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June 30, 2006

New Gallery

There is a new gallery of photos from our trip. Click here to see.

Posted by Michael at 1:41 PM

June 25, 2006

Port Angeles, Washington

The wind was ripping down the Strait of Juan de Fuca at 30 plus knots, like it usually does in the late afternoon. Susanna and I had Bluewater parked at the fuel dock in the small boat harbor waiting for a few fishing boats to leave the guest dock for Ketchikan, Alaska, thus making space for us. We had spent the last two days making our way down the 80 miles from Cape Flattery. As we sat patiently at the fuel dock, thankful that we had talked to the Alaska bound fishermen, discovering that they were leaving within the hour, making it possible for us to park in a spot more than 100 feet long rather than the 38 foot spot amongst the fishing boats. The 53 foot motor yacht Infinity came blasting into the marina. Considering the wind blowing from the west and tight nature of the marina, I thought they where going a bit fast and seemed to be a bit out of control, I commented to Susanna “That must be a local to come in so fast, he must know exactly where he is going.” Just then a nearly frantic voice called from Infinity “Are you going to park there?!?!”

I replied “No, we are just waiting for Windwalker” pointing at the fishing boats “and friends to leave.”

As Infinity started to be blown dangerously close to pilings past the fuel dock and the adjacent boats, the voice called out “we need to park there, we only have one engine!”

In an instant I understood completely. With only one engine, it was very difficult for Infinity to stop. Applying reverse with only one engine functioning would not stop the boat, only change the direction the bow was pointed while at the same time throwing the boat in to a sideways spin, kind of like doing a doughnut in your car. All this was compounded by the fact that Infinitywas being pushed by the 30 knot wind in the exact direction the captain did not want to go.

Infinity’s only option was to use the bow thruster and the working engine to turn the boat around 180 degrees, in her own length, pointing the bow into the wind and using the engine and the wind in opposition to bring the boat to a stop. All the while, the timing for this required the boat being lined up and aside the 60 feet of fuel dock space that we currently occupied! The distance between the fuel dock and the guest dock was approximately 70 feet, leaving Infinity a margin of less than 10 feet fore and aft. At their current speed Infinity had less than 60 seconds to turn around before the wind smashed her into the first piling and set of boats. Then Infinity would have even less time to land on the fuel dock using the wind and the working engine or risk overshooting the fuel dock and having to start all over.

We needed to move immediately! Compounding our position was the fact that Bluewater has a hard time backing up due to the angled exit if the prop, the boat has a tendency to back to starboard (right) rather than in a strait line. We had parked with the fuel dock on the port (left) side of the boat to take advantage of this fact to turn around in the tight marina and point our bow in the prevailing wind. If you drew a curved line starting at us and followed the natural path that Bluewater would take in reverse in less than three boat lengths (about 100 feet) you would find the red and black sea plane that had landed outside the marina and taxied in and parked while we waited on the fuel dock before Infinity’s arrival. If you drew a strait line out of Bluewater’s stern you would see the 200 plus feet of clear water. I had to drive the boat, in reverse, upwind in 30 knots of blow, in a strait line, and I had to do it now!

We jumped aboard, Susanna bringing the bow line, I the stern line and started the engine. I put Bluewater in reverse and immediately she started to back up , the stern angling to starboard. I eased my weight on the rudder and increased the engine revs, the turn in the stern straitened out and we started backing up strait. Part as a result of the counter pressure from my thigh on the rudder and partly from the streamlining effect of the wind blowing from right behind us. We cleared the float plane with a good 50 foot margin and as soon as we could we could we turned to leave the marina. Our little engine had saved the day (again).

Soon enough the fishing boats left and we parked with out incident at the very tip of the guest dock. Once again I silently thanked the man who taught me to drive in tight spots and how to think about it. I must have been listening, because I could hear him in my head telling me how much pressure, how many RPM…thanks Joseph.

We listened to the wind shrieking in the rigging and learned that the Bluewater’s rigging starts to sing at 25 knots. We walked into town, met a jogger who told us about a great Mexican restaurant. After dinner we went back to the boat, showered and slept.

We had come to Port Angeles for internet access and to do some work. A few days later, after a great breakfast at the local hangout we returned to find Bluewater’s dock lines a total mess, usually we leave the extra tails in a decorative coil on the dock, they where in piles. Our nearest neighbor came to tell me an interesting tale.

It seems that a very large tugboat trying to leave the deepest recesses of the marina was having a very hard time getting turned around and out of the marina in the strong winds. The few crews that where around watched nervously as the tug boat came dangerously close to each boat on the guest dock and lead by the crew of Infinity they had untied us in anticipation of the tug nearly smashing into us! Port Angeles was turning out to be a very exciting place.

