It was Thursday, January 24, and we were two days out from Puerto Rico in the middle of the Caribbean Sea with Colombia 200 miles south of our port beam. I got off watch at 1600. It was a beautiful afternoon near identical to the day before. We were ripping through the ocean, heavily canvased with the main and fore t’gallants, main and fore topsails, main and foretop staysails, and the jib, set. The wind was east by south at 25 to 30 knots, and the rolling seas were 10- to 12-feet high, pushing us along. The ship was in a groove, and we were having one of the best sails of the trip as we steered for Panama. I lingered on deck for an hour before heading below for dinner; I was ravenous.
I was standing just forward of the galley when it happened. We started to roll hard after racing down the back of a big wave. I lost my footing and fell over. At that exact moment, there was a loud, shattering crack and a shudder ran through the ship, followed by shouts and then the thuds of rapid footsteps pounding the deck above.
“All hands on deck!” shouted Tony at the top of his lungs. The throbbing ache of hunger suddenly vanished. Adrenaline kicked in as I sprinted to the weather deck. When I got there, I saw a sight no sailor wants to see, ever, let alone in the middle of the ocean. A mess of torn sails and shattered spars were hanging in a chaotic tangle of wire and line. We had just dismasted under full sail.
The main topgallant mast was gone, having snapped at the crosstrees, the point where it was connected to the topmast. As a result, its mast, yard and sail had fallen over forward of the main topsail. I could see silhouettes of the dangling spars and sail through the set topsail. Looking forward, the fore-topgallant yard had snapped in half and was flailing along with the remains of the fore-topgallant square sail.
It was nearly sunset, so we didn’t have much time to determine the best course of action for containing the damage. We needed to get through the night safely without incurring more catastrophic damage. Capt. Bailey had taken control of the helm and Andy was already aloft near the upper doubling of the main topmast, right below where the main topgallant mast used to be. My eyes were focused on Andy when Tony grabbed my arm, taking me with him as he marched forward.
“Will, get up there with Andy and Christina,” he said as he let go of me at the base of the mainmast shrouds.
He continued walking forward without missing a beat. He already had a safety belt in hand and was buckling it on as he made his way to the foremast shrouds and started climbing up. I did what he told me without questioning his order. I grabbed a belt off the bar, quickly strapped it on, swung out onto the port rail, and began climbing up the mainmast shrouds. Christina was already ahead of me at the fighting top and swinging out to make her way up to Andy.
Everything was happening so fast. The first thought that flashed into my mind was, ‘why me?’ There were28 other crew members on the ship, and at least half of them had a lot more experience than I did. The only people aloft were the mates, the boatswain, our most experienced AB and me. Looking down, I could see the rest of my shipmates on deck, staring up and waiting for orders.
We had not struck any sail, which seemed odd to me. Typically, the protocol in a situation like this would be to reduce the loads on the rig by taking down sails. What was stopping the rest of the rig from toppling over the side? I was looking all around, wondering where I should jump if the rig suddenly did start to go over. Could I survive a jump from over 100 feet up in the air? Could I manage a water landing, and even if I did, would the ship crush me as the ocean drove her on top of me? Falling from this height would mean certain death unless I could ricochet off one of the sails below, as if it were a slide. If I did use my safety harness to clip in, I would be tethered to the tens of thousands of pounds of falling spars, sails and rigging. I would have no time to think of how to free myself. I chose one risk over the other and decided to not clip in for the time being.
Once aloft, I informed Andy and Christina that Tony had sent me up to help them. They were discussing their assessment of the situation. There was significant damage to the top of the main topmast at the upper doubling. The extent of the damage meant we could not strike the main topsail because that would mean loading the lifts of the main topsail yard, potentially causing further catastrophic failure. When the topsail halyard was eased, the lift blocks secured to the top of the doubling took on the weight of the yard and sail. For the time being, the load was on the halyard, which appeared to be stable, the lesser of two evils.
Andy determined the best course of action would be to leave the sails set as they were through the night to avoid the risk of another failure in the rig caused by changing loads. He believed it would be best to wait until dawn to continue to evaluate the extent of the damage. With good reason, Andy’s plan called for doing the minimum to get us through the night safely.
Christina and I positioned ourselves to provide Andy the support he would need as our surgeon. He decided which lines were to be cut and when. We worked as a team, helping Andy with our muscles and relaying information down to the deck. At that point, Jared was aloft on the mizzen topsail yard to offer support from a distance as items were being cut free and lowered. His position helped control a leader line being used to provide an extra leg of control for items lowed via the gantline, a service line run through a block in the rig.
Looking toward the foremast, I saw the silhouette of Tony standing, holding nothing but a knife in his hand. He did not waver while he stood on a broken yard 10 stories up, with our ship rolling down 12-foot waves. It was a moment of heroism and leadership. I can only hope to carry on the straightforward lessons Tony taught me. Treat people well, never talk down to anyone, know when to be hard, when to be kind and when to be funny. Because of him, we were able to relax a bit and feel that everything would be OK.
This article was originally published in the April 2023 issue.
