Sadly, no pics, nor known max wind speeds taken by me.

Posted By: Gary, Santana 2023A, Milwaukee
Date: 7/2/08 12:47p.m.

Report: outside forum guidelines

In Response To: Details? Photos? (Paul Germain, Santanaa 2023 C)

I shall always wish that I'd had a camcorder mounted on the stern, as it'd have been incredible viewing... if only to myself through the years. Probably to any 2023 owner just to view what their vessal is capable of taking. OK, there was a small 'blip' of a T-storm on radar a couple hours west of us. My friend Dan and I decided we would sail, anyways. Nothing else, we could milk it (sailing time) for what it was worth, assuming the T-storm even developed larger, much less hit us. So, we dropped the mooring and headed out. Winds maybe from 22-27 knots. Enjoyable sail outing for perhaps 2 hours, at which point Dan mentioned I'd been 'Bogarting' the tiller the entire time. We were on a SE heading, perhaps 4 miles south of Milwaukee harbor. I was laid/kicked back, reclined against the outboard (favorite backrest) so wasn't looking astern. Dan, forward, relaxed during the idle chit chat. Not sure why he didn't mention it, or spot it, maybe not recognizing it for what it was, as it was behind me, and he, naturally, looking aft while chatting. Giving him the tiller, stepped forward, turned about and instantly said "Oh, #&*@!, look at that!" While I had no conscious memory of doing the 360 degree visual sweep, I'm sure I likely did, as I do every few minutes. Never saw the darned thing coming, it was as though it simply magically 'appeared'. Spent a quick minute attempting to triangulate it's PIM by visual (position of intended movement). Not much discernable movement to either north or south. Uh, oh! Came about, running north towards Milwaukee. We were likely well into the low 30's (knots) well before nearing the harbor entrances. I elected to by-pass the southern gap as it would have taken more time than running on the NW reach towards the main (central) gap, and using the south entrance would have added significant time to our return to the mooring. About a mile out, penetration of the central gap appeared 'iffy' without tacking across this blow, which was now a howing gale. Wind speed had dramatically incresed. NOAA yelling destructive winds reported in excess of 80 mph (**Side note: that definately caught my attention) along with golf ball sized hail. At this point, the horizontally driven rain felt like needles puncturing my face, and I made mental note/curse "Where's my frigging goggles when I need them!" (operative word wasn't actually frigging, but sort of like it...). A half mile from the entrance, it looked worse, quarter mile impossible. Dan yelled we should run for the north (and last!) gap. I declined, replying we would face the same difficulty there, and at least if we can't make THIS, we have it (north gap) for back up 'Plan B' option. I'm on the tiller again during this sh, er, crud, and am trying to use the heavy (heavier!!) gusts/lift and weather helm to my advantage, trying to dog-leg myself to port. I'm watching the lighthouse loom closer and closer, slowly sliding to the port side of my bow. I keep making the attempt. <OK, I'm taking a terrific beating by this storm. Well, truth is, I've never sailed in wind speeds in excess of 40 knots before. Perhaps WELL OVER 40 knots (see 'unknown wind speed above). Also flashing through my mind, is that I installed the fairlead plate under the mast, and manually adjusted the shrouds to compensate for the plate thickness (raising the mast) and also further adjustment of the shrouds to alleviate a slight aft curve mid-mast from lower shroud tension. Result? I DID NOT WANT TO TACK ACROSS THIS STORM if at all possible! (nor gybe, either, if possible!). I got within a 100 yards of the breakwater wall. Very clear I absolutely could not get in the entrance without a tack to the SW, then a later, reciprocal tack back onto the NE heading. Still wanting to 'save' the north gap, I began prepatory to tacking. Lighthouse was lying off my port side, call it slightly aft my port beam. From it, breakwater angling somewhat NW, then turning slightly NE. I was effectively about to penetrate what I'll term a 'shallow cul de sac'. SUV sized granite bolders stacked this side of the breakwater, so I was somewhat comforted that I'd not hit the concrete wall . Not wanting to get into this cul de sac, just as we were about to tack across this things fury, we got knocked flat. Not 'down' mind you, just flat (I don't *think* the masthead touched water... but was rather pre-occupied elsewhere, and failed to look, lol's!). All the known universe shrieked, severe wind hit, and we were down! Period! And instantaneously at that! I held what I held, not wanting to give in an inch, and watched Sushi heel further and further. Inclinometer was useless, as it only reads to... 60 degrees? Anyway, beyond pegged out. During this, I'm accessing how Sushi