I went down the dock to thank everyone for watching out for our boat, then to Infinity to thank the crew for being so quick on the draw. I discovered the crew had all but departed, leaving one man, the engineer, behind.

That is how I met Ronald Hamish MacDonald, or as he jokingly said, Ronald MacDonald, saying “McDonald” instead of MacDonald, “But my friends call me Ron.”

Ron is fully responsible for us spending to much time in Port Angeles. I say that with the biggest grin on my face possible. Ron was the engineer for the motor vessel Infinity that was having fuel troubles and was supposed to be headed down the coast to Dana Point, California.

What to say about Ronald Hamish MacDonald? That through his tutelage I am more confidant about marinating our little Duetz Diesel? That he helped us to save hundreds of dollars in repairs that the boat needed through his expertise and willingness to share his knowledge, tools and can do attitude? That his generosity eclipses that of the great saints or should I just let it all boil down to the fact that Ron is one of the most genuine people I have ever met.

We spent the first few days toiling away at the computer while Ron worked on Infinity’s fuel system. At night we would hang out in the amazing luxury of the motor yacht. All I have to say that I have lived in apartments that where smaller than the owners cabin! We watched movies and ate Ron Wraps, a tantalizing mix of tomato, avocado, melted cheese, crushed Doritos and Ron’s special sauce, which I have acquired the recipe for and you will have to pry from my cold dead hands….it is a closely guarded secret.

Each night we would declare that we where leaving the next day for the San Juan islands, then low and behold, the next morning we would wake to fog or a gale warning. One day Ron offered to polish our fuel with the filters he had built to filter the fuel on Infinity. Another day he talked to the folks at the ship yard that had been hired to help with the fuel problem on Infinity and got them to weld our broken engine mount.

The engine mount….
Sounds simple, to weld a small piece of steel, the problem was that to weld it we would have to pull the engine out. I have only ever pulled one engine out of a vehicle and that was 15 years ago with the help of yet another infinitely capable mechanic. Ron took one look at our engine and said, no problem, that will take a few hours and we can have them weld it up by lunch! You know what, he was right. We started in the morning, disconnected the engine from the prop shaft, the exhaust, everything, attached the lift rings to a set of block and tackle off the boom and lifted it right up! Then we pulled out the mount, took it down to the guys who quickly repaired it, then we all put it all back together before quitting time!!!

For those who are inclined to do such things to their engine, this must seem so simple, but to those who are not exactly mechanically inclined it was amazing to see, more amazing to be a major part of the repair. I am now totally confidant about completely removing the engine this winter to grind and paint the areas under the engine and battery bank. Thanks Ron!

We finally departed for the San Juan Islands a few days later, the wind was blowing it’s typical 25-30 knots, it was with a sadness that is the sailors lament, to leave the company of good friends for the horizon and the unknown. Our destination was just across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the San Juan islands, the only problem was that we over slept and missed the tide that would help us. But that’s another story.

Posted by Michael at 4:49 PM | Comments (1)

June 21, 2006

Neah Bay to Port Angeles

This post is a continuation of Astoria to Port Angeles Part I. If you have not read Part I, you can do so here.

The rain started to come down in sheets and the wind started to shriek in the rigging. I really have no idea how hard it was blowing, I just knew that the intensity seemed to be ever increasing. I would ask Susanna to steer for a moment so I could stand over the warm air coming from the engine. We did this in shifts. Then I would watch her struggle with the tiller and her injured shoulder and I would hop back into the cockpit and take over. Our progress toward Cape Flattery was steady. Using the radar to double check our position, I was able to keep the rocks south of Cape Flattery off our starboard beam (right-hand side).

Rounding the cape is an interesting proposition, and in good weather I am told it can be beautiful. But in bad weather the Coast Pilot (a government publication that describes harbors and approaches and the conditions that affect them) warns that it is not uncommon for the intensity of a storm to increase in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and therefore it is advised that ships hold station outside and wait for conditions to improve. The Coast Pilot also advises to be aware of the strong north-setting current that leads into the strait on a flood tide. Add to all that at our current position, some eight miles offshore and 12 miles south of the cape, it was important to cut the corner close, but not too close.

If we rounded the cape too close we ran the risk of getting tangled up in the rocks and reefs that stud the area around Cape Flattery. If we turned to late, we would run the risk of the flood tide and southerly winds pushing us on to the southern shore of Vancouver Island.

With each gust, the boat’s speed over the ground (SOG) as measured by the GPS would surge. Every time we surfed down the front of a wave the SOG would surge again. I could only think that each little bit of extra speed was one that would help us to not be overtaken by the storm.

