My Sea Dart/Tristan Jones Page
A Reflection on My Years Sailing Sea Dart
Preface
This page explains how
I came to own Sea Dart, and goes on to tell the story of Dart's first
near
disaster while she was in my possession. Links from this page will take
you
to other narratives about Sea Dart, including information about my
relationship
with Tristan Jones in
Bequia, W.I. I do
have many pictures of Dart digitized, and they were at one time
available
on this site, but due to space limitations I have removed the "Images"
page.
If you wish to view some images of Sea Dart and Tristan Jones, a few
are
available at the Sea
Dart Page hosted by the State of Idaho.
I have created a "Current
Status Page" to help you keep up to date in Sea Dart's current
situation.
Please click just below to get the latest information. Thank you.
Go To Sea Dart's Current Status Page
How I came to Own Sea Dart
I was stationed at "Naval
Facility Barbados" from 1968-1970. During that time I was very active
in
sailing, SCUBA diving, and cave exploring. I owned half interest in a
very
fast 21 foot sloop named "Vega", and when Sea Dart sailed in to
Barbados,
and was put up for sale, I bought her too.
One afternoon a friend
came to me and asked if I would go with him to look at a boat that was
for
sale. It had just sailed in from England, and he was interested in
buying
her. He did not feel qualified to evaluate the boat for himself, so
asked
me, since I was very much involved with sailing. I was in the 5th year
of
preparation for a round the world cruise, so he felt that I should know
something
about boats.
The next day we drove down
to Bridgetown and went to the Barbados Yacht Club where Mr. William
Osborne,
the owner, had agreed to meet us to show us Sea Dart. When we arrived
Mr.
Osborne was not present, so we decided to swim out to look over Sea
Dart
without him. We swam out to the boat, and as we came up under Dart's
bow
sprit I was instantly captivated by the two hand carved dolphins that
graced
the bow just under the bow sprit.
We climbed up into the
cock pit, and a few minutes later Capt. Osborne arrived in Dart's dingy
and
opened Dart up for us to enter. I was instantly in love with the little
boat,
but could not say much since my friend was the one who was there to
possibly
buy her. We looked over every square inch of Dart, said good bye to
Capt.
Osborne, and headed back up the island toward Speightstown. On the way
my
friend told me that Dart was far too much boat for what he was looking
for,
and had decided to look elsewhere for a boat. That left Dart open to
me,
and the next day I purchased her.
The purchase was interesting
because of the currency problem. I was an American, and paid in
American
currency. The boat had to be purchased in the local currency, and at
the
current exchange ratio. It finally worked out that the easiest way to
do
the transaction was in cash! At that time Barbados had only very small
denominations available, $1, $5, $10, and $20, it may still be the
same.
When I went to the bank and asked for over $6000 in cash they were
rather
shocked. They had to furnish the cash in mostly $1, $5, and $10
denominations.
That meant that the final pile of cash easily would have filled a
bushel
basket!
With the entire back seat
of my car filled with stacks of money I drove the 15 miles to
Bridgetown
and closed the deal on Dart. I was now the proud owner of a fine, solid
wood,
"Debutante" hull, sloop. I left Dart anchored behind the yacht club,
and
when the following Saturday arrived, sailed her the 20 miles up the
coast
to Gibbs Bay, her new home for the next two and a half years.
Some months later I was
horrified to learn that I was being transferred to Norfolk, Virginia
for
the remaining year of my enlistment in the Navy. I spoke with the
fellow
who had initially brought me in contact with Dart because of his
interest
in the boat. I asked him if he wanted to have Dart for the year I would
be
in the US. He could sail her in exchange for taking care of her for the
year.
He jumped at the opportunity, and I departed paradise, for something
far
less.
I flew home to Oregon for
two weeks, and then back down into the tropics to reunite with Dart. On
the
way I stopped in Key West, Florida to pick up my long time friend,
Brooks
FitzPatrick, who would be my "First Mate" and cook for the upcoming
adventure.
