Memories of Monday night continue to haunt me. I wake up at night thinking about them. During the day, I can't get them off my mind. It just seems impossible that I didn't stop the boat before she went aground. That's such an automatic thing to do. Even brain-dead, I should have automatically stopped the boat. And why didn't Butch stop the boat? He was at the wheel; why didn't he pull back the throttle? I'm not blaming Butch; I just don't understand how both of us could have been completely out of it at the same time. I guess that's the fallacy of having two people on watch--neither feels responsible. If I had been on watch by myself, I would have stopped the boat. If Butch had been on watch by himself, he would have stopped the boat. Instead, both of us expected the other one to do something, so nothing got done.
My greatest regret is the terrible injury I did to the Jofian. She's such a good boat; she deserves much better treatment. A cement or fiberglass boat would have been smashed to pieces. Jofian held together and got us safely back to port.
My second greatest regret is ruining the vacation dreams of five people, especially Roy. Al and Lloyd are driving back to California in a rented car. That's miserable and expensive. We're sitting in this stupid boatyard at Core Creek, North Carolina, feeding the mosquitoes and paying $400 for the privilege. Roy worked so hard for months getting the boat ready for the trip. He should be out on the water having fun, enjoying the fruits of his labors. Instead, he's having to repair the boat all over again. All because of my inaction. We'd be sailing into St. George's Harbor right now if I'd just gotten my act together and stopped the boat. How could I have let her go on? How could I have not stopped her? I've asked myself that over and over. It would have been so simple to have taken in the headsail and changed course when the depth gauge first started dropping. Even later, when we were in less than ten feet of water, we could have stopped the boat, turned around, and headed back to deep water. Why didn't we? Why, why, why?
Roy has assessed the damage to the boat at twenty-five to thirty thousand dollars. The keel has separated from the hull. A number of planks need to be replaced. She needs to be refastened, something we did in Richmond a couple of years ago, at a cost, if I remember correctly, of around $4000. Most of the seams have to be recaulked. Finally, of course, she has to be repainted. All this just to get her back into the condition she was in at ten o'clock last Monday night when I took over the watch. And even then she won't be in as good a condition. She'll probably never again be capable of sailing across the ocean, but at least we'll be able to sail her along the coast and in inland waters. But the wonderful dream Roy has been dreaming ever since he bought the boat nine years ago has been shattered. And I did it. He's always been so good to me; how could I have done this to him?
The situation began deteriorating when Al invited two of his friends to go with us. When they all arrived a week early, everything really started going downhill. Roy couldn't finish the work the way he wanted to, the boat was too crowded, there was much too much haste. We should have sat in Morehead City until the wind changed and then sailed to Charleston as we originally planned. It was crazy trying to go to Bermuda without a sea trial. Haste really does make waste.
Tried printing the weatherfaxes today. To my surprise, the printer worked flawlessly! The faxes are much easier to read on paper than on the screen. They're still pretty blurry, though; we can't really interpret them. And I still can't get Navtex.
Roy spent most of the day patching the hull temporarily. He has sealed the gap between the keel and the hull, and has caulked many of the seams. He has concluded that the keel bolts can't be torqued without removing the engine and cutting holes in the beams, so they'll have to stay as they are for now. After he repaints the bottom, the boat should be ready to go back in the water Wednesday. If she doesn't take on water, we'll gingerly sail her to Charleston and haul out again to reinspect the hull.
In the afternoon, we borrowed the pickup, drove to a grocery store, and bought chicken, cauliflower, broccoli, and cookies. Nice day for a drive.
Around ten, Roy phoned his son, Steve, and told him what had happened. Steve said to think of it as another experience.
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