We often play a little game with Nisa, mostly to tire her out after we have been away from the boat for the better part of the day, it goes a little something like this: I or Susanna will tell the Wonderdog to sit, then lay down, then wait. We both start walking away, leaving her highness behind. After a good 80 to 100 feet, one of us will take off running, this really gets Nisa excited, then when the runner has a good lead, by now more than 200 feet ahead of Nisa, the non-runner will release Nisa with a “Nisa get ‘em!” command. It is like launching a rocket. She runs, then zooms, then she really gets going, chasing the runner. She will blast past the non-runner, ears back and tail uncurled, a blur of white dog, in an almost instant she will have caught the runner and be very excited. Then we start over, the other person running. She thinks this is a wonderful game if it is not too hot out.

It seemed that the storm we were trying to outrun was like trying to outrun Nisa, not possible. And the storm would not just be a happy dog when it passed over us and ran out ahead into the strait.

Using the GPS as a marker, we had created a point for when to turn east into the strait. As we reached this arbitrary waypoint, set north and west of Cape Flattery, I expected the intensity of the storm to increase as it was compressed by the Olympic Mountains to the south and Vancouver Island to the north. We scanned the southern and eastern horizon for the blink-blink of the Cape Flattery light. Nothing. Just darkness. It was not until we had turned east and entered the strait in earnest that we saw the light, by that point off the starboard side and a little behind the beam! (sailor talk for: by that time it was off the right side and a bit behind us!). Clouds and fog obscured the lighthouse at Cape Flattery. It was very reassuring to see the blink-blink telling us that the cape was indeed behind us.

Upon entering the strait we did indeed experience an increase in wave height and wind, but one thing was in our distinct favor: the waves had become more and more regular. Instead of a wave coming from the aft port quarter at 14 feet tall followed by the next from the opposite aft quarter at eight feet tall, the waves inside were consistently 10 to 12 feet tall, all from the same direction and nicely spaced. It was like being at the beach rather than in a washing machine.

As quickly as the waves became regular and equal, the wind started to ease. By 0130, on June 16th, we were safely in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. By 0200 we had Tilly the autopilot hooked up and she was doing a wonderful job of steering us down the middle of the strait. The waves seemed to ease a bit and on the far eastern horizon we could see the moon trying to poke out from under the clouds as it started to rise. The fear and anxiety I felt just hours before dissipated like the fire of wasabi.

As we got the boat settled down and Tilly to steer we let Nisa out of her exile on the v-berth. We had created a nest of pillows and blankets for her and barricaded her there to keep her from trying to come outside into the cockpit. As we rounded the cape, we often looked past the chart plotter to see two little glowing eyes in the darkness, watching us intently. I was happy that earlier we had given her half a Benadryl, to kind of knock her out so she would not be terrified of the motion. Also, I know that she is very attuned to my state of mind and I wanted to shield her from how scared and worried I was. The drugs and the barrier seemed to keep her safely locked up in the forepeak.

Nisa was very glad to join us topside, but she had neither peed nor pooed since Astoria. We had been trying, since before leaving Portland, to get her to use a green, grass-like welcome mat as a poo-spot on deck. Nisa has a command that I have used with her since she was a puppy to do her business, and on land this command works like a charm. On the boat I would show her the mat and give her the command, and she would promptly sit on the mat and look up at me, her eyes clearly communicating: “Not a chance buddy…get a clue!” By now it had been over 40 hours…still, she simply refused.

Now by the light of the moon, with the boat’s motion settled down and more regular, I got the mat and put it on deck right behind the mast, a spot on the boat that has almost no motion. I returned to the cockpit, put Nisa in her red PFD and brought her forward. As we made our way toward the mast her nose started the super-sniff, where you can see that she is scanning left then right then up then down all the while inhaling at what seems to be 100 times a minute. We arrived at the mat and she applied the supper-sniffer technique to the mat, just like she would to the ground before doing her business. I told her what a good dog she was and then I gave the command “Nisa, do your business.” This dog, who is one of the smartest, most cunning problem solvers I know looked at me with the eyes of someone who has not had the chance to pee in almost two days (of her own choice, mind you) sat down on the mat and said “Are you smoking crack? I can smell the land, I’ll just wait.” I gave the command again, “NISA, DO YOUR BUSINESS!” Nothing. “Nisa, it’s ok, just pee, just let it out. Nisa, do your business.” Nothing. I looked around, thinking, well, things are not so bad, I will take off her PFD and then she will do it. I quickly unclipped her PFD and removed it. Nisa stood up and gave a big shake, a shake like a dog who hasn’t shaken in almost two days. At the end of the shake the supper-sniffer was pressed to the mat, back and forth, back and forth. I told her “Do your business, do your business…”

Maybe she had some wires crossed, maybe she thought the plastic grass was a poor imitation. Maybe she didn’t believe me that it was OK to poo and pee on deck. In any case, her canine brain interpreted the do your business command as sit, and that is exactly what she did. She sat on the mat and stared at me as if to say, “No way.”

