Whether to Haul: A Tough Call

There’s a storm brewing out there.  You know it’s coming.  You often know how fast it’s going and what the sustained winds are.  You even have many, many predicted tracks.  But, you just never know with 100% certainty where it’s going to hit and what it’s going to do.

Deciding what to do when a hurricane has its sights set on you is always a very tough call.  The cone is so large (made even larger by varying predicted landfalls) and sailboats move so slow.

Even if you have purchased a hurricane haul-out plan, which Phillip and I have, deciding whether to haul-out or not is still a tough call.  Being on jack stands among dozens of other boats propped up on what look like toothpicks is no guarantee of safety.  But, even if you tie your boat up super secure in an anchorage or marina, that’s no guarantee another boat won’t come loose and come barreling into you.  It’s just tough.  As Phillip and I wait for Michael to make landfall, I thought I would share with you all some of our thoughts on hurricane preparation and some of the measures we took to (hopefully) keep our boat safe.  Many of these are passed down from sailors much wiser than us, and you know me, I’m always happy to share.  Here’s to the Kretschmers and Pam Walls out there who have taught us so much.  We hope some of these tips help you all someday (if not today!) too.

Whether to Haul

The decision of whether to haul is usually difficult because it has to be made very early in the process, when the hurricane is out there with varying predicted landfalls.  But, understandably, the shipyards have to be prepared to haul as many people out on their list that want out, so that takes 2-3 days to coordinate and schedule.  They cannot allow all owners on the list to wait until the last day and then demand to be hauled out.  For Phillip and I, if our marina requires a mandatory evacuation, then that makes the decision to haul-out easier.  However, as with Michael, where the marina merely issued a “voluntary” evacuation—encouraging but not requiring owners to leave—that makes our decision tougher.

While it would be (well … nice isn’t really the right word as I’m sure the experience is a wet, wild adventure) but it would be reassuring to be able to stay safely on the boat in the marina during the hurricane constantly checking for chafe or other wind-driven problems, and watching out for other boats that may come loose.  Staying in the water, however, does expose the boat to a potential sinking if something collides with her or strikes her in such a way as to punch a hole or cause a break that would allow water intake.  Being on jack stands does give you peace of mind that she won’t sink.  However, up and on jack stands does create significant more windage.  Jack stands can fail, and other boats can topple over onto you.

While Phillip and I believe hauling out can be the safer option, it’s not guaranteed.  Some friends offered us a mooring they dropped themselves (a 2,000 lb tractor axle) with a super hearty shackle up in a hurricane hole where they rode out Hurricane Ivan safely, and I would imagine that would be a safer option than the shipyard.  However, it’s in a neighboring state where we are not insured.  So that would be a huge downside if something did occur and our boat was significantly damaged during the storm.  All of these pros and cons were weighing on us as we left Pirate’s Cove in Alabama and made our way home Sunday to our slip in Pensacola.

It was no surprise when the folks at our hurricane haul-out yard called us during our motor back asking us if we wanted to haul-out and, if so, when we wanted to be scheduled.  They offered us a 5:30 p.m. slot the following day on Monday, or a 7:00 a.m. slot on Tuesday morning.  Debating a not-so-ideal evening haul-out versus the benefit of earlier prep of the boat, we chose the 5:30 slot knowing that would give us all day Monday to watch the storm and make a last-minute decision on Monday afternoon.

Knowing we would strip the boat entirely whether we stayed in the water or hauled-out, we set to that job on Monday morning while we watched the NOAA reports during the day and waited for the final 4:00 p.m. full report that would force our hand.  When the report showed Hurricane Michael moving faster, allowing it less time to hook further east before making landfall, Phillip and I decided to haul-out.  We did the same thing last year when Nate was barreling down on us (I wrote a piece on that experience here), so we knew the process, we trusted the yard, and we felt it was best.

Photo from our Nate prep, October 2017.

But, the haul-out itself was just one step of the prep work.  I wanted to share with you all here a detailed list of the additional work we did to ensure (we hope) no canvas or sails are damaged during the storm, no halyards or other lines come untethered and start slinging around like ball on the end of a chain, and that our boat stays as absolutely safe and undamaged as possible.

First, we start with Annie up the mast!  Detailed list with photos below.  Prep smart people, and best of luck out there!

Hurricane Prep on Plaintiff’s Rest

  1. We send Annie up the mast to bring down our convertible inner forestay for our storm sail.  We know we’ll have to send me up after the storm to bring other halyards and things down, so removing this just to ensure less “whippage” potential during the storm is a no-brainer.  I will install it back when I go up the mast after the storm so it will be ready for our offshore sailing season.

