwin with her sails in tatters and her steering gear on its last legs. She holds nothing back from herself, and she expects her boat to perform with the same sense of obedience. Luckily for her, Guppy has not yet experienced the extreme weather that Watson’s boat met up with several times.


Dekker’s parents are divorced and her father is the one who provides the greatest physical support. But I can’t imagine how he can let his little daughter go off around the world on her own on a sailboat at a time in her life when emotional support and a steady home life are of such great importance.


I’ve never had a daughter, but I’d cringe at the thought of abandoning my little girl among those predatory Aussie hunks in Darwin, never mind the pirates of the Arabian Gulf. No matter how competent she was, I don’t think I could bring myself to do it.


Anyway, I hope she chooses the Cape route. I’ve done it twice myself in small sailboats and I know I’d rather face a southwesterly buster than a Somali pirate.


[1] http://www.lauradekker.nl/English/Home.html


Today’s Thought

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well; and doing well whatever you do, without a thought of fame.
— Longfellow, Hyperion.


Tailpiece
“Darling Rose, will you marry me?”
“No I won’t, but I have to admit I admire your choice.”


(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Word to the wise

A LETTER cunningly scratched on toilet paper with a burned stick says:


O wise and wonderful one, O great font of wisdom and truth, O shining example of grace and goodness, I humbly bid you good day on behalf of the millions — nay, billions — of members of Vigor’s Silent Fan Club.


As everybody knows, members are forbidden to contact you, or praise in any way your unmatched wisdom, your gracious manners, and your unrivalled literary skills. Because membership is automatic until a member is expelled for overtly admiring you, you have the biggest fan club the world has ever known.

Unfortunately, however, and despite my best efforts, the number of your so-called Followers has steadily increased over the years until it now stands at nearly 60. And, by the rules of the club, Followers may be expelled for the implicit admiration they display.


If I may say so without appearing unduly immodest, I have done exceedingly well to keep the number of Followers down.


Early on, I took the precaution of removing the Followers widget from your blog page. I have made it as difficult as possible for anyone even to know what a Follower is, let alone become one. But your popularity is overwhelming. Despite all the odds, a few determined fans — bursting with admiration for your sage-like utterances, your ready wit and charm, the subtle thrust-and-parry of your sparkling repartee, and the wisdom, Solomon-like, that graces your princely brow — somehow still manage to sign themselves on as Followers.


O Wise One, the time has come for action,


Apparently, these misguided creatures are heedless of the fact that their actions could result in instant expulsion from Vigor’s Silent Fan Club, a misfortune almost beyond contemplation. They will never learn the secret handshake, the shortcut to Nirvana, or the one and only guaranteed way to cure weather helm.


In the past I have appealed to you, Honorable Sir, to lower your standards a little, to tone it down a bit, lest a further sudden onrush of Followers should ensue. I surmised that perhaps a little more mediocrity would help. Some spelling mistakes, maybe. Less brilliant discourse and more fuddy-duddy boredom might be the answer. It seemed to me that if you could just deliberately dim your shining talent, it would serve to fend off would-be Followers and keep up the all-important numbers of your magnificent Silent Fan Club whose conscientious members never dream of praising you, fawning upon you, or even mentioning your name.


But you have not been able to dim your talent sufficiently. Nothing has worked. The number of Followers still increases. I therefore officially give up. I have enabled the Followers widget and now display for public shame their names, and many of their faces. These, Sir, are the renegades, the law-breakers, the turncoats whose peppercorn contribution to society deems them ill equipped to be members of your venerable club. They, Sir, are not fit to kiss your little finger, and I hope they will serve as examples to other would-be miscreants fired with thoughts of offering you praise or any form of recognition.


Yours Humbly and Obediently,


IVOR TUNGIN-CHEAQUE


(Chairman, Vigor’s Silent Fan Club)


PS: Please excuse my writing. Very hurried. They only undo the strait jacket for 10 minutes a day.


Today’s Thought
Of every noble work the silent part is best
Of all expression that which cannot be expressed.
— W. W. Story, The Unexpressed


Tailpiece
“Did you hear that Mary got dressed up as a boy and joined the army?”
“But she can’t get away with that ... wait till she her first shower with the men.”
“Yeah ... but who’s going to tell?”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Pursuing cruising happiness

ONE OF MY RECENT COLUMNS has made a reader very unhappy. “I’m about to retire from a very stressful career,” writes someone who signs himself Disillusioned. “For more than 20 years I have been kept going by my dream of finally taking off into the blue on my yacht, of finding the happiness I have dreamed of for so long. Now you tell me that the success rate among people who plan to go long-term cruising is only 35 to 40 percent. I can’t stand the thought that I’ve been waiting and preparing in vain. Why is the cruiser drop-out rate 60 percent? What makes them unhappy?”