Time to get a bit devious for her sake. I squatted down next to her, pet her head and again told her she was a good dog and that it was ok, then I reached down to her belly, lightly pressed where her bladder is and told her “Do your business, do your business.” All I got was a low groan, like the sound of bagpipes deflating, a noise she only makes when frustrated. Obviously we were not communicating and obviously she was not going to do her business on the mat no matter what happened.

So I released her, I let her go about doing what she wanted and we both returned to the cockpit. A few moments later she started to tremble and a low tremor seemed to pass through her whole body at regular intervals. To imagine the scene you must feel the rise and fall of the boat under your feet and see the moon trying to poke out from the clearing cloud cover and once in a while catch the glimmer of light on the water. With each rise and fall of the boat Nisa trembled. All I could think of was that she was afraid. I pet her head and scratched behind her ears, trying to comfort her.

At one point I saw a blink of green light out of the corner of my eye. I passed the care of the trembling dog to Susanna and grabbed the binoculars. I scanned the spot in the distance where I had seen the flash and there it was again. Regular and perfect. The entry light to our destination, Neah Bay. I could almost taste the sleep that would cover us all in a few hours. As I turned around to show Susanna, there they were, Nisa trying to squat on the stern deck with Susanna providing a welcome steadying hand to make the rise and fall of the boat more comfortable.

Nisa was doing her business! Finally after 42 hours she was discovering that it was ok to do her business on the deck of the boat. With the risk of providing too much information, let’s just say that she was very, very busy. The trembling had been her outer limit of holding it all in. She let it all out...and my goodness was she busy. Who knew that such a small critter could make so much volume? We seized upon this opportunity to praise her and give her treats and tell her what a good girl she had been, hoping that she would make the connection between doing her business and the praise. The cruel irony of the situation is that in the next hour she would be running through the grass ON LAND, where she wanted to be in the first place.

We turned the corner to enter Neah Bay some 30 minutes later and in no time we were on the dock. It was 0330 and dawn was just starting to crack the darkness on the eastern horizon. As we arrived the mist seemed to be turning to rain and when I jumped off the boat with the stern line I realized why the dock was white. It was covered with slippery-slimy bird poop. After a quick conversation with Susanna that consisted mostly of “This is gross,” we moved the boat to another slip.

Bluewater is a new boat for us, and I had not driven it around very much at all. To make things more interesting the prop comes out the boat at an angle as opposed to straight back, so backing up is a bit of a challenge. I had been thinking that I needed a quiet and mostly empty marina to practice driving around in to get a feel for the boat and the way she handled under power. So there I was, 0400, I had had less than six hours of sleep in the past two days and I needed to move the boat to a less bird-crap-covered dock. I nosed the boat down a different set of docks…more bird crap, I had to back out, motor down another set of docks past still more bird crap. By this time we discovered that the bird crap was concentrated on the docks where boats seem to be unused. At last when we found a slip that was seemingly not surrounded by bird crap, Susanna jumped off with the bow line and almost landed on her butt—it was covered in OLD bird crap that had turned gray!

We had to come up with a new plan. Susanna stayed on the dock and scouted a slip with less bird crap and finally I parked the boat for the third time in 10 minutes. I had gotten the practice that I wanted and Susanna found a spot that was only half covered in bird poop. We had arrived.

The scene before us was almost unreal. Giant trees filled with swirling mist. Mist that changed to rain and back again as I watched. Subtle hues of gray and yellow, a thousand shades of green, and of course the bird poop.

It was now light enough to see without straining. After securing the boat we took Nisa the Wonderdog to shore. She pulled like a champion Iditarod dog for the grass where, much to our amazement, she proceeded to do even more business!

We found a payphone and called my father who was very happy to hear from us. He had been monitoring the weather from his home in Colorado and could not help but be a bit worried that we were out in the blow. It was the end of a long two-day stretch that included some very scary moments. I am sure that in the large scheme of things what we experienced was but a trifle of the power of the North Pacific. May we never feel her full wrath from the deck of our little sailboat.

After the quick call to Colorado, with a promise to call again after a nap, a long nap, we headed back to the boat. On the dock we asked a local fisherman if there was a place to get a bite to eat so early in the morning, now just before 0500. He told us that there was indeed such a place, just a short walk away.

