Hurricane Odile: The Full Story

When I first started looking for boats, I figured it might be possible to sail south before hurricane season fired up and spend the summer months in Panama or Ecuador before continuing to Chile.  When I ended up finding my boat so far north, I realized that I'd never make it south in time, and I elected to spend hurricane season in the Sea of Cortez.

There are only two other major hurricanes that have ever hit the Baja Peninsula since folks started keeping track, and the Sea of Cortez is generally recognized as a safe haven during hurricane season.  The further north and east one travels, the safer things get, but Cabo is a convenient airport for visitors to fly in and out of, so I've stayed pretty close to it.  It has officially been hurricane season since June, and, while some have developed and spun out to sea, nothing had come anywhere close to La Paz before I left to return to the states.  My friend Autumn had mentioned that she was itching to be down in Mexico close to the sea and I offered to let her live on the Rascal if she would be willing to look out for her while I was gone.  We were both stoked on the plan, and we met up about a month ago to sail for a few days and get the Rascal anchored in a safe place.

A historical chart of all the hurricanes since we began recording their paths, notice that the Sea of Cortez only has a few lines passing over it - comparable to the hurricane danger in a place like New Hampshire, for instance.

The first few weeks passed by uneventfully, and I think Autumn was really enjoying the La Paz cruising community and living on the boat (not to mention the tacos and cervezas).  On the third week, a hurricane named Norbert began to develop in Southern Mexico, and we spent quite a bit of time discussing it via text message.  The track showed it curving off to the westward (just like all the other storms that've developed this year) and as we continued to monitor, it stayed true to the models and went out to sea.  

A couple of days later, another depression (that would eventually become Odile) started to build and the models predicted the same strengthening trend and a northwest path that Norbert took.  This hurricane, however, didn't stay true to its models.  Each time I'd check for updates, I'd see that it had inched further north and increased in strength.  From Friday night to Saturday night alone, it jumped from 65mph to 135mph!  As it got closer to Cabo, Autumn and I had a talk, recognized the possibility that it would skim over part of the peninsula, and spoke about our options.  The time was too late to try and run north or east to safer waters.  We could either move the boat to a marina or keep it anchored in a well protected anchorage where no other boats were likely to drag toward her.  The last major storm (in the 1980s) to hit La Paz totally devastated the marinas, with numerous pylons getting uprooted, docks coming adrift and smashing together, and dozens of boats sinking in their docklines.   Around La Paz, some folks elected to move into marinas and others decided to stay anchored out or on moorings.  We discussed all of this at length, and Autumn made the choice to stay on the boat.  

I was very careful about how I anchored the boat before I left and it takes a pretty substantial anchoring system to weather a storm as serious as a hurricane.  My primary anchor, a CQR, is way oversized and is rated to hold boats that're literally twice as long as mine with several times the displacement and windage.  I've never had it drag before and it alone should be more than enough to hold the boat through any ordinary storm.  It also has a swiveling shank, so its good at resetting itself if the wind shifts or if currents spin the boat around.  Rather than just rely on the CQR, however, I decided to set two anchors in tandem.  

The theory behind tandem anchoring is relies upon the relationship between holding power and the angle that the rode pulls at.  If you have an anchor on the bottom and pull straight up on it, it will hold very little.  If you have a lot of line out and you pull at a low angle with respect to the bottom, it will have very high holding power.  With tandem anchoring, a second anchor is attached to the shank of the first, and they're both set along the bottom.  The primary anchor sets as normal, and if it were ever to drag, it would pull and set the secondary anchor.  This second anchor would effectively have infinite scope (because its pulling perfectly parallel to the ground) and exceptionally high holding power as a result.  This secondary anchor also helps to keep the primary well buried and should halt dragging as soon as it happens.  The diagram down below illustrates how my anchoring system was planned.  It also includes a third anchor that was available should the first two fail for some reason, but we decided not to set it before the storm, due to the risk of it fouling the primary system.

Nearly everyone that has weathered a hurricane agrees that chafe (where a rope rubs against something and eventually snaps) is the biggest source of failure in these anchoring systems, and I built the system out of chain entirely with this in mind.  You'll also notice a "snubber" at the top of the chain which is a nylon line that acts as a shock absorber to limit the peak loads on the anchoring system.

