A Mote in the Eye of Hugo

by Jeanne Slasor

20-Dec-1989

 

 

 

Dear Dow and Lenore,

 

A little more than three months ago we were blown ashore as what Jack calls "A mote in the eye of Hugo," and our lives are only now beginning to get back to normal. We know that you have been concerned, and hope you will understand that it has been almost impossible until now to concentrate on writing.

 

The first few weeks after we returned to Culebra after our wonderful trip to the States were pleasant ones, with time for sailing and swimming as well as maintenance chores. Then Jack noted in his log on September 12, "Tropical Storm Hugo at 33.5 West (about a week)." On the 15th we moved from our favorite reef anchorage to Ensenada Fulladosa inside the bay, where we had ridden out several storms. We chose an uncluttered portion of the bay, dropped our 75 pound plow anchor and laid out plenty of chain. Next morning we removed sails, halyards, anything up the mast that would provide windage, lashed the downwind pole on deck, double lashed the dinghy, outboard, ladder, booms, and secured everything below. Weather reports still showed the storm at tropical storm strength, and predicted that it would pass well south of us.

 

Boats continued to pour into the harbor, until early Sunday afternoon we counted 40 boats in our little anchorage, with untold others in the rest of the bay. By this time we were getting worried, not about the storm, but about the increasing number of boats. Friends reported very crowded conditions in the hurricane hole area --- shallow fingers of the bay that extend into the mangrove swamps --- so many boats that one could almost literally walk from boat to boat. We still felt that even if we had been able to get our 7 feet of draft into that area we would not have, because of the surety of damage by other boats.

 

By Sunday, Civil Defense officials were circulating through the anchorages, informing the yachts that shelters had been set up ashore, and recommending that people leave the boats before the wind increased. Many did so, and by late afternoon when we were beginning to get heavy winds most of the boats in the anchorage were unattended. We both feel that this contributed to the amount of damage done by the storm, though in retrospect it is apparent that, based on the way some of the boats disintegrated when they hit the beach, there would have been many more fatalities had the crews remained aboard. At any rate, we felt that TRITON was able to weather whatever was in store, particularly if we were aboard to give her what help we could, and so agreed that we would stay with the boat.

 

Meanwhile, Hugo was slowing down, so that instead of passing south of St. Croix early Sunday morning and Culebra about noon, it would be south of us late Sunday night. It was still predicted that the storm would pass 50 to 75 miles south of St. Croix, so we would probably receive winds of no more than 50-75 knots. By noon we were experiencing strong winds which gradually increased over the next several hours. Finally the weather forecasters were advising us that the storm was veering north a bit, and it looked like we were really in for it. 70.... 80.... 90.... and the storm center was still a long way from us. Each time we thought that the wind couldn't increase it did, until we were having winds difficult to conceive and even more difficult to describe.

 

After midnight there was almost no visibility, with some rain but even more wind-driven spray, as the seas grew huge in the harbor, and the wind still increased. It was impossible to stand on deck, so we had to crawl forward to check on the anchor line and chain holding tight to something as we went along. At one point Jack was almost blown out of the helmsman's chair. The force of the flying spray hurt the skin, and it was impossible to breathe or see without wearing a diving mask to protect eyes and nose.

 

Just after midnight we glimpsed something through the murk ahead, and it was not until it was almost on us that we could see that it was a big motorsailer blowing down toward us. I went forward to try to ease the anchor line while Jack attempted to power out of its way. There was no one aboard the other vessel, so no attempt was being made to steer around us. When I was sure that it would hit us I rushed back to the cockpit just as it impaled itself on our bowsprit. It hung there for several minutes, with our anchors holding in spite of all the extra weight and the force of the wind, until finally it broke loose with a tremendous crash, breaking the bowsprit and bending the pulpit and its support pipes at right angles to the bow, then slid along the port side, continuing to bump and grind as it went, bending lifeline stanchions and stainless steel rails, smashing the outboard, nearly missing Jack's head, and finally bending the dinghy davit supports. Still we held, and the wind continued to increase.

 

During the night there were boats dragging on all sides, though we would only catch glimpses of them from time to time. A huge steel powerboat dragged down toward us from across the bay, but managed to power enough back into the wind to miss us, only to lose headway in still a stronger gust and smash into two sailboats that had only minutes before gone onto the beach.

 

We later learned that the Navy had recorded winds of 218 mph with the wall of the eye passing directly over Culebra. We were in the NE quadrant so experienced much less wind and had very little damage. At least three trimarans of 40 to 60 feet literally became airborne and flipped over. Friends have described dead birds, still clutching branches, with all of their feathers blown off. All of the trees on the island lost their leaves.

