Storm Watch dockside on Spirit of South Carolina

 It's Friday 26 May;  In my head I'm hearing 8 Bells. .. meaning it's either 8AM, Noon, 4 PM, 8 PM, or midnite.  In this case its midnite.  Old-timey seafarers measured passing of time by the number of rings of the ship's bell. The bells rang every half-hour, beginning with one ring at the 1st half-hour of the 4-hour watch, adding a ring with each half-hour passed, until the end of the Watch, "8 bells." The sequence is repeated with start of the next and subsequent 4-hour watches. 

 I"m still up, sitting below in Spirit of South Carolina's Salon at the table, in the dark, except for my bunk light over my shoulder. I had just finished a viewing of Master and Commander,  via YouTube on my laptop.  Hunter long ago had climbed into his berth after catching a soccer match on his phone.  There's a pretty good gale going on up on deck, but its amazingly, eerily calm and quiet below decks; water gurgling around the hull next to the dock, occasional light thump as a wave crashed against her port (side exposed to the harbor) side; occasionally a gentle rocking.  Spirit of South Carolina was extremely well built. The extreme conditions sweeping her decks and rigging might barely be noticeable from the comfort of a berth in the salon.  Too quiet.

I'd been on board since 1100 installing an experimental jackline stanchion-post just forward of the gangway. About 1400 in the afternoon, winds in the harbor predictably and rapidly picked up from 5-10 to 20 knots, driving a decision to storm furl the two halves of the main awning over the foresail gaff, saving them from blowing away.

 As wind steadily increased out of NNE, I decided I had better stay around for the night.  The three Yokohoma fenders, now working independently since their unifiying single log shaft had shattered in the previous week's gale,  were well situated for now.   I couldn't predict how they would behave when the forecasted 50-knot gusts hit around 9 pm; or worse it clocked easterly pushing our hull against the dock.  

Deciding to check fenders, dock lines and do a bilge check, I  pulled on foulies, grabbed a headlamp off the hook in my berth, climbed the ladder and slid open the hatch cover.  Whoa!  a shock to my senses the second my head pops out of the companion way, crossing a plane from the quiet peace below to roaring, stinging rain and spray in the face, water already finding a way into my boots,  blackness and a deck that wants to tip me over.  A little chilly for late May, rain stings my face carried by a 35 knot blast from the north-north east-straight down the harbor.  Actually half the water hitting my face is spray thrown up by 2-3 foot  confused seas smacking our hull and the dock with enough force to send it over my head. Combination of fogginess, rain and far off lights illuminating the Ravenel Bridge makes for a surreal scene. I'd try a photo but my phone would be immediately soaked.  You can feel as well as see the water churning, aggravated by the north wind pushing against an incoming tide. 

Stepping slowly over the stowed main boom rig trying to maintain three points of contact, I worked my way across the deck to the dockside rail at the Main shrouds and focused my headlamp overside and down on the single huge black Yokohama fender. It was stabilized; pierced bruschetta-like by the  18-foot stub of a broken telephone pole thru its center. Rolling loosely on its telephone pole axle, the assembly was held in place against a dock piling by four separate lines criss-crossing to hold it in place. A cluster of sausage and ball fenders pressed between the stub ends of the pole and the hull. Watching it's surging and rolling it seemed to be doing it's job pretty well with no risk of shifting or coming loose. 

 From there I made my way forward to the forecastle hatch and climbed below to check the bilge under the forecastle head. All was well, a normal level of water holding steady, that I'd leave to pumping out in the morning. Next, the aft cabin and finally salon. All showed normal nominal levels, requiring no immediate action.  So far so good,, now to get back below, out of these foulies, and into my berth for a few hours sleep.

0300 Saturday morning: Mostly snoozing, I'm jarred by the feeling we well as hearing a distinctive thump, like something hitting the side of the hull.  Enough to spring me out of the high bunk onto the sole and start throwing on clothes and foulies. 

Back on deck with headlamp, I'm searching the length of the ship's hull looking some something loose, floating, dangling.  I check the Yokohama's watching and waiting to see if the schooner's hull is rising and falling with them or drifting off, then slamming back into it.  Nothing, just some small rubbing. 

For the next two hours, I'm alternately on deck and below, attempting to isolate the source of the noise, which continued irregularly the remainder of the night and into the morning.  I'm checking bilges, possible shifting fenders. I'd finally isolated it to vicinity of the rudder, which appeared to have some play in it- up to 10 degrees.  I open the lazarette hatch and look back toward the direction of the rudder post, have no visibility on it. I decide to wait till morning and ambient light to lift the steering box cover to examine the worm gear.

Looking aft and down at the Yokohoma
between our hull and the dock piling;
 the stump of the telephone pole
held off the hull by two fenders.

0730 Saturday morning. My phone chirps in my ear;  it's a text from Capt Heath who has arranged for a diver to go down and look at the rudder area -will be there in the next half hour. So, dressing up, covering up with my now pretty damp foulies, I first stepped into the galley and pressed the power button on the coffee maker that Hunter had already set up the night before. 

Filling my mug and grabbing two donuts I climbed up on deck to assess the situation.  Rains had diminished, mostly, but winds remained strong and gusty, still NNE. Fenders and Yokohamas were holding station.d
Since starting watch yesterday evening I experienced 1.5 complete tide changes, enabling me to observe the effects on dock lines tension, specifically spring lines. I took up another 3 feet of #1, made it fast than walked aft to the steering box. After first, spinning the wheel hard port and back starboard, it appeared that the rudder was answering satisfactorily but was displaying some "slop"-maybe 10 degrees worth. The worm gear, and rudder post inside the box indicated no issues.

The diver inspected the below water line area of the hull, and relayed to me some findings which he was passing off to Capt Hackett. He did confirm some looseness in the rudder. 

Conditions around 0800 Saturday morning.

With diver recovered and departed, Hunter and I shared another couple donuts and waited around till 0930 for any other volunteers that might have decided to show up.  No one else came.  Must've been the weather. Too bad.  I"d brought donuts.