Thursday, June 26th – We had left Penrhyn just three hours earlier, bound for Samoa. The wind was steady at 20 knots on a broad reach, and everything seemed to be going smoothly — until the jib suddenly began to flap.
The boat veered sharply into the wind. Something was clearly wrong. It didn’t feel like a steering issue from the wheel — this was something deeper. The rudder wasn’t responding at all.
We quickly dropped the sails and jumped into the water to see what was going on. The rudder blade was still there, but it didn’t move when we turned the wheel. That was the final confirmation that the problem wasn’t above deck. The shaft connecting the rudder to the steering system had snapped.
We would later find out that it had given way due to progressive corrosion — a slow, silent failure that had been building up beneath the surface for who knows how long.
We try to install the windvane rudder, which can also serve as an emergency steering system. But the swell, lifting the stern of the boat violently with each wave, makes the operation nearly impossible. After two exhausting hours of attempts, we have to give up — and decide to call for help.
We know that, in addition to installing the emergency rudder, we would also need to lock the main rudder blade in a fixed central position. That’s not something we feel capable of doing in these sea conditions.
It’s 4:30 p.m., and in just over an hour, it will be dark.
Thanks to our Starlink connection, we’re able to send messages and emails in real time. We contact both our sailing friends still in Penrhyn and Bob McDavitt, the weather router whose advice we rely on for longer passages. Bob immediately alerts the New Zealand Coast Guard.
Our sailor friends quickly form a “crisis committee” and begin working on the most effective way to get us assistance.
The first viable option seems to materialize around 1:30 a.m.: sending out a barge used by the Penrhyn authorities for local transport to tow us back. But that possibility is quickly ruled out due to a lack of fuel — the supply ship only visits the island every three or four months!
We’re drifting, and the distance between us and Penrhyn is increasing by about a mile every hour. Despite a collection organized among the anchored sailboats — they manage to gather 75 liters — it becomes clear that the barge simply won’t have enough range to make the round trip.
In the meantime, the New Zealand Coast Guard — contacted by Bob — writes to inform us that they haven’t detected any cargo ships or other vessels underway within a 100-nautical-mile radius. They suggest we continue trying to find a solution through our own network, particularly the boats still anchored in Penrhyn.
At 7 a.m., we receive a WhatsApp message from the “crisis committee,” organized by Rachael, informing us that five people have set out to rescue us: Gary and Pat aboard their catamaran Earendil, with Alexis, Volker, and Rachael onboard.
The plan is to transfer Alexis and Volker onto our boat to help us find a way to steer in an emergency — or, if that fails, to tow us back to Penrhyn.
Finding us won’t be difficult: our position is updated every 10 minutes and displayed in real time on a page of our website, thanks to the InReach Mini 2 we installed a few years ago.
At 2 p.m., we spot Gary and Pat’s catamaran approaching on the horizon.
Gary has spotted usFrom left to right: Volker, Gary, and Alexis prepare the line system to secure the rudder in a central position.
Gary is transferring Alexis and Volker onto our boat
As soon as Alexis and Volker come aboard, they reassure us that, one way or another, we will make it back to Penrhyn together. Then they dive into the water and, despite initial difficulties, manage to install the emergency rudder blade.
We feel a bit helpless for not having succeeded ourselves after our repeated attempts the day before, but at the same time, we’re incredibly happy.
We try to set off using the newly installed rudder, but after just a few minutes, it becomes clear that the main rudder blade — which moves freely — isn’t aligning with the water flow. On the contrary, it significantly and unpredictably influences the boat’s direction.
Alexis and Volker, both free divers, dive back into the water — Volker wearing a caving helmet to protect himself from the violent vertical movements of the stern, with Alexis monitoring his every move.
On his first attempt, Volker manages to thread the line — which they had prepared earlier — through the rudder blade. They then pass two ropes through it, securing them on deck to hold the main rudder centered.
And just like that — let’s call it a win!
The rudder, whose shaft is clearly broken, has been rigged with a system of ropes to hold it securely in the center
Heading back to Penrhyn
We set off using the emergency rudder, which is now steering properly, taking one-hour shifts at the helm. After 40 miles and 10 hours of sailing — that’s how far we had drifted — we finally come into view of the Penrhyn pass.
We wait until the sun is high in the sky before crossing it, carefully navigating around the coral heads inside the lagoon.
At last, we manage to anchor in front of the village of Te Tatua, where we had set off two days earlier.
Anchored once again in front of the village of Te Tatua, Penrhyn
During the return, we wondered what would happen once we reached Penrhyn — on paper, it was the worst place to be for such a major repair as reattaching two steel shafts, each 5 cm in diameter.
