Shipwrecked!

Shipwrecked!

Working at Fleetwood’s boat shop (aka “WBG Marine”) is to exist inside an alternate reality. Down a dirt road, behind a gate, and at the end of a drive on the bank of the Back River is a shack in the woods where I spent my formative years learning how to work on boats under the tutelage of maritime historian, Rusty Fleetwood.

Random interruptions in the work day to salvage timbers off the beaches of Little Tybee, or (as was the case this time) eat fresh oysters next door at Bill’s, are kind of the norm.

After a 5-day road trip and some good catch-up time, by mid-last week I started the first of several 14-hour days at the shop rushing to assemble, modify, and prepare Manu’iki’iki for my trip down the coast. The day to launch finally arrived.

The day before launch I did a test run heading out Horsepen Creek and into the Back River, Fleetwood following in his aluminum power boat, and everything worked as expected.

My fourth and final day I reloaded and sorted my gear and decided to leave several key things behind due to weight and bulk, including the wheeled carts for hauling the boat up the beach and the electric outboard I’d made… 

I loaded and launched at the morning’s high tide and set out for Cabbage Island, which is south of Little Tybee.

The wind was a light 5 knots, the outgoing tide was in my favor, and everyone who watched me go by openly gawked - I think it’s safe to say that a Micronesian sailing canoe is not a common sight around Tybee.

After passing the main area of Little Tybee I came to the mouth of Little Tybee Slough… the bar extends about a half mile into the Atlantic, and rounding that point I found myself in waves threatening to break.

I shipped a bit of water and because I had no tried and tested organizational theme and all of my gear was piled in the cockpit, I couldn’t bail.

I sailed and paddled (the winds weren’t always favorable) until the threat of breaking waves receded behind me, and I decided to beach Manu’iki’iki and sort out my mess.

He likes to point into waves, as it turns out, and it took a little bit of effort to get the waves on our stern, but once we began our run in he maintained a true course and I beached it without much effort.

It didn’t take long to sort things out, but as I sorted and shuffled gear about, the onshore breeze kicked up to a good healthy 15 knots and the waves kicked up with the wind.

Heading back out into it was when everything went wrong.

When punching through a wave on my way straight out the knock-back was impeded by the rudder hitting the sand bottom and within a second I was spun sideways to the surf.

At the same time, the mainsail swung around until it lay against the shroud and could swing no more; it filled with a healthy lungful of air and Manu’ili’iki launched like he was fired out of a cannon.

The ama (outrigger) was buried in water and I heard a loud “crack.”

I managed to get beached again without any more mayhem, but I suddenly felt stuck. On one hand, the rudder worked great, but on the other, it proved itself to be a dangerous liability in the surf.  

As I pondered my predicament, I saw a hairline fracture in the wa’a, and the “crack!” I’d heard made sense.

I didn’t have a choice - I wasn’t leaving the beach again until it was fixed.

So I sat with the boat as the tide came in and pondered some more.  

That's when I saw the mare’s tails and thunderheads on the horizon. With clarity, I sprung into action unloading the boat and carrying my gear into the dunes.

As the sun went down and I ran back and forth between the campsite I now call “Camp Storm Dune” and Manu’iki’iki, simultaneously setting up a hasty camp and keeping the tide from abusing my boat, the clouds moved in and the temperature dropped.

I set up a wind break from the onshore breeze at the campsite, and as soon as I had everything ready and the sun was falling into the shadow of the earth and the lightning was almost overhead, the wind moved around and began howling from the Northwest.  

Even though I grew up on the beach, and love the beach more than almost anywhere, I do NOT like sand.

This change in wind direction, however, gave me all the sand I’d tried to ignore, and more.

It scooped out all the sand to windward and built drifts in the lee. Sand rode up between the tent and the tent’s fly and poured in from above.

All night the wind howled, the rain came down outside while the sand rained down inside. I shivered from cold and sun exposure and did not sleep.

In the morning I tore it all down again and set up the windbreak to windward (northwest, not east) and did a half-assed job of de-sandifying literally every single item I had with me.

So here I sit, waiting for the weather to break so Fleetwood can ferry me out a drill; I'll make the repair and then continue on.

I’m also rethinking my route to avoid any more breakers… which might require me to run up the inside of the islands and stay clear of the beaches… which is a bit of a downer.

At least I have lots of food. Being shipwrecked with too much food is kind of like not being shipwrecked at all.

And every bite is seasoned with the crunchy, salty, flavor of sand.