The following is an edited (the names are changed to protect the innocent) version of a story written by a friend.
08-13-94 1500
This is one of those narrowly escaping the jaws of death ( or at least heavy damage to the boat and passengers) stories; a true to life account of adventure on the high seas. This is one of those stories that tells how some people, when faced with what may seem like impossible odds, can persevere by sheer determination, patience, and luck. Above all, it is a great yarn.
It was my last full week on the charter companies boats. After this week I was to leave Miami for Mich., and I was anxious for the week to go well. I had a group that had been down many times in the past, and therefore was familiar with the general operation. As an interesting side, this group comes down every year and always wants to do the same dives; they aren't into experiencing new and potentially exciting areas. I would have thought that after coming here for so long, they would be ready for a change. That's not to say that their preferences are wrong, they are, in fact, perfectly right. In a way, I was glad they knew what to expect and knew exactly what they wanted to do. Despite all the near tragic events of the end of the week, I sincerely hope they had good times I know they had a good story to tell. But I'm getting off track.
After discussing the itinerary with our group leader , first mate John ( a.k.a. Coach) (son of ol Sailor John) and I got the Star underway with Freeport (Port Lucaya)as a tentative destination. Along the way, we dove most of the standard sites the charter company has been doing since 1979 and found no new places to dive. Basically, it was a rather uneventful trip despite the numerous set backs which not only kept us up for many hours into the night, but seriously threatened our diving itinerary.
To give this story the full impact it deserves, I must give a brief account of the events which lead up the near tragic conditions which we found ourselves in at the end of that week. The problems, in addition to broken main engine motor mounts and leaky drive transmissions (all of which had to be dealt with before we could get underway, but that's another story for another time), revolved mostly around the sometimes perplexing fuel system which was installed a number of years ago (no blame or accusations untended). This system has been a source of frustration for many captains and engineers since its installation despite a well drawn and informative diagram accompanying it. Because of its supposed complexity, it was probably going to be changed after the boat returned from an upcoming four day trip.
In the previous two or three trips prior to mine, the boat had been experiencing major generator and engine shutdowns due to what he and others came to believe might have been a fault in the fuel system. In the last trip before I was to take over, these problems, standed it in Bimini on Thursday night until one o'clock in the morning, and therefore preventing it from making the usual Thursday night crossing back to Miami. When it returned to Miami at seven the next morning, limping the main engine, with no generator, drastic measures had to be taken to get the fuel system working again for the next trip. This diagnosis brought in most of the office staff to do a better part of the repair while the ship's crew got the boat ready for the next trip and caught up on some desperately needed sleep. The shore crew worked all day and into the night and still couldn't find out why the generator was consistently cutting out. By the next day, they had installed a new lift pump into the generator feed line to help the flow of fuel the thirty feet needed to reach the generator. In addition, they cut into, and re-piped about one third of the original fuel system in an effort to narrow down the source of the problem which still had not been found.
These new additions and alterations made the system work for the time being, the draw back being that the system had been modified slightly and no longer matched the original plans drawn up years ago. This, however, was not a concern at the time because the system was going to be changed in a week or so anyway, and it did in fact work. So, on with the trip.
At this point, let me also mention another existing problem which was not being handled due to time constraints placed on the boat by the tight schedule. It had to do with the spare fuel tank that had a hole in the top which was causing water to leak into the fuel, therefore contaminating it. The temporary remedy for this problem, until the boat had some extended dock time where repairs could be carried out, was to not use the tank at all. Any spare fuel needed could be easily be bought in the Bahamas during the week. This arrangement worked fine if the captain could get to a fuel dock (assuming he knows the tank is empty). Since fuel docks are for the most part attainable at many of the ports the boats visit, this task was usually possible with few difficulties. Anyway, I digress...
