Are you ready to go on a journey? I hope so! Because this is a harrowing tale, a sweet story, and an epic adventure all at the same time… so let’s go cross the Pacific by sailboat. Oh, and we might almost sink (not joking).
Related:
Our 6000nm Sailing Route Across the Atlantic
Indian Ocean Crossing: Part Two – Sri Lanka to Maldives
3 Days in Fernando de Noronha by Boat
Departing Panama
It’s time to leave. We know it, but we’re not really ready to leave the beautiful shores of Panama after only transiting the canal about five days ago. But when the weather calls, you must go.
Hence, we were now stocked with food for weeks, as much diesel as we could fit onboard, and a crew excited to be pointing the bows toward French Polynesia.
A note here: we’d researched the Galápagos and yet again decided it just wasn’t worth the money for us, so we were heading straight — 4000nm — to the Marquesas Islands.
We cleared out, went for one last run on land, and then on sunset of the 16th of April… we weighed anchor and set sail. We were off.
First Week at Sea
Our first week was actually really good and better than expected. The conditions were light, but still sail-able with our big spinnakers, and we didn’t burn nearly as much diesel as we feared. Overall, this first week was really special…
Dolphins were around almost every day, greeting us with backflips and underwater squealing… we even caught a fish! On our last crossing (yes, this is our second Pacific crossing), we didn’t catch anything, so to have hooked and successfully landed a fish within the first week of our second crossing was amazing.
Another positive was the fact we had a very helpful assisting current pushing us along. Thank you, ocean.
We were all in high spirits and full of excitement as we crossed the equator and neared the Galápagos archipelago. Passing a few buoys and fishing vessels was the only sign we were close to land — otherwise the endless horizon continued.
Everything was great… until it really wasn’t on the sunset of day eight.
Our Rudder Snapped
OH CRAP! That’s all I remember thinking.
We’d noticed our rudder indicator on the chart was delayed, so naturally we started by restarting the Axiom chart, hoping it was just some sort of software issue. When that didn’t fix it, we decided to check the actual connection in the engine bay where it connects to the rudder post.
Dad opened the compartment and we saw water flooding into our boat.
The rudder looked like a broken leg — just flopping around and breaking the rudder stock. Every movement of the wheel was making it worse. We were all really shocked.
Assessing
First, we pulled the mainsail down to take pressure off, leaving just enough genoa to keep us moving forwards. The wind and swell had picked up by now, and we had to keep moving or the waves would swamp the stern.
While Mum did her best to hand steer with only one rudder, we were in the engine bay working as fast as our adrenaline-filled minds could go.
We undid the steering arm so the port rudder could be steered without touching our broken starboard post. Once that was off, we actually pulled the top half of the rudder post out — it had clean snapped right through the stainless pole.
Anyways, we couldn’t think about the “why” at that moment, so we also pulled the rudder tube off because it had snapped too. Then we found the bottom part of the rudder stock (with the rudder still attached underneath the boat) sticking up and moving around.
Now every movement of that thing was letting gushes of water into the boat, and the quickest way to stop it was simply to get rid of the rudder. So Dad put his foot on it and kicked it down and out of the boat.
Fixing it
All that was left was a fist-sized hole.
Covering it as quickly as he could with his foot, Dad blocked it. At this point everyone was running around grabbing whatever we could think of that would plug the hole. You can imagine the panic of the moment.
We didn’t have a cork big enough to seal it, and nothing else would stay in place, so we actually grabbed the broken-off rudder tube.
Our rudder tube is long enough that the top sits above the waterline, meaning if we could seal it back on, it would stop the water coming in.
So we pulled out this fibreglass tape we had — it’s a roll of fibreglass infused with a quick-curing epoxy that activates and dries wet or dry in a matter of minutes.
This saved our boat.
While I held the rudder tube as straight onto the hole as I could, Dad wrapped the whole roll of fibre tape around it. In the next five minutes we massaged the tape to help it tighten as it dried and then held our breath…
It worked.
Somehow, it worked.
We were no longer in a situation where the boat could sink… but we were nowhere close to clear yet.
Reality & the Autopilot
Our next step was trying to get the autopilot working.
Because reality check here, guys: we were over 300nm from the Galápagos and 2700nm from the Marquesas. We were in the middle of NOWHERE, and no one knew how long the port rudder would hold — if it held at all with all the pressure of steering on it alone.
No one was coming to help us, so we did everything we could to save our home.
To get the autopilot working, we ended up cutting a piece of plywood into blocks, then took the top part of the snapped rudder post that we still had and accidentally got it jammed in the top bearing.
Long story short, we managed to jimmy-rig it so we wouldn’t have to hand steer.
Now we could finally take a breath and assess.
Decision Time
The question was very real:
Do we turn back and try to make the 300nm upwind to the Galápagos where we might be able to fix it?
Or do we continue downwind, sail slowly, and try our best to make it to the Marquesas?
It was unanimous: we were going to keep going.
Now happy enough with our fix — we had no water coming into the boat, and our steering was working as well as it could with one rudder — we turned back onto course with our scrap of genoa out and kept things as comfortable as possible.
That first night was very rough mentally. And the next day. And the night after that.
The hardest thing for me was trusting that the port rudder would continue to hold and wouldn’t snap like the other one did.
The Mental Struggle
The days after the breakage, we were actually sailing relatively well. We were what we came to call “limping” along: sailing with limited sail out, just enough to do 4–6kts.
But what was really difficult was knowing that at any moment the other rudder could fail and we could be sinking.
That’s a pretty rough reality to live in — constantly thinking “what if?” and wondering what you would grab if you had to abandon ship.
Thankfully, we had a really good network of boats out there with us. They were communicating, incredibly helpful, and there if we needed them — though everyone hoped we wouldn’t.
