The seas grew and the wind veered in the long fetch up the Irish Sea. We put a third reef in the mainsail, but as the wind continued to rise we also needed to shorten our headsail. Waves shipped over the port bow and occasionally washed along the deck and into the cockpit. Everything outside the glow of the deck light was pitch black as we made our way forward, clinging to the weather guardrail as the boat nose-dived into unseen waves. With one arm around the pulpit, I unclipped the headsail and fed it back. We set a reefed-down jib and made our way aft. I was halfway back to the mast when something picked up our 34ft boat and slammed her on her side. The weather guardrail was torn from my hand and I slid down a vertical foredeck and underneath the starboard rail. Only my arms prevented me going all the way through. The boat was on her beams and I was in the water up to my chest.
It doesn’t take dramatic events to perish at sea. In all conditions your boat is a lifeboat and everything outside the guardrails is a hostile environment wholly incompatible to human survival. We’re starkly reminded of this when the sailing community loses some of its most distinguished members. Rob James, who raced across the Atlantic and won the Round Britain Race with his wife, Naomi, perished after falling through the netting of his trimaran when entering port. More recently the legendary French sailor, Éric Tabarly, was thrown over the side of Pen Duick when shortening sail in the Irish Sea. I remember meeting the great Frenchman in Kinsale, or at least I stood beside his boat and watched him cast an eye up the mast. I thought then that if I could choose to have one person with me in an Atlantic hurricane it would be him. How could this happen to an icon who twice raced around the world? Vulnerability, it seems, comes with unexpected events.
The greatest fear for any yachtsman is fire, being run-down by another vessel or colliding with a submerged object (an average of 1382 containers were lost at sea between 2008 and 2019 see video here). Storms are certainly taken seriously, but for a well-founded boat and experienced crew they are survivable events. But what if something extraordinary happens, something that no amount of experience can prepare you for? In 2013 a fast and seaworthy ocean going yacht disappeared in the Tasman Sea with the loss of seven lives. The Nina, a classic yacht that had seen many storms in a racing career spanning 85 years, was en-route to Australia when she encountered a fierce storm. She was under bare poles and making headway before losing all communication. After an extensive search she was considered lost with all hands.
The fate of Nina and her crew remains unexplained, but what is known is that severe storms are breeding grounds for what were once thought of as mythical waves. For that, we have plenty of empirical evidence. In the 1990’s, 40ft yacht Vyndi was caught off the coast of South Africa in 60ft breaking seas and winds gusting 70kts. This is where the fast easterly Agulhas Current meets the powerful westerly winds of the Southern Ocean. Vyndi was en-route from Capetown to Durban, when a wave of biblical proportions knocked her down so badly as to completely invert her. According to one of her crew, Rod Briggs, “We had been running ahead of a southerly gale and the course change at 0600 would have brought the marching seas even further astern; yet something, powerful enough to cross 60ft breaking seas, had picked us up and thrown us over like a toy” (Yachting World 2017). Vyndi lost two crew members when they were washed from the cockpit. Based on data at the time, the Oceanographic Research Institute’s model suggested the wave had to be 100ft if it were to cross 60ft seas.
Veteran yacht Winston Churchill suffered a similar experience in the ill-fated 1998 Sydney Hobart race. In this case she fell off a giant wave. "You can't punch through a wave that's, could be, I don't know what it was, but I would guess it was probably around 70-foot-high and then when you got to the top it breaks ... you've got no show,” said John Stanley, one of the crew members (9NEWS). They were literally fighting for their lives and battling 70kt winds and 20m waves. "Every now and again you'd hear this noise coming and it was a broken wave ... rumbling noise, just incredible and you think 'hang on, hang on. They were 40ft high and then you get this rogue one every now and again, which is normally two-and-a-half times as big.” The yacht was lost, together with two of her nine crew members.
Until the 1990s the scientific community was unconvinced about the existence of rogue waves. Many considered the anecdotes of alpine monsters as little more than tales from nautical mythology. That all changed on New Year’s Day 1995 when a laser range finder on the Draupner oil platform in the North Sea measured a gigantic wave of 25.6m (84ft) (see video here).
Rogue waves are categorised as unexpected large amplitude waves with a height 2-3 times the prevailing sea state. They can appear from nowhere and disappear just as quickly. They are thought to be formed when smaller waves are swallowed by faster waves, thus doubling the height. It’s now believed that many mysterious disappearances are as a result of such a phenomenon, especially when no distress calls have been issued. Whilst rogue waves can certainly come ashore, they should not be confused with storm surges, or large waves created by submarine geographical features. The 30m wave that appears regularly at Nazare, Portugal, is created by a deep canyon pointing like an arrow toward the town. Though enormous, there is nothing unexpected about the event.
