Rudderless in Lake Huron
My worst fears were coming true fastet than I could figure out what to do. The bow of the boat careened to the side. I fought the rudder to no avail. The tiller twisted in my hand. With one more loud bang the rudder was free. loose behind the boat. I wrestled to hang on to the tiller. Water is crashing over the stern helping lift the 70 pounds of rudder up into the boat where it landed across the cockpit.
The nose swung around and pointed head on into the wind and next wave. The sails flapped violently searching for any air they could grab. I knew if I slid down the wave backwards I would swamp the boat at the bottom and it's game over.
My only hope was the outboard. unlike a powerboat, outboards set low on sailboats as they aren't used to steer. I dove to the back of the boat and with my armpits solidly on the top of the transom I could just reach the motor. With both hands on the motor, facing backwards and looking over my shoulder I struggled to turn the old 9.9 hp Johnson.
As the boat fell down the front of the wave the motor screamed in pain as it skipped in and out of the water. It was at this point that I came to the realization that I probably won't survive this mess. To the point that as I type this I'm tearing up remembering that moment.
I turned the motor by gripping the cowling and got the nose turning downwind. I took on some water as I crashed into the trough of the wave sideways knocking my bicycle loose on deck. The impact threw me into the cockpit on top of the slime covered rudder.
I climbed back to the transom and fought to turn the motor the other way as I crested the next wave. I knew in my heart that the boat wasn't going to make it and I had 50/50 chance banking on the life raft somewhere at the end of the rope cutting through the middle of the wave to the other side. I hadn't seen the raft in a long time but the line tied to her was fighting it's own battle to keep her in tow.
Once turned the sails filled with air I was able to keep her straight to the waves. I couldn't steer to course, just keep her upright between waves. This is where the decision to put Port Sanilac straight downwind paid off.
I knew if I stayed in one piece, in a couple of hours I would be in sight of the seawalls. And that was my task, watch the two little dots on the handheld GPS and do whatever it takes to survive until they met.
That six miles turned into a lifetime. I was determined to go down fighting and if I came out the other end, boat or not I win. Hanging off the back of the boat struggling to turn the motor, my arms worn out and hands burning. But I couldn't stop.
For hours every wave was a fight to the death, My hands were raw and bleeding. I hurt and my resolve was growing thinner. I just knew this hell would never end. In a larger boat this weather would've been a major inconvenience but this little boat it was well beyond it's limits.
After what seemed like days, not hours I caught a glimpse of land over my shoulder while cresting a wave. Son of a bitch I just might make it whether my boat does or not. Just as the last drop of hope was bleeding out of my soul the sight of land was like a dove with an olive branch had flown over the boat.
That olive branch was still an hour away and the waves were cresting earlier as the sea became shallower. I continued to wrestle the motor, propeller tearing loose of the sea like a buzz saw at the top of every 15 foot wave.
Every muscle in my body was well past their pain threshold. The boat was groaning in agony. It was old and never designed for this kind of torture. I honestly didn't think she would make it. If she got me close enough to land before breaking up that I could crawl up ont a beach I was considering it a win.
One wave at a time I worked my way towards the pearly gates of the Port Sanilac harbor. Looking over my shoulder I struggled to get another glimpse of land knowing it could be my last.
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