And that video still came from our “How to Rig Your Boat for Heavy Weather Sailing” video where we share some other tips on rigging your boat for heavy offshore winds.  Feel free to check it out here.

2. Drop, flake and bag the genoa, and put it below.  We leave the sheets on it, so they are also removed from the topside as well.

3.  Pull the furling line out of the furling drum on the headsail.  It’s easy to re-install and it means one less line on the deck.

4.  Remove the flag halyards.  (Again, we know I will have to go up the mast again after the storm, so anything completely outside of the mast that can easily be taken down entirely and re-installed when I go back up, we remove.)

5.  Remove the dodger and stow it below.  (We’re getting a new one this year by the way; our old one is “played out!” as Phillip would say.  Zippers coming off and falling apart.  This might be the last time that old dodger rides on the boat!  Sorry Charlie.  See you later!)

6.  Unhook the solar panels on top of the bimini (usually by marking the right connections with blue painter’s tape and Sharpie).

 

7.  Carefully fold the bimini with the solar panels attached and stow it in the vberth below.

8.  Remove the lifeline from the stern rail and stow it below.  Now the cockpit is completely stripped and clean.

8.  Secure the bars of the bimini and the remaining solar power cords with tape, line, and zip ties.  Same with the dodger frame.

9.  Remove all other canvas (hatch covers, hand rails, etc.).

10.  Drop the Stack Pack and stow it below.  I usually take a photo of it and make myself a little diagram so I remember how to re-install it.  It’s not that hard at all.  But, when it’s a wadded up pile of canvas and lines it looks a little intimidating.

11.  Drop the mainsail and stow it below (with the reef line at the tack stored with it).

12.  Check the figure-eight knots on each end then pull Reef One and Reef Two at the clew down into the throat at the aft of the boom with the remainder of the lines in the cockpit.

13.  Remove the Cunningham and stow it below.

14.  Remove the whisker pole and stow it below.

15.  Okay, we’re not quite through but in yesterday-time it’s now 4:00 p.m. and time to head to the shipyard.  It’s haul-out time!  Let’s go!

 

Last thing to deal with is the lines that are remaining on the boat.  Pam Wall gave us some great tips on these.

16.  We pull all all halyards in the mast up to the top so the lines are protected and the shackled end cannot come untethered and start whipping everything on the boat with a fury.  This includes the genny halyard, the staysail halyard, the topping lift, the spinnaker halyard and the main halyard.  (That’s one busy mast!)  We run dyneema leads up with the spinnaker and genny halyard (the two lines we often use to raise me up the mast) so those can be pulled back down to raise me up to retrieve the others post-storm.  At the shackle end of each line I tie a big figure-eight knot to (while I’m sure it already is, but just to be doubly-sure) it’s too fat to fall down in the throat of the sheave.  I then fold the shackle back onto the figure-eight knot and tape it all securely with blue tape (that way the shackle can’t bang and beat itself to death).  We then attach a dyneema messenger to those we will pull back down.  I tie several knots in the dyneema and tape them with blue tape to prevent the knots from slipping out.  (That dyneema is super strong but notorious for un-tying itself.  It’s so slickery!  Annie word of the day.)

18.  The remainder of the dyneema (because we don’t want to cut it, it’s one piece long enough to replace any stay or shroud) I stuff into the boot cover at the bottom of the mast and tape it round and round (to ensure the Velcro doesn’t give during the storm).

17.  Here’s the Pam Wall trick.  We run the remainder of the genny and the spinnaker lines round and round (tightly coiled) around the base of the mast.  The main halyard that is back in the cockpit we run the same way (tightly coiled) around the binnacle.  And the other lines (outhaul, main sheets, reminder of the topping lift, staysail halyard, etc.) we stuff in a bag on a port wench and we tape the throat of it shut and secure it to the wench.  You can see the bag here:

18.  You tired yet?  We were.  It was a loooonnng day yesterday.  Now that everything topside is as secure as it can be, it’s time to reinforce the bottom.  We run seizing wire around the handles of each jack stand (a trick Brandon with Perdido Sailor taught us – thanks B!) to help prevent them from rattling themselves loose in heavy winds.

19.  We then run chain or dock lines (chain is best) from jack stand to jack stand to create a sort of secure “cradle” for our boat.  To make all of the jack stands work together to support our hull.

20.  Okay, I believe that’s it (as I’m running through this mentally).  We’ll always do one last sweep to make sure all hatches are closed and that we didn’t miss anything.  I hope this list helps some of you!

And, we hope this sheds some light for those who do not own a boat on how much work really goes into preparing a boat for a storm.  Phillip and I got this all accomplished yesterday and we’re hoping our baby girl is as secure as she can be for Michael’s fury, whatever he may bring.  We hope all of you remain safe during the storm, too.  We’ll be sending our thoughts to your hearts, homes, and vessels.  Hold fast followers!

