HURRICANE LUIS -- THE VIEW FROM AFLOAT

Malcolm Page

(Flying Fish 1995/2 contained a memorable report of Hurricane Luis's passage over Sint Maarten as experienced by Maurice and Rosie Sumner, who sought shelter ashore in a nearby church. In contrast, Canadians Malcolm and Pat Page remained aboard their 43ft Mason cutter Tainan of Barkley at her mooring in Simpson Bay lagoon. It was the first time in five years of Caribbean cruising that they had not headed south to Venezuela for the summer. As Editor, I make no apologies for publishing a second account of the same event as seen from a different angle. Let us all read, mark and inwardly digest...)

I am sitting in Tainan's cockpit back on our mooring in Simpson Bay lagoon, the same mooring which we left rather abruptly about two months ago when the winds of Hurricane Luis gusted in excess of 150 mph (130 knots). As I look around the devastation is still apparent. Without moving more than 180° I can count at least fifteen vessels of various sizes aground in the mangroves or on the rocks, and several masts sticking up from the bottom of the lagoon. There is not a boat in Sint Maarten that does not carry some sign of its encounter with what is now being called the worst hurricane to hit the Leeward Islands in living memory. I have heard that it is to be officially designated as a Category 6 hurricane. According to the Met office at Princess Juliana Airport the highest sustained wind was 170 mph (148 knots) and the maximum recorded gust was 205 mph (178 knots).

Luis was a big storm in area, but the eye was small and passed across the north end of French St Martin, completely missing the lagoon at the southwest end of the island and thus subjecting it to continuous winds for more than twenty hours.

Saturday and Sunday 2-3 September were spent getting ready for the hurricane. Tainan was on her mooring on the north side of the lagoon, in a fairly sheltered position (or so we believed) in a small bay between Mount Fortune and a short headland at the entrance to Port de Plaisance marina, quite sheltered from the north, east and southeast, the directions from which the winds were expected to blow, and indeed did. We had been monitoring the available reports from the National Hurricane Center in Miami and we knew it was going to be a major storm. News was coming in from Montserrat and Antigua of winds averaging 100 mph (86 knots) with gusts of 130 mph (112 knots).

Tainan's mooring was a concrete block about 4ft x 4ft x 2ft, buried in the bottom of the lagoon in about 9ft of water. Attached to this were two Danforth anchors, one 25lb and one 35lb, stretched out to the north on 3/8 inch chain to keep the mooring in place. 30ft of 3/4 inch riser chain was secured to four 3/4 inch nylon lines, led aboard via the bow rollers and chocks (fairleads) and secured to the main mooring cleats and the anchor windlass. In addition a 25lb Fisherman and 40lb Bruce were deployed to the northeast on two 3/8 inch chains and 7/8 inch anchor rode. Our 45lb Plough was on the deck with 200ft of rode ready to go, as we still expected the eye of the storm to pass overhead giving us a brief chance to catch our breath and recheck moorings. We were out of luck.

Late on the evening of Monday 4 September the barometer began to drop, and by Tuesday morning it was falling fast. The storm's central pressure fell to 935mb at about 2200 on Tuesday night, but Tainan's barograph had bottomed out at 965mb four hours earlier and refused to go any lower! All through Monday people were hard at work stripping everything they could from their boats -- even, in some cases, the masts -- and it was interesting to note, after the storm, that these boats had mostly fared quite well -- those, that is, which had not been hit and sunk by loose boats.

On Tuesday the wind increased and by noon it was blowing 70 mph (60 knots). Luis was heading straight for us -- we had really got it wrong this time! However we were sitting quite comfortably in our corner where the maximum fetch was no more than 200 yards, so we were quite confident that the waves would not build up too much. By 1300 visibility was down to about 20 yards, with rain and salt spray blowing by horizontally at more than 70 mph. Our mooring was holding well and at that stage we had had only one near miss -- a loose boat had suddenly loomed out of the spray, bounced off the dive boat next door and disappeared into the mangroves to the south.

The wind was screaming by this time and we felt deafened. Even down below the noise from the rig was tremendous, and it was time to give Moggs, the ship's cat, a tranquiliser. I was able to get a few minutes of video looking aft from the companionway and got some shots of boats astern of us, one in particular, a Dutch barge with leeboards, which was rearing like a wild stallion in the waves that occasionally broke clear over her bluff bows and were constantly ripped away by the wind. The wave height in our `sheltered' corner was by now about 4-5ft, not much normally, but with 70 mph winds behind them in only 9ft of water they were vicious. As the centre of the storm got closer the level of the lagoon was increasing, but it was difficult to tell just how much in the reduced visibility. Simpson Bay lagoon is the biggest in the Caribbean and at its centre the fetch would be around two miles. In the winds that were now building the waves in the centre averaged 6-8ft over a maximum depth of no more than 15ft. We could hear on the VHF the plight of many boats which had chosen that area to anchor. Calls were coming in thick and fast from boats adrift or with others wrapped around their bows, but of course it was impossible to help. It was a horrible feeling, hearing people we knew well, only yards away, in difficulties and being unable to assist, and at the same time hoping that we would not join them.