Fastnet Lighthouse, the day after a heavy westerly gale. In 1985 it was struck by a rogue wave that smashed a section of glass 159ft above sea level
So what about Ireland’s Atlantic Coast? I know the south-west coastline well enough to know I’ll never know it well enough. In 1999, while waiting to be picked up by a RIB, a friend was swept away by a rogue wave from one of the Blasket Islands. Conditions at the time were not considered particularly dangerous, though Ireland’s Atlantic coastline is always capable of producing extraordinary wave events.
In March 1861, a ferocious storm hit Eagle Island, Co. Mayo. According to the Commissioners of Irish Light, “[…] at midday the light room of the East tower was struck by the sea smashing 23 panes, washing some of the lamps down the stairs, and damaging the reflectors with broken glass beyond repair. It must have been an incredible wave to have come up 133 feet of rock and then a further 87 feet of lighthouse tower to cause so much damage. In spite of the efforts of the Keepers to repair the damage, it wasn't until the night of the 12th that the light was restored and then only with 12 lamps and reflectors.” So much water entered the tower that the keepers were unable to open the door at the base. They were forced to drill holes to let the water out.
The Calf Rock lighthouse, west of Dursey Island, was mostly washed away in 1881 by a wave large enough to climb more than 160ft. Fortunately, the six keepers were safely huddled together in the base, but they remained there for a further twelve days before a heroic rescue mission could be carried out (this event has been categorised as a storm surge). The iconic Fastnet Lighthouse (pictured above) has experienced some of the worst weather ever to assault the Irish coastline. In 1985 it was struck by a wave that reached the light 48m (157ft) above sea level. It crashed through the glass and sent a vat of toxic mercury down the stairs.
Of course not just lighthouses are assaulted by rogue waves; the Renvyle House Hotel in Connemara was badly damaged by an enormous wave in January 1991 when, according to its owner, “a tidal wave (sic) had hurled rocks and stones.” (Irish Independent, 7 January 1991). In 1914, the island of Iniskeeragh, lying off the north-west Donegal coast, suffered considerable damage to property when a gigantic wave entirely engulfed the island. According to reports, “the residents heard a roar of water before it arrived”.
Thanks to Ireland’s Marine Institute, we now have a growing catalogue of contemporary evidence for rogue waves. They manage a network of weather buoys in collaboration with Met Éireann and the UK Met Office. Besides providing data for weather forecasting, they also collect valuable research material. Five buoys, M2 – M6, collect evidence from strategically placed positions around our coast. In addition, five wave buoys collect data for the Ocean Energy Programme, and a Datawell Waverider buoy is anchored in 40m of water 3.7km northwest of Killard Point, Co. Clare. Some of the results are staggering. In 2014, the buoy at Killard recorded a wave measuring 33.96m (111.41ft), though it should be pointed out that this reading has been called into doubt. However, there was no doubt in March 2016 when, during Storm Jake, the Belmullet Berth B wave buoy recorded a massive wave of 30.96m (101.57ft). And when Storm Ophelia hit Ireland in October 2017, the Kinsale Energy gas platform recorded a wave measuring 26.1m (85ft). More recently, in October 2020 during Hurricane Epsilon, Buoy M6 recorded a 30m wave (98ft). That wave is of epic proportions when we consider M6 is 389km west-southwest of Slyne Head and anchored at a depth of 3000m.
Breaking seas on Croa-Lea which is 30 metres below low water. Despite appearances, this is not a rogue wave. Photographed the day after a storm in 2016 when the Fastnet (somewhere in the background) recorded winds in excess of 105 knots (121mph)
The evidence is growing, together with academic interest in wave events around Ireland (see O’Brien et al 2013), and that helps our understanding of how and under what conditions rogue waves are likely to form. The practical implications of this research and data helps to explain the effect of these waves on our coastline, particularly with regards to safety for anglers and walkers. Greater awareness of rogue waves and how they can sweep ledges high above the water, often in benign conditions, can ultimately save lives. However, for those who sail or work offshore it will always be impossible to predict the unpredictable.
Back in 1975 I had no idea what hit us that night. Perhaps the boat fell off a wave, or was hit by a powerful squall. She lay on her beam-ends and I could do nothing until she finally pulled herself up, taking me with her. A crewmate was above me with an arm around the mast and another reaching down to help. Other than a mess from un-stowed items below (and a few bruises for those off watch) there was no obvious damage. Only when we returned to the cockpit did we discover that a wave struck us amidships, thirty degrees variation from the prevailing wave direction. Our experience that night was minor compared to those mentioned above, but in researching this article I was drawn to a 2011 incident when the 81m cargo ship, Swanland, was struck by “an enormous wave” that broke her back. The ship sank off Bardsey Island, North Wales, killing five of its eight crew. The wave was reported to be 15m (49ft). Though a gale was blowing at the time and the tide around Bardsey Island can be fierce, this event highlights the fact that rogue waves do indeed exist in the Irish Sea.
The knowledge that monsters inhabit our oceans might deter most people from ever stepping off land, but we are an island nation and seafaring has been in our blood since people first arrived on our shores. Besides, one wave cannot define the sea any more than one nightmare defines our dreams.
© David O’Neill 2021