As most of you know, Scott Thomas was skipper of Highlander Sea, a 154 gaff rigged schooner….well, here’s some “light reading” from his log that ended up in print……good stuff.
Ship’s Log
HIGHLANDER SEA
7 July 03
Entry by J. Scott Thomas, General Manager.
We got away from the dock at 1100, just late enough to frustrate the Times Herald reporter and photographer who had other assignments to cover. We had announced a 1000 departure time but fuelling and the new-crew orientations set us back some.
We motored down river against 10kts of wind out of the southwest, in no particular hurry except to cover the 90 odd miles to Lake Erie before dark. The crew settled into a 1 in 2 watch routine with members of the starboard watch covering the duties of helmsman, lookout and roundsman.
The sailcovers were peeled off in the lower reaches of the Detroit River in anticipation of the sea room the open lake would afford. We reached the Detroit Light at 2030 and rounded up into the wind to hoist the main and fore sails. The breeze was a steady 10 knots out of the southwest, it was partly cloudy.
The little schooner NIES KAH out of Penetanguishene, Ontario we had overtaken back in Livingston Channel, motored by us again as the crew hauled our big sail up. When the fore was set we bore off to the east on a starboard tack, setting the Jumbo, Jib and Jib tops’l off the wind and shutting down the Detroits Diesels at last. I feel a huge weight has been lifted, no noise now, just the gurgle of the wake under the lee quarter and the banter of the crew, almost all of them gathered around the steering box to take in the beauty of the fading light. I can sense the excitement in their voices, the anticipation of the adventure unfolding before us. I recognized the scene and smiled to myself, knowing that this was a new version of some of my most treasured memories.
NIES KAH had managed to get a couple miles ahead of us while we were raising sail, but as the HIGHLANDER SEA settled into her groove on a beam reach it became clear that we would soon overtake her again. I hailed her, to pass our regards, and our intentions to overtake her to leeward, but instead attracted the attention of the schooner AMISTAD out of New Haven CT., who had popped up onto the horizon to the west. We exchanged friendlies over the VHF and learned that they had just left Toledo and were bound for Chicago. I invited them to stop and make themselves at home at the Port Huron Seaway Terminal on their way through, expressed my dissapointment that they wouldn’t be racing, and bid them fair winds. We watched her as the silhouette of her square tops’l and distinctive raked mainsail inched across the glowing western horizon towards the Detroit Light, now well behind us. Turning our full attention ahead once again, we noticed that NIES KAH had shaken out a few sails. Perhaps she thought she could out run us. Silly Canadians.
We switched on the running lights at sunset, rolling on towards Point Peelee Light and Southeast Shoal at a comfortable 7 knots, waving as we passed under the lee of
NIES KAH and whistling to get the attention of the two dogs lounging on their deck. I missed Leroy already.
There was a chance of thunderstorms in the forecast and evidence of the same on the distant horizon, mostly the typical heat lightning of a hot summer evening. The winds were supposed to remain out of the southwest through the night at between 5 and 15 knots, then veer to the west on Tuesday afternoon and then northwest. I could see at this rate that we’d make Cleveland by sunrise and wondered to myself what plans the Captain would make to occupy the next 48 hours or so. To be honest, I was more concerned with what I might write for the first installment of the ‘GM’s Log’, it being a rather peaceful and uneventful voyage so far. I put my head down about 2300 but was up again by 0100 to sort out some button pushing problems in the engine room. I was still up when the watch turned over at 0300, the half moon had already set and it was dark but peaceful on deck. On the way back to my bunk at about 0400, the generators running smoothly once again, I noticed the lights of Cleveland looming on the horizon with a backdrop of heat lightning giving a show, almost appropriate for the ‘home of Rock n Roll’.
I guess it was just before 0500 that I woke again, the creak of the hull timbers marked a change in conditions above, we were still on starboard tack and the heel of the ship was increasing steadily. Already, before I could scoot down to the edge of my bunk I could hear the ship’s propellers winding up, driven by the water rushing under the hull. I could sense that we were heeled over at least 25 degrees as I pulled on my shorts and groped in the dark for my shoes. In my mind I’m shouting out orders: ease the sheets! Bear away! Then I remember we still have the jib tops’l up.