 

We spent the night in the cockpit, trying to watch for dragging boats, and getting more and more exhausted. Because the bowsprit was gone, we now had no rollers for the anchor chain, so in spite of Jack's attempts to protect the bow, the chain began to cut its way through the bulwarks and down into the deck. Jack did manage to tie the bow pulpit to keep it from striking the hull, but was unable to reach the dolphin striker, so that 3 1/2 foot length of pipe banged the hull with each wave. The headstay no longer supported the mast because it had been attached t the bowsprit, which was gone, so we wondered if the mast would stand.

 

During the night a strange thing happened. Just within our line of sight, a foot or so from the hull, something rose about 7 feet out of the water, dropped back into the water, and then reappeared, dropped from sight, reappeared. After a few moments we could see that it was an anchor chain flying horizontal to the surface of the water, bar tight. What was on either end of the chain we could not see; just that quiet, eerie, threatening length of chain.

 

Just as the sky was beginning to lighten another boat appeared out of the scud ahead and slid past just inches away, seemed to stop as if its anchor was holding, and then disappeared into the murk astern. We didn't know it then, but it had snagged both of our anchors. Apparently our plow held for a time under the additional strain, and then the shackle broke. I caught a glimpse of still another mast just barely out of the water (we learned later that a boat had sunk and the crew made it safely ashore), and then we realized that TRITON was filling with water. Our anchor chain had parted, the Samson post had exploded, and the anchor windlass partly pulled out of the deck, we had gone on a rock, had a hole in the boat, and had not heard a thing except the shriek of the wind! When the weather cleared next day we saw the boat that had finally done us in on the shore astern of us, with both our anchor chain and line tangled in her anchor. She was virtually undamaged, and later was picked up by the same crane that lifted us. She had gone ashore on top of another boat, which apparently cushioned her from the pounding of the waves. We were unfortunate enough to find one of the few rocky areas on that shore.

 

TRITON was resting on a rock and some mangrove trees, with branches right at deck level, but visibility was so bad that we couldn't see how far we were from safety. Just as Jack pulled the dinghy alongside it cleared enough for us to see that there was a narrow stretch of water between us and some rocks. He helped me into the dinghy, then eased off the line enough so that I could scramble ashore. I fell out of the dinghy but managed to climb onto the rocks, although my shoes were sucked off my feet by the surge. Jack also fell into the water, but managed to hold onto the dinghy and climb ashore beside me, losing one shoe in the process. The velocity of the wind was still so high that we could not stand. We had gone ashore 100 yards or so from the road, but the hillside between us and the road was covered with thorn bushes. There was an abandoned house across the road where we thought we could find shelter.

 

We unlaced our life jackets, tied two parts of the jackets to our feet as makeshift shoes, then used the other parts to lay over the thorn bushes in order to crawl. We did finally reach the road and then the old house, covered with scratches, exhausted, and grateful for a place to rest and recover a bit. The wind continued to shriek for hours, with portions of the roof and aluminum windows banging, and water streaming across the floor. At one point an old refrigerator was picked up and thrown across the room like a toy.

 

Finally late in the afternoon the wind began to subside, and we were able to return to the boat to assess damage. By this time the water had receded (there were 7 extra feet of water in the bay during the storm), so we were able to climb aboard the boat via rocks and trees. TRITON was laying over at 45 degrees, with water over the engine in the engine room, and water, mud, and bits of trees up over the floorboards on the port side. We were exhausted, since it had been over 36 hours since we had slept, and almost 24 hours since we had eaten, and we were both almost at the end of our tether. We decided to lock up the boat and try to get to town to find shelter, at least for the night.

 

We had counted 47 boats in our immediate vicinity when the winds began, and when we left TRITON for town there was 1 boat left afloat. The hillsides surrounding the bay looked like bombs had been dropped everywhere, with bits of houses wherever you looked, and hardly a building intact. The beach and shore were covered with boats, in many places three and four deep. It took us a long time to negotiate the 3/4 mile to town. The road was blocked not only by water and mud and trees, but also with the remains of houses and boats, so that we literally crawled over and under the debris. Next day Jack counted about 90 boats on the shore between TRITON and town in addition to the 45 further on in our bay, and there were at least 100 more in other areas in the bay. The boats in the hurricane hole area also sustained damage, with some sunk, and many others dismasted or holed, either by the wind or other boats. We talked with one man whose boat was several feet out of the water in the trees, in an area where it would be almost impossible to get a tug or a barge. There were boats in buildings, and pieces of buildings in boats, so that it took weeks to make order out of chaos.

