A Week Aboard S/V Sabado: 7/7/2024 – 7/14/2024

Have you seen our latest YouTube video? 🙂 

Last Sunday, we assisted our friends as they pulled up their anchor. One of their engines was out of commission, so we tied our dinghy to their starboard side and used the extra horsepower to give them the maneuverability they needed to get their ground tackle up. All went smoothly, and we waved goodbye as they set sail toward an island with a mechanic- we’ll see you later, friends! We spent the rest of the day relaxing at home, hiding from the rain. 

Monday morning was gloomy and overcast. We are growing tired of this weather! The clouds parted briefly that afternoon, and the sun illuminated the turquoise water. We couldn’t resist a quick trip to shore to stretch our legs. We waded through the shallows toward the windward side of the atoll, checking out everything we deemed “potential treasure”: anything from a clump of rope to fossilized coral qualifies. Unfortunately, we found nothing to help fund our next haul out. 😉 ?

Tuesday was the first nice day we’d had in a while. The sun was out, the anchorage was practically empty, and the water was calm. We packed our cooler, dug out our beach gear, and headed to shore. We picked a spot near a large sand bar, set up our tent and chairs, and turned on our speaker. We ate lunch, sang along to Shania Twain, and swam with the reef sharks. It was the perfect day! 

We topped it off with dinner and a movie at home. 

We spent Wednesday lounging around the boat. I was nursing a shoulder injury, and Ray was learning how to use a program to make models of boat parts for 3D printers. Maybe that’s the secret to remote cruising—being able to print parts! ??‍♀️ We ran the watermaker, baked a loaf of seeded sourdough bread, and defrosted another chunk of that yellowfin tuna our friend had caught a few weeks ago. 

We tidied up and got the boat ready to move again. We hadn’t yet felt that pull to move, but we had heard rumors about a takeout pizza shop at the next atoll, and the thought of a meal that I did not have to plan and execute was very appealing. Plus, we needed groceries, and the store there was supposed to be better. We pulled our anchor up at 9am Friday and motored toward the pass. We wove through the maze of bommies between our anchorage and the open ocean. It was calm, and the visibility was excellent. We exited the pass with the help of an outgoing tide. 

We hoisted the mainsail and brought out the code zero. We were cruising along at 6-7kn, which was way faster than we had anticipated. We knew we’d have to slow down to arrive at our destination during daylight, but Sabado seemed so happy… so we let her fly until sunset. It felt so good to be sailing again. 

There were squalls on the horizon as we began discussing our sail plan for the overnight portion of our trip. We always say, if you’re thinking about reducing sail, you should do it. So, we swapped out the code zero for the jib. Shortly after, the wind dropped to 2kn, and we had to start an engine. We motored slowly through the night, timing our arrival with sunrise. We drifted outside the pass while we checked the local tide station- we had just missed slack tide but should have had a favorable incoming tide. With flat seas and zero wind, we decided to proceed. We quickly realized that the tide station was dead wrong. We found ourselves battling 5kn of outgoing current. Thankfully, Sabado’s two 57HP engines were able to power us through. 

Visibility was poor as the sun barely peaked through a carpet of clouds. I kept watch on the bow for bommies while Ray used the satellite images to guide us from the helm. We decided to anchor by town, just West of the pass. We floated our chain, backed down, and stayed up for a while, ensuring we settled in a good position. We took a nap- it’s been a while since we’ve slept in shifts for an overnight sail! We decided to take a quick trip to shore to dispose of our garbage, then returned to the boat. We always like to get eyes on our anchor before night, so I jumped in to take a look. The bottom was littered with coral. Our anchor was set in a small patch of sand, but we decided to add a fourth float to prevent our chain from getting wrapped around the coral. To add a float, we had to remove our bridle, pull a portion of the chain up, attach the float, and then reattach the bridle. During this process, our chain got caught in the remnants of what we think was an old mooring. It was just a matter of completing a series of maneuvers to free our chain: forward, to port, reverse, then forward again. I stayed in the water, directing Ray while keeping an eye on our progress and a few curious sharks that had noticed me. The bait ball forming under our boat was drawing lots of attention! 

Before climbing back aboard, I did another complete scan of our chain, floats, and anchor. This anchorage was not ideal, but we looked secure. We had a 3.5:1 scope out (all chain). Here is an excellent article about short-scope anchoring in deep water that has come in handy for us in French Polynesia. 

We had dinner together and changed into our pajamas, still exhausted from our trip. The wind began to pick up hours early and from a different direction than what was forecasted. We were being blown toward shore. We decided to bring the code zero down in case it continued to build. The sun slipped below the horizon, and daylight vanished as we eased the spinnaker halyard down, coiling the furled sail along our starboard side. Ray was about to detach the furling drum to put the sail away properly when our anchor alarms sounded. Suddenly, the wind speed doubled. I went inside to look at our anchor alarm and heard a bang. Ray had fallen down the stairs to the cockpit. The boat was bouncing around in 6ft seas that seemingly came out of nowhere, and a wave had come over the side just as he had reached the steps, taking him down. I ran to him, slightly panicked at the thought of him hitting his head and being unconscious. I would’ve needed to call for help to reset the anchor in these conditions. One of the boats had their dinghy down before this started- what was that boat’s name? My mind was racing. Thankfully I found Ray sitting on the sugar scoop gasping for air; his butt and his arms had taken the brunt of the fall. He got the wind knocked out of him, but there was no blood, and his head was unharmed. I turned the chartplotter on while he got the engines started. We were dragging toward shore, fast. It started pouring down rain. Our chartplotter screen was frozen. 