To make matters worse, we soon discovered that no one on the island was capable of welding stainless steel!
That said, a wave of solidarity immediately sprang into action, involving both sailors and locals alike, all searching for the resources needed to help us get back underway.
The first task was to remove the rudder without flooding the boat. To do this comfortably, the stern needed to be lifted about 20 cm.
Larry, one of the sailors anchored near us, offered two lift bags which he secured under the stern and inflated underwater using his special regulator and one of our scuba tanks.
With the stern lifted, it became easy to uninstall the rudder using diving gear and bring it ashore.
In addition to lifting the stern, we try to create a “watertight chamber” around the rudder shaft before removing it
With the “crisis committee,” which in the meantime had become a “project team,” we began analyzing various options to temporarily repair the rudder. Our goal was to make the boat seaworthy enough to reach Fiji — the closest place where we could haul the boat out and have the shaft rebuilt, about 1,500 miles away.
Fortunately, and contrary to our initial beliefs, the inside of the shaft turned out to be hollow — which made the whole operation much easier!
We decided to use a solid piece of pipe, cut from the emergency bar on Gary and Pat’s catamaran. By sleeving it with a hollow pipe sourced from the island, we managed to create the necessary coupling section to connect the two shaft segments.
But the real breakthrough came when we discovered that one of the locals, Rex, owned a drill press he used for boring shells — and was happy to lend it to us.
Thanks to this, we were able to make incredibly precise holes in the stainless steel, allowing us to join the two shaft sections using through-bolts and threaded pins.
To finish, Larry provided resin to further strengthen the bond between the two parts of the shaft.
As the crowning touch to this incredible show of solidarity, during the days we spent repairing, Rex and his family — whose workshop we now practically occupied — treated us to breakfast and lunch with their delicious home-cooked meals.
It’s an experience we will never forget.
Using the drill press lent to us by Rex, we begin drilling holes in the upper shaft segment, where we have already inserted the newly created sleeveLarry injects the resin inside the shaft to strengthen the sleeve’s holdWe have joined the two shaft segments and are now drilling to secure the sleeve to the lower part of the shaftAfter soaking the sleeve in resin before final insertion, Larry tries to push more resin into the very tight gapWe insert the pins and through-bolts into the previously drilled holesWe plug the holes in the resin after inserting the boltsThe rudder is ready to be reinstalled!Alexis and Larry have just slid the rudder up from belowGary and Sergio have secured the rudder from above
After completing the assembly and reinstalling the rudder on the boat, we take a few test runs to make sure everything works.
Just one week after our fortunate return to Penrhyn, we manage to set off again towards Fiji, via Samoa, with the well-founded hope that the rudder repair will hold for the 1,500 miles ahead of us!
Emergency return to Penrhyn
Thursday, June 26th – We had left Penrhyn just three hours earlier, bound for Samoa. The wind was steady at 20 knots on a broad reach, and everything seemed to be going smoothly — until the jib suddenly began to flap.
The boat veered sharply into the wind. Something was clearly wrong. It didn’t feel like a steering issue from the wheel — this was something deeper. The rudder wasn’t responding at all.
We quickly dropped the sails and jumped into the water to see what was going on. The rudder blade was still there, but it didn’t move when we turned the wheel. That was the final confirmation that the problem wasn’t above deck. The shaft connecting the rudder to the steering system had snapped.
We would later find out that it had given way due to progressive corrosion — a slow, silent failure that had been building up beneath the surface for who knows how long.
We try to install the windvane rudder, which can also serve as an emergency steering system. But the swell, lifting the stern of the boat violently with each wave, makes the operation nearly impossible. After two exhausting hours of attempts, we have to give up — and decide to call for help.
We know that, in addition to installing the emergency rudder, we would also need to lock the main rudder blade in a fixed central position. That’s not something we feel capable of doing in these sea conditions.
It’s 4:30 p.m., and in just over an hour, it will be dark.
Thanks to our Starlink connection, we’re able to send messages and emails in real time. We contact both our sailing friends still in Penrhyn and Bob McDavitt, the weather router whose advice we rely on for longer passages. Bob immediately alerts the New Zealand Coast Guard.
Our sailor friends quickly form a “crisis committee” and begin working on the most effective way to get us assistance.
The first viable option seems to materialize around 1:30 a.m.: sending out a barge used by the Penrhyn authorities for local transport to tow us back. But that possibility is quickly ruled out due to a lack of fuel — the supply ship only visits the island every three or four months!