We returned Nisa to the boat, where the interior looked as if a team of FBI, DEA and ATF guys had been looking for contraband. There were onions and potatoes in the bilge, books on the floor, boxes of boat parts blasted open and spread to and fro. Shoes in our bed and the box of Nisa’s kibbles was wedged in between the mast and the settee. The boat was trashed from the washing machine we had endured. We carved a space out for Nisa, closed the hatch and trotted down the road to the only place in town that was open for breakfast.

I have never been too tired to finish a meal until that day. About halfway though my breakfast it hit me like cricket bat smashing me in the chest. I was exhausted. Too tired to even chew my food. We asked for the bill, packed the remaining breakfast in to-go containers and all but staggered back to our boat. We carved out a space for ourselves alongside Nisa, who barely looked up at us, and fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

When we awoke it was 1430 (2:30 p.m.), the sun was shining and the experience of rounding the cape some 12 hours earlier seemed like a passage in some book, something that had happened to someone else. It was hard to believe that we had rounded Cape Flattery under radar and GPS while running from the throat of brewing storm, but there we were, NEAH BAY!

You might be wondering where the storm was, and why no crappy weather in Neah Bay? Like most southerlies, it continued to track north and had moved on by midday leaving behind the swell and blue skies. We wondered if we should have hove off (sailed away from the dangers of the coast) and waited for the very conditions we were seeing now, we came to the conclusion that given the level of fatigue between us we would have been in a much more precarious position to round the cape with exhaustion crushing us like a million gallons of seawater. I have to give a tremendous amount of credit to Susanna, it was she who had the level head to say trust the instruments (the GPS-chart plotter and radar). She told me stories about being a pilot and how sometimes your senses are deceived, but the compass always points north.

We spent two more days in Neah Bay, the first putting the boat back together and touring the Makah Heritage Museum and the second waiting out the 40-knot winds in the strait that had kicked up in the wake of the passing low-pressure systems. While putting the potatoes back in their bag and the books back on the shelf, we found half a little pink pill, half the Benadryl, that we had given, rather tried to give, to Nisa when things got crazy. That poor pooch was fully awake and aware. No wonder I would always see her gleaming eyes staring at me in the darkness that night.

The night before our departure we left the marina and anchored out. The next morning we were able to raise the anchor under sail and leave without the use of our engine, our goal being to sail as much as possible. Soon we found ourselves in the Strait of Juan de Fuca under genoa alone, running (a point of sail where the wind blows from directly behind the boat) in 20 to 25 knots of wind and six-foot seas with the windvane steering a perfect course and keeping our speed at about six knots. We were so amazed that the vane did such an beautiful job we quickly needed a name for her. We decided that Wanda the Wonder Windvane was a great name. Then a few hours later we remembered that Wanda is the name of the previous owner’s wife! Perfect!

The strait was beautiful, delimited to the north by the mountains at the southern end of Vancouver Island and to the south by the Olympic Mountains. All the guides and the Pilot books talk about the heavy traffic from tankers, freighters and cruise ships, but we had the whole place to ourselves. Not another boat in sight.

Our destination was Port Angeles, some 80 miles to the east. We covered the distance in two days, spending the night anchored behind Pillar Point and again started our day under sail. We sailed all the way to the inside of Ediz Hook, which creates the naturally protected harbor of Port Angeles.

The small boat harbor sits at the far end and, with our 180-degree turn, the wind that had pushed us down the strait was now on our nose. Being late afternoon it blew a strong 30 to 35 knots, so after turning around the point we began to douse the sails. I was amazed to look up from dropping the mainsail to see the m/v Coho, a large ferry that goes between Port Angeles and Victoria, B.C., coming towards us at full steam. At that moment the ferry made her 90-degree turn to starboard (right) and passed like a moving wall just abeam of us (right next to us). It all seemed perfectly normal to the ferry driver, but it was a bit close for my comfort. As I watched the ferry move into the harbor, she passed even closer to the tanker Polar Discovery (read more about the future of oil tankers here) and just in front of a salmon troller. The driver of the Coho seemed very comfortable weaving in and out of the harbor traffic.

We motored to the entrance of the small boat harbor and poked our nose into one of the tightest fingers of water I had ever seen. There was one spot left at the guest dock, but it looked woefully short, combined with the wind that was blowing a solid 30 knots. We tied up at the nearby fuel dock intending to walk around and pace off the space to make sure that we actually fit. The space was 6.5 paces, just over 38 feet. We are almost 37 feet long. WOW. I was glad that I had so much practice parking the boat in Neah Bay. Walking back to the fuel dock we met the crew of the fishing vessel, Windwalker. The captain had seen me pacing off the distance and told us that he and his flotilla, four boats total , were leaving shortly. The 38-foot space would become more than 100 feet after their departure. I was up to the challenge of parking in such a tight spot, but even more excited about not having to stress about parking in such a small spot.

