"OK," he began, "I see the island. I see the water breaking on reefs over there," gesture to our east, "and I'm wondering if the best course of action is to go Closer."
"Well, yeah, how else are we going to get to the damn thing?" I felt a bit disconcerted over the sudden prospect of not summiting the peak so near.
"If you're bound and determined," Brian continued resignedly, "I just have to play devil's advocate here. Do we know where the reefs might be closer to shore? Do we even know how deep it is here? What about getting back out?"
I knew full well that we were in 40 feet of water with a clear shot at the beach. I said so. Still dubious, Brian reiterated the fact that we were moored in waters completely foreign and would not be likely to receive any help if in distress. "Ahh, true," I agreed, "then let's test our hypotheses – I'll go swimming and find out directly!"
This I did, donning flippers, mask and snorkel. The argument, nay, let us name it debate, suspended for the time being, I happily plunked into the transparent substrate. With some shock I registered that indeed we were floating forty feet off the bottom. It looks so much closer from the surface…. Swimming twenty yards out ahead I ascertained that the way was clear. Then I got a little freaked out and swam back. Separate yourself from your vessel on the high seas, add the threat of dangers unknown (and, worse, dangers very well known) and realize that underneath you is a cavernous length of three dimensional, possibly shark infested space and you tend to think "the boat sounds mighty good right about now…."
I have this tradition of checking the hull every time I'm in the water. Once within the "safer" proximity of the Faith I thought I'd check up on her. Upon my return I dove toward the keel, noting the missing paint (via Sarasota, no doubt) and the small scars we'd accumulated from the various bounces on the reefs we'd incurred. But then, to my utter horror, I saw the rudder.
The smiling curve of the rudder was tragically marred by a gaping section of missing wood and fiberglass, as if a huge, sharp tooth had been torn out. Brian was alerted by the muffled sounds of my swearing through the snorkel, "murrrpher furrrpher!! Hollllim shissssh!" (I won't bother with a translation – use your imagination). I kicked my way to the mangled wound, noting that there seemed to be evidence of buckling running up the length of the crippled steering mechanism. Pulling myself onto the deck I described the damage to Brian, his eyes widening to match mine as he began to comprehend exactly how bad this could be. Hundreds of miles from a safe port. No clue whether facilities for repair could be found, if we even managed to make it to a harbor. And the prospect of attempting a fix in open water….one dropped part could completely set us at the mercy of the local weather without the alternative of escape. To paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, Lord, you better take care of us or else you're going to have us on your hands….
I steeled myself mentally by running my captain's checklist – everyone safe for the moment; boat not sinking; land of a sort close enough to get to if all else fails. And it looked like all else could fail…
As we always do when we get ourselves into these situations, the crew had a sit down. Eric was awoken and advised of the emergency. We discussed our options: Return to Roatan? Run for the mainland? Shoot for the Columbian islands of San Andres and Providencia? Well, we figured, Columbia could be problematic – the country is not held in high regard by our government and the islands are resort oriented, probably lacking the means for pulling the boat out of the water. Mainland Honduras was equally sketchy. Our guide books had no information at all for any harbor there. Roatan, which we knew had lifts for its fishing fleet, was relatively close by. But, oh, the idea of going all the way back and then having to go through the whole passage this way again….not to mention all the time we'd spend doing the repair, assuming it really could be done there…. Brian had a story of a guy who had limped his sailboat to Roatan, found they couldn't repair it there, and had to continue another five hundred miles north. I shuddered.
As captain, the decision fell to me. I considered what we knew. I considered our chances if we were to continue forward (Nicaragua and Eastern Costa Rica weren't even an option). I mulled the fact that to go further would mean beating for another day before finally making the turn south while retreating would put the wind on our stern…. And I decided to take us back to Roatan. Neither of the crew liked it but we did all agree that given the circumstances it was really the best thing. We also agreed that we ought to address the rudder itself – attempt some kind of patch or reinforcement.
On dry land this would be fairly simple, but then on dry land the problem wouldn't exist. As it was we had a limited supply of material to work with, and an even more limited supply of tools that could be used underwater. Our solution was humbly elegant. We could use nylon strapping (one of the few things we have in abundant supply) and a turnbuckle to make a sort of seatbelt that could be cranked tight, squeezing the poor rudder to aid in holding the remnants together. Eric and I splashed down and took turns winching the turnbuckle – our tourniquet to hold the life's blood of the journey from spilling out into the heart of the Caribbean. Dead men tell no tales, as they say, and we've become fond of telling this one.
Whilst we labored in the deep I began to notice that things might not be as bad as I had originally estimated. It seemed that the bulk of the rudder was well intact, and the "buckling" was only a line of fiberglass that had dripped down the length of the rudder and been painted over. Just to be sure I beat the crap out of the rudder, pummeling it with hands, feet and elbows. Not only was this cathartic, it demonstrated to my satisfaction that this tough amalgamation of wood and fiberglass could probably stand up to pretty much any challenge, as long as we kept it off any more reefs…. I had Eric perform the same abuses, after which he was likewise impressed.