100 Knots From The West

[Ross Hunter]

Raiders, here is a yarn from a book I am writing This is an account of one of the better storms we have been through It might make some warm reading on a cold misserable day...Ross HunterIOO KNOTS FROM THE WEST by Ross Hunter

The Bat, Glenn and myself spend many hundreds of days fishing the Tasman and Pacific Oceans, so many good times and a lot of tough times, all piled up together to make for unforgettable memories. I have selected some of my favourites in the next couple of chapters. Only two storms have frightened me: the one that first appeared over the back of Newcastle on a March day in the mid '90s during our Pt Stephens tour, was out there as one of the best. It had been a really tough couple of days, the fish had shut down, it wasn't just us, no-one was catching, the sort of stuff that can play on the nerves of Captain and crew.

As we headed out of Soldiers Point at 7 am on a still, balmy morning, we were really hoping that things would turn around. The weather was strange for 6 am as we did our early morning pre start-up chores, checked engine oils and water, got out the rods for the day, iced down the drinks, etc. We like to finish those jobs before the anglers arrive. As we completed our chores it was noticeable that everyone was a mass of sweat; shirts stuck to backs and perspiration was dripping off brows, it was hot and humid early and that was most unusual for Soldiers Point at 6.15 am.

The Bat commented, "Shit, it's hot, I think we're in for a stinker today." On the previous night we had had a team meeting at Joe's Oceanic Chinese Restaurant and after a good dose of MSG. The decision was to work the "mosh pit", an area south of Pt Stephens, an area which is also called the "car park", however Bat and myself named it the "mosh pit" we reckoned it described it better. Especially when there is 150 boats working it in the Interclub. The area is just inside the big canyons, pretty much due east of Newcastle. Over the years that area had produced hundreds of marlin for us.

We had not fished there for a week or so, so the decision was made to give it another go as the fishing to the north had closed down. We had nicknamed it the "mosh pit" because of the beehive-like activity of the place in the Interclub tournament.

Around this era, this tournament was attracting more than 200 boats and when there was a hot bite on it would normally be at the pit, so that's where everyone would end up. Boats would be trolling so close to each other that the outriggers would sometimes touch, bringing wild abuse from boat to boat, general pandemonium was common, hence the name "mosh pit".

Out we trolled on a glassy, calm sea. The air was still. By lunchtime, it was almost too hot to breathe. I stood at the helm of Broady, wondering if today the fish would be kind to us. So far nothing, but there was still a lot of day left, I silently told myself, as the gentle zephyr breeze took the edge off the steamy morning and puffed through the front screens, created more by the boat's forward motion than anything else; nevertheless, it was most welcomed.

The western skyline had a puffy white cloud band sitting back over the land mass at the back of Newcastle, some 25 nautical mile to the west of us. One of the great fears of any skipper worth his salt are westerly gales: they frighten the hell out of Captain and crew when they go to gale force, the sea is whipped into a vicious short chop that I am yet to see any vessel comfortable in. If one is expected, it is always wise to get the hell out of there and get close to the protection of land. However, that was not an issue at 1 pm on that incredibly hot and balmy March day; it was so hot that the lads in the elkele;';'pit commented on the meltdown as they constantly hosed down each other with the deck hose.

It is rare in those latitudes to experience summer weather without the prevailing and cooling nor'-easter—something was brewing.

We trolled live slimy mackerel around a large bait school that I had located on the sounder. The left rigger jerked, the line flew from the clip and at last we were on. "Fish on the left rigger," I yelled as The Bat called the angler to man his rod. The angler, Fred Frost, free-spooled the fish and then struck it. It came up real solid and we knew that we were on and that the drought had broken at last.

Fred was on strike; he had waited patiently for two days. So the crew and myself were thrilled that at last we had 100 kilos of angry black marlin roaring around the back of Broadbill with Fred dishing it back to him on stand-up tackle. The fish was all over the shop as time and time again he jumped high, sometimes clearing the surface by two body lengths; this one was worth the wait. Immediately the boat's morale went sky high. It's funny how hours of tedious trolling and waiting are instantly forgotten when the proverbial hits the fan; all it takes is a bite and the good times are back again.

After about 40 minutes, we tagged and released Fred's fish—it's high fives all round. The lads hurriedly get the gear back into the water, we can sniff a bite happening as the bait school starts to ripple on the surface. In the concentration and excitement of the marlin, my mind went temporarily from weather to catching fish to having dunked the baits and back to the weather. In scanning that western shoreline what I saw I didn't like one little bit. The white puffy cloud over Newcastle had turned a horrible shade of grey punctuated with the occasional flash of forked lightning.