 

Perhaps 70% of the houses on the island were destroyed, with most of the rest damaged in some fashion. Amazingly, there was only one death and very few injuries. Volunteers and supplies arrived quickly from unaffected areas. The shelters in town provided plenty of food for everyone, with the people whose homes had not been destroyed volunteering living space, hot food, and clothing for those without. Many of the ladies cooked at the shelters, providing hot meals for hundreds of people. Until food supplies came from Puerto Rico and the mainland, the local stores donated what they could, and local restaurants emptied their freezers before the contents could spoil. Yachts that had survived the storm in the Virgins came with what food they could bring, and of course many of the yachts, including TRITON, had lots of canned food aboard, so as soon as possible food was brought ashore from the boats. Water was a serious problem at first because most cisterns were contaminated with wind-driven sea water, but a Navy ship soon anchored off the town with a water maker, and Navy personnel came ashore to assist in getting the public water system back in operation. Water had to be carried to most homes, but the Navy sent a tank truck to distribute water throughout the area, with men to help carry as required. Electricity was restored in most areas within a week or two, as the local men worked day and night to repair downed lines and repair equipment. Military personnel were sent in to assist with cleanup, to prevent garbage from accumulating, and to clear the roads. Fortunately, their presence on Culebra was not necessary to keep the peace and prevent looting, unlike St. Croix. Morale here was tremendous, with people anxious to help one another. Cleanup began almost immediately, with people working on volunteer crews to clear the streets and to help one another clear yards and find their belongings. Medical care was very good, with volunteer doctors and nurses arriving very quickly to supplement the local doctors. Much detail was paid to prevention of serious illnesses, with the result that there was no outbreak of the diseases that usually occur after a disaster of this magnitude.

 

Jack and I both had a bad time for a few days after the storm. I woke up the first morning to find the left side of my face paralyzed and difficulty in using my left hand. Apparently it was a very slight stroke or a nervous condition induced by the stresses of the previous days, and within a few days I was back to normal. Jack slipped in the engine room and cut his leg badly while working to bail out the water and mud, and since it very quickly became infected, it caused him a lot of pain and made it very difficult to work for a few days. How we would have survived those first days without help from friends it's hard to imagine.

 

Bruce and Cathy Goble shared their house with us, and at one point had 8 other refugees living with them. After space was available, they allowed us to live in an apartment on the second floor while we worked on the boat. We lived ashore for about two months.

 

The first three weeks after the storm were a nightmare for everyone. The friends living with us at the Goble's whose boats had been destroyed began to leave the islands as they salvaged all they could from their boats. It was heartbreaking to tell them goodbye. Some of them had lost all of the treasures accumulated in a lifetime. All would have difficulty in finding a new home and new lifestyle. For those of us whose boats were damaged but not completely destroyed, there was the terrible effort of working under such difficult conditions, and the awful worry of how the boat could be repaired and then gotten afloat. For all of us there was the worry about friends both here and in the Virgins that we had not been able to contact and from whom we had had no word.

 

Rumors abounded: The government would help; the government would not help; the Navy would send a big helicopter to lift the boats back into the water; insurance companies would arrange for barges and cranes to come which would be available to all of us; the cost would be minimal; the cost would be phenomenal. Would a barge be able to reach us at all, since we had water only a few inches deep under the boat, and the shallow water extended nearly fifty feet out from the shore?

 

About three weeks after the storm a tug and barge with a crane arrived and began lifting boats off the beach. Jack was able to arrange with them to lift us off the rock and give us time on the barge to make at least a temporary repair. He still was not sure exactly how much damage we had. There was a rock projecting into the hull just below and above the waterline right amidships, and the delaminated area covered about 30 x 40 inches. Until the boat was lifted off the rocks we could not know whether there was more damage behind the fuel and water tanks. The bargemaster thought that he could give us at least two days on the barge. We found that it had been needless to worry about their getting close enough -- their concern was whether the tug could stop the barge before it crashed into us! The crane lifted us with no problem, and we were set on the barge so that we rested against huge truck tires. The boat was not upright, but heeled over about 45 degrees on the damaged side so Jack could reach the hole. He made a temporary form with some tongue-and-groove cedar, then repaired the hole from the inside. Fortunately for us, the tug and barge went aground while were working and were stuck one whole day, so we had some extra time.

 

After TRITON was in the water it took another month to get her habitable, since there had been so much mud and water inside. Would you believe that we found two crabs still alive in lockers in the aft cabin? We have been able to buy a propane stove, and four solar panels to provide electricity, since the generator is not working. The engine, of course, needed a complete overhaul, and Jack has worked with an 8-pound sledgehammer for the last eight days to free frozen pistons. The last one came free yesterday, so we ARE making progress, and we both are feeling encouraged. There is still a tremendous amount of work to do, and it will be a long time before the boat is mobile, but we're home and comfortable and both in good health. Now that the push is over we can tackle the rest of the projects in a bit more leisurely fashion.

 

As the holidays approach we will be thinking of you, hoping that the season will be a happy one, and the new year and new decade a peaceful, prosperous and successful time for all.

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

 

Cousin Jack & Jeanne