We’re drifting, and the distance between us and Penrhyn is increasing by about a mile every hour. Despite a collection organized among the anchored sailboats — they manage to gather 75 liters — it becomes clear that the barge simply won’t have enough range to make the round trip.
In the meantime, the New Zealand Coast Guard — contacted by Bob — writes to inform us that they haven’t detected any cargo ships or other vessels underway within a 100-nautical-mile radius. They suggest we continue trying to find a solution through our own network, particularly the boats still anchored in Penrhyn.
At 7 a.m., we receive a WhatsApp message from the “crisis committee,” organized by Rachael, informing us that five people have set out to rescue us: Gary and Pat aboard their catamaran Earendil, with Alexis, Volker, and Rachael onboard.
The plan is to transfer Alexis and Volker onto our boat to help us find a way to steer in an emergency — or, if that fails, to tow us back to Penrhyn.
Finding us won’t be difficult: our position is updated every 10 minutes and displayed in real time on a page of our website, thanks to the InReach Mini 2 we installed a few years ago.
At 2 p.m., we spot Gary and Pat’s catamaran approaching on the horizon.
As soon as Alexis and Volker come aboard, they reassure us that, one way or another, we will make it back to Penrhyn together. Then they dive into the water and, despite initial difficulties, manage to install the emergency rudder blade.
We feel a bit helpless for not having succeeded ourselves after our repeated attempts the day before, but at the same time, we’re incredibly happy.
We try to set off using the newly installed rudder, but after just a few minutes, it becomes clear that the main rudder blade — which moves freely — isn’t aligning with the water flow. On the contrary, it significantly and unpredictably influences the boat’s direction.
Alexis and Volker, both free divers, dive back into the water — Volker wearing a caving helmet to protect himself from the violent vertical movements of the stern, with Alexis monitoring his every move.
On his first attempt, Volker manages to thread the line — which they had prepared earlier — through the rudder blade. They then pass two ropes through it, securing them on deck to hold the main rudder centered.
And just like that — let’s call it a win!
We set off using the emergency rudder, which is now steering properly, taking one-hour shifts at the helm. After 40 miles and 10 hours of sailing — that’s how far we had drifted — we finally come into view of the Penrhyn pass.
We wait until the sun is high in the sky before crossing it, carefully navigating around the coral heads inside the lagoon.
At last, we manage to anchor in front of the village of Te Tatua, where we had set off two days earlier.
During the return, we wondered what would happen once we reached Penrhyn — on paper, it was the worst place to be for such a major repair as reattaching two steel shafts, each 5 cm in diameter.
To make matters worse, we soon discovered that no one on the island was capable of welding stainless steel!
That said, a wave of solidarity immediately sprang into action, involving both sailors and locals alike, all searching for the resources needed to help us get back underway.
The first task was to remove the rudder without flooding the boat. To do this comfortably, the stern needed to be lifted about 20 cm.
Larry, one of the sailors anchored near us, offered two lift bags which he secured under the stern and inflated underwater using his special regulator and one of our scuba tanks.
With the stern lifted, it became easy to uninstall the rudder using diving gear and bring it ashore.
With the “crisis committee,” which in the meantime had become a “project team,” we began analyzing various options to temporarily repair the rudder. Our goal was to make the boat seaworthy enough to reach Fiji — the closest place where we could haul the boat out and have the shaft rebuilt, about 1,500 miles away.
Fortunately, and contrary to our initial beliefs, the inside of the shaft turned out to be hollow — which made the whole operation much easier!
We decided to use a solid piece of pipe, cut from the emergency bar on Gary and Pat’s catamaran. By sleeving it with a hollow pipe sourced from the island, we managed to create the necessary coupling section to connect the two shaft segments.
But the real breakthrough came when we discovered that one of the locals, Rex, owned a drill press he used for boring shells — and was happy to lend it to us.
Thanks to this, we were able to make incredibly precise holes in the stainless steel, allowing us to join the two shaft sections using through-bolts and threaded pins.
To finish, Larry provided resin to further strengthen the bond between the two parts of the shaft.
As the crowning touch to this incredible show of solidarity, during the days we spent repairing, Rex and his family — whose workshop we now practically occupied — treated us to breakfast and lunch with their delicious home-cooked meals.
It’s an experience we will never forget.
After completing the assembly and reinstalling the rudder on the boat, we take a few test runs to make sure everything works.
Just one week after our fortunate return to Penrhyn, we manage to set off again towards Fiji, via Samoa, with the well-founded hope that the rudder repair will hold for the 1,500 miles ahead of us!