The weather at the mosh pit was now hotter, maybe 40 degrees, the air was so still it was like a blast from a furnace. I didn't like it at all. My senses told me that what were looking at could develop into a vicious bit of weather, I felt quite agitated and nervous. I called The Bat and Glenn up to the bridge and told them of my gut feel that a bad storm was brewing. They perused the situation and agreed that it looked pretty bloody wild and the worst thing was that it was coming our way.

I told the anglers that we had to go. They could not believe that we would leave while the fish were biting; after all, the seas were calm, the weather was perfect, so why go? However, they trusted my judgment, but with a little trepidation. The Bat and Glenn know that when the Cogga says, "Let's get the hell out of here and let's do it quick," that urgency is required. They have the deck cleared and started to batten down the hatches, just in case. I sparked up the Cummins and after a couple of warm-up minutes we were pulling 2200 rpm at 25 knots, heading for land as quickly as she would go. I really had a bad feel about the approaching weather and put it down to either the smell in the air or instinct—I don't know: all I do know is that the hackles were up on the back of my neck.

We covered 15 nautical miles quickly, the boys had stowed everything and had made the boat ready for rough weather. They were both now beside me on the bridge, wide eyed as they stare at one of the most frightening storms I had seen in my years on the ocean. A wall of cloud was approaching at perhaps 40 knots. It was an evil green colour and was constantly illuminated by forked lightning—it wasn't good at all. We could hear the thunder claps that follow lightning bolts, the ocean's surface had gone into a nervous ripple. Gone was the slick glassy appearance.

The clouds were rolling over and we knew that it would not be too long before we were wearing this one. I called up the Coastguard and our conversation confirmed the approaching horror.

"Coastguard, Pt Stephens, this is Broadbill, do you read?"

"Yes Broadbill, we receive you, five by five, go ahead," they replied.

"Coastguard, we are two nautical mile east of Fingal Bay. We have five people on

board and we intend to ride out the oncoming storm half a mile off the outer light."

I then gave my latitude and longitude and advised that we would stand-by on our three radios, which were 27 MHz, 2 MHz and VHF. Coastguard came back and told me that there were storm force winds at Williamtown, some 30 nautical miles west of us, gusting to 100 knots.

The thought of 100-knot gales did not do a lot for us, as we watched the fast-approaching horror. The boys and myself were too busy to think about it too much, there was work to do to prepare the boat for the storm front.

When a storm front like this is approaching a feeling of total vulnerability is felt, there is something about the ocean which gives you this feeling after all the coastline is littered with ship wrecks and when you have the worst storm you have ever seen approaching at frightening speed, you hope that you do not join that list of sunken wrecks.

You are at the mercy of the elements, on the cruel sea, on Mother Ocean in her darkest mood.

We covered all the instruments on the bridge with towels, allowing only the screens to be exposed to the weather. We battened down the boat, checking that all windows are closed and everything is ship shape, adrenaline is starting to run as I pointed our bows into the holocaust. The sea was now an off-putting grey and looked like a cauldron of horror. We were experiencing such a dramatic change, which by the minute was deteriorating at an alarming rate and getting the adrenaline pumping. The natural light had all but gone, it was almost dark as the monster cloudbank approached, just like an oncoming avalanche, and it was a frightening sight.

I had the radar tweaked up, the GPS on half a nautical mile so that I can maintain our position. We decided to heave to, just outside the outer light. I was happy to be half a mile offshore, getting a little protection from the escarpments of the shoreline; we were as ready as we could be. In a big blow from the west, it is sometimes desirable to be offshore, where at least you can't be blown onto a landmass. The worst thing that could happen is to be blown out seaward, but this is not a problem unless another boat is hit, but the odds of that with radar were slim. We were happy with our position to weather the storm.

The whole of the sea's surface in Fingal Bay started to swirl, it then took to the clouds as if a giant vacuum cleaner was sucking it up, it was a nerve-shuddering sight. The thunder was now so loud that some of the claps would have us instinctively ducking our heads. The boys occasionally glanced at me to see my reaction, we had never ridden out 100 knots before and there was a certain amount of apprehension on the bridge as the first gust of wind hit us at 70 knots, the boat shuddered in that force. The noise that comes from winds as strong as those is daunting in itself, but the noise from the outriggers and radio aerials on the hardtop raises goose bumps as it resonates to a high-pitched scream.

I defy any seaman not to get a feeling of fear when the wind in the wires goes to a scream.

The outriggers are 20-feet long and were bent as far back in the wind than I had seen them in even the most ferocious marlin strikes. I pushed Broadbill's bows into the gale, which is now accompanied by torrential rain, hailstones and the loudest thunderclaps and lightning I ever want to hear and see.

We were in the eye of it, and it was as bad as I thought it would be. The plastic screens on the bridge were being blown in a foot. As they bellied in, I hoped that the wind, which has now increased to 90 knots, didn't blow them out, as the torrential rain would soon swamp my electronics, thus loosing all accuracy of position, etc.