Regardless of the tireless work performed by the office staff that Friday, we were plagued by a variety of fuel problems that week. The problems ranged from premature cut off of the new generator lift pump (causing the generator to shut down from lack of fuel), to loose pipe fittings which caused the fuel lines to suck air, also causing unexpected engine shut downs. These shut downs provided inconvenience of all those involved with the ships mechanical upkeep. All these problems had to be remedied in order to have the comforts one would expect from the trip. In essence, that meant late hours into the night for most of the crew while the problems were solved. To make matters worse, we had to retrace the modified fuel system and rewrite the piping diagram in order to understand the new system better and communicate ideas on how to best go about repairing the problems. One night, while on our way back to Bimini from the Gingerbread Grounds, we drifted for almost two hours while desperately trying to find why the main engine kept shutting down after running for only a few minutes at a time. At about two o'clock in the morning we finally found a loose fuel pipe fitting on the suction side of the main engine fuel system which, when tightened, seemed to solve the problem. We deduced that this fitting had not been properly tightened the previous Friday, but did not start sucking air until after a certain amount of fuel was drained from the tank. At this point, the resistance of drawing fuel to the engine became so great that the path of least resistance was taken through the slight leak in the fitting, drawing air into the system. This caused the shut down. The problem could only occur during the middle of the week after the fuel level had dropped a significant amount.
While all the new fuel problems were giving us headaches, I wanted to make sure that we could switch over to the spare tank if we absolutely had to. I thought it would be prudent on my part if I knew the piping schematic of this tank and could either start drawing fuel from this tank, or simply transfer fuel to the main tank. However, every time I tried to shift to the spare tank, the generator would start to shut down indicating that there was air in the lines somewhere. While a flag should have gone up in my mind, given the condition of the spare tank, it did not. I assumed that the reason the spare fuel system was not working was because of the problems with the overall modified system. These phantom problems, I assumed, were there because one or more of the fuel lines were either leaking, or had been cut on the previous Friday. I believed that they would go away once we figured out the new system and found all the leaks.
We made it back to Bimini at seven o'clock that morning and Continued our trip without too many problems. After working with the old fuel piping diagrams, we managed to figure out what modifications were made to the system the previous Friday. From this information, we were able to update the diagrams for use when future problems arose. However, our limited understanding of the spare tank fuel system continued to prevent us from unraveling the mystery behind it. Nevertheless, during the rest of the week we spent a considerable amount of time using what understanding we had to redesign the entire fuel system.
On the last day of the trip, at about five thirty in the afternoon, we were motoring on a flat calm sea about three miles south of Cat Cay toward our final dive site of the week. As dinner was being prepared, our generator shut down for no apparent reason. If there ever was an ideal time for such an occurrence to happen, dinner time was not it. I was on deck at the time, and there was quite a bit of activity going on since we were nearing the dive site. Consequently I was not aware of the shut down until Tonya, the cook, came up and told me.
Initially, I assumed that the generator circuits were over loaded and the generator was shutting down due to the overload. However, when we switched off the electrical load and the generator still didn't start, I began to suspect a problem with our old friend the fuel system. We commenced to trouble shoot the fuel piping for loose fittings or damaged pipes. This didn't take much time because by now we had the system, with all its modifications, figured out. Most of the fittings in the entire system already had been checked for tightness, and much of the piping was brand new. Nevertheless, any fittings that hadn't been checked before were tightened.
As a precautionary measure first Coach opened the inspection plate on the main fuel tank and sounded the tank. The tank had no fuel in it. After discovering this, all fuel piping trouble shooting operations were immediately suspended and attention was turned to somehow transferring fuel from the aft tank forward. After all, we knew this tank was full of fuel. Meanwhile, the Star drifted silently on a windless sea as our hopes for a timely dinner faded with the end of the day.
While the engineer Pat , Coach, and myself discussed how we should go about getting fuel from the aft tank, I had the deck hand, Jeff, stand by the VHF radio to try and contact one of the other company boats to let them know of our situation, just in case we had problems. Jeff also placed calls to the island manager on Cat Cay and inquire about buying fuel from the fuel dock.