We arrived on the Island late in the evening and walked out of the
Barbados
air terminal into the fragrant humid tropical air that was so familiar
to
me. I felt that I had arrived home again.
The next day I was in for
a shock. When we climbed aboard Dart I was instantly struck by Dart's
poor
condition. It was apparent that she had not been well cared for. When I
opened
the companion way hatch and entered the cabin I sat down and almost
cried.
There in front of me was a huge pile of wet moldy sails. That was not
the
worst of it. In the tropical heat the moisture had badly damaged the
beautiful
hardwood interior of the boat. The decking was warped up into big folds
that
were as much as two inches high. It was fortunate that my "friend" was
not
present because I was angry, almost beyond control.
It was apparent that it
would require several months to get Dart ready for sea, and that no
amount
of complaining or crying was going to change that. I finally accepted
the
situation and started making the necessary plans to put everything
shipshape
and Bristol fashion. The work was about to begin.
Preparations
Fitz and I set to work
with a passion, tearing things apart, cleaning, painting, and
repairing,
as required. We pulled Dart out of the water, using the government
crain
at the "carenage," and set her on the dock for a week while we worked
over
the hull. I was astounded to discover that the brass fittings that
secured
the rudder assembly were so badly corroded that they could be broken
with
my bare hands. After much searching through the local stores I was able
to
secure the necessary replacements in bronze, and Dart started to come
together
once again. With a final coat of $60 a quart anti-fouling hull paint,
Dart
was finally ready to be lowered back into the sea.
The hundred year old government
crane was a well rusted monument to times long gone by. It had a huge
retrofitted
electric motor to drive the winch drum, but the movement of the boom
was
strictly manual. I had to hire locals off the dock to man the big hand
cranks
to raise the boom, and then to swing the boom out over the water after
dart
had been lifted off the dock. Everything was very casual, and I was
sweating
blood while Dart hung 25 feet above the water next to the dock. The big
motor
wined and Dart started her long descent to the water. Every foot of
descent
lessened my tension until Dart finally touched the water and settled
gently
onto it, as a duck might alight on the glassy surface of a lake. Dart
was
back in her element.
Dart was once again safely
at anchor in Gibb's Bay when the Captain of the Naval Facility asked me
if
I would sail his yacht down to the carenage to lift her out onto the
dock
and do a repeat operation of what we had just done to Dart. Since he
was
offering $250 to do the weeks work, it was too much to refuse. The
problem
was that his boat was very poorly equipped. It had no engine, and its
anchors
were strictly for light duty. I decided that I would do the job, but
would
strip Dart of her engine and various other important equipment for the
trip
down and the return voyage. I was concerned that a sudden storm could
cause
me to be caught unprepared with the boat, so risked removing the
equipment
from Dart. I left Dart riding to her substantial CQR plow anchor, and
sailed
south for Bridgetown with Fitz to overhaul the little yacht.
We had an easy trip down
and spent the night in Carlyle Bay before our appointment with the
ancient
crane. Fitz and I decided to live on the boat for the full week in
order
to prevent it from being stripped by local thieves at night. All went
well
until the third day. It was a very hot and sultry day. We had spent
most
of it under the hull scraping and getting everything ready for
anti-fouling
paint. The day was finally over and Fitz and I were just starting to
relax
after dinner when there was a knocking on the hull.
Earlier that day several
strange events had occurred. About 2:00 pm the big inter island freight
transporting sloops along the dock had suddenly been pushed backward at
the
dock quite violently. The shove was strong enough to shatter several of
the
huge telephone pole sized bow sprits when they were rammed by the stern
of
the ship in front. The force necessary to shatter a two to three foot
thick
spar would have to be considerable. A couple hours later another
similar
push occurred, but without the damage that happened earlier. The boats
were
now all securely tied up. I walked out to the opening of the carenage
and
looked at the sea for sometime, but no visible action was apparent. The
sea
looked flat and calm. Something told me that all was not well
however.
Fitz and I were just settling
in for an evening of relaxed drinking and talking when the knocking on
the
hull occurred. I climbed out of the cabin to look over the side, and
there
stood an old friend, Macky, who owned a beautiful 36 foot yacht named
"Silver
Sprinter." I saw that the Sprinter was tied up along side the dock
below.