Hurricanes: The Sometimes Horrible Reality of Cruising

I’ll have to admit, this is one part of being a cruiser I really don’t like.  You thought I was going to say docking, didn’t you?  Admit it!  While that is definitely one.  That and de-docking (Annie term).  I also loathe the threat of hurricanes.  As a cruiser, you don’t just own a boat.  You love her.  She’s not just fiberglass and wood to you.  She’s a friend, a member of the family, your home, your ticket to world travel.  And she holds so many memories.

I remember the day Phillip and I shoved off the dock, April 17, 2013, with our new-to-us Niagara 35 and saying goodbye to her previous owners.  Jack and Barbara had spent twenty-four amazing years sailing her along Florida’s west coast, as well as the Keys and Caribbean, Jack even single-handed her in the Mackinac race several times, and now they both had tears welling up in their eyes as we waved goodbye.  It was like they were sending a child off to college, a mix of hope for an exciting new chapter in her life, but also the pain of watching her leave.  Seeing how tough that decision was for Jack and Barb, I cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like when that precious element of your life is ripped from you without choice, and not to set sail on a new adventure, but smashed to bits, never to be enjoyed again.  By anyone.

My chest aches writing this and thinking of all those, many we know, thousands we do not, who lost their boats in the recent storms.  Hurricanes are just a horrible reality cruisers and boat-owners have to deal with.  And, while many can plan to stay outside of the hurricane box during the season, or haul-out every time a tropical storm watch develops, many simply cannot get out of the path due to other obligations: work, family, money, time, etc.  So, they have to strap their baby down as best they can, say a prayer, and hope for the best as a hurricane barrels down on her, whispering “Hold fast, girl.”

Others find their only option is to try to sail away from the hurricane.  Many—who are unfamiliar with offshore sailing and the impact weather, wind and gear failure can have on the speed and success of a voyage—when they see hundreds of boats destroyed from a hurricane think: “Why didn’t they just sail to somewhere safe.”  It’s not always that simple.  Hurricanes often form quickly and can cover a span of hundreds of miles.  Irma was 400 miles wide.  Four.  Hundred.  Even in favorable conditions, sailboats just don’t go that fast.  On a boat like ours, if you’re averaging 5-6 knots an hour, you’re doing great.  But, that still means you are only traveling roughly 130 miles a day.  If a hurricane the size of Irma is set to hit you in three days, that doesn’t give you a very comfortable window of time to get out of the path, and that’s assuming the path holds, which is always a gamble.  You may find yourself out there in 10-20 foot seas and winds over 120 mph.  It’s rare any live-aboard sailboat can survive that.

Phillip and I recently watched a fellow cruiser and friend from Marathon, along with her boyfriend and dog, who had tried to sail north away from Irma, and they had to be rescued off the coast of Clearwater by the USCG.  (Article here, and I hope to be able to speak with Pamela and Sebastian once they have more fully recovered and learn what happened so we can all benefit from this harrowing, but thankfully life-saving, event.)  Phillip also told me I needed to read John Kretschmer’s At the Mercy of the Sea, before writing this.  While it is the next book on my list, I felt too strongly about this now, while we’re all bracing for, and still recovering from, so many vicious storms.  But if any of you have read that book and would like to share, please feel free to do so in a comment.

I will also admit, having grown up in the middle of New Mexico, I am, thankfully, very new to the horrid reality that hurricanes bring to living on the coast.  Ivan was the first hurricane I experienced.  I was married at the time and my husband’s parents lived in Perdido Key.  He kept watching news footage of weathermen and women, shouting in the spitting rain, picking up twigs and overturned road signs, and satellite image after satellite image for two days, and I really didn’t understand why.  How is watching that going to change anything?  You just board up your house and leave, right?  Then come back and assess the damage.  Little did I know.  Hurricanes do not just cause damage.  They decimate.  I did not know houses could be leveled to mere slabs, with not a scrap of wood or even a personal belonging in sight.  My husband and I drove far west through Mississippi, then down south—literally rounding the west wall of Ivan as it came up through Alabama—to get to Perdido Key.