The fuel dock was closed for the day, so all we had to do was wait for Windwalker and the other boats to leave and we would have no problems, even with the wind screaming through the marina. We wandered back to Bluewater to wait.

As we waited and the fishing crews prepared to depart for their four-day nonstop run to Ketchikan, we watched a large power boat come in to the marina really, really fast. Much too fast for conditions, seemingly almost out of control. I looked at Susanna and said, “Wow, he must be local to be going that fast; he must really know what he is doing and where he is going!” Just then a nearly frantic voice called to us, “Are you going to park there?!?!”

I replied, “No, we are just waiting for Windwalker and friends to leave,” pointing to the fishing boats.

As the power boat was being pushed sideways toward pilings and other parked boats at an alarming speed by the leftover momentum and the strong winds, nearly out of control, the voice said:

“We need to park there, we only have one engine!”

Posted by Michael at 4:57 PM | Comments (0)

June 16, 2006

Astoria to Neah Bay

We left Astoria, Oregon, on the very tail end of the ebb tide at 0730 the morning of June 14, 2006. It was raining. The Columbia River Bar lay 13 miles downstream. Classified as a “Specially Hazardous Area” by the National Transportation and Safety Board, in fact, the Columbia River Bar is the only such classified area in the whole of the United States.

The river current gave us a speed of just over 11 knots over the ground. That put us on the bar at 0900 during the slack and at the end of small craft advisory for rough bar conditions issued by NOAA that morning. It was disconcerting to see that outside the main channel the infamous breakers were rolling on and on, they seemed to be stacked beyond the horizon, I was relieved to see that they where not breaking into the channel (as the NOAA forecast predicted). As we started over the Bar, we listened to the forecast again. It had been updated just minutes before and the small craft advisory for rough bar conditions had been extended until 1100 hours. At this point the waves were small, 2 to 4 feet and pretty regular. We talked to the Coast Guard station at Cape Disappointment, and while they can not give an offical report on conditions, and they unofficially reported 4-foot waves. So onward we pressed. It was a short few miles to the open ocean and the ability to turn northward for Cape Flattery. What a few miles it would turn out to be.

The waves grew larger and larger and more and more confused. They came at us from every point forward of the beam. Over the next 2 hours we slowly made our way through the wiggle and giggle of the washing machine agitate cycle in which we found ourselves. At the height of the excitement the waves stacked up to over 15 feet and so steep that every other one seemed to crash over the bow and send piles of green water rushing past the cockpit in a whoosh. Every heave-ho and tussle knocked things out of lockers and off of shelves down in the cabin.

At one point Susanna asked me if I had been in such rough water. I lied and said. “Oh sure, much worse.” In truth I have sailed in bigger seas, faster winds and pushier current, just not all at the same time. The reality was that I have not seen so much water crashing and rushing towards me since last time I ran a chunk of Class V river in my kayak. I can attest to the simple fact that it is even scarier when the boat is 36 feet long and displaces 14 tons.

In the end we were only a little shaken and stirred by the crossing of the Columbia River Bar. Our nerves more pressed upon than anything. The boat handled the confused seas better than our heart rates did. The most remarkable thing about crossing the bar was the change from fresh green water rushing out of the river to the rhythmic blue gray of the north pacific. It was not a subtle change but rather an abrupt line that was crossed like some border between countries. Yet another time when I wished I had a small digital camera in my pocket…

Once out on the ocean the swell was as predicted, 5 feet every 15 seconds. Almost flat. We took a few moments to catch out breath and marvel at the mess made below decks by the washing machine effect of the waves. Then we hoisted the yankee, staysail and main and off we went. We had been cautioned by several fishermen and local sailors that it was best to reach the 20 fathom line (that’s 120 feet; a fathom is 6 feet) before turning north. So we sailed. Zoom, zoom. Bluewater took off like a shot and in no time we were making over 8 knots under sail alone and headed northwest to put some room between us and the coast.

As the sun set at 2230, we marveled that we could see so much light coming from the shore. When total darkness enshrouded us we stared, mesmerized at the aft rail. The keel and rudder churned up so much phosphorescence that it seemed some one had lit a green light under the water and behind the boat.

Over the next four hours the wind steadily weakened, until at 0230, while I was standing in the rain and getting cold, it died. Susanna had been resting for a few hours when I went below to wake her and apologize for what I was about to do.

Our small boat has an even smaller engine. It is a mighty engine though, full of vigor and reliability. However, the fact that the engine is air cooled also means that it is LOUD!!! But it is also WARM. God forbid we ever have to motor someplace in the tropics. Talk about a sauna. As I mentioned it was raining, the wind was not blowing and I was cold. So putt-putt-putt we went across the ocean enshrouded in darkness and fog with heat radiating from our engine and Tilley the autopilot steering a faithful course to the north. Susanna took over the watch and Nisa and I laid down in the forepeak and slept for 2.5 half hours. When I woke Susanna was snoozing on the settee, the clock cradled in her arms. The sun streamed through the windows and it looked like the wind was starting to blow.