Macky quickly told me that Sea Dart was in a very desperate situation.
He
thought it might already be too late to save her, but he was willing to
try
to help me.
He had been anchored in
Gibb's Bay earlier in the day when a very large ground swell started
rolling
in from the west. In a very short time it had grown in size until it
was
bigger than anything he had ever seen in his 30 years on the island. He
said
that Dart was almost in the giant surf, and would completely vanish
behind
the huge waves as they crested to break.
I suggested that it would
be quickest for me to get a taxi up the island and swim out through the
surf
to Dart. He assured me that if I did I would almost certainly be killed
in
the huge surf. He said that the only way was to go after Dart from the
sea.
He was willing to sail back up the 20 miles to Gibb's Bay with me to
attempt
a rescue right then. After a few moments discussion with Fitz, we
locked
up the Captain's boat, and all three of us climbed aboard Sprinter to
head
out into the darkness of the tropical night for a very strange trip up
the
coast to save Dart. Thus began one of the most remarkable nights I have
ever
experienced.
As we sailed up the coast
the moon rose full in the east, lighting up the sea almost like day. I
was
appalled at what I saw. The waves that we were riding over were so
huge,
and the period was so great, that it seemed that the entire sea would
tilt
as the enormous mass of water rose beneath us. The period of the swell
had
to be half a mile or more. I had lived next to the sea almost all my
life
and had never seen anything like it. As the swells approached shore
they
mounted in height until they were towering mountains before crashing
down
on the suffering shoreline.
There were several other
things that caught my attention too. The sea was full of bubbles coming
up
from far down in the depths. It was actually hissing, much as if it
were
carbonated, due to the constant popping of hundreds of thousands of
tiny
bubbles. Also, there was a very low pitched, but very powerful,
thundering
from the surf a mile or so shoreward. My heart dropped as I observed
the
conditions around me. Everything was charged with energy, and it was
frightening
to be upon it, even if we were completely safe for the moment.
After several hours we
started to approach Gibbs Bay. I had lived on the shore of the small
bay
for two years, but the conditions were so strange that I hardly
recognized
the place. In the bright moonlight, Dart could be seen hanging on to
life
just yards from where the huge waves broke in a thunderous roar. Dart
would
rise until she was sitting sky high in the air and then would drop like
a
rock out of sight in the trough of the wave, only to rise again as the
next
mountain approached. My heart was beating like a trip hammer as I
watched
the drama unfold inshore.
Macky slowed the
Sprinter
down as we watched developments in the bay. Macky had poured on all the
speed
that Sprinter was capable of during our trip up the coast. He had us
set
all the sails, and we fired up Sprinter's big diesel engine as well. He
throttled
the engine down to a murmur, and we shortened sail, but did not take it
all
in, just in case the engine failed so close to the huge surf. The real
drama
was about to begin.
We all watched,
spell bound,
as Dart did her dance on the brink of oblivion. Finally I couldn't
stand
the stress any longer. I asked Macky if I could borrow his little
"dingy"
to row in to try to save Dart. He had no problem with the loan, but
pleaded
with me not to get killed in it. I asked Fitz if he would be willing go
in
with me, and to his credit, he jumped in next to me with out any
hesitation.
Fitz's ultra strong belief in God didn't hurt in this situation.
Fitz took the back seat,
and I took the oars and started rowing into the chaos ahead. Since I
was
rowing, my back was toward the shore, and I was facing the incoming
swells.
They were beyond anything I had ever seen. Between the horizon and us I
could
see no more than three of the huge waves building as they approached
the
bay. By the time they reached the opening of the bay they were "feeling
the
bottom," and were rapidly growing in height and steepness. As a wave
would
come up behind us I had to stop rowing into the bay and back paddle to
prevent
the little boat from taking off and surfing down the face of the moving
black
mountain of water.