Up on deck I see two figures in the dark, struggling with the wheel. The ship is heeling excessively. The mains’l’s been eased. The frothing wake of the ship glows in the night. The GPS reads 12.9 kts. I scramble forward to help the crew with the JT. There are three of them up there, hauling together on the downhaul but to no effect. There’s too much wind in the sail. I help haul, but soon abandon that effort and move aft to the sheets. Mike is there and I scream over the howling wind to blow the sheets. I run back aft to make sure the Captain is up. He’s at the wheel. I wonder how much sea room we have on the present course. The GPS reads 14.4 knots. A quick look at the radar and I see we’re only 6 miles offshore, less than 20 minutes of safe water ahead. The Captain yells above the growing din for the engines. I acknowledge and race below.
The engine room is oddly peaceful in comparison to the upper deck. I climb up to the starboard side to open the valves that keep the sea out of the exhaust. One opens readily but the other sticks. I open the tool chest to find a persuader but as I unlock the drawers they all slide open. I push the start button on the starboard engine. Nothing. Flip the battery switch on and try again. Now I get the clunk of the starter motor meeting with too much inertia. I fight with the tool chest and find a pair of channel locks and a big box wrench and set to opening the other valve. As the port engine rumbles to life I see water pouring out of the breathers on the starboard engine. We won’t be having that one anytime soon, I think to myself, and rush back up on deck….
Ship’s Log 2
9 July 03
continued…
Back on deck the wind is howling, even more fiercely than before. The lake is wild. Breaking waves have already formed and we are only ten minutes into the ordeal. The spray licking over the windward rail stings my face. The captain and I exchange knowing glances. I shove the port engine control in gear and yell to him we must tack soon. The crew on the foredeck have managed to get the JT down but are still fighting with the jib. The Captain moves forward to warn of the impending tack.
As the ship’s head passes through the wind and sea, she pitches violently upon the steep choppy waves, easily 6 feet by this point. I squint at the echo-sounder and note the water is still 42 feet deep, not much less than the average depth of Lake Erie. I steady up with the wind on the port bow, the main is left to flog for the moment, cracking and snorting and shaking the whole ship. We must get the jumbo and fores’l down first. I pass the helm over to Pete and make my way forward to see how things are going. Just then the sky ignites and I swing my head round to try to take in the extent of the bolt of lightning that branches out across the sky like the tributaries of the Mississippi across America. The branches join and connect with the earth to the south of us. I dread the intensity of the attendent thunder but it is drowned out by the howl of the wind in the rig and the cracking of the sails.
The ship lurches violently forward down the face of a huge wave. Derek, now out on the bowsprit trying to haul the doused sails out of the sea, disappears from sight as he’s dunked below the surface. I take little comfort in the knowledge that he’s clipped in and feel momentary relief when the bowsprit re-emerges and the black sea falls away to reveal him there still. I catch a glimpse of something plunging into the water to leeward. I don’t even have time to think the worst because I recognize the object, but I can’t believe my eyes. I look aloft for confirmation.
It must have been that most violent lurch. We weren’t making more than 2 knots headway, but the head-on collision with the monster wave that followed the cavernous trough we plunged into created massive moments of inertia aloft. The topmasts, suspended 70 feet above the deck, weigh in at well over 500 pounds each. Flung so violently forward, like crash-test-dummies, with lap belts but no shoulder belts, towards a windshield.
If I continue the analogy you might picture what happened. The fore topmast was wearing a shoulder belt, in that the running backstay was set, which is like wearing a shoulder belt around your neck. Unfortunately it was the starboard running backstay, still set from the previous tack. When the fore gaff and boom experienced the same accelerating forces , they lunged forward, slamming into the running backstay which in turn yanked even harder on the top of the foretop mast snapping the 8 inch diameter spar off at the top of the dublin. The 30 foot pole dangled briefly from the mess of shrouds and stays that draped themselves over the fore gaff, then fell away into the sea and disappeared into the darkness.
We spent the next four hours cleaning up the mess. The sun came up, the driving rain came and went, the estimated 50 knot winds subsided and the seas calmed almost as quickly as they had built up. I dispatched the engineer and his assistant to see if he could drain the water out of the port engine and get it re-started. The Captain and Derek went aloft and began lowering pieces of the standing and running rigging down to the deck.
Not too long after the topmast came down, the winds began to subside and I ventured below to check on things. When I looked into the galley the cook looked up and smiled as she stooped to place a pan of pumpkin bread dough into the oven, as if all was normal.
We secured alongside our assigned berth in Cleveland at noon that day, just 25 hours after departing Port Huron. The pumpkin bread was delicious.
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