Jeff's attempts at contacting either a company boat or Cat Cay, although persistent, went largely unheeded, although he did manage to contact a company boat for a short period. They was already underway to Miami and a good twenty miles from our location, a distance too far to help. However, they were informed of our situation and carried it with them back to Miami. No one on the island ever responded to Jeff's call for assistance although he was able to hear other boats call, and converse with various people on the island.
As Jeff's calls went unanswered by Cat Cay, the haunting reality that we were on our own began to sink in. There was very little wind with which to sail by, and night was approaching. It was also becoming clear that we had no fuel. We concluded that the aft tank had never been filled prior to our departure last Saturday. I assumed that someone had forgotten to take care of it while all the work and hectic repairs were going on last Friday. However, it was my responsibility to make sure that it was either full, or to make other arrangements to get fuel in the Bahamas. I did neither, and take full responsibility for any problems which might have occurred during the next few hours. But, I couldn't worry about that now, I had to figure a way to get us back to Miami by the next morning.
To our good fortune, we weren't in any immediate danger of running aground. Because the wind was so light, the Star Simply drifted with the meager current toward the Bahama Bank which was about three quarters of a mile away. We were drifting toward a sandy area void Off any rocks or shoals, and I presumed that when the boat reached about fifteen feet of water we would drop a hook in the sand. At least then we would be stationary.
We did, however, have one more avenue to getting fuel that we felt we should try. Ocean Cay, an araganite mining facility, was about four miles to our south. The island is primarily an industrial complex, and has quite a bit of machinery it uses to operate its dredging equipment.
When the attempt at reaching Cat Cay failed, I had Jeff try and hail Ocean Cay. I hadn't had much experience with asking for assistance from them in the past, so I decided to try contacting them as a last measure. To our relief, we were not only successful at contacting them, but they also agreed to sell us fuel. I don't recall the exact price they offered, but at that point I felt I was in no position to bargain.
Arrangements were made with Ocean Cay to make a rendezvous with one of their work tugs somewhere between our present location and the island. The plan was to meet the tug boat and have them tow us back to Ocean Cay where we could buy fuel. At the same time, the breeze began to pick up from the north which provided a good opportunity for us to make way under sail south toward the island while the tug motored north. As the sun went down we set our main and jib sails and headed due South toward Ocean Cay directly down wind on a wing and wing tack.
During the first ten minutes or so after the sails were set, the wind just about died and we found ourselves facing south and drifting north with the sails backed. We were unable to control the vessel in the near calm, so we dispatched two crew members into our chase boats with the intention of having them push the Star in the right direction with their 15 H.P. motors. As this seemed like a brilliant idea in theory, it quickly proved to be a minor disaster when one of the boats' motor failed to run after it was cast away from the Star. The other chase boat now had to turn and take the first boat in tow. At the same time, the wind began picking up and the Star began sailing away, leaving the two chase boats behind while they rigged a tow line. Naturally, we gained so much speed, that we had to luff the sails so the two hapless chase boat could catch up. In time, they did and we were once again off for Ocean Cay.
Daylight vanished quickly at a curious quick rate after the sun set behind gathering clouds to the north and west. At the time, I hadn't noticed the meaning of these clouds because of more pressing matters which required my immediate attention, and I was relieved to see the wind blowing about fifteen knots from the north. This allowed us to sail directly down wind toward the lights of the island at about four to five knots. We were making good time, and at one point, I even decided to sail the remaining distance to Ocean Cay. Visibility was clear to the south, and I knew the waters around the island. Besides, I reasoned that because we were going this fast, we might save some time by not dousing the sails and rigging a hawser to the tug. But by the time the tug reached us, the wind had picked up to about twenty knots as the clouds filled in from the north.