Everyone was active. Glenn kept the crew calm as they huddled wide eyed in the cabin, their thoughts had gone from marlin to a gale-force wind vortexing around the elkele;';'pit in a very lively manner. The Bat checked the bilge pumps and brought dry towels to me on the bridge, everything was saturated, the temp. had dropped 15 degrees in as many minutes and I was extremely cold and wet. I maintained course at two to three knots, trying to hold the boat into the wind. Every now and then, a 100-knot gust picked us up and spun us around like a top, 14 tonne of boat thrown around like a rag doll at the mercy of the sea. Mother Nature was showing us her darker side, showing no respect for us at all.

Alarmingly, the screens bellied in. I was really hoping that they would not get blown out by the screaming winds, because the damage bill would be horrendous if we lose our instruments. The wind was blowing at a constant 80 to 100 knots and in the 40 minutes since we had been bombarded, the sea had gone from flat calm to a mass of seething white foam—the wildest I had seen it, constant white water being blown horizontal by the gale-force winds.

In the middle of any storm I have feelings of total vulnerability, total unimportance; all of a sudden it doesn't matter what achievements one has had attained, how much money one has, one is at the mercy of the sea and things just come into perspective very quickly. It was all about genuine survival.

We had to scream to each other over the roar of the storm. I told the fellows to be so careful while moving around the boat. There was constant and genuine danger of getting either washed or blown from the elkele;';'pit. It would mean certain death as visibility was down to 20 metres, what a terrible way to go. I was so busy watching my instruments and trying to hold my track into the wind that I did not see the fish tub be blown out of the elkele;';'pit, but I did hear the noise as it went vertically past me. The Bat saw it fly and told me later, in typical Bat terminology:

"Bloody hell, Cogga. It was awesome. I was standing at the cabin door when a gust of wind blew so hard it picked up the fish box ricocheting it around the elkele;';'pit, bouncing off the gunnels like a wrestler off the ropes until it eventually flew skyward at a rate of knots, just like a rocket blasting off, it was frightening seeing such power and force."

The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins. The fish box was 4' x 3' x 4' and weighed 20 kg. As far as I know it could be still flying around the heavens today, it could have knocked any of us senseless if it were to hit us on its upward journey. After an hour the storm was at its best, everyone was cold and scared. I was on the bridge and starting to shake with mild hypothermia, but warm clothes were downstairs and there was no way I was leaving the wheel to get them.

The sea was now very wild, short but volatile waves were coming at us with great speed, some of them rolling along the foredeck and over the bridge.

I heard a couple of "Maydays" on the radio and I started to wonder how long we were going to have ride it out. I hoped it would not be too long, as the wind, rain, lightning and thunder crashes were all around us. The constant hanging on and bracing oneself is tiring, as time and again waves started to crash into us. The effect of a wild storm at sea is always fatiguing on body and soul. Muscles ache from the constant bombardment

I glanced at the radar, which was set to a range of five miles, and could see that the cloud and rain mass eased off a mile or so ahead. I checked our position on the GPS as a huge wave rolled over us, filling the self-draining elkele;';'pit to the gunnels', never had I seen a wave do that, water runs out of the elkele;';'pit scuppers and it drained out. I asked Glenn how were the crew and he assured me that all is okay. I called up the coastguard and report all is safe with us and report our current position.

I looked at the bow and gasped at the sight of the wave that was just about to devour us; it was twice as big as any of the previous monsters and was going to hit us beam on. I gave the engines a few revs. to lift Broady's bows, it broke on us, and we were momentarily submerged in it. Just like a barrel going over Victoria Falls, we slid down its face, eventually bottoming out. It broke over us, we were thrown around violently by its force. We surfed sideways down the face of the wave, just like a lost surfboard.

Eventually we ceased our fall and the elkele;';'pit filled with water as the vicious wave broke over the entire boat, submerged us for seconds—which seemed like minutes—never before had I seen that much water in the boat.

The stability of the catamaran hull of Broadbill held us in good stead as we wallowed at the bottom of the trough. The huge freeing ports allowed the water to drain back to where it should be. I looked at the radar and pleaded for us to reach the calmer zone that I could see on the screen; and it could not come quickly enough. My mind drifted to Ugh boots, a good armchair by an open fire sipping a good port, that would be nice!

As quickly as it came, it went. The evil cocoon-like cloud formation was now visible again, but only from the other side as it raced seaward. The rain dissipated, the cacophony of horror sped out to sea to give any oceanic mariners a tongue-lashing. We watched the giant green cigar quickly disappear, happy in the thought that we were safely through it.