On Sunday morning, it was very clear that Odile would come close to La Paz with substantial force and Autumn started battening down hatches, charging devices, and removing all extraneous equipment from the deck.  I was glued to the computer, checking weather forecasts and texting back and forth with Autumn every few minutes.  We knew it would be bad (though we didn't realize quite how bad it would get), but we were both feeling confident that Autumn was well prepared, the Rascal was well setup, and we had done everything we could to ensure that both would stay safe.

Odile's final approach to Cabo

Even up until Sunday, most of the forecast models showed Odile moving to the northwest, but in the end it smacked directly into Cabo.  The wind started to build in La Paz that afternoon, and Autumn donned her lifejacket, complete with emergency beacons just as the storm started up.  Several boats (some unattended, others derelict) started dragging towards the beach while it was still light out.  

Storm clouds building above La Paz - Photo Courtesy Autumn Foushee

"Red sky at night before a hurricane, sailors take warning" - Photo Courtesy Autumn Foushee

Autumn relayed all of this to me, and somehow she kept cell phone service until the height of the storm.  As the winds built out of the northeast, night fell, and she could just barely make out the boats close to her in the anchorage.  One by one, they continued to drag away into the darkness, and she could hear people on the radio calling for help and updating folks on their location.  The Rascal continued to hold strong and she started the motor (to motor into the wind and minimize the amount of strain on the anchors) around 1 in the morning.  I continued to send as many updates as possible about weather and expected conditions.  Despite the exceptional wind and waves battering and bouncing the Rascal around, Autumn kept her cool through the whole ordeal.  Around 2:00 in the morning, someone in the marina reported 108 mph winds.  Here is a description, in her own words, of the conditions on the Rascal during the storm:

On a previous voyage across the Gulf of Mexico, I had experienced a burly tropical depression with sustained winds at 50 kts, however Odile was like nothing I have ever experienced. Cruisers anchored in the bay discussed that the storm would pose a particular challenge because it would pass over us in the depths of night, making visibility even more impossible.
Throughout the night, cruisers with weather stations reported the increasing wind speeds--45, 58, 67, 75, 108 and eventually 125 kts. There wasn't much rain until around midnight, which coincided with a much larger increase in wind speed. In prep for the storm, I had stripped Rascal of all sails and tied all halyards down to reduce windage, noise and chaffing with the rigging, which was fortunate as the howl of the wind and rain literally sounded like a jet plane.
I turned the VHF radio volume up to high in order to hear transmissions over the roar. Calls and alerts from surrounding boats were already coming in early in the night. A good friend, Gunther, called over the radio that he had hit something and was concerned that he was adrift. In his late seventies, Gunther and I had become quick friends over the prior weeks, sharing roasted chickens and tales--he was an incredible storyteller. No one returned his call, and I hailed him immediately, knowing that the most I could offer was an open ear and perhaps a problem-solving discussion of what to do next. We decided he should throw out his second anchor, which he did. The distress I heard in his voice is something I will never forget. It was the last time I spoke to Gunther.
Through the port windows and white-out rains, I could just barely see the silhouette of boats anchored near me. One-by-one, they broke free of their anchor and sailed past into the darkness, until there were no boats around me that I could see. As each one let loose, my adrenaline pumped a bit and I would give Rascal a pat as I perched in the companionway.
Rascal was being rocked by 8-10 ft waves, and I kept my ear tuned to any noise that might mean something was awry on the boat or with the anchoring. Indeed, as the winds picked up to ~75 kts, I heard a distinct rubbing and grinding toward the bow. Many cruisers had told me to wear a snorkel mask in order to be able to see and breathe in the driving rains that would come. They were exactly right. With head lamp, life jacket, harness and snorkel mask on, I crawled from the cockpit to the bow, as Rascal bucked in the waves and the rain pelted me like gravel. At the bow, I found the chain and snubber had come free of the bow roller and were chaffing against the roller's edge, the snubber being slowly chewed. With every wave, I held the pulpit as Rascal's bow dove into the water and I got a salty dunk. The tension against the snubber and chain released a bit in the wave troughs, and I was somehow able to lift both back into the bow roller without crushing fingers .... I would go out on deck several times over the night to check the snubber, chain and windlass, and each time the wind and waves had increased as the eye moved closer. 