The sails began to become unmanageable in the heavy winds which was now accompanied by a stinging rain. At one point we tried a controlled jibe. I was stationed on the main sheet and was sheeting in as we began the maneuver. As the wind caught the other side of the sail, the boom instantly swung over in a loud slap of canvas and clatter of rigging and sheet blocks. It happened so fast, the sheet slipped out of my hands and unthreaded through three of four sheet blocks used to control the boom before I could grab the line and wrap it around a winch. The main sheet now consisted of a line which ran from the boat to a block on the boom and back. With no way to reef the sails quickly, I thought it best to douse them and receive the tow for the remaining trip to Ocean Cay, which was now about two miles distance.
As we ran down wind at speeds approaching eight knots, we dropped the jib. It came down with lighting quickness and we struggled, with great difficulty, to contain the large mass of wet sail canvas before it became unmanageable. Controlling it turned out to be a major accomplishment because the wind constantly threatened to catch it and send it billowing out where it would therefore become dangerous. After a few minutes, we managed to get a haphazard furl; it wasn't best furl I'd ever seen, but the jib was contained, and therefore allowed us to turn our attention to the main sail.
By this time, the wind speed was approaching twenty five knots and the rain appeared to be falling in a horizontal direction. The main sail was taught and we ran down wind at speeds approaching 10 knots, closing the distance between us and Ocean Cay. As the wind speed increased, it began to make an eerie howling noise as it raced through the rigging. This noise consumed all other noises, except the loud, wet slapping of sail canvas, and rose and fell as the boat rolled into and away from the wind. I now began to realize the severity of the storm and difficulty we were in for in getting the sail under control.
If we attempted to drop the main sail while heading down wind the sail would almost certainly get tangled up in the rigging, thus preventing us from dropping it all the way. We attempted to turn the Star into the wind, but the force of the wind would only allow us to turn side to it. When we realized that this was as far as we would be able to turn, we dropped the sail expecting the worse. We managed to get the sail about two thirds down before it became snarled in the rigging and began billowing out in the fierce wind which seemed to be getting stronger by the second. Sometimes it seemed that as soon as we would get one part of the sail tied down, the wind would catch another part that was just being tied by two or three people and balloon it right out from underneath the sail ties. At one point, we were literally throwing ourselves on top of whatever sail managed to be on the deck in efforts to keep the sail from flying away in uncontrolled fury. After about ten minutes of seemingly futile attempts, we again managed to obtain a loose furl on the main sail. It wasn't pretty, but it allowed us to get our lines ready to receive a tow from the tug now standing off our starboard bow rolling in the growing seas.
By now the wind speed had reached nearly thirty knots, and we rolled heavily, beam to the seas which were running about five feet. The rain had completely obscured any visibility outside the yellowish realm of our deck lights, which in effect blinded us to everything beyond the rough outline of the tug boat standing close by. I could see the prow of the tug heaving violently in and out of the water not more than 5 yards distant as we furiously worked to ready the line. When the line was ready to cast, the tug captain moved the tug's stern still closer to our bow as we prepared to throw the line.
With the seas building, the captain of the tug had the arduous task of maneuvering his stern as close to our bow as was practical while we prepared to throw the heavy, wet hawser. When we threw the line, we had to make sure that it reached the tug without too much of it going into the water, to avoid the line being wrapped in the tug's prop. The two vessels were now rolling violently in the growing seas, and the tug captain was constantly giving short, powerful bursts of throttle to keep his vessel from colliding with our bow. If the throw was unsuccessful, and at the same time, the tug captain throttled for position, the line would almost certainly get wrapped in the propeller of the tug. On the other hand, the captain had to keep his vessel close to ours so we could toss the heavy, wet line to his stern. As it turns out, the first throw was unsuccessful and had to be tried again. We pulled furiously to get the line out of the water as the tug's stern loomed ever closer to our bow. The second attempt was a success, and the crew of the tug tied our line off to their large bitt on the stern in a matter of seconds. At that instant, the tug captain throttled down hard to avoid a collision and we were on our way once again toward Ocean Cay.