The weather warmed, the air had a beautiful smell of crispness and cleanliness, as one by one my sea-weary anglers emerged from the cabin. "Shit, eh!" said Fred, "How wild was that?" The sea dropped back, the weather resumed to afternoon sea breezes and we all stood in the elkele;';'pit reliving the last hour of one of the best storms I have ever seen.

We rounded the Tommaree Heads, the bay was a scene of devastation; boats blown up onto beaches, ferries on sand banks and yachts diss-masted. We had made the right decision to ride it out where we did and I was happy with that, it would have been much worse at the mosh pit without the protection of the land.

We all had a coldie on the bridge as we cruised down Shoal Bay, it somehow looked even more beautiful than usual on that March afternoon. It was very good to be home safe and sound.

[Flattieman]

Amazing story, Ross . Looking forward to reading the book.

Flattieman.

[mrmoshe]

Truly an awesome experience that must have been Ross.

Mother nature at her most furious is something to behold.

I hope you can tell a few yarns like that at the workshop as you'll have the audience enthralled at stuff like that.

Can't wait to read the book now. It really felt like we were there with you.

pete.

[Sammy0884]

amazing story ross! i'd like to have a read of your book once it is out!

[james1990]

Mate top story, best post iv ever read.

I want to see and feel what it would be like being out there in those conditions but at the same time i think to my self F THAT!!!!!!!.

I could read it over and over again.

As i was reading i was seeiing plenty of images.

cheers james

Edited June 28, 2007 by james1990

[Piss'n'Broke]

Hey Ross!

Thats a brillant read there mate!!! Loved every second of it .......

D&G

[big_steve]

THATS A GREAT READ MATE!!!

thankfully u came out of it alive... all safe and well

steve

[abiasin]

now thats a storm, awsome read very very scary stuff.

[Luringbream]

Thanks for sharing that with us! It was a great read!

I think theres something all of us can learn from your book, that piece is very educational.

"Coastguard, we are two nautical mile east of Fingal Bay. We have five people on

board and we intend to ride out the oncoming storm half a mile off the outer light."

What did you mean by outer light? Im assuming lighthouse?

Will there be a glossary of terms in your book?

DAN

[Flightmanager]

Some people have the rare talent for putting into words things that they have experienced , with such skill , that your pulse increases as you read. I think you are one of these people Ross , Im sure the book will be a howling success !!

Ross

[tricks]

that was a top read ross. amazing story, would love to hear more of your experiences

[Mik]

Oh that's just wonderful!

McGoose & I have had a fine old time stirring each other up about getting pulled in by massive fish from the deck of Billfisher & now you go & post this, this bloody terror ride from hell.......

Now I truly AM shitting meself!

Great read Ross, can't wait to get out there with ya's....Roll on Feb........

[bolan]

Thats one beaut read Ross,

Can't wait for the book.

Cheers

Stumpy

[labrador]

Gee Ross that scared the hell out of me. That is the real "Perfect Storm" and the good thing is you survived it. What a story that is. When is the book coming out? I have to get hold of that.

Scout

[Boban]

Ross,

I know the area well having attended every summer since my eleventh birthday at Hawks Nest. Reading your story made me feel like I was there. Knowing the area puts it all into perspective.

I recently got caught at Broughton Island, but my boat is only 6m long.

Like your day it was dead calm until something turned on the switch, and the wind hit like a tonne of bricks. No build up, nothing, just a wall of wind. Nothing like your story but I can honestly say I was scared, but at the same time confident that the boat would pull us through, if I wasn't stupid. My biggest concern was that I had my 3 children and wife with me and you can imagine the looks on their faces.

For some reason (might have been the perfect weather in the morning) I left the clears at home. Needless to say I was very wet by the end of the trip with the south easterly pounding the port side as went went along slowly.

I know exactly what you mean about waiting for the hug boots to be slipped on. The thought of a hot shower also has a lot going for it when you are going along at minimal speed and freezing, with just 14Nm to the heads.

Cheers

Mitch

[Andy Loops]

What an amazing story - truly felt like I was up on the bridge waiting for the next big wave to engulf us!

Looking forward to the release of the book.

Andrew

[Ross Hunter]

Oh that's just wonderful!

McGoose & I have had a fine old time stirring each other up about getting pulled in by massive fish from the deck of Billfisher & now you go & post this, this bloody terror ride from hell.......

Now I truly AM shitting meself!

Great read Ross, can't wait to get out there with ya's....Roll on Feb........

Mc Goose,

You will be OK Adds a bit of spice to the trip. We will look forward to your company in 08 My aim is to see you getting pulled around by a marlin of herculean proportions....That's what I'm talkin' about!

Roscoe

[sparkles]

great story Ross.

nice read

[Reel Addiction]

top story Ross

Will definalty be grabbing a copy of your bbok once it's out.