Pacific Dismasting: Lessons Learned from 100 Days at Sea

We are all subconsciously aware that an atrocity may occur when we embark on an ocean passage; but dismasting rarely crosses our minds. Until it happens. I’m about to share with you one of the most impressive and courageous sea stories that I’ve witnessed during my 45 years of ocean sailing. It’s a tale of endurance, bravery, seamanship, knowledge, self awareness and determination.

On 13 January 2025, John Jones set sail solo from Bahia del Sol, El Salvador for the South Pacific aboard Quiet, his 1984 Tayana 37. Approximately 1,000 miles west of the Galápagos Islands, Quiet suddenly dismasted—literally in the middle of nowhere. Nearly 100 days, and 3,300 nautical miles later, he arrived safely in Papeete, Tahiti on April 22. John covered approximately 4,000 nm through the entire voyage from El Salvador to Tahiti. Thankfully, John has Starlink and we were able to communicate on a daily basis. I was in total awe after every communication saying to myself and friends, “This guy is a hardcore rock(star)!”

The Dismasting

January 22 began as an ordinary day for John in the Pacific: calm seas, minimal swell and winds, and a tiny sprinkle of rain. Quiet’s full main and 130 jib were performing nicely. At about 1,500 hours, John went below to escape the rain and within seconds he heard a huge crash above. “Oh! Oh!” he said to himself. As he tried to open the dog hatch he saw half the mast and boom lying across the cockpit, making it very difficult to even open the hatch. Eventually he was able to crawl out and assess the situation. “You really have lost your rig,” he said to himself. Suddenly, it stopped raining and the sun shone overhead. Position: 8’16.5N, 99’42.5W.

Naturally, John was devastated. “I sat down, looked around, and assessed the situation. It looks like I’m going to be OK,” he said to himself. “The boat is still floating and I’m not going to die.”  Once he gained his composure he walked to the bow and noticed that the center port chain plate had broken loose, as well as the head stay. At the time of writing, we’re not sure which weakness caused the mast to fall: either the chain plate or the head stay.

He went below to retrieve his GoPro to take videos and record the situation. After about seven minutes of filming the entire scenario he looked at the footage and he had only taken two photos: one to start the video and one to stop it. The GoPro was never set to video. At this point, he realized that he wasn’t functioning at 100 percent.

Other casualties of the dismasting were his antennas, all his jerry cans of fuel (he had 40 gallons of diesel left aboard in his tanks), and his mainsail.

Making a New Rig

John’s first priority was to create a new rig. The following is John’s description of how he created his new rig, which worked successfully for approximately 2,500 miles to Tahiti:

How I Made a New Rig by John Jones

Designing the rig was pretty straightforward. It was clear that the best option for the mast was my boom, so while I was clearing the deck of all the debris, I took my time securing it and prepping it. I had a full assortment of hand tools on board—wrenches, a socket set, screwdrivers, etc. I also had a bunch of power tools, both battery and 110 volt.

Step One: Hoisting the New Mast

On one end of the boom, I removed the broken gooseneck by drilling out the rivets. This end would serve as the mast base. It fit nicely on the deck stepped mast foot. The other end of the boom was to become the heart of the new mast. I needed attachment points for a head stay, two back stays—Quiet was rigged with running back stays that would serve perfectly as back stays—shrouds—I figured 2 on either side—and at least one halyard. The head stay was easy: The boom topping lift would be perfect as an attachment point. The halyard was next.

Step Two: Masthead Block

I removed one of the tangs that had been used for a mainsheet block and relocated it about six inches from the end of the boom—the top on the jury rigged mast. The tang was through bolted so it was just as simple to drill two new holes where in the exact location. Next came the shrouds and back stays.

Thanks to a Starlink connection I was able to research and experiment with various knots. The first choice was a “masthead” knot, which, as the name implies, gives you various attachment points for all the things you need at the masthead. This knot was a single piece of line providing many attachment points for various rigging. I opted for three lines, one for the back stays, and one for each of the two port and starboard shrouds. I would tie a “constrictor” knot for each line at the masthead.

At the end of each line I tied a bowline to serve as a soft shackle for each of the shrouds and backstays. I used the sheets from my staysail and jib for the shrouds, and my spinnaker halyard for the fore stay. The result, I hoped, would be a rig that was very stable and had very few (if any) points where chafing might be a problem. The next step was actually raising it to find out if it worked!