Well, Disillusioned, two things, basically. The first thing is that most people need a goal when they go cruising. They need to feel they have a plan, that they are making progress, and that they will eventually accomplish something worth-while. But too many people don’t put enough thought into creating a goal. They believe that they can just take off into the sunset with a champagne glass in hand and find happiness on the way. They can’t.

The second thing is that they don’t understand what happiness is. It’s not the evanescent feeling of joy and laughter you get from watching the clowns. It’s not nonstop smiles and jokes. It’s far deeper and longer-lasting than that.

Democritus, one of the leading Greek philosophers, taught that the goal of life is happiness. He said that at all times man should seek happiness. And, of course, you probably remember that the pursuit of Happiness is part of one of the most famous phrases in the Declaration of Independence.

So what is happiness, then? Democritus described it as a state of mind, an inner condition of tranquility, a harmony of the soul, a combination of reflection and reason ... in fact, what amounts to serenity.

My own theory is that happiness is serendipitous. It sneaks up on you and ambushes you when you’re quietly going about your normal day-to-day cruising activities. If you set out purposely to pursue happiness, it flees in front of you and you can never catch it. But ignore it, and it will creep back and embrace you.

So, before you go, Disillusioned, make sure you understand what happiness is. Make sure, too, that your cruising plan is based on a solid goal. And then, if you have a good number of points in the Black Box, happiness will wrap its welcome cloak around you and you will be Disillusioned no more.

Today’s Thought
Happiness? A good cigar, a good meal, a good cigar and a good woman—or a bad woman; it depends on how much happiness you can handle.
— George Burns, NBC TV, 16 Oct 84

Tailpiece
“Why don’t you play bridge with Jim any more?”
“Well, would you play with a man who keeps aces up his sleeve and cheats every time he writes the score down?”
“Of course not.”
“Neither will Jim.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

Lost Norse magic

Skidbladnir

I’VE ALWAYS FELT A GREAT AWE for the Viking longship. It undertook some very ambitious trading voyages between Scandinavia and Constantinople; and, of course, it carried abroad fierce warriors bent on plunder and conquering. It enabled great voyages of exploration, and crossed the ocean to the North American continent long before Christopher Columbus came along and missed it.

In addition, apart from all its practical applications, the lapstrake-hulled Viking longship was one of mankind’s most beautiful creations, and technically one of his most complex at that time.

Even so, the Viking ship was very simple at heart. It was really just a big rowing boat. Admittedly, it did have a squaresail that could be used when the wind was favorable, but basically it relied for power on men’s muscles. The fact that it achieved so much in so many different ways almost puts it in the realm of magic. But that description really belongs to the Skidbladnir.

She really was magic. In Scandinavian mythology, Skidbladnir was the ship belonging to Freyr, one of the most important of the pagan Norse gods. Freyr was the god of farming and fruitfulness. His portfolio also included the sun, the wind and the rain. And, just to add to his burden, Freyr was the Norse god of fertility and phallic worship, with a brief to bestow peace and pleasure on mortal beings. A tough gig, as they say.

Now it so happened that the sons of Ivaldi, who were dwarfs, built a very special boat for Freyr. It was big enough to accommodate all 12 of the most important Norse gods, with all their gear and weapons. It could also sail through both air and water, and it would go directly to its destination as soon as the sail was raised.

But here’s the even more magical part: it could be folded like a cloth and carried by Freyr in his pouch when it wasn’t needed.

Somehow, that particular marvel of Viking technology has been lost to us over the ages. Would that we could track down the sons of Ivaldi and put them to work for us now. Even working on a small scale, just think how many thousands of yacht owners would appreciate the convenience of tucking the ship’s tender into a pocket when it wasn’t needed.

There are times when I’m convinced that science is retrogressing. We can walk on the moon if we want to, but we can’t do a simple thing like making a fold-up Viking ship any longer. What’s the world coming to? I ask.

Today’s Thought

But beyond the bright searchlights of science,

Out of sight of the windows of sense,

Old riddles still bid us defiance,

Old questions of Why and of Whence.

— W. C. D. Whetham, Recent Developments of Physical Science.

Tailpiece

“Paddy, you should be more careful about pulling your drapes at home. When I drove past your house last night I distinctly saw you kissing your wife.”

“Ha, well, then the joke’s on you, O’Riordan. I wasn’t home last night.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)