We waded through water in thick underbrush to try reach his parents’ neighborhood from behind because the roads were blocked.  I did not know at the time the dangers of wading in open water after a hurricane.  Had I, I would have never followed him.  But, I did, and I cringed each time I saw a snake drop from a tree near me while I carried my small black lab, blue heeler mix, Dixie, in my arms.  It was a horrible experience.  When we reached his parents’ street, we found two feet of water in the house, four in the garage.  It was a mess.  Soiled, filthy, wet remains of what once was a beautiful, warm, welcoming home.  And this was just a house with water in it.  Over the course of the next few days, we walked the streets along Grand Lagoon and Perdido Beach Boulevard and that’s when it really hit me.  Washers, dryers, chairs, pillows, and framed photos were piled up on the street in dunes of debris taller than me.  Houses were slabs.  Huge pine trees were mulch.  Condos on the beach looked like they had been eaten.  Whole floors bitten away by some giant monster.  Entire swimming pools, surrounded by concrete and tiled patios and gates were literally gone.  Only sand was left.  That’s when I learned what hurricanes can really do and how easily the ocean, if she’s angry enough, can take whatever she wants.  It is a simple and undeniable fact.  You cannot predict or control the weather and sometimes she’s just going to win.  She’s just going to take.

This is the risk you sign on for when, knowing this, you decide to still buy a boat and set your sights on exotic locations.  Everything has its risks and nothing is guaranteed.  If you drive a car, you risk an accident.  If you buy a home, you risk losing it to a fire or flood.  If you fall in love and give someone your heart, you risk getting hurt.  But you do it anyway.  Why?  Because that’s life.  Not going or giving because you are afraid of loss is not a way to live.  The one thing that is guaranteed in life is that you’re only going to be here for a certain period of time.  It’s finite.  And you’re going to suffer loss, whether you try to avoid it or not.  You will lose things, pets, and people (even the boat equivalent) whether you decide to live your life fully or not.  So do it anyway.

This is at least what I tell myself when I see so much devastation and loss recently from Harvey, Irma, and Maria and when I feel, now, Hurricane Nate bearing down on Louisiana and the panhandle and it knots my stomach. While I hate the feeling, I try to remind myself it is only because I have such wonderful things in my life to lose, which makes them worth all of the stress, work, blood, sweat and money.  So, with that in mind—as I sit and type this on Friday morning, October 6th at 9:42 a.m., waiting for the 10:00 a.m. NOAA update on Nate and deciding whether we are going to haul-out today or not.  That is such a heated question.

No hurricane plan is a guarantee.  No matter how well you secure your boat, if you’re not there (which you shouldn’t be in any storm too dangerous to ride out), you will not be able to stop another boat, (or barge or tree or a hundred other things that are tossed around like bath toys in a hurricane), from colliding with your boat and causing damage.  You can tie up ultra-secure in a hurricane hole, but your anchor may fail or your boat may begin to take on water and eventually sink.  If you haul-out, your jacks could fail, the boat next to you could topple over, or they can even drop your boat while in the straps.  If Plaintiff’s Rest can stay in the water, Phillip and I would prefer it.

Currently, however, we have a mandatory evacuation from our marina and with not a lot of time or hurricane holes around here that are not probably full already, Phillip and I decided to use our hurricane haul-out option and at least schedule a haul-out for 2:00 p.m. this afternoon.  We also got some great advice from fellow boaters on how to secure our boat even further once she is on the jacks which we’re happy to share with you:

  1. Tie all of the jacks together with wire, chain, or strong line to form a reinforced cradle rather than independent jacks.
  2. Tie seizing wire around the cranks for the jacks to ensure they are not able to rattle loose in the intense vibrations from the storm.
  3. If possible, e., in a non-paved marina, embed earth anchors and strap your boat down to those as well.

If Nate’s path continues to track east and our prediction holds as merely a tropical storm warning and if the marina lifts the mandatory evacuation order, we would like to stay at the dock.  If we did, we would secure extra dock lines with chafe guards (we use strips of fire hose, with little dyneema tie-downs to keep them in place in the chalks).  I also did a post recently on Facebook showing all of our prep (including Pam Wall tips!) on dropping all of the canvas and pulling all of the lines up into the mast with photos, which you can view here.  Whether our boat rides out Nate at the dock or on the hard, she will ride with as little windage as possible.

We welcome anyone else’s tips on best hurricane prep measures and best practices you have found in the past to make your boat more secure for a storm.  Feel free to share.

Phillip and I will be as ready as we can be.  After that, we just have to remember how awesome and fulfilling this lifestyle is and hope for the best.  We hope you, and your boats, all remain safe in the eye of this storm.  If Mother Nature decides it’s our time to suffer a loss, Phillip and I will bear that and be thankful we’ve still got very full lives ahead of us to live and we will rebuild together.  We’ve done it before.

UPDATE: We hauled Plaintiff’s Rest out this afternoon.  She’s stripped, tied down and as ready as she can be.  It’s all we can do.  I gave her a kiss and told her good luck.  Hold fast girl.