The optimistic weather forecast said:

“Swells 3 to 5 feet, wind 30 to 40 knots, the Upper Level Trough is Dissipating.”

Along with eight other yachts we set off for St Barths only 14 miles away from St Maarten. Visibility was good. The sun was shining. We could clearly see our destination. Two sixty foot Spronk catamarans that did regular day sails to St Barths were hoisting sails as we left the shelter of Philipsburg and set off towards Gustavia.

As it was an upwind leg we motor sailed under mizzen and staysail. Oliver had just fallen asleep in his bunk behind the netting in the saloon. Jethro was secured in his life jacket in the Car seat on the taff rails. The swells were big but we were making over four to five knots into the wind so should be there within about three and a half hours.

The first rain squall hit when we were two hours out.

“Screens, nurse!”

Said Jon and I obediently zipped the canvas screens onto the Bimini and secured the turnbuckles. Visibility deteriorated once the rain hit and the decks were shipping green water. I closed the doors and the hatches above both cabins from the cockpit, peeping in to see Oliver was still fast asleep.

The sun came out again and we looked back at St Maarten. We agreed it was not bad enough to turn back. Half an hour later the skies darkened again and we could see rain ahead. The seas became rougher.

Jethro complained of a tummy ache so I took him down to the cockpit to lie down in the pilot berth with a bucket handy in case he was seasick. I went below to get him some ginger nut biscuits, and Oliver was stirring. I passed a bottle of watery orange juice to him and a ginger nut which he took and lay down again.

Line Squalls and waves on deck

As I closed the hatch above the galley steps the next massive squall hit. Jethro was sleeping. Huge waves crashed over the screens and tons of water filled the well decks, escaping through the scuppers.

As I was about to crawl up the deck to rejoin Jon, he held up a hand in the halt position, indicating I should stay in the cockpit. Just then with a tremendous shattering sound the mizzen burst several seams. Jon tried to lower the sail but visibility was so poor he needed both hands to steer accurately as we were near the rocks of Ile Fourche.

Our Mizzen sail exploded

So the sail shredded. Battens flew off astern. I was alarmed when Jon came hurriedly down to the cockpit and took control at the central wheel. He increased the engine revs as more and more waves crashed onto the decks.

Oliver was now wailing down below but it was not safe to lift him out, he was better off where he was. The wind was howling in the rigging. Then another line Squall came and the staysail ripped. The noise from roaring engine, books flying off shelves, galley lockers flying open and tipping the contents and over the saloon was deafening. I began to pray, “Dear God let this be over soon and keep us all safe.”

Two more sails ripped apart

Jon changed course to go directly into the wind towards Gustavia. Then the Genoa unfurled itself and joined in the flogging racket. Through the screens I was astonished to see the spare Danforth anchor jump out of its housing. “Please God do not let that go through the deck hatch!” We exchanged horrified stares. Jon wanted to go on the foredeck to secure the anchor, but I pleaded,

“No no no!” grabbing his arm, “If you get swept overboard I could never turn this boat round and find you… and if you broke a limb…”. I could not articulate my fears.

So he stayed in the cockpit and steered straight for Gustavia as the nightmare continued. I sat next to Jethro who was still sleeping fitfully, and prayed.

My prayers were answered. The skies cleared again and the sun came out. At last we were closing on our destination. We could see houses on St Barths, then cars driving along the hillside roads. The water flattened once we were in the Lee of the land. A charter boat was chugging towards us,

“Hey man, what a beautiful boat,” yelled a guy brandishing a camera and snapping our tattered sails. Is it a Rosborough?”

Could they not see we were in distress? They were all in swimsuits and sipping cocktails!

Gustavia at Last

As we entered the harbour I took the wheel while Jon went on deck to pull the Genoa down, house the Danforth and ready the anchor. He pointed out to me that there were snorklers swimming just where we wanted to drop the hook. We learned later that a 60 knot squall had ripped through the harbour capsizing their tender and losing the outboard motor.

Once Camelot’s anchor was holding Jon set about tidying up the sorry sails and putting the smart sail cover over the mizzen boom. Jethro woke up delighted we were in port. I went below to scoop up Oliver and cuddle him.

What is that expression about an ill wind? The sailmaker sign attracted immediate interest. Before we could lower the dinghy from its davits to go ashore and clear in, he had enough work to last a week. Many other yachts had damaged sails that needed to be fixed before the St Barths Regatta.

We learned later that both the Spronk cats had turned back after the first squall when all the passengers were seasick and demanded their money back.