is handling. Starboard side buried. Different factors being filed away in my mind for later review (and judgement). Probably 20 seconds to late thinking of it, I look out horizontally at the mast. Can't tell, as she's starting to recover like the lusty little tart that she is, but believe I had at least sa chunk of the (leeward, obviously) pocket slap and drag on the lake, as that would explain our sudden slew to starboard while no sail was pointed 'upwards'. Hull speed had dropped nastily low as we recovered, I find myself closer to (and closing in on) these rock SUV's protecting the breakwater. Weather helm does its abrupt reversal, and, traitorous bit*h that it is, screams in my ears that she's no longer my friend, much less loving me! Wind is so severe, my angle now so far off, I'm losing precious time trying to force my bow back into a close reach. Realize that, even heavily reefed, that jib was wasting me time in this heavy of a blow. (Remember, I'm about to kiss stone tractor-trailers in any of three directions). Tell Dan to douse the jib. He spends a second or two evaluating the weather conditions (and rocks) to this unusual order. He signifies agreement (20 years sailing experience) and douses it. Bow immediately starts its pull to port, what with all severe pressure now aft of the mast. Visibility is really... well, 'feces'. Within seconds, we're knocked into a splat-flat again. You guys know how (suddenly) small the cockpit is (8 feet). Dan within, what, 4 feet of me? Can't hear what he's screaming at me, world still shrieking it's death throes in my ears. I am standing damned near in a perfect vertical position. Understand this: my feet are on the starboard (leeward) COAMING edge. My back resting on the windward port coaming edge... and I'm standing straight up?! This is what occures to the 2023 in a gale when knocked flat, or at least what I observed on mine. So much hull was exposed (i.e. new sail area) that we went from repeated broaches into a total foundering. When viewed from aft of the transom, the hull is shapped much like a common household soup bowl (cross section view). So, this is how I sailed sideways, which will (possibly) make better sense to those who understand 'sail AREA' of the hull: foundered, so much of the hull, now the new SAIL AREA, is noticeably shoving us straight to leeward. Mast flat, dead in the water, rapidly making SIDEway 'way' straight off into the straboard beam. Wind was exerting such a powerful push to the side; due to this, the starboard side 'gunnel deck' acted like a scoop (i.e. bowl). Driven sideways, she 'scooped' DOWN into the lake, driven like a freaking nail that has the entire anvil dropped on it's head. Again, I'n standing veritcal on the leeward coaming, back HARD against the windward coaming (so as to not fall out of cockpit). 'Ya gotta picture yourself in this picture, then proceed. The starboard side literally dissapeared, driven into the depths. Starboard (entire) cabin port submerged, as Sushi dug deeper and deeper. I was submerged in solid water up to mid-calf, putting the stern rub rail... three feet under solid lake level water? More? A good foot of green (i.e. solid water level) water over the coaming fully doushed the cockpit. (Interesting side note: some time later, when things were calm. I was suprised that the two scuppers apparently did there jobs quite well, although no clear time length recollection of them shedding the excess ballast. Well, hell, I've gotta get finished with this thing! Point being, the 2023 is a solid boat, damned fine, and can take a licking. Not bragging or saying that she's the best, mind you... just bragging about her being what she is. A damned fine Lady (even if she is a lustful wench) Oh, yeah, the large motor/rescue boats had given up offering assistance to the 'last' sailboat well before I hit harbor, as they fled for shelter themselves. Of further (personal) interest: about an hour later, exhausted, pumped, drained, excited (and more)... while discussing it on shore with the few sailing center personnel to witness it, the sun came out, storm was long gone (at that speed!), winds were something like a "Blazing" eleven knots or so... all of a sudden DOZENS of 'sailors' started arriving at the Community sailing center, talking all excited about how GREAT it was going to be sailing right after that bad a storm, etc. You know what? I don't have a damned thing in common with that type of 'sailor'. I had just had the most incredible sail, and experience, of this year (probably), and was thrilled and excited about it while it was still 'live'. Sailing was over for Dan and I the rest of that day, as anything (everything!) else was going to be boring. So, sorry I don't have a pic. The one below you've seen before from my fight off the Mackinac Straits last year. Picture it about 10 times worse, 10 times steeper, 10 times... well, OK, maybe only 5 times worse, LOL's! Damn, it was beautiful.