While doing 18 knots 1,000 miles south of Cape Town yesterday, Alex Thomson’s Hugo Boss experienced canting keel failure, nearly capsizing. At the crack of dawn this morning another racer, Mike Golding, pulled off a remarkable single-handed rescue, then hours later, lost his own mast! Despite all this, both skippers seem to be in regular sattellite phone contact. The story is unfolding here.
A Panbo reader (thanks, Mark!) alerted me to yesterday’s collision on the Mississippi, in which the 712’ Greek freighter Zagora, coming down river with a load of soy beans, apparently T-boned the anchored 737’ Panamanian freighter Torm Anholt. Mark wrote, “It is amazing that yet again two ships of this size are able to hit each other. And to think one of them was anchored. How is it that small vessels are not plowed under more frequently? Looking forward to class B AIS transponders.” I’m looking forward to Class B too, but we should all be very careful not to over estimate its value. Interestingly, another Panbo reader (thanks, Kurt!) linked me to a page of presentations given at the recent AIS/06 conference. There’s a lot of interesting material there, which I’ve only skipped through, but of particular note is the first day presentation by Dr. Andy Norris. One of his conclusions is that “Class B users must not assume that their AIS signal will be visible on any ship.” More on Dr. Norris’s work to come. And some day the National Transportation Safety Board will issue a report on the Zagora/Torm Anholt collision. NTSB reports don’t seem quite as detailed as the MAIB work I’ve referenced before, but it will be interesting to see what happened on the big River yesterday afternoon.
Whereas we seem to have reached consensus that Iridium does not suffice as an EPIRB, it seems appropriate to post this intimate photo of a man apparently in love with his EPIRB. No wonder. At 7:30am on 7/25/06, Captain Nick Barran’s 40’ racing sloop was holed by a whale 415 miles north of Hawaii. He and his crew had about an hour to gather their stuff, inflate their life raft, and watch Mureadrittas XL vanish into the deep Pacific. They took pictures, too, and most sites published dramatic images of decks awash and a hand about to slice the raft’s tether. Me, I like the shot of Barran, probably very shook, laying back in the raft next to his faithful ACR RapidFix. The thing, and the whole COSPAS-SARSAT system, worked like a charm and this well equipped crew was aboard the container vessel Maersk Darwin before the sun set. ACR lays out the story here, and also has a pretty compelling advertising campaign here, but no PR person was there aboard the container ship prompting Barran to pose holding his EPIRB. I wonder when he let it out of his reach? By the way, there was also a satellite phone aboard Mureadrittas XL.
OK, it’s not exactly glamorous to drive a cargo ship full of used cars out through Germany’s Keil Canal and than across the Baltic to Lithuania, but it was this unfortunate skipper’s first command. That’s why he couldn’t rest well during the already stressful 6-on/6–off watch schedule (only two deck officers!), and possibly why he let the lookout—who was also the cook and about to be relieved the next day—go below to clean the galley for the next guy. Result? The captain fell asleep so solidly that Lerrix went a full hour past a turning mark before it went aground, even though VTS (vessel traffic service) operators were trying to warn him by radio. Yes, readers, I’ve been dipping once again into the rich archives of the U.K.”s MAIB (Marine Accident Investigation Bureau), and finding yet more dope that should make you very cautious about big ships. An interesting aspect of this particular case, detailed here, is how minimal the ship’s electronics were, though up to Brit code, and how funky the skipper’s own setup:
“Lerrix’s bridge equipment met the criteria required for the flag state {U.K.} Safety Equipment Certificate. Although compliant, the navigation equipment fit was basic, consisting of 3cm and 10cm radars, neither with an ARPA facility, an echo sounder with a paper plot, and stand alone AIS and GPS sets. During the investigation, it was noted that the master carried his own laptop computer from ship to ship, complete with a hand-held GPS. Loaded onto the laptop was a pirated programme of Transas electronic charting, which he had downloaded from the internet in 1999. The hand-held GPS, which the master had secured to the bridge console, provided the positional information for the laptop’s electronic chart (Figure 6). Examination of the programme showed that it had not been updated since 1999, and the charts on the system were based upon 1999 data. The downloaded software did not provide any of the optional operator functions, such as warnings and alarms.”
I have a great deal of respect for professional seaman, but, like the rest of us, they do screw up. Unlike the rest of us, they are driving very massive vessels. In April 2005, for instance, the container ship Lykes Voyager, en route to Vancouver at 19.5 knots had a fender bender in a foggy Taiwan Strait with another container ship, the Washington Senator, which was Hong Kong bound at 17 knots. “No one was hurt but both ships were damaged and a number of containers were lost overboard.” Imagine the sound! As usual the MAIB (the UK’s Marine Accident Investigation Branch) has produced an amazingly detailed report on just what happened, available in several PDfs. Noteworthy items as drawn from the report by Digital Ship:
* “Using the VHF radio, the master of the Washington Senator had agreed to a starboard to starboard passing arrangement with another vessel that he mistakenly thought to be the Lykes Voyager - he was, in fact, conversing with another unidentified vessel.”