I grabbed the iPad and Ray’s phone and turned the chartplotter off and back on. Our backup devices were taking too long to connect. I grabbed a headlamp and got ready to pull up the anchor while Ray tried to figure out our location. The downpour of rain and current whipping us around was disorienting—where even was shore at this point? Come on, B&G! We need you! 

I began pulling up our chain while the boat’s bow bashed up and down. How did the waves even get this big? This atoll is pretty skinny; I didn’t think this much fetch was possible. I got the bridle off but struggled with all our floats. The lines were getting wrapped around the chain as I was bringing them up, making it challenging to unclip them. It felt like each one took forever, and I could feel the tension increasing as the chain pulled on our windlass. I took everything one step at a time, being intentional about every move I made: point to chain, illuminate hand so Ray can see, grab remote, pull up the chain. Get float on board, unwrap the line, and unclip float. Repeat. Hold on because you’re not clipped in. Do not slip. Be mindful of the float lines; the water is coming up through the trampoline and tossing them around. Don’t let them get caught in the chain when it’s moving. Pray the windlass keeps going, or you’re screwed. 

Ray got the chartplotter working and championed the helm, using both engines to fight the wind, waves, and current the best he could. I got the anchor up and, per his instruction, dumped 200ft of chain when we were over our original spot, where we knew there was a patch of sand. I attached the bridle seconds before the tension became too much, and the chain flew out on its own. I pushed the “down” button in an attempt to preserve the windlass motor. The bridle caught us, and we were holding our position. I took a deep breath and performed my regular post-anchor tasks while being pelted with rain and ocean spray: secure all lines, double-check that there is no tension on the chain, close lockers, etc. 

We reset our anchor alarm and changed into dry clothes, exchanging sighs of relief and pats on the back. We both grabbed an ice pack and sat in front of the TV, where we projected our position, speed, and wind data. Between the motion of the boat and the adrenaline of the situation, I felt nauseous. Seeing how close we got to shore on our tracks was freaky. Conditions held for a couple more hours before beginning to calm down. We both stayed in the saloon, in front of the TV, monitoring our position and occasionally resting our eyes, waiting for daylight.

Anytime we encounter a problem, we like to discuss what we learned and what we’d do differently. Here were our takeaways from this:

• We had pulled up 30 feet of chain after another boat had anchored too close, bringing us below 3.5:1 scope. In hindsight, we think this is what allowed us to drag. That boat moved- in the dark- minutes before the storm hit, but we did not have time to readjust our scope before it was too late. Rather than pulling up chain, we should have moved when we saw how close they were to us. Anchoring here has been a learning experience, and we need to break the habits we developed in the shallow sandy anchorages we’re used to, where we were able to use 5-7:1 scope.
• We must be more diligent about taking down the big headsails immediately after a passage. The weather here changes quickly, and it would be incredibly problematic if one came unfurled. 
• We need to replace our chartplotter. 
• Maybe we should keep our pfds in the cockpit… We have always found a moment to prioritize safety in the past, but this happened so fast that we didn’t feel like we had time to grab them from the port forward cabin. 
• We should get a remote for the windlass that I could put on a lanyard and keep around my neck so I don’t have to have the generator compartment open, exposing it to salt spray.
• We want to find a way to attach our floats to the chain that is easier to remove in an emergency. We are currently using carabiners through the link, but we would like to try a quick-release shackle in the future. 

On a positive note:

• Our anchor alarms are fantastic. We use qtVlm and our Vesper Cortex. 
• Our communication was excellent. Using hand signals and a headlamp to illuminate my hands on the bow allowed Ray to stay at the helm and kept us from trying to yell over the wind and rain. 
• Our chain and windlass live to see another day! Replacing both have been moved to our high-priority list: the windlass first, and the chain during our next haulout (or earlier if we can arrange it).

Anyway, I apologize for getting this up so late- we’ve had a rough 24hrs! Now, all is well. We’re safe, and Sabado is safe. The wind has clocked around and is no longer blowing us toward shore. We’re exhausted and sore, but we went ahead and pulled up a portion of our chain and reattached our floats this morning. Thankfully, we did not get tangled up on anything! We also looked at our generator/fuel polishing system compartment; there’s no telling how much salt water got in there while we reset our anchor. We will wipe everything down with soapy water and spray some corrosionX in there today, but it doesn’t look bad at first glance. Ray has some gnarly bruises developing, but we will persevere. Stay vigilant out there, everyone!

I hope you had a great week. ❤️