David Vann - A Mile Down - The True Story of a Disastrous Career at Sea

I met Nancy on the boat, told her my thoughts, and she said, “Well, look at the bright side. It can always get worse.” I couldn’t even laugh.

The surveyor arrived, a friendly and handsome man in his fifties named Nick Bushnell. Very cheery in a button-down shirt, slacks, and a leather jacket. He was carrying a clipboard. I had done nothing wrong, but I was afraid anyway, as I suppose all people naturally are around insurance adjusters. I wondered whether I could be found negligent in some way that would invalidate my claim. I was afraid to tell him about the hydraulic ram coming loose, for instance. The ram coming loose was as simple as a loose screw, even if it was an enormous and specialized screw, and why hadn’t it been checked and tightened before heading out to sea? If I was found to be negligent, I would lose the boat and much more. I couldn’t possibly afford to pay for the tow or the salvage claim or the repairs.

“I know you’ve been through an awful time,” Nick said. “But I just need to hear what happened and take note of the damage to the vessel.”

I began with the sound of the rudder breaking off and told the story from there. I tried to help the insurance company by detailing how the German captain had lied and endangered the crew and vessel. Nick asked why I had abandoned ship, and I gave my reasons.

Nick listened carefully and took notes. “Sure,” he said periodically. “What else could you do?” He sounded reassuring, and I hoped he was sincere.

He asked questions about each of the towing attempts, the tow back to Gibraltar, the kayak that was lost in the harbor, and the damage at the dock. “For now I want to make two lists,” he said. “The damage that occurred before arriving at the dock and the damage that occurred afterward. That’s really a shame the admiralty didn’t act as they were required. You’ve had an awful bit of luck, mate. We’ll see what we can do about that.”

“I’m hoping it can be viewed as one event,” I said. “So that I don’t pay the deductible twice. It seems to me that it was the same event, since I’m here at this wall as a direct consequence of losing the rudder.”

“Yes, I can see that. I can understand the argument, and I can try to put it to Pantaenius that way, in a favorable light, especially since it seems to me you’ve acted to the best of your ability throughout the ordeal to limit the damage. It’s often the case that there’s consequential damage after an event, and anything you’ve done to limit that argues in your favor, I would think.”

I was pleased to hear this. He seemed to be taking my side.

“The one thing I’m still in the dark about,” he said, “is how this rudder came off in the first place. You’ve said it was unskegged, and that certainly makes it weaker, but I have to believe they would have used the right-sized post for it, and I’m not sure why that post would have sheared off. We’ll see more once the boat comes out of the water, but can you tell me anything more about why it might have come off?”

This was the moment I had feared. I couldn’t hold back the incident with the hydraulic ram any longer. “Well,” I said. “I don’t know why either, and I also want to see what it looks like out of the water, but I think it must have been a combination of factors. We were moving fast through high seas, about eleven knots with both engines at 2200, and I think the seas were about twelve to fifteen feet at that point. I don’t remember exactly.”

“That’s fine,” Nick said. “I’ll be looking up all the weather records. I have a friend at the RAF base here.”

“Great,” I said. “So I think it was the stress of that, combined with the lack of a skeg, and then the safety on the hydraulic ram failed, too, earlier in the night, and we had to put the emergency tiller on and reattach the ram, so it may have fatigued then, too.”

“The hydraulic ram became detached from the rudder post?”

“Yes.”

“Can we take a look at the ram?”

We went below and looked at the ram and the damage the fitting on the post had done to the wood. I felt sick. I was afraid this was going to invalidate the entire claim.

“Now how did that come off?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not supposed to. That piece is supposed to lock.”

“And how long was it off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes. It’s hard to tell. It was kind of a panicked time.”

“Yes, I can imagine. But you were able to get it back on in those seas. Did you hear any other sounds while you were doing that? Anything from the rudder?”

“It was banging a bit. I think its top edge must have hit against the hull, limiting how far it could swing. I imagine we’ll see marks when we’re hauled out.”

So now I had confessed everything. I only hoped Nick and Pantaenius would be kind. Nick took some more notes, then had me turn the helm both ways while he watched the rudder post. He came back up to the pilothouse, made some more notes, told me he’d try “straight away” to arrange the lifting of the arrest and the haul out, then left.

Nancy and I heated some cans of soup for lunch and sat in the pilothouse staring into our bowls as we ate. The crew were helping to clean the mess from the tow, but they were also spending quite a bit of time on shore, which was fine. They were frequenting Dad’s Bakehouse and the Clipper and other comfort spots. At the moment, it was getting windy and rainy, and that’s always when food in a warm, homey pub sounds best.

After lunch, I tried again to start the engines. They wouldn’t turn over, and by now their batteries were low. I was tired and didn’t feel up to the project, but I decided to shop for a twelvevolt charger to give a direct boost to the start batteries. That would be a good backup to have on board anyway.

Nancy and I walked a long way in our foul weather gear. Half the length of the country, in fact, to Sheppard’s chandlery in Marina Bay. But we found what we needed, and the price wasn’t marked up as high as usual. This was a rare find, perhaps even a mistake on their part. We snapped it up quickly and left.

I charged the starboard engine for quite a while, tried it with the boost and still didn’t get it to turn over. So I went down to the engine room to inspect. No visible sign of problems on the starters, batteries, or connectors. I couldn’t think of what else to check, so I just started checking everything, and when I looked at the oil in one of the engines, I found the problem. A terrible problem that I’d had before and hadn’t thought was still possible. The oil was creamy, which meant saltwater had gotten into the engines, siphoning back through the exhausts.

I was so frustrated I started yelling, which made Matt, Emi, and Nancy come down to the engine room. “The engines are full of salt water,” I told them. “That’s why they won’t start.”

“Oh no,” Nancy said. “Not again.”

“We have to drain the oil,” I said, “then remove the injectors and blow the saltwater out. Then we have to change the oil a million times and run under load at the dock with the fill caps off and our lines doubled, which we actually can’t do because of the fouled props. Goddamnit.”

I was demoralized during this time, pushing myself to get through each part of each day. Nancy encouraged me to remember the good parts of my last few years.

“Look at me,” she said, and I looked up and she was beautiful and it was a comfort to have her with me. “You’ve changed people’s lives. Think about Pete, and Dave, and others who care more about their writing now than anything else. Think about that guy who quit his job to go sailing, and the people who decided to retire early. Think of the great friends you have now that you met through the trips.”