The eye about to pass over la paz

She continued to monitor her position on the GPS and make sure lines all looked good on the bow and at 2:22 AM she texted "Loud Noises!".  At first, I thought she was quoting the movie Anchorman, which I didn't find to be funny; but it soon became clear that something on the boat had failed and was making loud noises up on the bow.  After doing some investigating in hindsight, its become clear that the pull from the rascal stretched the snubber to the point that the chain was taking the tension (which is less than ideal because of the shock loading the results from the chain that can't stretch).  I had tied the bitter end of the chain to an exceptionally strong cleat on the deck of the rascal with a 5/8 dock line.  I had never expected it to come tight (the chain was wrapped over the windlass, and around a tube in the chain locker), and I thought that this beefy dockline could hold the strain if it did.  It apparently could not and the parting of the dockline (and the escape of the chain) is what had caused the loud noises she was hearing.  The snubber, however, was still attached to the chain and it stretched an incredible amount, and held the boat for about another 5 minutes before it finally parted.  Below in yellow is the GPS track of the entire event. The thick part at the right side is swaying back and forth in the wind at anchor.  The short line to the southwest is where the snubber stretched, but continued to hold.  The two long line segments leading to the red pin is where the boat was driven by the east winds after the snubber broke. 

The Rascal beached herself on the Mogote (a low spit of land on the far side of the harbor).  When she came to rest, she was heeled over at about 45 degrees and she was taking a bunch of waves and wash on her stern.  Autumn was still safe and unharmed in the boat, the boat's interior was still dry,  and she sent a message that said "ground" at 2:30am indicating that she had landed on the beach.  I'm sure she was horrified about what was happening around her, but she stayed relatively calm and was still able to send messages to me.  At 2:36, she sent a message asking, "Jump off boat?" and that's the last I heard from her via text.

The silence that followed was sickening.  I wasn't sure if she had just lost cell service or if she had decided to abandon the boat.  She had a Delorme InReach which is like a satphone, except instead of calls, it just sends text messages.  It doesn't rely on cell towers (satelites instead), so it'll send a text (with a gps location attached) from anywhere in the world, in any conditions.  Its waterproof as well.  She also had, attached to her, a PEPIRB (Personal Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) which transmits her exact location to the emergency response and coordination center at the US Air Force for them to coordinate search and rescue efforts.  It is only to be used in life threatening emergencies and its the most reliable emergency communication device available.

The next hour felt like an eternity.  At 3:45AM, I got a call from the Air Force telling me that the PEPIRB had been activated.  This was good news, because it meant that she was still safe and functional enough to be able to activate it.  It could also be bad news, however, because it meant that she must be in a pretty dire situation.  The Air Force told me that they'd be forwarding the message to the Mexican Search and Rescue group and they gave me a Mexican number to call.  I called the number and nobody spoke any english.  I relayed all of the information I could, along with her location and they said they would call me back when they had an update for me.

Rascal on the beach of the Mogote - Picture courtesy Elizabeth on S/V Vivacia

Finally at 4:35 AM, I got a message from Autumn's InReach that said: "Abandon boat" and it had a location that put her in the mangroves.  I was stoked to get this, because the user interface of the InReach is a little tricky to use and if she was functional enough to use it, I knew she must've been in good shape.  I called the Mexican SAR group again to give them an update and they couldn't seem to figure out what I was talking about.  Finally they made sense of what I was saying and I gave them an updated latitude and longitude to communicate with the folks in La Paz.

As the day broke, Autumn sent a few more InReach messages, and at 10 AM she mentioned that she had found the Little Rascal (Rascal's inflatable dinghy) and was taking shelter in it.  At 11 AM, she messaged that she had finally been plucked off the beach by Shelly and Mike (from La Paz Yachts) who ventured out into the diminishing winds in their strong inflatable dinghy to try and help whoever they could find.  Finally, I knew Autumn was safe and sound and I breathed a big sigh of relief.  

The message I had been hoping for!