Each time one of the black
glistening giants mounted behind us I held my breath as we rose
skyward,
as if on a giant elevator. Each time, the huge wave would pass
harmlessly
beneath us and go on its way to try to claim Dart. As we approached the
"death
zone" I could hardly believe my eyes. The sea went completely flat!
There
was not a single wave to be seen coming in. I didn't have to be
invited,
I bent to the oars and quickly pulled up next to a dripping wet Sea
Dart.
Water was dripping off of everything, including the top of the mast.
She
was so close to the breakers that she was taking the explosive spray
from
the huge compression tubes.
I handed Fitz the key to
the supply locker on Dart and told him to quickly get aboard and break
out
one of the 600 foot nylon lines we had stored in the lazarette, just
for
such emergencies. I actually had 1800 feet of 3/4 inch line for deep
anchorage,
or riding to two or three anchors in storm situations. I guess this was
about
as much an emergency I could ever expect to see.
Fitz got out the line and
attempted to pay it out as I held the end between my knees and rowed
out
toward Sprinter. He was only able to pay out about 50 feet when the
coil
became hopelessly tangled. He started to try to untangle it but I
decided
we didn't have the time to worry about it. The sea was still flat, but
that
couldn't be expected to last much longer. I told Fitz to cleat off the
line
and quickly get the plow anchor up, if he could break it lose. I
expected
it to be very deeply buried, but Fitz was pretty well charged with the
energy
of the situation. He managed to break it free and get it tied down on
deck
in what seemed only a few moments.
My heart was beating so
hard I thought it would explode. I kept looking out to sea expecting
the
worst. Finally, I could see the first signs of the next train of super
waves
approaching. I told Fitz to grab the tiller and to just steer Dart
after
me while I rowed us out toward the opening of the bay. It seemed
impossibly
far to be able to tow Dart in the short time remaining to us. I held
the
rope by tightly squeezing it between my knees, while I rowed like a
steam
engine. I was amazed that the oars and oar locks didn't break under the
strain.
It was now a deadly race.
Would Dart or the waves reach the opening to the bay first. Every
second
took us closer, but the progress of the first of the waves was faster.
If
the wave caught us it would either shatter Darts steering gear when it
drove
Dart backward down the face of the wave, or if Fitz got her turned
around,
Dart would surf down the giant slope to Dart's and Fitz's destruction.
My
back and arms were screaming for rest but that was impossible. I
couldn't
let up for a second.
I could see that we were
losing the race, and my heart was beginning to drop as I realized that
I
had to have Fitz abandon Dart so that he wouldn't take the wild ride
that
Dart would soon embark upon. I kept the line tightly clamped between my
knees
while I kept up my rapid stroke of the oars. I turned to look once more
toward
the sea, and to the left I saw Sprinter coming toward us with every bit
of
speed she was capable of. She once again had all sails set, and the
engine
was screaming at full throttle. Macky was headed right into the bay,
almost
certain suicide for Sprinter! As I watched, spell bound, I suddenly
realized
what Macky was doing. He was risking Sprinter, and his life, to try to
save
Dart!
I quit rowing and worked
as much slack as I could out of the tangled line I quickly coiled it in
my
hands to attempt to throw it to Macky as he passed close by. He came in
at
what seemed lightning speed, headed right for me. Just as I thought he
was
going to run me down, he threw the helm hard over, let go the
steering, and
jumped toward the stern to receive the line as I threw it to him. I
prayed
that it would fly true and free, without any tangles. My prayer was
answered,
it was just long enough, and Macky grabbed it out of the air. In a
flash
he had it cleated down to Sprinters starboard stern cleat and jumped
back
to the helm. Whatever would happen now was out of my hands. Dart and
Sprinter
were locked together in a contest with the sea that could easily end in
disaster
to both of them.