I rubbed Susanna’s arm to wake her and she just lay there. I gently shook her shoulder and she just lay there. My mind started to race. Carbon monoxide poisoning? No it couldn’t be, her lips were not bright red. Dead asleep? I hoped not, she was keeping watch. I shook her firmly and called her name loud enough to be heard over the din of the engine. She sat up with a gasp, like a swimmer returning to the surface from a dive that was just a bit to long. All was well she had been using the clock to nap, getting up to check the horizon every 10 to 15 minutes.

We spent the day trading time at the tiller, as we could not get the wind vane to work. We needed hose clamps which I had neglected to retrieve from their home under the cockpit, so we elected to trade off the tiller every hour or so. About 1330, I turned over the helm to Susanna and laid down for some more sleep. (At this time I had slept a total of 2.5 hours since Astoria, and the night before we left I had slept a total of 4 or 5 hours). I nestled down in the lee cloth with the Wonderdog and fell deeply asleep. I awoke about 40 minutes later to the boat screaming along. I got up to check on Susanna and discovered her using all her strength to wrestle with the tiller. The boat was over-canvassed.

There are natural-born helms people. They sit down at a tiller or stand behind the wheel of a sailboat and steer a straight and fast course, which is exactly what Susanna did. Not an easy feat in the building seas and increasing winds. Bluewater had too much sail up, so instead of being easy to steer with only slight adjustments needed here and there, the tiller was a giant stick pushing and pulling against Susanna.

The next 3.5 hours became a giant game of catch-up. We needed to reduce the sail area on the boat, at the same time we didn’t want to stop our northward progress toward Cape Flattery by taking too much sail down and thus reducing our possible maximum speed.

Reducing sail was also compounded by the fact that Susanna had wrenched her shoulder while helming the boat as the seas and winds increased (our chiropractor-wizard friend Tami thinks she pulled a rib). It was up to me to go forward and put another tuck in the main or staysail and finally to pull down the yankee. As we reduced sail, the seas began to increase remarkably, their height and confusion seemed to be whipped into a frenzy by the setting sun. In hindsight I think the reason for this was that we were passing over the edge of the continental shelf as the wind speeds increased. I between one of the many sail changes that afternoon I listened to the weather again and was very surprised and a bit more than unnerved to hear the calm computer voice call for a small craft advisory for hazardous winds and seas beginning at 2300 hours. A mere 4 hours away, we were already feeling the beginnings of the renewed blow. NOAA was calling for 30 to 35-knot winds and seas building to 11 to 15 feet with 4 to 6-foot wind waves.

Looking at our position, I calculated that at our current pace of 4 knots we could expect to round the cape at 0330, on my birthday, in the middle of a nasty blow. The weight of all weather at sea, all wind and waves, rain and fog is compounded by the coming of darkness. And like some Orwellian terror the night was not coming with the usual fiery display of light and clouds, but rather the darkness oozed in, stealing color and vibrancy from everything, even our bright red and green navigation lights seemed to be powerless against the dark. Our world rapidly became a palette of grays, then blacks, then the only light seemed to come from our chart plotter, reporting our slow progress northward. The storm seemed to even chase away the green fire of the phosphorescent plankton in our wake. The only good thing about the darkness was I could no longer see the large seas coming for us. With Susanna’s injury I was taking the bulk of the tiller time. As darkness set in and the wind really started to blow, the seas became ever more confused. I was scared. Not shake in my boots crap my pants scared. It was like the fear that I have experienced kayaking. A combination of wondering what would happen if something went wrong, only this time it was not only myself I felt that I was putting in danger, but also Susanna and Nisa.

If something happened to me, I would be OK with that. I know the risks and I have chosen to take them. If something happened to Susanna or Nisa I would carry a chain of regret a mile long. I had crazy images flying through my head. Even though we were more than 20 miles offshore I had visions of our boat being dashed on the rocks just south of Cape Flattery, or being pushed into the rugged southern shore of Vancouver Island. These thoughts were crazy! I was scared and scared was the result of TIRED and COLD.

It was Susanna who was level-headed. Rightly she pointed out that Bluewater could take WAY more than we were throwing at her, that she was fine and that Nisa had, at my request been given half a Benadryl and seemed to be conked out just in front of the mast on the v-berth. We looked at the options: run off the coast and into the storm and tough it out where there was nothing to hit (not counting our heads on the ceiling of the boat) or turn on the engine, crank our speed up to 6 knots and use all the tools available to us, GPS, radar, digital charts, depth sounder, kick-ass binoculars, eyes, ears, noses and brains.

