Uh, Oh!

Our departure from Anse au Beaufils  at 10:30 am the following morning was smooth and easy.  We had watched the Minnie B slip out an hour earlier through the gap.  We knew she was headed the 90 nautical miles across the Bay of Chaleur and that the longer haul ahead would be just a hop, skip and jump for her.   However, we needed to refuel and although we have an extra jerry can of diesel on board, we knew our tank supply was getting low.  So we were heading to Chandler, 22 nautical miles further, the only local port housing a refuelling dock with diesel.  In days past, sailors would guffaw and raise their eyebrows at our deficiency but we would not even consider crossing the Bay of Chaleur without the safety net of a full fuel tank. Certainly, Bridlewilde would have no trouble with the crossing save only  her sails and should we have been  well seasoned sailors we may also step up to the challenge, but today we want to know that we have that extra power at our disposal should we need to pull ourselves away from any possible problem that may occur.

It was a beautiful day.  The seas had had a few hours to relax some and although the sail was somewhat choppy we headed 3 miles offshore to avoid the dreaded roughness  and reef  around Cap d’Espoir on our lee shore.  The rocky ledges there stretch out to the southeast  for 2 nautical miles with a minimum depth of only 2.2 meters thereby making for high breaking waves, an area we surely wanted to give an extensive berth.

Months before (I should say years because this exodus of ours was born well over 3 years ago. We had spent the past 3 years preparing ourselves, purchasing our vessel and preparing her for this trip.  In the plan’s infancy we determined a list of priorities and one of those toward the top was to garner experience.  Acquiring experience was one of the reasons we made the decision to sail Bridlewilde back to NS rather than having her trucked from Ontario.  Because we had never sailed a steel sail boat nor were we ever responsible for the final decisions made to a vessel we needed to learn our capabilities, get to know our boat, assemble our understanding of the boat’s systems and use the trip to nurture and harvest our knowledge. And in doing so, we hoped to become sailors.) we knew that we would encounter the unknown in several areas.  It was reassuring to speak with many capable sailors who told us that this trip would hand us confidence, award the knowhow we were seeking and contribute more on our path to become established sailors than 10 years of summer sailing out of our home port. It was reassuring to hear that some said that they could see we were well on our way there.   Reassuring, because another unknown was to occur right under our feet.

I say right under our feet because the boat’s motor and steering equipment is located directly under the cockpit where we spend most of our time when the vessel is underway.   And we were under way, unfortunately not for long.  Two hours out we heard a clunk – no loud noise, no crash, no bang, just a little clunk.  But as soon as we heard it we both knew it was not a good sound.  I heard the captain shut the engine down immediately; we had been motor sailing using only the foresail.  I heard the scratch of metal against metal as the captain lifted the engine access hatch in the cockpit.  And I heard that terrifying, “uh, oh!”

The propeller shaft had completely broken in half and was dislodged from the housing at the rear of the engine that receives it.  We had a motor but it could not move our propeller.  So what does one do when their propeller shaft snaps in half, you are at sea 3 miles offshore, (a rugged lee shore that one cannot access even if we could with a deep hull such as ours) you are still 15 nautical miles from your destination and neither of you is a mechanic?  My answer to that was to look to the bright side first. We were after all in a sail boat, we were not hurt, it was a beautiful day and we had good visibility, we were not in the doldrums, albeit only a light wind – that was why we were using the motor in the first place – and we had the captain aboard.  Within minutes he had a plan and it began to take shape quickly.  There was nothing we could do but get to the closest port immediately so I was to determine what that was and pull it up on the plotter and adjust our course accordingly.  We raised the main for assistance but even with that we had slowed to 1.5 to 2.5 knots due to the light wind. The current was heavy which pushed us closer to that dreaded lee shore. We were concerned about that but the captain had a plan for that too.  By this time I knew that there was a commercial fishing harbour within two miles of us. I had read about this place in our sailing guides.  I knew it was not equipped for pleasure craft at all but there were some lower floating docks for smaller fishing vessels and in unusual circumstances pleasure craft were welcome and could raft to fishing boats if need be.   So the little harbour of Ste. Therese de Gaspe was to be our saviour.

The captain instructed me to take the helm. He climbed in behind me on the stern to have ample room to lower our dinghy from its storage place on the davits.  Once he had her lowered, positioned and secured to the port side of Bridlewilde he was able, very uncomfortably  I might add while the boat was sailing, to hang over the port side to attach her little 3.5 hp outboard motor to her stern mount.  And when that was secure he went over the side of Bridlewilde and into the dinghy. 

We attempted to contact the port on the VHF on a number of different channels for assistance  but there were no answers to our calls and we had run out of time to continue calling . We were engrossed in the execution of the plan. 

With the good visibility we were able to sail Bridlewilde as close to the harbour entrance as safely possible and then use the dinghy and her motor to help lead her around the breakwater and into the shelter of the harbour.  The captian held firmly to the side of the boat, kept the dinghy motor in forward and continued steerage from Bridlewilde’s wheel.  Once we were into port we found the only available wharf that we could approach to tie to and naturally that was on the port side.  Again, very awkward since our dinghy and the captain were secured to the port side of our vessel. The only alternative was to loosen the lines so that the dinghy followed behind the boat, let her coast and hope we would drift into the wharf without too much damage to her bow.  There was concern, of course, since we have no bow sprit and Bridlewilde’s 45 pound steel Bruce anchor was hanging over her bow on the anchor roller and we were headed for a 20 foot high wharf, not a floating dock that I could jump to in order to secure any line to nor were there any chocks that I could tie her to once we did land.   And there was no human being, save a young French boy fishing off the breakwater as we entered, in sight or on any of the wharves, that we could yell to from the boat for assistance.

The boat slipped slowly along the wharf headed for the 90* L corner where there was a 10 foot depression between the wharf and the huge fishing vessels tied to the next wharf.  Our beloved Bridlewilde is a heavy steel vessel, 9 tons to be exact, so she just does not stop on a dime; she needs the help of a motor and a reverse gear and a propeller and the captain, all of whom were not there for her. So you can well imagine the anxiety we were feeling.  The stress level was up there, the boat was drifting forward and there was nothing we could do.  But the captain had jumped to the wharf ladder from the dinghy and scurried up it to the top of the wharf as he nudged past it.  He called for me to heave lines so he could try to slip them around the huge chocks atop the wharf in effort to assist slowing her down.  I was forcing our boat hook along the wharf as we moved along it to try to slow her too.  Just then Bridlewilde clunked again and this time the sound was good.  Her bow poked into the L corner of the wharf and she had come to rest.   

We secured the boat to the wharf, heaved our sighs of relief that she and we were steadied and in tact  and surveyed our surroundings and the boat.

We have no photos of this event to pass on.  We have no words of wisdom for those to whom this may happen.  And, we have no desire for any recurrence of this incident.  What we do have is further knowledge, confidence that we can manage our trials  and  the security and trust in each other that brings about  our inner comfort.  The captain and I can and will endure anything that comes our way, together.

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