By 1500 it was apparent that the centre of Luis was not going to pass directly over us -- the direction of the wind had not changed from north and we were not going to get a chance to set any more anchors. Any thought of doing any work on deck was a joke. I managed to get forward along the side deck to check the chafing gear by sliding on my stomach, dragging my safety harness tether along the jacklines, but once there the heavy pitching and yawing made it impossible even to sit up!But it was the wind that put paid to any effort to accomplish what I had gone forward to do, even if I could remember what it was! About a week previously we had installed new B&G instruments and the anemometer was getting its test now -- the readout stopped at 99 knots, and at one point I rather thought it had stuck as that is all it said for several hours.

At 1700 one of the 3/4 inch nylon lines at the bow parted but the remaining three were looking good. Tainan was yawing back and forth from mooring to anchors, but everything looked like it was holding. In the brief clear patches we could see the horror of the central lagoon, with groups of two, three and even four boats drifting helplessly downwind. As long as our mooring held, and we were in the lee of Mount Fortune to the north, we should be okay.

One of the few boats upwind of us was Storm Bay II with skipper Scott aboard. Storm Bay was a solid cruiser from Australia and we knew that Scott was moored securely. We were very surprised at about 1730 when she began dragging across our bows and down our starboard side, pausing briefly to pick up our anchors before continuing on her way. Tainan's mooring was holding, but being subjected to tremendous shock loads.

At this point I thought that perhaps motoring up into the wind might take some load off the mooring lines. I remembered the old adage `if it's too rough to sail, it's too rough to motor', but at that moment if I'd thought rowing would help I would have tried it! I could not hear the engine over the shrieking of the wind so Pat stayed in the companionway giving me hand signals indicating up or down for the revs. I had on a pair of prescription squash glasses with my hat pulled down and my foul weather coat collar pulled up, the end result being that I could neither see nor breath! Tainan was now leaping and jerking at her lines, and at about 1800 the remaining three lines parted and we were loose.

Motoring was now out of the question -- we were in the lap of the Gods. Storm Bay II's anchors must have grabbed again for a spell as we passed her to port, Scotty giving us a wave. Soon afterwards he dragged again, and went aground shortly after us. Later he said that he will always carry in his head the picture of Tainan as she left the water between wave crests. Glad I did not see that one!

I was still in the cockpit, with Pat below rapidly assembling the ship's papers, money and travellers' cheques in a plastic bag with the passports. Moggs was having a nap. We were moving quite quickly now but what must have taken minutes seemed to take hours. Sewyn was next astern and we made short work of her windward anchor and drifted into shallow water. Luckily we did not go over enough to take water, but were slewed sideways to the wind and seas. I had turned off the engine as the overheating alarm had gone off due to silt clogging up the raw water intake.

As luck would have it we went aground between two large rocks, bow first with our stern into the wind and still fairly upright. I headed below to check for damage but at that moment Sewyn came up behind us, gave our stern a thump which demolished the Aries, and then slipped in alongside. At this precise moment the lock on the companionway door jammed and I could not get it open. I remember thinking `Pat's down below and I can't get her out!'. With this the sliding hatch banged open and she popped up just in time to get a dirty wave of salt water and gravel full in the face! Here we were, stern on to wind and sea, with waves coming over the stern and filling the cockpit. The wind was now well in excess of 100 mph (86 knots) and had finally started to back into the west. Tainan was pushed around and laid over on Sewyn, with Sewyn a little higher up the beach. This caused her to come down on our cap rail and genoa track, which proved a very effective hacksaw and proceeded to demolish her in short order.

With the wind astern the cockpit was soon flooded as all four 2 inch drains became plugged with silt and leaves. I went below and closed up. No thought was given to leaving the boat -- our immediate worry was water coming in. It was rising in the bilge as the cockpit lockers flooded and drained into the bilge -- the locker drain system was at the wrong angle and working backwards! I hit the bilge pumps, of which we have three, but they were soon clogged with silt. Luckily I was able to clear them and they soon had the water level going down, but it did not stop coming in until much later when the storm began to decrease. Our electrical system remained okay. Five years ago we fitted gel batteries and I will never regret it -- this was not the place for lead-acid!