Step Three: Mast Base and Raising the Mast

At the base of the “mast,” I tied lines to stabilize the base in all directions—fore, aft, port and starboard. I attached the forestay (spinnaker halyard) to its designated point (the boom’s topping lift) and ran it forward to a block on the bowsprit and back to the cockpit. I tied and tensioned the shrouds and then I slowly began to raise the mast, re-tensioning the shrouds to keep everything in line. Once the mast climbed high enough, I was able to begin “regulating” its stable assent using the back stays. And voila, the mast was up and stable.  One forestay, two backstays and four shrouds—two on either side.

Step Five: Raising The Sail

I couldn’t save the mainsail but I managed to recover both the genoa and the staysail. I also had an asymmetrical on board. It was evident the staysail was going to be the only option for a working sailplan. After some consultation with Mike Danielson of North Sails in PV, the plan was pretty clear: Take the stay sail and invert it; the clew becomes the head, the head becomes the clew. Attach a boom to the luff of the stay sail and the luff becomes the foot. I used a spinnaker pole for the boom. It worked really well down wind!

As Mike said, “You were sailing a Tayana 37… now you’re sailing a Sunfish.” Ultimately, this basic sail plan got me 70 percent of the way to Tahiti. The only other plan I used was basically a traditional lateen rig where the sail is inverted again—the tack becomes the head, the head becomes the tack. The boom was then raised on the mast. That plan worked a little better on a broad reach or slightly into the wind.

At the end of the day, I checked each decision with Mike Danielson. His experience proved invaluable. The rig was stable, the sail plans worked and Quiet (and myself) are recovering in Tahiti, which is the measure of success.

Making a Navigation Plan

Communication to John’s family and friends was another immediate top priority. Word spreads very quickly in the cruising community, and soon John’s story was the talk of every sailing venue throughout the Pacific. I immediately learned of John’s plight from Bill Yergen who, along with his wife Jean, owns the cruising destination Las Palmas in Bahia del Sol, El Salvador, and has been looking after cruisers there since 2010. Another significant advisor was Mike Danielson, of PV Sails in La Cruz, Mexico who is a rigger by profession, and is also a center of the universe for the Mexican cruising community. Mike is well connected to the Coast Guard as well as other official marine agencies.

There was a lot of discussion and consideration about upcoming weather and the possible routes that John could take. Hailing a ship to abandon Quiet and be rescued was not an option for John. Danielson registered a special type of BOLO (Be On The Lookout) with the Coast Guard that advised marine traffic in the region that Quiet is disabled. (Note: BOLOs are commonly used when people and boats are missing, but in this case John wasn’t missing; rather just disabled.)

No Turning Back

Strong adverse easterly winds and current made Mexico, and anywhere east of Quiet’s position an impossibility—especially with a marginal rig. This was a tragedy for me because he was only 600 nm from our boat in Huatulco, Mexico. Instead, he was facing approximately 2,300 miles to his original destination of Hiva Oa—and that’s if he went a direct route. Ultimately, with the wisdom and expertise of Mike Danielson, Bill Yergen and myself (assuming many others), John chose to point his bow towards Tahiti which seemed to have the best weather route and facilities for repair which was approximately 3,300 nm in the distance under a compromised rig.

No Diesel for the Doldrums

To accomplish this, he had to navigate through the infamous ITCZ zone (Intertropical Convergence Zone)—otherwise known as the doldrums. It’s a band of low pressure where the northeast winds from the Northern Hemisphere converge with the southeast winds from the Southern Hemisphere, and usually range between 5 degrees north and 5 degrees south. Knowing that he only had 40 gallons of diesel in his tank posed a huge problem for John insofar as he was approaching the doldrums with minimal fuel. Also, the ITCZ weather zone kept moving and changing size so he had difficulty knowing how to navigate across the Equator.

There was an unspoken concern for John as he essentially wallowed around the 5 degree north location with minimal fuel, confusing weather ahead, excessive engine oil consumption, and only managing 2.5 to 3 knots of speed—on a good day. We were continually monitoring our Marine Traffic sites for any sign of a nearby or passing ship to no avail. I believe that this was John’s darkest time in the voyage, although he continued to be upbeat in our discussions and always had a positive remark. At one stage when we were discussing what food he had left he remarked, “I always did need to go on a diet.”

