Books are full of misadventures experienced by unlucky or too naive sailors. Misfortunes occurring in the most unimaginable circumstances and which can easily turn the innocent dream of a voyage into a pure nightmare. This is the kind of bad luck we experienced when we left Lisbon on Monday, October 4, 2021. Having left Granville (Manche) one month earlier for a one year trip on board an Etap 23, we thought that our journey would simply end there.
That day, we are about to negotiate the last stages in Portuguese waters. After our crossing of the Bay of Biscay, then a few weeks of coastal sailing along the Iberian Peninsula, we are already thinking about the arrival at Porto Santo and Madeira. The conditions are perfect for this day, during which we hope to push on to Sines. I should mention that we did not have any big sailing or party the day before, so we are quite ready to attack what is going to be a simple 50 miles ride.
A moment of inattention and the mast tumbles
It is about 8 o'clock when we leave the pontoon and head for the exit of the harbor, in the beautiful low-angled light of this early morning. Dazzled by the sun that we have in front of us, we don't distinguish the bridge that bars the channel. Imposing, massive with its solid metal beams, and far too low to be missed.
How could anyone make such a big mistake? The bridge in question was open when we arrived and our navigation guide stipulated that it normally never closed. It turns out that we are hardly the first to hit it. A few days earlier, a large German sailboat suffered exactly the same fate, ending up with a mast broken in three parts.
It's lame, stupid, shameful, but that's the way it is: our mast falls down. It dangles miserably overboard like a broken limb as we pitifully make our way back to the dock. Gathering our wits and scrap metal, dismantling and sorting out the pieces of shrouds, furlers and spars, we notice that the biggest damage is concentrated on the base of the pole. This was literally shattered when the forward forestay broke and the mast tipped over. A part of our genoa furler is also bent as well as various other damages without much importance compared to those previously mentioned.
A mast shortened by fifteen centimeters
In the days following the incident, we consider different solutions: sleeve the broken part, patch it up with carbon, order a new mast which would immobilize us for at least two months
In the end, we decided to shorten the pylon by about 15 cm at its base. Two options are then available to us. We can recut the whole standing rigging, put back the gooseneck for the boom and re-cut the sails (all this is less complicated than we thought, except maybe for the furler). However, we prefer to play with the height of the binoculars: pieces made of two aluminum sheets between which the base of the mast, held by a pin, is inserted.
On the Etap 23, a box located between these two binoculars houses part of the mechanism used to lower and raise the keel. To avoid having to intervene on this box, our idea is simply to have the existing binoculars raised by a craftsman. The work to be done is thus considerably limited, even if the operation still involves a lot of cutting, moving and reinforcing
An express repair
We have to admit that for various reasons, we had a hard time agreeing with a professional to make the twins. The language barrier doesn't make things easier in this kind of work, some technical details can't be neglected by misunderstanding. Some people offered us totally ridiculous prices, as if these two sheets were worth the price of our sailboat. From setbacks to setbacks, we finally found a metalworker to carry out this work.
We did the rest of the work ourselves; that is to say, we cut the mast, reinforced it and drilled it to accommodate the holding pin between the binoculars. We also changed two damaged chainplates. Finally, we had to dismantle and reassemble our furler completely in order to replace the profile twisted in the accident (fortunately, we had the spare part in our stock in France).
Two weeks after the dismasting, our brave Nordkyn was looking good again with her shortened mast firmly planted between two slightly taller twins. It is obvious that we are doing well and that the modest size of our boat has clearly facilitated the operations.
Since then, we have been able to test the solidity of the boat by sailing from Portugal to Madeira, then to the Canaries and Cape Verde, as well as during the transatlantic race that we have just completed. The whole thing shows no signs of weakness, even if the mast will certainly have to be changed at some point. Finally, such anecdotes clearly give another taste to the trip. After this experience, one knows better how to savor each mile traveled at its true value.
