Case studies
Maybe I am unlucky, maybe I am just not all that smart, either way, during the last 25 years I have not only logged a lot of bluewater miles but have also stumbled into two minor hurricanes, three tropical storms and a host of severe storms. What makes these experiences even more interesting is that I’ve encountered terrifying conditions in a variety of boats, ranging from a 42-foot cruising catamaran, to a 71-foot powerhouse of a ketch, to a nimble 32-foot sloop. Most of my experiences have come aboard 40- to 50-foot cruising boats—a Hylas 49, Hylas 44, Kaufman 47, Beneteau 44 and a Tayana 42, for example—and with minimal crew; just the kind of boat and crew of a typical world cruiser.

I first came to appreciate forereaching in the middle of a tropical storm south of Bermuda many years ago. I was sailing a Contessa 32, we were actually bound for Cape Horn, which at that moment seemed farther away than the watery moon overhead. We were being walloped by southeast winds steady at 45 knots and frequently pinning the wind instrument at its top reading, 55 knots. There were two on board and we were riding out the blow with the tiny storm jib rigged on an inner forestay, and a triple reefed main. We were forereaching, sailing 45 to 60 degrees off the wind, with the windvane firmly in control.

The boat would gather a head of steam, hitting 3 or 4 knots, and then plow into the next cresting wave, knocking the bow to leeward and sending a cascade of water over the deck and stopping us flat. Then we’d gather way again, but it still seemed like we were going too fast. Yet we had managed to stay on course for hours, and although it was wet, and occasionally exciting, the boat was coping brilliantly and we were actually making miles toward our destination. Then I decided that we were just going too fast. I had read all the books, I decided the conditions warranted that ultimate survival tactic, lying ahull, or just letting the boat bob with no sails set. Truthfully, I was exhausted and wanted a rest, down below, out of the tempest. I pulled down the storm jib, slowing our speed dramatically. We were suddenly a sitting duck. Before I could even get the main down a wave crashed aboard amidships capsizing the boat. After hours of sailing aggressively and successfully I managed to screw things up in a matter of minutes. Lesson No. 1: Keep the boat moving if you can.

I remember another graphic experience with forereaching during Hurricane Mitch in 1998. We were sailing a Hylas 46 from Florida to the Virgin Islands when Mitch overran us. The Coast Guard, which later rescued a capsized yacht near our position, reported gusts to 90 knots and seas near 30 feet. It was nasty. As the newly reformed hurricane approached, we reduced sail all afternoon. When the winds hit 40 knots we backed the slivers of roller furled headsail and furling main, and hove-to. This tactic worked well until the winds began to blow at hurricane force and the seas built into majestic combers, breaking waves of destruction.

The Frers-designed Hylas 46 has a quasi-modern hull shape with a sizable fin and partly balanced rudder. As the waves increased and began to break we could not get the boat to lie consistently into the wind. She would pivot to leeward, and lay dangerously broadside before the next marauding wave. The Hylas 46 is a well-constructed offshore boat, but these were survival conditions. I decided not to wait for the inevitable. Instead, I brought the boat back to our original southeast course and plodded along on a close reach. We sailed at 2 to 3 knots, 50 or 60 degrees off the apparent wind and for the most part rode over the waves without incident. Occasionally we’d get rocked and knocked over 40 or 50 degrees but our forward momentum helped the boat keep its footing. Soon we realized that the boat was doing just fine, the most difficult aspect was that because we had no self-steering—the boat was heading into charter service—we had to stand watch and man the helm. Luckily the hurricane was fast moving and conditions began to improve after 12 hours. Lesson No. 2: Have rugged, reliable self-steering, either autopilot or steering vane, including backup systems.

Active approach
The process of forereaching is, as they used to say about navigation, both an art and a science. The science is, shorten sail to a point where the boat can endure the apparent wind, set a course that allows the boat to keep moving, and monitor the situation, decreasing sail as necessary. The art is more nuanced. Several factors come into play, not the least of which is the psychology of forereaching.

The storm tactics of heaving to and lying ahull are passive, and not to be recommended in many boats with modern hull shapes with flat bottoms, which have a tendency to pivot around the narrow cord of the their keel section. The tactic of running off before the wind is certainly not passive but it can only be carried out to a point. At some point the seas become too large and too dangerous and every wild ride down the backside of a wave just might be your last. The technique of forereaching is proactive. It is the technique most used by singlehanded racers in events like the Around Alone (now Velux 5-Oceans), Vendée Globe and others. By maintaining some speed, and some control, you are at least making progress and therefore actively coping with the conditions. The effect on the psyche is positive. You are no longer a sitting duck waiting to get smacked and praying that the storm will ease.

More nuance, or call it skill, is required to make your boat forereach effectively. You need strong storm sails. If you have a sloop, consider mounting an inner forestay, not to sail as a cutter but to have a better platform for flying a storm jib. The advantages of an inner stay are that the center of effort of the sail is pushed aft and down, making it more efficient. However, this installation can’t be an afterthought, this stay is going to be heavily loaded. It needs a robust chainplate for the fitting and most likely running backstays to support the mast at the top point of the stay.

Also, and we’re talking extreme conditions here, have a storm trysail, which is really a storm mainsail that hoists on an independent track. Both of these sails should be smaller than your sailmaker will likely recommend. Make sure that you are set up to fly them. The leads must be fair—this is critical, otherwise chafe will destroy the sheets in a matter of hours. Lesson No. 3: If you are going to forereach effectively, you must have the right gear. Take the time and spend the money to make sure your storm sails and rig are able to cope with extreme conditions.

Once you have set the storm jib and storm trysail, you will need to find your boat’s best angle of attack. Sorry, you must work when you choose the technique of forereaching in a gale, at least initially. Steer aggressively and find out just how the boat likes to ride into the seas. Some degree of speed is critical but you must avoid as much pounding as possible. There is a balance point. Don’t dismiss this as impossible. I know, you are thinking about how your boat pounds when you sail upwind in moderate conditions, what is it going to be like in a storm? But that is a different kind of sailing—it’s at speed, close to the wind and with plenty of sail set. Forereaching is different and you can almost always find the sweet spot. Your very survival may depend on it. Once you have the boat where you want it, self-steering—either an autopilot or steering vane—should be able to handle the helm. Then you can drop below, rig up the lee cloth, climb into your sea berth and take a load off.

The final lesson: Practice forereaching next time you encounter windy conditions. Take the time to set the storm jib and even the storm trysail. Check the leads, find an angle that’s comfortable. Practicing in 25 knots will prove invaluable when the winds are blowing twice that.