Heave To!

Position: 37°48’27″N 1°47’15″E

Three days out of Sardinia, 75 miles from any shore, the weather finally turned nasty. It was dark, an hour from first light. For the previous three hours the weather had hung off in the distance. Miles away. Most of the lightning oscillating between the distant clouds. Thick layers of grey cumulus swallowed the thunder and muffled the intensity of the yellow gold charges flashing away. Every few minutes a massive bolt reached the water and lit up the world for as far as I could see. That second or so gave me some idea where the rain was, and in which direction it was moving.

I wasn’t too worried. The sky directly above was clear and what movement there was appeared to send the weather astern. Aleta’s engine purred away, and we maintained flank speed in a steady effort to outrun the shifting front. Then things changed.

Radar

Switching on our radar and turning the dial to ‘weather’ highlighted a large cell working its way south by southwest. Directly towards us. Looking at the image and our position gave us scant options. The storm cells to the north and east had merged into a single block. Now that block, bent on total domination, drew the cell to our south towards it. Aleta motored on, a broad semi-circle of rain and thunder now bearing down on her.

Not knowing if the weather would overtake us, I had had already furled the jib and put a second reef into the main earlier in the evening. Since we were motoring why not take down all the sails? Two reasons, the first was so we could maintain steerageway if the engine failed in bad weather. The second, to facilitate a heave to if we deemed it necessary.

Foulies

Carol had woken from her slumbers and asked me why I hadn’t called her for her shift two hours earlier? Brushing off her questions, as well-meaning as they were, I said, “The weather is about to close in and now would be a good time to put on your foulies and life jacket.” Then I went below and double dogged down the portlights and hatches and tied a lanyard to the weatherboards. If the waves had picked up to 10 feet all of this might have been more urgent. Things outside were still pretty calm and the wind just starting to pick up. But in the Med things change quickly and sometimes dramatically. Better to be prepared.

I pulled on my foul weather overalls and jacket and tugged my life vest over my head. Climbing back into the cockpit Carol smiled at me from underneath her jacket’s yellow day-glo hood and said, “I love how safe you make me feel.” Warming words for a captain from his first mate. I smiled and fitted the weatherboards then pulled the companionway hatch closed.

Hail

Dawn, somewhere behind us in the gloaming, helped us make sense of what was going on. The radar continued blipping red/yellow patches off to the northeast, but now we could see where the dark sheets of rain and the most active lightning had moved to. The wind increased to 25 knots and the seas began churning white froth. It was still too soon for much sea swell. Aleta picked up to eight knots, but with the wind behind us we didn’t feel over-canvassed. And we shouldn’t have given how little sail we had up.

Then the rains came pelting down and the gusts hit 35 knots. The temperature dropped by 15^o (Celsius). Hail in finger-sized chunks battered the dodger. We sped along towards our destination, but things felt increasingly precarious. It was time for the decision that every captain faces at some point. That is, do you run with the weather, or heave to and let it pass? Lin & Larry Pardey (famous cruising pioneers) wrote an entire book on the subject that I can summarize in two words: heave to.

Tumbling

I once triggered a circumnavigator into a rant about weather routers, those people you pay to advise you on the weather in your locale and what to do about it. Halfway across the Indian Ocean he got caught in a bad storm – his weather router having significantly underestimated its strength. Roger decided to run with it. “I was in that damn storm for five days getting tossed around like a rag doll. I guarantee those goddamn weather routers don’t know more about the weather than you do.” I triggered him a second time when I asked why he hadn’t just heaved to? He muttered something about not wanting to be stuck tumbling around in a washing machine for days.

Contrast that with our friends Ken and Vicky’s experience on Huskabean. Crossing the Atlantic with us in 2019, they heaved to and rode out a violent storm. It took 24 hours, but the storm eventually passed. They got back on course and arrived in Horta some 36 hours after we did.

Coffee

Armed only with the broad strokes of a North Atlantic Weatherfax forecast, I knew our little squall wasn’t going to last long. “I’m heaving to,” I told Carol, and swung the wheel to windward and let out the main. We knew in those conditions the furled jib and staysail were enough to approximate a backed jib for Aleta. Instantly everything calmed down. We bobbed on the waves and waited for the front to pass. On cue a massive thunderclap rattled the waters around us, but we held our position at 30 degrees to the weather.

I said to Carol, the traditional thing at times like this is to go below and make coffee or tea. By the time she reappeared with a couple of steaming cups of joe, the wind had already dropped.

Life

Running with the weather can lead to hours, sometimes days, of misery. Heaving to works. Rather than risk damaging the boat, or yourself, let the storm pass and then carry on. It is a good lesson for life, too.

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Here is a useful article on dealing with squalls, including a how-to on heaving to: When A Squall Comes Calling