With the wind dropping and rain slowing, Rebecca stood eagerly on deck asking what she could do to help. But where do you start to pick up a disaster when everything broken is high overhead or in the water out of reach? I too was at a loss, responding "Tell ME what to do!"
Then the mast section sticking up from the deck jerked sharply to starboard as though it could be twisted out of shape. That marked the starting point. We had already turned downwind to ease the rolling but the jib furler and genoa dragging in the water were still attached to the top of the mast which was also scraping the ocean with each roll of the boat. The sail, having opened like a baleen's mouth, transferred tremendous pressure, torquing what remained of the unsupported rig. It became obvious that the immediate job was to dive into the ocean and cut the genoa halyard free of the dragging and plunging mast tip and pull the toggle pin to free the head stay and genoa furler. But the boat could leave me behind creating an additional unpleasant situation. We looked over the sides and pulled what wet sails and lines we could find inside of the lifelines before starting the engine. Shifting into reverse at idle, the tortured genoa wallowed and collapsed its load of ocean and sat there undulating like a large Dacron jellyfish.

Although Brick House was no longer moving, I wore a life jacket and rope tether for my initial time in the ocean. If I were injured or the boat began to move again, this would give Rebecca a lifeline to me. Later, swim fins without a lifejacket gave me the mobility needed to complete the work.

With the ocean and mast moving in syncopated directions, the work was dangerous and difficult, limiting me to intermittent attempts at freeing the sail hanging from the upside-down mast. The biggest threat was being punched in the head or shoulders by the mast slamming then pulling back from the ocean. I was watchful, but with one plunge I was unable to move quick enough. In nanoseconds, I had the frightening feeling of terrible injury as growing pressure seemed intent to pierce my thigh; but the offending VHF antenna bent like a child's sword leaving me only with a feeling of good luck. As soon as the genoa was freed from the mast, Rebecca stopped the engine and together we hauled the sail and furling gear on board.