Winter 2005 - New England Multihull Association

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Arvinda Dismasting by Tom Cox BANG! It sounded like a 12 gauge shotgun blast at close range. The next moment I lifted my head, peering through a red haze of blood, and checked that both eyes worked (they did) and that my teeth were intact (they were). I noticed an eerie calm devoid of the sounds or sensations of wind or wave which moments before had whistled and surged, and saw the rig lying across the deck. I immediately began exclaiming and shouting orders like “#$%! we’ve been dismasted!...I can’t believe we’ve been #$%!ing dismasted. We have an engine that works don’t we? Put it down, start it. Where’s the mast - is it pounding on the hull? Disconnect it before it can hole us.” Tom and Cindy said I never lost consciousness, but was “disoriented”, as it took them 6 or 7 minutes to quiet me down sufficiently and get me to call the Coastguard on the VHF for assistance. NEMA members Tom Wilke and Cindy Finch, onboard Arvinda, Summer 2004 I had been delivering Arvinda, a ten year old homemade 38’ plywood catamaran with a 50’ homemade plywood wingmast from Cape Cod to Norfolk with the new owners aboard on Monday, November 8, 2004. They have plenty of heart, but not much experience, and had hired me to help get their new home afloat into the ICW where they could handle her safely themselves. We had departed from Westport Harbor at first light under double reefed main and motor. The wind was NW 10 to 15 knots with gusts to 25 – exactly as forecast. Once clear of the local shoals we altered course towards Newport, and I noticed that the mast rocked every time we mounted a small sea - the standing rigging was slack and needed tightening. I decided to delay raising the jib, and we cautiously motor-sailed with main eased until we found a lee along the shore beneath Beavertail Point. We struck the main, and ten turns all around made for a nice tight forestay. We raised the pinhead Dacron main, still double reefed (about 300 sf), and the 150 sf Dacron blade jib and stowed the outboard motor. We then set sail for Block Island and Montauk around 1230, enjoying a leisurely lunch while broad reaching down Narragansett Bay, passing Pt. Judith around 1330. The sun shone, the breeze was fair, the autopilot tracked smoothly, and I felt comfortable with the sail plan, everything hoisted to the strong point of the mast where the shrouds and forestay were “Jesus” shackled to the mast hound. Arvinda was carrying about 450 sf of sail and was perfectly balanced. The forecast called for the wind to gradually moderate to 10 knots by morning and shift to the north where it would remain for several days - perfect for our planned passage under the lee of Long Island and along the New Jersey shore all the way to Norfolk. The 18 mile reach from Pt. Judith to Montauk was to be our longest stretch of open water for the entire 300 mile passage. We had been close reaching SW at 8-9 knots in two foot seas for about a half hour with true wind on the beam, tracking nicely with only an occasional plunge of the bows. A small gust filled the sails and the boat accelerated; Cindy exclaimed, “11 knots, 12 knots…” I stood up, bracing with my left hand on the coach house edge, and leaned across the cockpit to view the GPS. We had briefly touched 14 knots and were making course; I was just sitting down when the mast exploded without warning. It shattered halfway up the tube near the spreaders (compression failure) and toppled over towards the port ama stern. The starboard cap shroud came down across the cockpit and caught me on the back between the shoulder blades and I pushed me face first into the aft edge of the coach house. I sustained a “tripod fracture and blowout” in medical speak (broken upper jaw, eye socket, sinus cavity, and nose). Had the shroud struck a few inches higher it would likely have snapped my neck, possibly killing me or worse. The dismasting occurred halfway between Block Island and Point Judith, RI, about 4 miles out, less than a mile from the 1B1 buoy. The Coast Guard responded on the second pan-pan call on VHF 16. A sport fishing boat, which Cindy had the presence of mind to wave down, stood by. After I sat down and dialed up the Coasties I started feeling dizzy, so I laid down on the bunk with my feet raised on my duffle while I explained our situation – dismasted, no flooding of the boat, everyone wearing life vests, position, details on the man injured, nature of the injuries, etc. The Coasties dispatched a 25’ surf boat and a 44’ cutter from Point Judith and arrived on 10 N E M A Winter 2005
scene within 20 minutes. They put two men aboard - a medic to take my vitals, and another man who stayed aboard Arvinda to help Tom and Cindy. The medic determined that I had dilated eyes and a concussion; the two men evacuated me onto the 25 footer, which I was able to board with minimal assistance. “That’s my seat, right?” I quipped, pointing to the co-pilot’s swivel chair in the doghouse, “And I’m driving.” “No, you’re going to lie down in there,” responded the bosun’s mate pointing to the forepeak. “That looks like a bucking bronco berth to me –I’d rather you pull the cushions out so I can lie down right here.” They obliged. I told the Coasties not to bother calling Tow Boat/US as the owners had no insurance, and if they were going to tow Arvinda, they should keep the speed down to under 10 knots (Always the Captain, barking out orders). They managed to rip out Arvinda’s bow cleats in their enthusiasm to catch the surf boat anyway, but it was darned nice of them to provide Tom and Cindy with a guest mooring in Point Judith when they pulled in 20 minutes later. The local fire department EMT’s were waiting on the dock and lost no time strapping the patient in and racing to the local hospital. The dismasting was at 14:15 and I found myself in South County Hospital in Wakefield, RI by 15:30 - those Coasties do good work! The technicians took xrays and a cat scan, and the doctors determined that I needed more help than they could render (plastic surgery). They dosed me with some morphine and shipped me off in an ambulance bound for Mass General Hospital in Boston where I was stitched Arwinda under tow with broken mast up in the emergency ward and released around midnight. I had reconstructive surgery a week later from which I’m still recuperating. Everything functions normally and I have only a small scar on the cheek as visible reminder; the facial bones served well, protecting my eye, and I was lucky not to lose any teeth (or my life, for that matter). Aftermath: Arvinda has been hauled out at Tripp’s Marine in Westport, MA, from whence we took our illfated departure. Tom and Cindy continue their odyssey aboard his camper-converted van; they are searching for that magic bit of land in a sunny clime where they can park their home afloat. I’ve advised them to forego a new mast and put a second Yamaha 9.9 four stroke on the port side to balance out the one on starboard, and make the boat into a motor cat. Two other experienced sailors gave them the same opinion, completely independent of mine! I now have a bionic skull with 4 titanium plates embedded, permanently held in place by machine screws. Two months later, recovery from the surgery is slow but steady with lots of swelling and numbed nerves which are slowly coming back to life bit by bit; it looks like I’ve had botox on the left side of my face. This is expected to go on for another month or more. I’m off for another sailing adventure on a delivery from the Bahamas to Puerto Rico in February. This time the rig is a Composite Engineering all carbon wingmast on a solid 42' trimaran platform. –Tom Cox Arwinda Lessons learned: 1. Survey your boat before you buy it; if you don’t know how, hire a pro. Tom and Cindy went in “blind” on a dream, and wound up paying full rate for a poorly maintained vessel which needed tons of work. With a survey, they would have detected many structural flaws which could have been remedied before purchase, factored in to a discounted price, or steered them clear of the deal all together. 2. Trust your guts. If the rig looks shaky, don’t use it. Even though I personally supervised the repairs to the mast during haul-out, I knew it was under-engineered and poorly constructed. In hindsight, any wind over 15 knots was simply too much for this rig, even with the tiny scraps of sail we had up. 3. Make sure everyone aboard knows how to use the VHF, and make them practice with it. Keep a spare antenna not mounted to the mast. Winter 2005 N E M A 11
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Winter 2005 - New England Multihull Association

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