An hour or two after I had lashed the drowned spinnaker to the safety lines
on the cockpit floor, I woke up. There was something wrong. I opened my eyes
to the instruments at the nav station before me. The breeze was a good 10-15
knots, but with full main and genoa we were only making five knots over the
ground. The boat felt heavy and cumbersome and slow. I could hear the
autopilot labouring away. The rudders were visibly vibrating. I threw off
the instant ice pack on my foot that had long since become ambient in
temperature and tried standing on it. It was fine. I had recovered both
sheets, the halyard and the tack, but I had a terrible feeling that some
remains may still be tangled around the rudders.

Feeling a sense of urgency- in fear for both rudders and autopilot, I set
about investigating. I rolled up the genoa and fed out the main sheet; bore
away downwind as much as I dared would not cause an accidental gybe and
canted the keel on the same side. The boat began to lean right over. I stuck
my head between the safety rails and peered over. Trapped between the
bearing and the leading edge; snared between the aft end of the bearing and
the tail fin, was sheet. I fetched the boat hook, but that was useless. The
strands of sheet were well and truly wedged.

I couldn't reach. I leant over some more and hooked my feet hard and fast-
one around the solid steel of the push-pit and the other around the upper
safety line. 'Think. Be efficient. Be quick.' I coached myself. My entire
body was draped over the shape of the hull upside down. I began to hack. The
first knife was not sharp enough. The third attempt led to progress; with
the saw blade of the Gerber I was beginning to tear successfully at the
line. I freed the tail fin, but the leading edge was too much, my legs were
beginning to cramp. Having nearly completed the task, I persuaded myself to
take one last shot. Dangling over the hull yet again, a wave came over my
head and took me by surprise. I gasped. There was a whooshing noise and at
the same moment that it registered, I was struggling to breathe. I was being
strangled by my lifejacket. I looked at the knife in my hand and the thought
dawned, but fortunately I wrestled my head and shoulders back through the
lower rail and safely onboard. Shock was not the word. I had worn my
lifejacket for its function as a harness. I hadn't even thought about the
possibility of it going off by mistake.

I rang Bill. Bill Biewenga, who started Commanders Weather Centre in the
States, is a weather router; my weather router for the Route du Rhum; a
lecturer on meteorology and an extremely experienced sailor with hundreds of
thousands of ocean miles racing and otherwise. Working with Bill has been
absolutely brilliant, not only in the sense that my path across the Atlantic
has been mapped with speed and safety at the foremost, but for his
encouragement where necessary and sound practical advise, as in this case.
We concluded that operation rudder release be aborted and that the upshot in
lack of speed be suffered instead.

Overnight, new ideas arose from the team. Access to the rudder via the stern
escape hatch was one; dropping the rudder a few mill on its shaft was the
other. The idea of attempting to back the boat down by rounding up into wind
was ruled out. Tooled up in my dry suit with purple washing up gloves to
protect my bruised and lacerated hands, I laid out my wares and clipped my
harness round the tube of the cockpit drain. Cautiously I opened the stern
escape hatch and laughed! You had to laugh! I couldn't get anywhere near the
rudder. Option two led to a better result. The rudder dropped down 5mill on
its shaft. Then it was back to canting the boat over and dangling over the
side. Filled with dread and reluctance, not surprisingly, the whole
operation was fortunately over in minutes. I leant down, pushed the line
through the gap, gave the other strand a good hard yank and the line was
freed! I yelled with jubilation, but the problematic steering and rudder
shake had not been solved. There was a good clump of weed on the other
rudder...

11/13/06