hull.
Becalmed south of the Cape Verde Islands, he pulled on a mask and snorkel, jumped overboard, and swam down underwater to inspect the hull. The trouble was immediately apparent: a long gap showed in a seam between planks just above the keel, near the spot where the foot of the mainmast was anchored into the keelson. There was a similar gap in the same place on both sides of the hull. As
Suhaili
rolled slightly, Knox-Johnston could see the seam opening and closing with each roll. He surfaced, hauled himself aboard, lit a cigarette, and considered the problem. He was worried that the floor timbers â not the floorboards, but the thick-sawn members that joined the hull frames to the keel and held the bolts that kept the heavy iron ballast attached to the bottom of the boat â might be weakening. A failure with the floors could be catastrophic, even resulting in the bottom of the boat coming apart and falling off. Most of the floors were covered by water tanks built into the boat, but Knox-Johnston poked around in the bilges, inspected those he could see, and did what he could to convince himself that the floors were not failing. It was simply a caulking problem, he decided â the only problem he could realistically fix.
Having convinced himself that caulking â hammering twisted lengths of cotton into the seams and covering it with (normally) putty â was the answer, he had to figure out a way of doing it 5 feet underwater. He tied a hammer on a line and lowered it over the side to dangle in the right place. Then, dressed in a dark shirt and jeans to hide the whiteness of his body from any cruising sharks, he went overboard.
The job was impossible. He tried hammering the cotton into the seams, using a screwdriver in place of the traditional caulking iron, but it wouldnât stay in the seam and came out every time he surfaced for air. After a fruitless half hour he climbed back aboard.
He decided to sew the bead of cotton on to a long, narrow strip of canvas, which he then coated with Stockholm tar to stiffen it. Then he pushed copper tacks through the canvas. He lowered himself over the side, swam down underwater, held the long stripwith the bead of cotton inside the seam, and started hammering the tacks into the planks. After repeatedly rising for air and diving back down, the long band-aid was finally nailed in place. But for how long? He worried that the canvas would wear away. It needed a tougher covering. Back aboard, he made a strip of copper from long sheets left aboard by the Marconi engineers who had installed his radio. On deck, he hammered tacks through the copper, intending to go overboard again and nail it over the canvas.
First, to warm himself after two and a half hours in the water, he made a cup of coffee. While drinking it in the sun, he noticed a dark grey shape cruise close by the boat: a shark. He watched it, hoping it would go away: killing it could attract more sharks. But ten minutes later it was still circling the boat, so he got out his .303 rifle, threw some toilet paper into the water, and waited. On its first pass, the shark swam below the paper, but then it turned, came back, rising towards the paper. As its head broke the surface, Knox-Johnston fired. The shark convulsed furiously for half a minute and then was still and slid away down into the deep. Two pilot fish that had been swimming with the shark peeled away as it disappeared into the depths and took up station beneath the shadow of
Suhaili
. For half an hour he kept a lookout for more sharks, but then a light wind arose and forced him back into the water to finish his repair. He spent another hour and a half nailing the copper strip over the caulking on the port side, every minute of it expecting a dark shape to appear. By then the wind had risen to agitate the water and push
Suhaili
on, forcing him to leave the starboard side until the next calm. He had been in the water for four hours.
Two days
Becalmed south of the Cape Verde Islands, he pulled on a mask and snorkel, jumped overboard, and swam down underwater to inspect the hull. The trouble was immediately apparent: a long gap showed in a seam between planks just above the keel, near the spot where the foot of the mainmast was anchored into the keelson. There was a similar gap in the same place on both sides of the hull. As
Suhaili
rolled slightly, Knox-Johnston could see the seam opening and closing with each roll. He surfaced, hauled himself aboard, lit a cigarette, and considered the problem. He was worried that the floor timbers â not the floorboards, but the thick-sawn members that joined the hull frames to the keel and held the bolts that kept the heavy iron ballast attached to the bottom of the boat â might be weakening. A failure with the floors could be catastrophic, even resulting in the bottom of the boat coming apart and falling off. Most of the floors were covered by water tanks built into the boat, but Knox-Johnston poked around in the bilges, inspected those he could see, and did what he could to convince himself that the floors were not failing. It was simply a caulking problem, he decided â the only problem he could realistically fix.
Having convinced himself that caulking â hammering twisted lengths of cotton into the seams and covering it with (normally) putty â was the answer, he had to figure out a way of doing it 5 feet underwater. He tied a hammer on a line and lowered it over the side to dangle in the right place. Then, dressed in a dark shirt and jeans to hide the whiteness of his body from any cruising sharks, he went overboard.
The job was impossible. He tried hammering the cotton into the seams, using a screwdriver in place of the traditional caulking iron, but it wouldnât stay in the seam and came out every time he surfaced for air. After a fruitless half hour he climbed back aboard.
He decided to sew the bead of cotton on to a long, narrow strip of canvas, which he then coated with Stockholm tar to stiffen it. Then he pushed copper tacks through the canvas. He lowered himself over the side, swam down underwater, held the long stripwith the bead of cotton inside the seam, and started hammering the tacks into the planks. After repeatedly rising for air and diving back down, the long band-aid was finally nailed in place. But for how long? He worried that the canvas would wear away. It needed a tougher covering. Back aboard, he made a strip of copper from long sheets left aboard by the Marconi engineers who had installed his radio. On deck, he hammered tacks through the copper, intending to go overboard again and nail it over the canvas.
First, to warm himself after two and a half hours in the water, he made a cup of coffee. While drinking it in the sun, he noticed a dark grey shape cruise close by the boat: a shark. He watched it, hoping it would go away: killing it could attract more sharks. But ten minutes later it was still circling the boat, so he got out his .303 rifle, threw some toilet paper into the water, and waited. On its first pass, the shark swam below the paper, but then it turned, came back, rising towards the paper. As its head broke the surface, Knox-Johnston fired. The shark convulsed furiously for half a minute and then was still and slid away down into the deep. Two pilot fish that had been swimming with the shark peeled away as it disappeared into the depths and took up station beneath the shadow of
Suhaili
. For half an hour he kept a lookout for more sharks, but then a light wind arose and forced him back into the water to finish his repair. He spent another hour and a half nailing the copper strip over the caulking on the port side, every minute of it expecting a dark shape to appear. By then the wind had risen to agitate the water and push
Suhaili
on, forcing him to leave the starboard side until the next calm. He had been in the water for four hours.
Two days
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