I guess my last post regarding
lightning was a premonition…
http://www.cruisersforum.com/forums/...tml#post444057
07 August 2010, we began a trip that was intended to bring a newly acquired 1988
Cheoy Lee 44 from Westbrook CT to
Fort Lauderdale. The crew was myself (as captain), one of the owners, and a friend of the owners. Our first leg, from Westbrook to Ocean City, MD via the eastern tip of
Long Island, was relatively uneventful. The second leg was intended to take us from Ocean City to
Beaufort, NC. About 6pm on the evening of Wednesday 11 August, we were under
power (having just dropped the
sails due to lack of wind) about 20 nm N of Diamond Shoals when we noted a darkening sky to the NW. Simultaneously, there was a NWS Alert that a line of severe thunderstorms was moving generally SE across Pamlico Sound. We spent about 2 hours trying to dodge the storm, first by heading NE and then, when it seemed the storm was drifting E, by heading back to the S. By about 8pm, the storm had grown quite large, and by about 9pm it was clear that there was nothing we could do to avoid it. Those of you familiar with the area know that with a 6 foot
draft we had limited options for coming inside: back to
Oregon Inlet (i.e., about 20 nm directly into the storm), or on around the shoals and Cape Hatteras. Once it was clear that we would not escape the storm, I contacted the Coast Guard with our position, course, speed, and general information about the
boat and crew. Shortly thereafter, I made the decision to turn back to the N, both to
head the
boat into the
wind (now becoming quite strong) and to try to minimize the amount of time we would spend in the eye of the storm. At this time, I again contacted the Coast Guard with our new position, course, speed, and intentions to
head N until the storm had passed. We were approximately 12 miles
offshore, 14 miles N of Diamond Shoals. The crew was below with instructions to remain on a settee away from the
hull and
compression post, and I was at the
wheel.
About 9:30 pm, we were struck by
lightning. All
power was
lost, and all onboard
electronics were fried except the
engine temperature gauge. Fortunately, just prior to this trip, I had decided to invest in a hand-held
VHF that was still working (it was off and in my pocket at the time), despite the fact that the blast had rotated the inside face of my watch by about 5 minutes! I contacted the Coast Guard and informed them of this event, that all crew were safe despite the loss of power, and that we did not appear to be taking on
water. Numerous
communications ensued, and a few minutes later I could smell smoke, the acrid gray, melting plastic variety of which quickly filled the
cabin. After localizing the source to the
battery compartment (under the companionway), the crew opened a forward
hatch for air and blasted the
battery compartment with a fire extinguisher. It took some time, but the fire was finally contained.
About midnight, a Coast Guard helicopter intercepted us still heading N through periodic squalls, and neatly dropped a bag onto the
deck containing a strobe and a second handheld
VHF. If you’ve ever tried to hold a boat on a precise course (we were instructed to maintain 300 degrees) in total darkness in a storm, illuminating the
compass using a flashlight with one hand while
steering with the other, while a chopper hovers about 70 feet overhead (our
mast was 60 feet, and believe me, they knew exactly how high to fly), well, you know how I felt. Otherwise, you probably don’t. It was certainly a new experience for me. About 2-1/2 hours later, a 47’ Coast Guard vessel intercepted us, and guided us to
Oregon Inlet (about 2 hours away), through the inlet (awfully fun in the dark on an ebbing tide with a keelboat
diesel auxiliary), and ultimately, to the Bayliss Boatworks in Wanchese, NC, about another 2 hours to the N. We docked at around 6:30 am, by which time I had been at the
helm for almost 13 hours, the last 5 of which were spent trying to follow a Coast Guard vessel while stretching on my toes to look over the
dinghy mounted on the foredeck. I was a little tired, but grateful to have the ordeal finished and the crew and boat safely ashore.
For those of you who venture
offshore, even not very far offshore, I want to share my insights about this experience. First, the most important thing we did was to contact the Coast Guard BEFORE we were in trouble, giving them our position, course, and speed. Had we not done this, it would have been a long time before anyone figured out we were in trouble, and a lot harder for them to find us; as it was, both the chopper and the
cutter came directly to us (we could see them coming from shore), based on knowledge of our previous location and updates on our course (variable though it was) and speed (judged by the sound of the
engine, since the tachometer was fried). Second, without the handheld VHF (which, coincidentally, I had purchased specifically for this trip), we would have had no way to contact the Coast Guard after the event, and would likely have had to slowly head E until the sun came up, and then sight towers and beacons until we could determine a fix, followed by visual
navigation to and through an inlet. Always a hairy proposition, especially since the only usable inlet within 50 nm (Oregon) is known to be volatile and dangerous. Even then, we would not have known where to find a boatyard that would be qualified to do the necessary
work, and no effective way to ask anyone. Take my word, it was well worth the
money, as was the $70 waterproof halogen flashlight I used to illuminate the
mast for the approaching chopper.
We were lucky. First of all, the boat didn’t sink, the engine still worked, the fire was kept under control, and no one was hurt. A large part of the credit goes to my crew who, although inexperienced, never panicked (I also tried very hard not to let my concern show, especially when the fire started). Second, I cannot say enough about the professionalism of the Coast Guard NC Sector, and their chopper and vessel teams. They maintained contact with us throughout the ordeal, and seemed to be truly concerned not only for our
safety, but for our well being as well. I think they appreciated the fact that we didn’t panic, that we never radioed a mayday or a pan pan, that we had fire extinguishers, pfds, and flares onboard, and that we never actually asked for a
rescue (at one point, they did offer to evacuate us from the boat onto the chopper, which we declined). The only people I got to personally thank were the vessel crew (who came aboard at the
dock to perform a
safety inspection!), but we will send a letter to the Sector Commander with our thanks. Third, the people at Bayliss Boatworks were exceptional. We showed up at their
dock early one morning completely unannounced, and although these guys are custom
fishing boat builders, there was never any question about whether they were going to help us. All these were silver linings to the cumulonimbus cloud that brought an abrupt end to our trip…
Best wishes, and thanks to all those who helped with our planning, Pete