Recovery...Continued
Now, where was I? Sorry about the delay, more work got piled up while I was away, and journal writing got postponed! OK, so we broke our tabernacle, mast was hanging on by a thread, and we were bouncing around like a cork in a kiddie splash pool. Skipper (that's me!) was in a cold sweat, Crew (My son) was mildly perplexed, and our passenger (call her M) was oblivious and clogging up the airwaves with her questions and chatter. My dog, smart girl, was getting herself ready to abandon ship. On the positive side, the sails were down off the mast (in a heap) and we were still heading into the wind (kinda).
First things first, let everyone know what's going on and what I expect. And, as long as my arms have nothing better to do, get the sails in enough order that we're not tripping over them. I sheeted in and cleated the jib, so that it would lie more or less still on the foredeck, and at same time told my crew: "We're in an emergency, mast is about to fall over. M, slide yourself all the way forward, against the cuddy, and take (my dog) with you, put her under the cuddy. I'll answer questions later." She slid forward but didn't stop talking, so I had to be blunt "M, not now, stop talking". I grabbed a sail tie (they're always tied off near the CB handle) and started gathering up the main and tried to clear the brain fog. What now? My son interjected with "Dad, I got the engine down" Inside I said "Oh duh!", but outside I just said "Good job! Full throttle forward, turn to port." Of course we were now dropping off the wind, to starboard and away from land. A few more degrees and we'd be broadside to the waves, not good with a gimpy mast.
Full throttle and 45 degrees of starb'd helm did nothing to steer us back into the wind. Worse yet, the entire outboard was vibrating in a very worrying way. "Try turning the outboard itself to star...." Nothing. What the h*?? Had we damaged the prop as well? "Let me take the helm, take this tie and police up the mainsail. Stay aft" My son has been sailing with me long enough to know what I wanted and smoothly swapped places with me. I wanted to feel the tiller + motor myself, and I wanted our combined weight aft to counterbalance M and the dogs, hopefully get the bow up a bit so we could pivot around to the other tack, just like carving a turn on a surfboard. No dice – tiller felt fine, but motor still vibrating, not putting out enough power to turn us thru the eye of the wind. I wasn't going to argue and I really wanted to be on the other tack, so I gybed around the other way, to starboard. I hustled thru the beam–on to the waves position as fast as I could, and put us (under power) on a starboard tack broad reach. As soon as we were settled, I decreased the engine revs till it stopped vibrating, at about 2/3 throttle. I helped my son put another sail–tie on the main, and got it relatively secured, not flapping in our face "Good job, sit forward on the thwart and bring the board 1/2 way up, then take a look at the tabernacle."
"Oh wow!" and wide eyes staring at me. "Yeah.. keep an eye on it, please. Looks OK for now, but let me know if it shifts. I'm trying to get us to shelter as fast as I can" Whatever "as fast as" actually was under the circumstances... something wrong with the motor and a crazy quilt of gusts and whitecaps coming off the northern point that separated "Seafood Creek" from the wider Rappahannock (with 15 miles of fetch upwind of us! the Rapp runs straight North to South around there, and the wind was coming dead out of the North). OK, I got my thoughts together – with our board 1/2 up we drew about a foot, so we could go anywhere in the mouth of the creek, no problem. Forget about going in a straight line, think like a sailor, but in reverse.... steer AWAY from the puffs, steer towards the calmer patches of water. Must keep stress off the broken tabernacle. And I made the decision to open up the throttle all the way. Let it vibrate. We were far enough inside the mouth that if we lost the engine then we'd be driven onto the riprap onshore rather than out into the open river. I'd lose the boat, but we'd be OK jumping out by the shore. But the sooner we got out of the mouth of the creek, with all it's funnel effect on the waves, the better.
So, off we went... zig–zagging towards the dogleg in the creek, where there was smooth water and the trees would shelter us from the north wind. Of course, here is where our passenger decided to mutiny: "Where are you going!?!? The dock is over THERE!" etc...and I wont repeat the choice words I used to get M to pipe down and sit herself down. Much later, after we landed, we both apologized and M said that I did a good job skippering and admired how I related with my son. So there's that.. but in the moment.. sheesh! Anyway – my zigzag course took us mostly straight to leeward across the mouth of the creek, gobbling up all that sea room that I had so zealously fought for earlier. We just didn't have the horsepower to move meaningfully upwind and against the waves. It looked very scary to M, but was manageable to me at the helm. We worked our way into the deeper water of the channel, where the waves were somewhat smoother, and away from the 25kt winds whipping around the Northern Point. Still windy, but I was able to turn upwind to a "close haul," Northwest. We finally slid into the wind shadow behind the Northern Point, then had to fight thru one last patch of gusts where the wind cut over the "neck" of the Point. It was as I had expected – we had experienced the same gusts two days before. But by then I knew it would be just a short patch, and I was confident that the mast would hold.
Not much more to tell here... we got into the calmer waters beyond the dogleg, cut back on the throttle and made for the seafood dock. Tied up, had lunch.

Well, first I had to sit down on the dock due to a case of the shakes... my usual delayed adrenaline rush! My son gave me a beer and sat with me for a while, he understood. Both the danger we had been in and how I felt about it – basically stupid + responsible. Yes, it could have been much worse. What saved us, besides luck, was that I still followed SOME of my old ingrained rules (apart from the lifejacket one). Sea room is money in the bank. Don't motor unless you absolutely have to (and then motor like h*ll!). Feel the boat, trust your hands and your ass more than your eyes. Always have a plan, but change it as the circumstances change. One hand for the ship, one for yourself....
I'll write up my postmortem tomorrow, if I have time. I now know what caused some of the weird symptoms that we experienced, and have a theory about why the tabernacle bolts sheared. However, I still dunno how we're not at the bottom of the Rapp right now, other than what I wrote up above. Not going to dwell on it too much, but I do want to think about what to do in future. In the meantime, before you ask – How did I get home? My wife came to meet us for lunch, with the car. The little marina around the bend from the seafood dock had a boat ramp... I puttered over there and pulled the boat out, secured all, and DROVE home.