Misfortune Strikes Thrice

You may have noticed that we’ve had a spate of bad luck. First, we were rammed in the middle of the night, while fast asleep at anchor. Then, only a few days later, we were dismasted in Bass Strait. That was ten months ago and now Arriba was good as new. What could possibly go wrong?

Our stay at the suitably-named Cats Bay was as brief as it was uneventful. Exploring Phillip Island and its penguin colony would have to wait for another trip. We departed as soon as the sun made its appearance at 06:10. Our destination was Apollo Bay, 69 nautical miles to the west.

The spring weather was pleasant and light winds necessitated that we motor sail the whole way. Our biggest obstacle was steering clear of the massive cargo ships traversing the entrance to Port Phillip Bay en route to the Port of Melbourne, Australia’s largest container freight port.

At 15:00, we were berthed in the Port of Apollo Bay. As is a tradition shared by seafarers ancient and modern alike, the crew were keen to go ashore and seek out the nearest pub, which happened to be the Great Ocean Road Brewhouse. Highly recommended!

Apollo Bay panorama.

For the next few days a “Southerly Buster”—a storm from the southwest—kept us at bay. We spent the time getting to know Apollo Bay, a picturesque seaside town at the base of Otway Mountains. It is believed that 700 ships have met their demise along Victoria's southwest coast, aptly named the Shipwreck Coast. About 200 have been documented, of which the most famous is arguably the Loch Ard, which ran aground on 1st June 1878, with only two survivors. This is a rugged stretch of coastline that demands respect from mariners.

We departed the following day, when the winds abated to 20 knots. The ongoing southwesterly wind meant headwinds until Cape Otway [top photo], but once we rounded the cape, we would enjoy a beam reach to Port Fairy. Or so I thought.

Typically, I leave the steering to our trusty autopilot, but the seas around Cape Otway were quite messy, so at 09:45. I decided to hand steer for a while. I was at the helm for barely five minutes when I experienced something I had never experienced at sea before, nor ever hope to again. The helm went completely unresponsive. Spinning the wheel was not merely light to the touch; there was absolutely zero resistance. We had lost steering on the Shipwreck Coast!

At least we had some sea room. We had rounded Cape Otway half an hour earlier and were a couple of nautical miles offshore. I asked my sister, Cathie, to take the helm, although all she could do was stand watch. I switched back to autopilot control in the hope it was just the steering wheel chain that had failed. If only!

I retreated inside to remove the steering system inspection hatch, which I had accessed several times in the past to work on the autopilot. Arriba’s steering is by cables driven by a rack steering system mounted underneath the wheel. There are two sprockets, one with a chain connected to the wheel and another connected to the autopilot.

The steering shaft was protruding 5cm out of its housing. Initially, I thought that a split pin holding the shaft in place at the other end had come loose. I tried pushing back the shaft but it simply popped right out again. It appeared there was no longer any mechanical connection between the chains and the cables. This would be no easy fix.

Protruding steering shaft.

Port Fairy was 62 miles ahead, Apollo Bay 14 miles behind us. I decided it was time to raise Marine Radio Victoria on VHF 16 with a Pan Pan—for the second time in ten months. The nearest vessel that might be able to give us a tow was a freighter over 20 nautical miles away. Did we want to ask for their help? I assessed that self rescuing was likely to be faster and safer, so declined. We agreed that Arriba would check in every hour with a status update.

Turning back to Apollo Bay was never in doubt, but before we could do anything, we needed to lock our rudders. Catamarans, particularly those with low transoms such as Arriba, usually lack an emergency tiller. Instead, locking rudders to permit engine steering is the standard emergency steering procedure. It’s a straightforward process, but it requires going down into the engine bilges, so I’m grateful the seas were not washing over the transom. Fortunately, I’d practiced the procedure before.

Once the rudders were locked, I could spin Arriba around easily with one engine in forward gear and the other in reverse. In theory, we could have lowered our sails and motored back, keeping the port engine in forward gear, while periodically reversing the starboard engine to keep us headed out to sea. In practice, the seas and winds were pushing us inexorably towards Cape Otway, and I didn’t trust steering by engines alone. I decided that steering by sails was the more prudent option.

I replaced the jib with the gennaker to boost our speed and improve sail trim. Sailing with our main and gennaker I could almost maintain the course I wanted.

An option to lock rudders, not just at zero degrees (straight ahead), but plus or minus a small angle, would have come greatly in handy. I grew concerned that we would not quite clear Cape Otway, although I kept this morbid prospect to myself at the time. My respect for the captains of yesteryear who braved these waters in tall ships was growing by the minute. I had no intention of letting Arriba become shipwreck number 701, or another statistic in the Apollo Bay Museum.

Arriba carries two drogues, a large one used for braking in large seas (never used), and a small one for turning (used only for practice). I deployed the latter off the starboard stern winch. The drogue’s effect was as powerful as it was immediate. It was as if a friendly giant had spun us around 20° and pointed us out to sea. An hour later, we passed the cape at a safe distance, after which I painstakingly winched in the drogue and adjusted our course for Apollo Bay.

For the final approach we lowered our sails and came into the harbor under power. On flat water, steering a catamaran by engines is very effective, requiring little or no rudder control. In fact, locking the steering wheel and using only engines is how I usually maneuver Arriba in tight spaces.

At 16:00 we were safely berthed exactly where we left from ten hours earlier. I quickly dismantled the steering rack in order to remove the steering shaft, and confirmed that the shaft had snapped in two. I’d already contacted the manufacturer, Marine Control Systems. Failures of the kind we'd experienced were evidently rare. The next day, once I confirmed the measurements, I would order a new part.

Broken steering shaft.

 

Everyone was tired, but relieved. Not so tired that we couldn't walk to the pub, though.

OVER

PS The story continues here.