I watched, slumped over
the oars, as Sprinter started her breakneck climb up the towering face
of
the incoming sea. I was so fascinated, and horrified, at the spectacle
that
I almost forgot to row the dingy to keep her from starting to surf the
steep
wave face. About a hundred feet away, Sprinter, under full power, raced
up
the steepening wall of the sea and broke through the top of the giant
wave,
continued skyward until fully 3/4 of her length stood out above the top
of
the crest of the sea. It was incredibly exciting to watch in the
opalescent
moonlight. It looked as though Sprinter was going to launch right out
of
the sea! Suddenly gravity took over and Sprinter toppled over the top
into
the void on the other side and vanished from sight, including the very
top
of the mast!
I could hardly believe
that a 36 foot boat could vanish only 100 feet away from me. And then I
saw
something that turned my heart to stone. The 3/4 inch line connecting
Dart
to sprinter was rapidly cutting down into the sea. The line was no
longer
parallel with the water but angled sharply down into it. Dart was going
to
be dragged under by Sprinter's much more powerful pull from the other
side
of the huge wave. For what seemed an eternity everything went into slow
motion
as Dart accelerated up the face of the sea, with the line singing to
its
enormous strain. The line stretched until it was a fraction of its
normal
3/4 inch diameter. If it parted Dart was lost, and if it held the
result
could be the same. Time stood still.
I should have had more
confidence in Dart's fantastic buoyancy. Dart's hull was very wide, and
she
had hard chines, adding to her buoyancy. She never even dipped her bow,
but
rushed up the face of the wave and tried to simulate her bigger sister
in
attempting to launch herself skyward from the top of the wave. And then
it
was over. The giant sea passed on by and expended itself in a
thunderous
roar ashore while Sprinter and Dart made their escape safely to sea. I
bent
to the oars and slowly followed to meet them in very deep, safe, water.
My
legs were shaking so much that it was fortunate that I had the time to
recover.
We rafted Dart and Sprinter
together for a while until I sorted out the ropes, and then Macky
extended
the loan of his little boat a little longer while I carried three
anchors
out in separate directions and anchored Dart in the center of a three
spoked
wheel in 500 feet of water. I had all 1800 feet of emergency line out,
plus
almost a thousand feet of other working line that Dart had. Virtually
every
foot of line on board Dart was out that night. I made quiet thanks for
having
the foresight to have shipped all that line down from Norfolk. It
seemed
a ridiculous amount of line at the time for such a small boat. I was
very
thankful for it now.
We thanked Macky for everything
he had done, and risked, that night for us. It was difficult, since
there
are no words that can express the powerful feelings that are within us
after
such events. Finally, at around 3:00 AM, Macky took the dingy in tow
and
headed south toward Carlyle Bay, where he would see amazing destruction
the
next day from the giant surf.
Although Dart was dripping
wet, below decks all was dry and provided a welcome sanctuary. It was
3:30
am when Fitz and I sat down together in silence after all that had
happened.
The booming of the giant seas was very loud in the darkness shoreward,
and
Dart still rose steeply to the huge seas, but all was safe for the
night.
I went out and hoisted a kerosene anchor light in the rigging so that
we
didn't get run down by a passing boat, being anchored so far offshore
that
night.
The next day would bring
horrors of destruction to our eyes that made the rescue of Dart even
more
special and wonderful. The following morning the sea was full of pieces
of
buildings and boats of all descriptions. Some of the big ships down in
Carlyle
Bay were pushed ashore by the sea and required weeks of work to extract
from
the sands of the beach. We were very lucky as we didn't suffer any loss
other
than sleep. What was interesting too, was that where Dart had been
anchored
in Gibbs Bay was the accepted anchorage in the bay. The surf was so
huge
that the entire bay became a death zone for boats.
I learned one very big
lesson in the event. Because I had removed Dart's little, well mounted,
outboard
engine, I didn't have it available to run Dart out of the Bay when I
desperately
needed it. I returned to the dock, finished up the Captain's boat,
sailed
it back up to Gibbs Bay and returned it to him. I was very glad to
return
all the borrowed gear to Dart, and never again risked her in that way.
I
didn't know it at the time, but that was just the beginning of many
experiences
that involved great risk to Dart, and to us, during our future voyages
through
the islands.
(Check back often for new
writings)
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©Golden Age Forge
7 Feb 02