Brmmm, Brrmmm went the engine and off we went at 6.2 knots. With additional power, we would round Cape Flattery around 0100, still in the blow but sooner than later. My world was reduced to the screen of the chart plotter, switching between the radar and chart views every few minutes. The rain came first, then the wind, but it didn’t matter, we were headed toward calmer waters at our best and most comfortable speed.

TO BE CONTINUED

Posted by Michael at 1:39 PM | Comments (4)

June 12, 2006

Windows…

Detailed view of the forecast for 36 hours from now - Image taken from Unisys Weather

We have sat here in Astoria, Oregon for the past few weeks stewing in the marina waiting for the northwest wind to exhaust herself. Tonight a 945 millibar low-pressure system will move in on the coast and join with another low and make some rain. If you lived here, all you would notice is that the last 2 days that have been so nice and sunny have once again given way to the gray skies, wind and rain.

The wind and rain mean much more for us. The change in the weather means that we will be able to sail up the coast rather than bash up the coast. Our next official stop will be Port Angeles, Washington, with a possible stop in Neah Bay at the very northwestern tip of the continental United States.

Marina-itis is a condition from which voyagers suffer when they have spent too much time in a marina. I have marina-itis bad. Last night we took the boat out for a short sea trial to make sure that she was rigged right. My symptoms seemed to be soothed as we ran up river against the ebb current making 2-3 knots over the ground (this means that the boat was probably sailing at 4-5 knots, but working against a 2-knot current). Sailing a cutter rig is a new experience, as we worked our way up river wing-and-wing, the advantages were obvious. As we short-tacked back down the river the difficulties became apparent.

The following is for those sail-minded folk…just skip if you’re not interested in the technical details of the rig.
The Yankee (a high-footed jib) is difficult to move through the slot between forestay and the innerstay, though the power of the rig on a reach and running is amazing, short tacking while on a beat is a challenge. Under Yankee and staysail alone, on a broad reach in 8-10 knots of wind the boat made 5 knots over the ground. This was at slack tide, so there was no tidal current adding or subtracting from our speed over the ground. Running upstream against a 2-knot current wing-and-wing we easily made 2-3 knots. All without the driving force of the main!

Nisa and Peanut Butter Jar - The Essence of Joy - Photo by Michael Sharp

Nisa was an incredibly happy dog a few nights ago when we finished a jar of peanut butter and let her lick out the last bits. If I am to be totally honest, I leave a fair amount of last bits for her. I never really try to scrape out everything. Nisa seemed to think that sailing was ok. She was not very happy about all the hubalu of setting the sails, as there is a fair amount of flapping and slapping. Though once we got underway, she started to smile again and even wag her tail. Though the tail wagging was most likely a result of the dog biscuit that I was holding.

I have a plan to get her to love sailing. I am going to always have biscuits in my pocket when we go sailing. That way she will associate sailing with biscuits and think that sailing is great. Though I seriously doubt that there will be much work to do with Nisa, she seemed pretty happy about the whole situation.

The trip up the coast should be a very comfortable ride. The wind is predicted to blow from the south and southwest, meaning that Bluewater will be on her most comfortable point of sail for the whole trip. We will leave Astoria on the last part of the ebb tide (think of the ebb as the tide returning to the sea) arriving at the bar as the tide is at its slack low. By the time the tide turns we will be out in the vast Pacific making our way off shore, then turning north for Cape Flattery.

The trip is just over 210 miles by the time we have gained the sea room that we need. It should take us 30 to 40 hours to sail up the coast.

Michael lashing water jugs to the foredeck - Photo by Susanna Sharp

I was thinking about how Susanna and I are on the same trip but will have very different experiences. I look at leaving the marina and the narrow channel of the Columbia River with its strong tides and currents for the ocean with relief. Finally we will be able to really sail the boat—to see how she handles and what she is capable of. I will not be worried about running aground on the shifting sands, the HUGE container ships that cruise down the channel at 15 knots and the various other obstructions of the river.

Susanna has never been to sea, is concerned that she will be seasick, has never sailed at night and never been out of sight of land. I have never met someone who stands up to the unknown like my wife. She is about to do something totally new, after having spent the last 6 weeks where each day brings something totally new and out of her realm of experience, she not only continues to smile and be a source of light and laughter, she is rarely if ever frustrated. The only thing that seems to get her (as it gets Nisa and me) is when it rains for several days in a row.

We are making our final preparations and discovering that just like the house, there is never a point where everything is done. It is just done enough and time to go.

Posted by Michael at 7:22 PM | Comments (5)