Volunteers Lay On to help Spirit of South Carolina weather Isaias

 

With Spirit of South Carolina confined to her dock, options were limited.

Talk about dodging the bullet.  

Sunday morning, the forecasts were ominous. Tropical Storm,, or maybe it would, again, be Hurricane "Izzy" (I gave up trying; if you can pronounce it correctly, bless your heart).. was looking to slam full throttle into the Carolina coast early Monday evening, just south of us around St. Helena Sound - no, wait,, now McClellanville, just north of us, with sustained winds in Charleston Harbor up to 70 knots. oh-yes,, and a storm surge thrown in, coinciding with a King High tide at 2059 Monday evening threatening to add another 4 to 6 foot push over the fixed dock. 

 

Most traditional sailing ship mariners will tell you the best place to be when de' hurricane come would be, in order of preference:

1. New England doing summer programs, beyond reach of those pesky low pressure systems.

2. A ways up river surrounded by soft pluff mud marsh and bottom with both anchors nicely buried.

3. At sea many many miles from any coast and plenty sea room to run away.

With Spirit of South Carolina lying at dock wounded from her lightning strike and unable to start engines, Capt Dan Cleveland had none of those options, save to make her as snug as possible,  reduce windage,  keep things from blowing away, and respond to situations as they came. It was just him, and Hunter our Cook. 

But Sunday was also a scheduled Volunteer Day.  As Dan and Hunter began the work of sea stowing the deck, the Cavalry showed up, in the form of 4 Volunteers. 

Madison Pulley, driving 3 hours from Greenville, disregarded a text message that there might not be anything to do, and pressing on.  

Old Salt, Joe Gorman, nursing his old sailor weather eye, sensed some urgency. 

Another Old Salt, Steve Boone drove down anticipating finishing his own project over the aft cabin hatch, but shifted into different mode. 

And Fred Jourdan, newer volunteer had planned to come down regardless, for more deckhand training.  It likely would've been five if yours-truly had not waved off Danny Johnson, with thought that there would be nothing to do.😕  

Dan immediately put them to tasks. Together they muscled the rescue boat up over the port side and lashed it onto the deck.  Madison and Steve took charge of the dock-side stores, tools and spare parts piles, stowing or lashing tarpaulins over what they could, bringing some aboard. Fred and Joe pulled out and set up remaining dock hawsers to augment the already doubled sets of four, so that a total of 12 large dock lines now held her against the three huge 9 ft long x 6 ft wide cylindrical"Yokohama" roller-fenders and fixed dock pilings with just enough slack to allow her to rise and fall again.  Dani Feerst checked in later in the day and volunteered to stand-by the next evening for Storm Watch  on deck if needed. By mid afternoon all that could be done, except for last minute deck sea stow and awnings down-rigged, was done. 

Next morning, Fred Jourdan and Bryan Oliver returned to join Dan and Hunter for the duration, giving Dan a sufficient crew to set watch throughout the night, monitoring dock line tension, adjust fenders when they rode off the Yokohama's and check/pump bilges.   On deck it was already hot and steamy. 3 fans in the salon forced air to move around, making it tolerable below,  avoiding a sauna-like experience. Fred and Bryan secured remaining gear in the dory, now at rest on deck, reset fenders already trying to squeeze out of position, sea-stowed deck chairs, coils of line, and remaining loose gear scattered on cabin tops or hanging on stanchions. They set the foresail boom preventer to portside to clear the boom from fouling the gangway if the tide situation worsened.  The anticipated King tide would force hoisting the gangway another two feet, in order to keep clear of the cap rail. 

Bryan and Fred waiting and 
watching Ft Sumter disappear

By 1 pm, winds were gusting to 18 knots. Bryan and Fred joined Hunter below to put don foulies and munch on a bucket of fried chicken, macaroni / potato salad comfort food brought aboard, while Dan went off watch for a couple hours, anticipating the long night ahead.  With snacks in pockets, Fred and Bryan climbed up on deck to watch the changing weather and check the ship's fenders that continuously surged, and worked, as the hull rose and fell against the larger Yokohama fenders. Tide was at ebb and starting come in again. Wind, current, and waves were forcing the hull to lurch and grind against the large Yokohama fenders, cushioned somewhat by the 9 smaller fenders we had suspended overside along the starboard rail.     Spray coming off chop in the harbor was now blowing across the deck.  We could sense a pronounced increase in the deck's rise and fall.  The growing south east gale winds were blowing directly against our port side, pressing us hard against the dock.

By 3 pm, winds were gusting to 25 knots southeast, rain was beginning to go horizontal, and Schutes Folly, 3/4 mile distant, had disappeared in the darkening gray.  Three awnings remained rigged under the booms tent-like across the deck to allow hatches to remain open and ventilate below decks. Now they were rock-taut as a straining sail, and we  checked our watches, and held up our phones into the rain to measure wind speed. At 1600, winds were steadily increasing past 30 knots,  visibility was barely twice the boat length. Fred and Bryan were eying the guy lines and straining grommets in the awnings.  After informing Dan of the conditions on deck and condition of the awnings they set about securing all hatches closed, then retying awning guy lines with slippery hitches so they could be released immediately. As Dan appeared on deck the first guy line of the smaller aft awning snapped,, the edge binding tore and started flogging. Fred and Bryan jerked loosed the remaining guys and started rolling/furling the flogging sunbrella material up onto the boom, and lashing the corners to the nearest fitting or lazy jacks that rose to the boom lifts.  Dan grabbed handfuls of sail ties from the line locker and bent them together to spiral-lash the rolled-up awning onto the main boom. 

Bryan at 35 knots

Once secure the three of us pushed forward against now blinding rain to the huge awning ballooning and heaving like a horizontal square sail over the foresail boom. Working one side at a time, the three of us jerked loose the slippery hitches on the guys and, holding on for dear life the corners and edges, slowly rolled it up towards the boom until it could be lashed in place to the lazy jacks rising off the boom. 

With the last awning securely rolled in place, we could take a deep breath and take a look around us.  Over the next hour winds steadied out, sustaining in the 30's  with occasional gusts to 40.  Dan went below to the chart table, and shouted up to us as if in triumph, that the glass was reading 29.(?) inches.. The barometer was displaying the extremely low pressure reading typical of a Tropical Storm/hurricane.  Around 5 PM, Dan checked his phone app weather radar to confirm that the storm's eye was abreast of us, on the same latitude, and moving quite fast.  We could sense the wind beginning to clock more easterly.

1800 hrs Fred and Dan at the gangway 

conferring on the last few feet of King tide

By 1800 the wind was noticeably dissipating, and blowing Northeast.  We could actually see glimpses of sky and sunlight towards the west. Patriots Point was reappearing to the east, and even Ft Sumter way out on the southeastern horizon. We were still 3 hours to high tide, but our rate of rise gave us hope that we would not end up with the fixed dock awash, and our stowed gear at the end of the dock in peril. In fact, it felt safe to conclude that we had already seen the worst.  The skies continued to clear up, winds steadily decreased, veering to north west, then west. By sunset, conditions had eerily returned to normal,, better than normal actually;  the temp was in the low 70's..  

So foulies came off. Deck chairs up-rigged from their stowed positions, remaining chicken and salad pulled back out and spread over the salon table. Dan brought forth some cold beer cans from somewhere, and collective sighs of relief could be noticeable.

Oh,, and as last of the chicken was disappearing, Dani Feerst popped her head down into the salon hatch, reporting for Night Storm Watch.  We're saved!