A Supply Ship in the Night

Suddenly, on the morning of February 16, a giant freighter appeared on the furthest corner of our marine traffic site! The Gaslog Houston is an LNG freighter and was heading right across John’s path to Peru. Danielson contacted the Coast Guard and at nightfall the bright navigation lights of GasLog Houston appeared on the horizon. I can’t imagine the height of John’s emotions as the ship approached and announced on the radio that they’re bringing supplies. This ship could very possibly have saved John’s life.

In the depth of darkness, they managed to tie ship’s lines to Quiet and begin lowering John’s much-needed supplies: 90 gallons of diesel, 30 litres of engine oil, endless amounts of pasta, rice, fruit, vegetables, chicken, juice, eggs, milk and a lot of drinking water. There was so much food that his cockpit was overflowing and he had trouble accessing the steering wheel to move away from the ship. It took four hours to store these treasured provisions, and he admits to still finding traces of their generosity in cabinets. The captain kindly also asked whether John needed medications, and anything else? Beer? John declined the beer as he didn’t want to appear greedy, but admits that it wasn’t long before he regretted that final decision. As John was stowing his supplies I received a note saying, “So much for my diet!”

This new lease on life allowed John to motor sail as needed in his intended direction towards Tahiti. Three additional vessels subsequently came to John’s rescue throughout this next section of the voyage: Oatmeal Savage, Star Maia and Pegasus. They were all incredibly generous and gracious, providing some company and healthy comic relief.

Equator Crossing

Crossing the equator is always a monumental event, and John maximized his celebration to the fullest. John comes from a family with deep nautical backgrounds. He proudly states that his father, brother, cousin, nephew and uncle were all graduates of the U.S. Naval Academy. John has honored his late and highly respected father by spreading his ashes in various significant locations throughout his multi-year voyage: the Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, Panama Canal, North Pacific, and ultimately across the equator at midnight, while sipping a special selection of Johnny Walker scotch.

Arrival in Tahiti

John finally arrived in Papeete, Tahiti on Easter Monday, April 21. Boaters and friends from around the world cheered for joy when his anchor was finally set. Sadly, John wasn’t able to celebrate with the same energy and excitement. As he was deploying his anchor, he mistakenly got his hand caught in the anchor chain and ripped off the end of his pinky finger. Imagine! After no mishaps during this heroic 4,000 mile, 100 day voyage, his first casualty takes place on his final maneuver. John was so exhausted, weary and anxious arriving into port after such an extensive time at sea. Note to self: “It’s never over until it’s over.”

Lessons Learned

I truly enjoyed our daily Whatsapp exchanges throughout John’s voyage, and I learned a lot. The following are some take-aways:

1. Positive Outlook

Positive attitude was the definitive factor in John’s success. Once John realized that he was out of immediate danger, he continuously reiterated how he enjoyed the challenge. This was his fate and he was intent on rising to the occasion, as well as testing the extreme limitations of his boat and self.

2. Check Rigging and Chain Plates

John admits that he could have been more vigilant in inspecting the chain plates and boat rigging in general prior to his voyage.

3. Better Engine Preparation

More consideration should be given towards the possible loss of power when preparing for an ocean passage. John’s engine was problematic because it consumed excess oil, and there was also the possibility of not having enough fuel to operate the engine. Therefore, he could have endured a total loss of power.

4. Thorough Contingency Plans

While John provisioned well for a typical ocean passage, he now realizes that a lot of his supplies were dependent on having power. He recommends more freeze-dried and canned foods as backup. He also should have brought extra fuel and had a water catchment system ready to go.

In addition, he realized that revisiting the use of the sextant for navigation, as well as the necessary reduction tables would have been useful.

Conclusion

Finally, John truly cherishes the fact that he never really felt that he was alone. John is overwhelmingly grateful to his family, friends, the cruising community and humanity in general for the support he received through his odyssey.

What’s next for John? Repairing Quiet and making her seaworthy. And then crossing the Pacific to New Zealand and Australia. Nothing is going to take John down. As I said earlier, “He’s a rock!”