Evidently, Autumn had heard other cruisers on the radio mention that they were putting out extra anchors once they were beached to ensure that they didn't get pulled out into deep water again when the wind shifted.  She had the extra anchor (a danforth) prepared and when she climbed through the forward hatch to set the backup anchor at around 2:40, the wind had swept her off the deck of the Rascal and into the water.  She briefly attempted to swim back towards the rascal, but the waves, wind, and current were too much for her and she ended up in the mangroves.  From there, she climbed up into a particularly stout one in an area that was comparatively protected and it was there that she weathered the worst of the storm.  In talking with her, it sounds like the biggest issue was the possibility of hypothermia, as she was soaked the entire time, winds were constantly whipping through, and she didn't have much in the way of clothes on.  She spent about 8 hours in the mangroves and on the beach before she was finally picked up and, by the end, she was totally exhausted.

The following morning was calm, and there happened to be a particularly high tide, perfect for refloating boats that were beached.  Everyone rallied around Autumn and out of the two dozen boats that were beached during the storm, the Rascal was the very first to be pulled off and back into the harbor.  Below are some pictures and video of the refloating process courtesy of Elizabeth on S/V Vivacia.

Autumn standing by the stranded Rascal

Pulling from the nose

Tipping with halyards from the top of the mast

The venerable "Oso Negro", the power boat that did all the heavy lifting to pull boats off of the beach

The Rascal finally afloat again in deeper water!

They used a process of pulling on the nose and tipping from the top of the mast to shimmy the boat back out into deeper water.  Tipping her helped break suction from the sand and also helped to expose a better surface to slide along as the tug was applied to the bow.  I'd really like to thank everyone who lent a hand to get the Rascal off the beach and also to the folks that helped take care of Autumn in the aftermath of the storm.  Everyone has been exceptionally friendly and helpful and this terrible storm would've been much more terrible without all of your generosity.  

It would seem impossible that the Rascal could get beached and pounded by hurricane force winds on her side without any damage, but that's essentially what happened.  Her exceptionally thick Dutch-built fiberglass hull, her watertight hatches, and her sturdy fittings all combined to protect her from the waves and the elements.  The only damage she sustained were some gouges to the fiberglass and a bent bow roller while she was being hauled off the beach.

Lots of destruction occurred to the roads and buildings around La Paz and Cabo and the airports didn't come out unscathed.  I was really eager to get back down to Autumn and the Rascal, but only military planes were authorized to land with humanitarian supplies and to help evacuate the sick and elderly.  I thought about the possibility of driving down, but reports said that the long highway that runs the length of the peninsula was washed out in several places with the likelihood of repairs taking weeks.  After jockeying back and forth between a few different airlines and flight cancellations, I finally got in on one of the first flights into La Paz last Friday night.  Autumn met me at the airport and I gave her a bear hug that would've crushed any mere mortal.  

We drove around town a bit in a car borrowed from a friend and I got to see a little bit of the destruction that occurred around town and to some of the boat yards.  There are still lots of downed signs and trees littering the streets more than a week later, but power has been restored to the vast majority of the city and telephone and internet is available most places as well.

Not everyone weathered the hurricane with as much luck as Rascal and I'm tremendously sad to share the news that three fellow cruisers died during the storm.  They were all great people and they seemed as well prepared as anyone else before the storm.  It is postulated that some of the boats that came adrift during the storm hit their boats, which subsequently lead to their sinking, but we may never know the ultimate cause.  Its important to note that none of those who died during the storm were found wearing life jackets.  While there are obviously lots of things that can go wrong on a boat, its always a good idea to have a life jacket on at the first sign of weather and especially during a hurricane. 

We've spent the last week dragging for anchors that were lost during the storm (we managed to recover our own as well as S/V Catalpa's)  and helping support the folks that are diving to recover personal items from the boats that sunk.  There have been lots of missions to recover beached boats at high tide and we're slowly but surely making progress.  We're planning to leave to head north towards Loreto and Guaymas in the next few days as salvage efforts slow down.

Diving on the wreck

In the end, I'm feeling exceptionally lucky that Autumn wasn't injured, the Rascal came out with minimal scrapes, and that there wasn't more death and destruction to La Paz.  I've learned a lot through the whole experience and I'll definitely be better prepared the next time the Rascal is faced with a big storm.  Thanks again to everyone for all of your support and positive wishes over the last few weeks.  It has meant a lot to me and I can assure you the the voyage of the Rascal shall continue!