* “The use of the radio as the primary method of communication for a distress call after the collision was also ineffective according to the investigation, as there was no response from any other vessels or from the search and rescue (SAR) authorities.” (They used 16, not DSC!)
* “Even though both ships in this case were fitted with AIS equipment it was not utilised for identification - if it had been the Washington Senator could have easily identified which ship it was speaking with, and the incident could have been avoided.” (Both had only MKDs to track AIS targets, which—in other words—were not integrated onto their radar or chart displays.)
We need to think about realities like these even as we get excited about Class B transponders. And thank our lucky stars that we weren’t in a small boat trying to avoid these behemoths that foggy morning off Taiwan.
Good gracious, that’s IDEC’s engine lying in the rocks beneath her destroyed hull. It must have been hairy for Francis Joyon to wake from deep sleep and get off this boat in the pitch dark. Sea & See has amazing pictures of IDEC both just before her record transatlantic passage, and just after the post-finish-line accident. I don’t fully understand how Joyon’s off course alarm works—“I was using the autopilot, and I think it must have taken her off course, as happened once or twice during the record - but I wasn't going fast enough this time to be warned of the change”—but what an extraordinary shame (and ‘nuts’ to the few cynics who think he did it for insurance!).
I’ve gotten fascinated by side scanning sonar, largely because products are coming to market that are inexpensive and easy enough to interest sport fishermen and amateur Captain Cooks. I’ll have entries on those soon, but first let’s look at what can currently be done with commercial grade side scanning, usually done with a towfish. Above is the wreck of the 291’ SS Portland, which sank off Cape Cod with great loss of life during a blizzard on Nov. 26, 1898. The image, which is not a photo, was collected with a Klein 3000 towfish (below). In the larger version, fish are obvious near the bow, which, incidentally, is actually attached to the rest of the boat (the black area is typical side scan distortion created when the gear moves along the track shown as a line). Bigger images and a fascinating description of the Portland disaster are here, and lots more scans in Klein’s gallery section.
Above is the yacht Merrimac supposedly just days after fetching up on Sable Island’s notorious “swallowing sands” in 1999. The dramatic pictures (another here) started kicking around on the Web years ago, and I first saw them referenced in a snippy e-mail bemoaning the dangers of marine electronics. “A popular theory is that the autopilot was driven by the GPS and sailed a great-circle route, which took the Merrimac to more northerly latitude than intended.” I thought it was hokum at the time and wrote, “The implication seems to be that the operator of the boat was somehow gulled by his or her gizmos. I don’t think so. If the story is true that the crew hadn’t been checking their location on a chart, then the level of incompetence was profound. And traditional navigation can be done incompetently too (believe me, I know).” Now the current issue of BoatUS’s valuable publication Seaworthy (the “Marine Insurance and Damage Avoidance Report”) tells of a witness to the grounding who says the skipper had in fact plotted his Atlantic crossing on a paper chart and was right on course; the problem was that he used a hurricane plotting sheet that omitted Sable Island! In other words, what you see is the result of traditional navigation done badly.
By the way, I went looking for the obscure site where the pictures—even a graphic of the bogus great circle theory—used to live, and it’s long gone. BUT the amazing WaybackMachine has nine versions of the page as it evolved between 1/2002 and 10/2003. What a phenomenal resource.
U.S. Navy Submarine Captain Kevin Mooney takes full responsibility for crashing the San Francisco into a practically uncharted undersea mount in the Pacific last January. Yesterday the New York Times published a detailed story about the accident, particularly the drama of trying to treat and evacuate mortally injured Petty Officer Joey Ashley. Then CBS 60 Minutes did a “Who’s to blame” piece, which I happened to see. The interviewer drew out how Mooney was using a classified, best-available Navy chart and steering a route sent from headquarters, but still the Captain—who seemed like an very decent man—insisted that he should have been going slower, should have checked other charts (where there were just hints of the mountain). Most of all, he said, “I should have been more skeptical about the chart data.”
Those are words to remember, especially as there’s a growing disconnect between our super precise electronic navigation and the precision of the underlying chart data. It’s a phenomenon I wrote about here.
Me matey Charlie Doane just returned from skippering a New England to Caribbean delivery that included its rightful share of electronics drama. One night, sailing to windward and heeled down hard, he heard the “instruments down!” call from the cockpit. His first reaction — after yelling back “cope!” — was to nose around the power supply system, a whiff of sizzling circuitry leading the way. Low and behold, down in a low locker was a 24v-12v step-down transformer immersed in a puddle of saltwater that had apparently been collecting from a slight deck/hull joint leak that was getting a prolonged dunking. Electronics breakdowns, and other problems, tend to make deliveries challenging, and it’s telling that this was a seasoned 48’ Swan, the Mercedes of production boats. She’s been in service eight years, but apparently the little leak and the low gizmo had never interacted before. Another interesting aspect to this tale is that Charlie's crew were clients of Offshore Passage Opportunities, delivering the boat to learn offshore seamanship by doing. Not only did they sail on to Bermuda without instruments, but there helped Charlie locate a functional stepper installed elsewhere on the boat and swap it out. There were more invaluable lessons, including some fuel management theater, and I'm hoping Charlie will write up the whole trip for Sail.
Me matey