It added a small sense of comfort at least. Not heaps though. No one ever wants to think about losing their home.
Continuing On
We kept going.
Another day, another 140nm, another little bit closer.
The chart plotter slowly went from 20 days to 19 days to 18 days, and we started to believe we might actually do it.
Meanwhile, we googled how to steer by drogue, called all the sailors we knew, and asked if they had any ideas for how to support the port rudder.
Then the forecast began to show 20+kts of wind and 2.8m swell — not good even with a fully working boat, let alone a limping one.
One of our friends suggested getting what are called “warp lines” out the back: basically big ropes that add drag and help with steering by slowing one side of the boat.
So we pulled out the biggest lines we had, tied a heap of big knots in them, then threw them out the stern and checked the wheel to see if it improved the steering situation — always trying to take pressure off the rudder.
Heavy Weather
Then we got hit by those heavy weather conditions and man, it was rough.
Big swells were hitting us on our port quarter with 25kts of wind. We were trying to find that line between going fast enough to stop the waves from swamping us and going so fast that we would surf and swerve.
The real issue was the steering.
With two rudders we usually surf okay in that size swell, but now we couldn’t correct fast enough. What was happening was when a wave hit our side, it would swing us around and the autopilot would attempt to correct it. But when it didn’t react quickly enough, the wheel would suddenly slam full lock and the autopilot would be fighting it.
To try and stop anything breaking when this happened, we would hit standby and hand steer back onto course before putting it back on auto.
This meant being continuously alert and ready to “grab the wheel” — as the action came to be called. There had to be someone at the helm the whole time.
Trying to Control the Steering
We tried a lot of different lines out the back: really long ones, a big ball of knots, a heavy one with a dinghy anchor on the end. One out either side.
To be honest, there wasn’t a huge difference between them, but you’d try anyway just in case it helped.
I think the best option was a really heavy rope with knots and a weight on the end out the starboard side (no rudder), and then a shorter but still thick and knotted rope out the port side (the one with a rudder).
This seemed to help us track best and slow us down enough to stop the surfing motion a bit more.
The less we had to “grab the wheel,” the better.
The Answer
All the lines and experimenting helped, but not enough it seemed.
One night during that rough weather, Dad was on watch and we got swung around. The steering slammed full lock and he grabbed it. But this time the boat wouldn’t come back around.
We were completely stuck side-on to the wind and swell.
He tried adjusting the genoa while continuing to hold the wheel all the way over, but the boat just wouldn’t turn back.
So he did the last thing he could think of… and turned the port engine on.
Putting some revs on got us back around to starboard. Then he left the revs at about 1200 and put the autopilot back on.
And guess what?
It stayed straight.
Yep, the wheel was completely settled. The steering suddenly had hardly any stress on it because the engine had finally helped balance the boat out.
The genoa wanted to pull us windward to port, as did the swell, but the line out the starboard side along with the engine now pulled us back to starboard — creating the balance we’d been desperately trying to achieve.
The Last Stretch
Thankfully it was only around three days of this weather.
We held our breath, did what we could, avoided squalls, and survived… and we knew when the conditions began to improve because we had to “grab the wheel” less.
The engine being on for the last 24 hours or so was honestly what got us through. Huge.
As the wind died, the sea calmed, and we began to relax just a little — chilling further and further the lighter it got.
The last stretch was in sight as the days started going from double digits to single digits.
And then even a week was flashing.
That moment was such a relief.
One week? Well, we’d already done one on this thing. We could make another one.
The conditions definitely improved too, and we were flying our small cruising spinnaker during the days, then maybe a little motor sailing at night. Repeat.
Final 500nm
The last 500nm were awesome because everyone would wake up, look at each other, and be like:
“Hey, it’s 100nm less this morning guys! Only 400nm left.”
Then only 300. Then only 200.
And we were so close.
No one wanted to get too excited too early, but that last night was amazing. To know this whole ordeal was almost over was such a weird feeling.
The next morning I was on watch and saw our last sunrise of the Pacific crossing.
And then there was a sudden yell:
LAND HO!
This was by far our biggest “land ho” ever.
We could see safety. We were going to make it alive and with our home.
It’s hard to explain really, but as the mountains began to rise out of the horizon, all we could feel was sweet relief.
Anchor Down
We were all just sitting at the helm watching the land slide past in awe.
We were here.
On the way in, we caught a huge tuna about a mile out, then dropped the spinnaker and headed into the anchorage.
Finding a spot, we dropped anchor and… finally stopped moving.
Oh my gosh Bella! The article had me on the edge of my seat. I was following on Insta and knew it was bad, but did not realize it was that bad. So happy all of you made it to the Marquesas safely! Hoping you are all able to relax and enjoy your time there. Thank you for your great writing and for sharing the details of what happened.
Hi Sandra, thank you so much for commenting. Yes, it was pretty wild. We are also very happy to be here, trust me! And thanks for your kind words, it means a lot 🤩
Hi Bella. Helen found your blog (well written) and great to read about it before it eventually finds it way to Video. Glad all are safe. What was the fibreglass tape? Good sponsorship opportunity there 😉
Colin and Helen (Cattanach family)
Hey guys, I’m glad you liked the post! We are very thankful to have made it safely. We used epoxy infused fibreglass tape, this is the exact one that we found in South Africa here. I believe JB Weld also do one similar called FiberWeld, it’s also good, but the one I linked to is the best we’ve found and what we used for the rudder breakage. Hope this helps 😊
Feels good to know u hv others around to support you in a crisis aye!
Hey Bella,
Well done to you and your family. Thank the Lord you guys got there safely.
Thank you, and yes, praise the Lord! 😊