As the bow swung around to begin following the tug, the force of the wind suddenly increased to fifty knots. As the wind increased, it worked its way under the sail ties on both the main and the jib causing our haphazard furls to unravel All at once the jib, followed by the main ballooned out in several different places and began slapping violently in the high winds, pushing us toward the tug. immediately both crew members and passengers began gathering any piece of line they could find to wrap around the flailing sails. The wet slapping noise of the sails along with the increased howling through the rigging made communications on deck next to impossible. The increased roll caused major havoc on deck as we scampered around avoiding loose dive gear, wet towels, and drinking mugs sloshing around as we looked for spare line.
The aft deck, where most of our spare line was stored, became a particularly slippery and dangerous area as the boat rolled in the growing seas. During the previous hunt for fuel, we managed to track diesel fuel between the engine space, which was aft, to the main cabin amidship. When the squall hit, the residual fuel spread around the rest of the aft deck in an oily slick making it difficult and dangerous to walk on without slipping, especially in the heavy roll we were encountering. To make matters worse, a fishing tackle box fell off of a deck box spilling fish hooks which spread about the aft deck as the boat rolled. I found it unbelievable that no one punctured their bare feet or slipped on deck while fishing foresail ties.
During this mad struggle, the Star began careening down wind approaching speeds beyond that of the tug. Each wave approaching from our stern would lift us and push us dangerously close to the stern of the tug, effectively slacking the hawser. When the wave passed, and we were set in the trough on the back side, we would stop, only to be snapped forward as the slack rapidly left the hawser because of the advancing tug. The tug, in an effort to keep ahead of the game, kept powering forward to try and stay ahead of our advances. All the while, our distance to Ocean Cay was rapidly decreasing.
As the storm continued, I began loosing my orientation as to where Ocean Cay was located and I needed to know how the tug was planning on handling the situation we were in. Were they continuing to Ocean Cay, or were they planning to ride the storm out while they had plenty of sea room to do so? I knew we were somewhere north of the island, but I lost track of how far away it was and what our heading was in relation to it. While the rest of the crew and a few passengers toiled with the sails, I began studying the radar and compass to get an idea of where we were. Although the heavy rain provided false radar returns, obscuring the picture of-the island, I was still able to roughly determine where it was and our relation to it. I was also able to determine, through the wind direction and compass heading, that we were on a direct course for the island. I immediately called the tug captain to find out what his intentions were.
As close as we were to the tug, I had a difficult time hailing the captain. The lightning strikes were numerous and very close therefore, I assumed, causing quite a bit of disturbance on the radio. After a few minutes of intense garble and static, he finally answered my call ( which was probably sounding more frantic by the minute.) When he keyed his mike I could hear the high pitched whine of his main engine's turbo charger which indicated to me that he was operating at full throttle to keep away from our vessel's advances. I asked him his plans for riding the storm out, and his reply was that he would stand off from the island until the wind speed dropped. I then asked him what direction he was planning to go and his response, to my surprise, was that he didn't have a compass, and therefore didn't really know. The situation, I realized, was becoming more dangerous by the minute.
I now had the unfortunate knowledge of knowing where we were, where we were headed, and when we would get there. What seemed ironic to me was that I didn't have any control over how we would arrive. The Star was being towed down wind through a heavy squall toward an island no one could see, by a tug that didn't have a compass which was driven by a captain who had no real idea of which way he was going. I offered as much information from my own electronic navigational aids to him as I could over our weak connection on the radio. I told him he was bearing down on Ocean Cay at about five knots, which was now about one mile distant. I then suggested that if he wanted to avoid hitting the island, he should turn his vessel hard to starboard. This would keep him to the west side of the island in deep water. He immediately began correcting his course to a westerly heading.