The Mason's engine is below the cabin sole so one is always aware of the consequences of getting water in the boat, and while this is normally no problem owing to the very deep well aft, we were in a somewhat abnormal position, on our side 55° from the vertical. When I lifted the main sole board we were both shocked to see the great old Perkins 4-108 gently ticking over! What had happened was that water had poured into the engine control panel in the cockpit and shorted everything out. The `stop' solenoid had not worked so I operated it by hand. We were convinced that the engine would be damaged and made a mental note to add it to the list. The bilge pumps were keeping the water down, and as the waves stopped coming over the stern it stayed down. We tried to check the interior for holes but with the lockers full of, by now, wet clothing it proved difficult. We assumed that as we were not shovelling out beach we had no holes, and much to our relief this proved to be the case.

Although we were exhausted sleep at that angle was impossible. The wind was beginning to weaken but still up in the 90 mph (77 knot) range, and we took turns pumping the bilge as the occasional wave was still breaking over us. As the surge went down we stopped moving and the sounds of Sewyn grinding alongside stopped also -- but not before she had punched out two portlights, letting the rain in over the nav station. Down went the VHF, not that it mattered much now. We spent the rest of the night listening to the wind and rain and assuring each other that Tainan would soon be afloat again and things would be back on track.

At first light on Wednesday there was a knock on the hull and it was Scott and his mate Gerry from Storm Bay II. They were aground about 100 yards north and okay so far as damage went. They told us that the Port de Plaisance hotel and marina complex had opened up its rooms and were offering a bed and hot meals to those who could get there. It was still blowing a good 60 mph (52 knots) so we waited until about 1500 before climbing along the beach to the resort. In the 400 yards to the hotel boats were stacked up, sometimes two deep. How we had not had anyone on top of us was, and still is, a mystery.

We will never forget the reception we got at the hotel. The entire complex, although still open for guests, opened its arms to us and for the next six weeks we had the hospitality of a five star resort, two meals a day and a place to sleep horizontally! Words cannot convey the gratitude felt by all the people whose boats ended up in the area of Port de Plaisance, and we heard later that most of the hotels around the lagoon had done the same -- those, of course, that were not badly damaged by the storm.

By Thursday morning the winds had gone and the sun was out, another typical day in paradise. But the view from the hotel balcony was ... definitely not paradise! The whole lagoon was littered with the wreckage of almost 700 boats. If I never see anything like it again it will be too soon.

We consider ourselves to be very, very lucky. Our boat is insured, she is once again afloat, and damage is minimal and can be repaired. We were always confident that Tainan was built well and now we know just how well! Others did not fare so well. People whom we have come to know well in the last five years have lost everything; their boats, possessions and savings. A lot were not insured for one reason or another. But over the top of all this one thing will stick in our minds -- the camaraderie of the yachting crowd here.

Everyone had made the choice of staying for the season or heading south, and many had chosen Simpson Bay lagoon to sit out hurricanes in the past, but they were nothing compared to the savage violence of Luis. People whose boats were obviously gone turned their attention to helping others whose boats stood a chance of salvage. Of course a few took advantage of the situation to turn a profit and looting was happening even at the height of the storm, but these people are inevitable and are beneath contempt. They were dealt with quickly.

Volumes will be written about Luis -- about what type of ground tackle to use, what preparations to make before the storm hits etc, etc. Experts will have a field day I am sure, but I will say this: the maximum winds in Luis exceeded 200 mph (172 knots), I saw 12 inch steel building columns bent like hairpins, and 50ft steel boats were piled three deep at the south end of the lagoon with one 120ft luxury yacht on top for good measure. And yet, at the end of the storm, the Dutch barge with all the aerodynamics of the proverbial haystack was still in the same place, largely untouched, while the beautiful Oyster 43 Sahara Blue, moored not twenty yards away, had nothing left above the decks and topsides that looked as though they had been sandblasted. Within the awesome winds of Luis there were tornado areas that cut a path no more than twenty feet wide and against which nothing could stand. Next hurricane season Tainan of Barkley will be in Vancouver!

As a final word, the following snippet was spotted in FLASH, the Magazine of Trinity House Lighthouse Service:

Hurricane Luis hit Sombrero Lighthouse this autumn forcing the keepers to seek refuge in the tower. The structure remained standing but was so severely shaken that the prisms in the optic broke away from their mountings.

The keepers managed to restore a standby light and the Governor of Anguilla commended them on their cheerful courage in the face of danger.