At sea rescue Oct 9th, 2023

[Sunsetslim]

We are currently on passage from Marquesas - Panama. Today is day 28. Since leaving Hiva Oa, it’s been a challenging passage, made even MORE challenging when the USCG called us to assist three sailors in desperate need of aid. Unbeknownst to us, they had been drifting for six days, and the captain’s leg was severely infected.

We started this journey with a crew of 5; now, there are eight aboard our 48’ Oyster. Here is the full story:

On October 9th, 1700 nautical miles into our west-to-east Pacific crossing, we received a message from my father that the Coast Guard was trying to get ahold of us - he is the contact on our MMSI, our ship’s unique identification number that is associated with the AIS boat tracking system the USCG uses.

This would be our second time calling the USCG Honolulu branch since leaving; six days earlier, we had sighted what we thought was a white flare and wanted to ensure there was no activated EPIRB in the area. We had extensively searched the area, but we could find nothing out there at night in 12’ seas. We attributed it to a meteor or fallen satellite (though three of us saw the light, it was very white and bright).

When we returned the call to USCG station Honolulu, LTJG Underwood told us there was a dismasted sailboat 75 miles from us and asked if we could render assistance. She advised us of the captain’s condition and the vessel’s condition and clarified that we would be their last hope for rescue since the next closest ship was over 1,000 miles away and hadn’t responded to the USCG's attempts to contact them.

The decision to help a vessel in need on the sea is an automatic yes. You would want the same for your loved ones. The crew was 100% onboard, so we naturally altered course for Yara.

Over the next 24 hours, the crew and I talked about how we would handle the different options they had:

#1. Rigging a mast. This option was not the preferred choice, though we carry a roll of Dyneema, a sail-rite sewing machine, and lots of extra blocks and could have gotten it done. The main problem was that this was a deck-stepped Bavaria 44, and nothing was left of the mast. If it had snapped at the first spreaders (like many keel-stepped masts do), we would have had 20’ of the mast to work with. We could have lashed a whisker pole or two and made it even higher, but as you can see from the photos, there was only a flush deck. Just imagining all the points of failure made me sweat. On the other hand, if it were my boat, I’d do whatever it takes within safety and reason.

#2. Towing. This was out of the question. Not only would it be brutal on the boats and potentially catastrophic - we didn’t have enough food onboard to account for the extra time.

#3. Fuel transfer. Also out of the question. We wouldn’t even make a dent in the fuel needed to motor that far. I conservatively figured 400 gallons. We carry 150. This was also a crew safety decision.

#4. Abandon the boat. This was the crowd favorite. We would carefully transfer the crew, food, and gear to our ship, and they would accompany us to Panama. It turned out that they had made this decision long before we started discussing it. The bags were packed and stacked by the companionway when we arrived. They wanted out of there, and I don’t blame them.

We arrived during the night, made radio contact, and then visual. I decided to heave to and stand down the watch as I wanted everyone bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for a potentially dangerous maneuver in the morning. Standing down the watch is the captain’s prerogative, which requires careful consideration, but 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep is a rare drug that makes everyone upbeat and sharp.

That morning, we sailed back to within 5nm, turned on the engine, and motored to within 1nm when I heard a 'chattering' noise from the engine compartment.

The starter bolts had sheared, and it was grinding against the flywheel.

Fan-tas-tic. No engine.

During the next 6 hours, we managed to transfer all passengers, food, and luggage (a SIZABLE amount of luggage - see pics) aboard without injury. I stayed on the boat to handle the sails, as we were much faster under bare poles than the disabled yacht. We had to make many circles that day, and I felt better being at the helm than loading food on the other boat. We had an equator crossing ceremony four days prior, where we christened the shellbacks and paid homage to Poseidon - and we were blessed this day with light winds and a relatively calm sea. Sailors are a superstitious bunch.

The new crew had a moment before departing their boat for the last time. They were holding hands and crying. Saying goodbye to a boat is difficult. She becomes part of you, like a family member or a lover. She keeps you safe; you keep her safe. I cried four years ago when I said goodbye to my badly damaged catamaran. It felt like I’d lost a friend.

After the personnel were loaded and there were no more transfers, I went aboard with the captain of s/v Yara. I made one last log, checked the condition of the AIS, solar, batteries, water ingress, and hatches, verified the writing on the hull, and took a photo of the state we left her (a request of the USCG). I did one last search for anything living, and we cast off the vessel.

Let me add something for the cruisers: never try to raft up to a disabled vessel while offshore. It’s hazardous. I had a friend severely damage his boat this way; then there were two casualties. Use the dingy or the life raft, but don’t get the boats near each other.

Upon returning to our boat, we raised the sails and said goodbye to Yara.

Before I wrap this up, I think it’s worth a paragraph about the living situation aboard our Oyster. I’m sharing the master with one of my crew, one each on the port and starboard settee, two in the bunks, and two in the V-birth. We have lee cloths for most of these bunks. We have a 40g/hr Seawater Pro water maker working nearly daily. The real problem is the amount of gear these sailors have. It’s an astonishing amount of bags. At least 4 per person. They were exploring the possibility of Patagonia and packed accordingly. Add a proportional amount of food (not complaining), and we get what I can only describe as a hoarder’s paradise. We can walk through a little aisle and a few places to sit, but we spend most of the time in the cockpit. Digging for spare parts is incredibly challenging. Luckily, I don’t keep much of anything in the bilge, as getting the floors up would be a feat. Usually, I’m a bit OCD about keeping the decks clear for emergency access, but now I’m just trying not to think about it.

The saving grace to this entire situation is the delightful personalities of our three new crew members. They are quick to pitch in, always happy, and a pleasure to have aboard. We’ve all become good friends, we’re all safe, and we’re all healthy. Our trusty Oyster is chugging along with her brand new rigging, and we feel very blessed to have slipped a few coins into the karma bank.

As for Yara? She's still on AIS; we can see her drifting out there. Who knows where she will end up? Maybe YOU can find her?

Part 1 of this video series: https://youtu.be/NTIpurrBV3A

Much love. Stay safe. Help each other.

-James, Billy, Mario, John, Tom, Marion, Olivier, and Guenhael