As hard as the tug captain tried to correct his heading to the west, the heavy wind and high seas lunged the two vessels further south toward Ocean Cay. Each passing wave seemed to pick up both vessels and carry them further southward regardless of the attempts to do otherwise. I began to wonder if the tug had the power to compensate for the effects of the extreme conditions. It appeared that the wind had control of the Star's high bow section and was forcing it down wind, causing the tug to overcompensate and lose precious power. Then the tug would appear to wallow in the waves as the Star crept up on the stern of the tug. When slack appeared in the line + the hawser, the tug would then gain power and continue its turn toward the west.
This haphazard cycle went on for an agonizing five or six minutes, but seemed like an eternity. All the while, I monitored the compass and radar screen and reported any changes in our heading to the captain of the tug. We were clearly making more headway toward the island than our efforts would indicate, yet we had to at least attempt to clear the shallow water of the island. The wind was blowing so hard that it was difficult to imagine the tug, while pulling fifty five tons of cumbersome boat, overcoming these conditions.
Eventually however, the radar screen began showing signs that we were not only aimed, but making way in a westerly direction away from the island. This was good news because we had drifted to within about three quarters of a mile from the jagged, wreckage strewn beach of Ocean Cay. Within another five minutes the wind and rain began subsiding as the tug pulled us into the shallow, protective Water of the Bahama Bank north of the island.
In another five minutes as I was standing on the bow discussing with Coach what the actual speed of the wind was during the fiercest part of the storm, I once again began seeing the lights of Ocean Cay. The tug had pulled us to within a half mile of the north point where the company boats usually anchor at night. I knew this area well and instantly recognized where we were from the land marks and familiar lights. It was a comforting feeling to orient myself to my surroundings especially since I didn't have control of the vessel. The tug now slowed its pace to make a final approach into the protected waters of the island.
As we neared the protected side of Ocean Cay where the work tugs tie up and readied our anchor, I could see the familiar industrial machinery of the mining operation lit up by white flood lights. The bright lights cast eerie black shadows off the equipment as it dripped with rain water and operated through the thick, misty night. In the distance, almost out of the bath of the floodlights, but just light enough to recognize, was the equipment disposal sight. This is where the mining operation's obsolete, or damaged equipment lay discarded and forgotten. In this area along the beach, there lies two vessels, a burned out ocean going tug, listing to one side with its bilge resting on dry ground, and an old World War II troop carrier sitting at a dizzying angle, half buried in the sand. The waves in the protected harbor lapped quietly at these two vessels, and I couldn't help but envision the "Mighty Star" resting along side of those two forgotten vessels had we not been as persistent as we were at getting to safe harbor.
The tugboat swung to within about twenty yards of the shore and began slowly running parallel to the beach. At the tug captain's command, the crew untied our hawser and we drifted on our own at a leisurely four knots. By this time the wind had almost completely died and we calmly drifted, not saying a word except for necessary communications, bathing in our relief that we were still afloat and safe. When our vessel slowed to an appropriate pace, we dropped anchor and breathed a collective sigh.
The rest of the story, while important in its own sense, isn't included here. After settling back on our anchor, we arranged to transfer fuel from the tug boat to ours. Within five minutes, our generator and main engine were back on line and a fresh pot of coffee was brewing in the galley. I thanked the tug captain for doing an incredible job of piloting his vessel despite the conditions. He graciously welcomed my thanks along with the half case of Baccardi rum and three bottles of vodka I gave him as payment for services rendered (he would not accept money as payment and maintained it was his job offer emergency assistance to any vessel if needed.)
One hour later, we were once again underway for Miami. The night had become practically cloudless and calm; a major change from thunderous events of a few hours prior. And after we were safely underway I sat on deck drinking a hot cup of coffee, almost awestruck at the powers of nature, and tried to enjoy the cool night of a crossing.
It sometimes amazes me how fast, and complete the weather can change in those waters. One minute there isn't a cloud in the sky, and the next minute it's raining and squalling buckets. That night was an example of that phenomenon I shall never forget.