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July 12, 2006

Norris the Crabman

Darin on the Boom - Photo Michael Sharp

Darin sat on the end of the boom, which extended as far to the starboard side as possible. I stood in the cockpit working the tiller, hoping his weight applied to the end of a lever would help us get off the sand I had driven onto moments earlier. A certain fate awaits an eager man in shallow water, I was glad it was not me. Let me explain. Everyone runs aground, it happens, you hope when you do it is soft and on a rising tide, and, as in this case, with a favorable current. I drove into the sand as a result of not zooming in all the way on the chart plotter.

While motoring through a notoriously shallow area at low tide on our return to Westcott Bay for another round of delicious mussels, I looked down at the depth finder to see the numbers 14, 13, 12, 10 in rapid succession. Quickly I put the engine in reverse, 9, 8, shudder, slide, stop. I shifted to neutral to stop the prop from turning. The depth sounder settled at 4. Bluewater draws just over 6, but call it 7 to be safe. A quick check of the prop confirmed it was in no danger. I saw the bottom, just 4 feet below the water's surface, composed of sand and grass and not rocks…whew.

Well crap, I thought to myself. I put the engine in reverse, gave it a lot of throttle…nothing…no way was Bluewater going to budge. We were stuck; all we can do was wait. At least the tide was rising, having just been LOW. The current was pushing us towards deeper water, I sent Darin out on the boom and there we sat.

No more than five minutes later, another boat rounded the same corner. Instead of making the turn too late as I did, he made it too early. He ran aground, too, though on a rock that sits just a few feet below the surface. So far so good. All he needed to do was wait…wait for the tide to rise. His fate was sealed when, while listing 20 degrees to starboard, he gunned the engine into reverse. I swear I could hear the battle between the prop and the rock. In any encounter between prop and rock, the rock wins. I could hear the chewing noises, the distinct sound of metal being ground into little bits. Unfortunately, fate, or eagerness placed him on the rocks everyone was trying to avoid.

I don’t know if he would have been OK if he had just waited for the tide to rise. I do know that as we started to float off the sand, the depth sounder reporting 5 then 5.5, he was towed off his rock, sans prop, by a salvage company. I am fairly certain that it was a charter boat. What a way to spend vacation…stuck on a rock in a plastic boat. I was just happy that if it had to happen to us, it was in a soft spot, and I was doubly thankful that ’Blue is made of steel, thick steel.

As we sat there, several people came by with offers of assistance. “Nope, we’ll just wait for the tide, thanks though,” was my response. Until the man with the Big Red Zodiac came around to check up on us. Darin instantaneously recognized the Texas drawl. There is a camaraderie among Texans. They seem to feel a common bond, like foreigners in a strange land.

Norris recently retired to San Juan Island and was in love with it. This particular morning he was setting his daily crab traps. After a bit of a visit he promised to find us later and bring some fresh crab. Then he zoomed off with his traps and a smile.

A while later we floated off the sand and motored into Westcott Bay. Finding a spot near where we anchored the week before, we settled down and sent Darin off to the shellfish farm at the head of the bay. The mussels ended up being a flop. Gluttony got the better of us. Too many mollusks in too small a pot.

Wescott Bay Sunset - Photo by Susanna Sharp

As the sun was setting, true to his word Norris returned in the Big Red Zodiac with three dogs and full crab traps. After tossing back all but the bigger males – it is illegal to keep females and self defeating to eat the smaller males – we had half a dozen tasty critters destined for the pot. Norris showed us an interesting way to deal with crabs.

Norris the Crabman - Photos by Susanna and Michael Sharp
Click to Enlarge

You can cook crabs whole, though there will be a bit of work to get the sweet meat out of the shell. Norris showed us a better method: Find the meanest crab in the bunch. You can easily tell which one that is because he attacks your hand as you reach into the bucket. Quickly grab him from behind and turn him upside down. An upside down crab is a sleepy crab. Once the crab has settled down, with the crab’s belly up and crab eyes pointing at you, take the legs in your hands, left legs in left hand, right legs in right hand, spread the legs, holding them like handles. Find a hard edge (we used the toe rail of Bluewater), line up the sharp edge with the leading edge of the carapace and take a big swing. THWACK! This swift motion shears the carapace off the crab. Twist the legs of the topless crab in opposite directions and shake. Crab innards will fly everywhere. Rinse in salt water and toss in a pot. When the pot is full, fill it with seawater and Old Bay seasoning and cook until the legs turn pink.

We whiled away the night under a perfect blanket of stars and talked of the ocean and adventures past. Eventually it was time for Norris and the dogs to return home. With promises to keep in touch, Norris zoomed off through the dark anchorage calling out “YeeeHaaa…!” from his Big Red Zodiac.

Posted by Michael at 3:52 PM | Comments (0)

July 11, 2006

Orcas & Sucia Islands

East Sound Dock and Bluewater - Photo Susanna Sharp

July 7, 2006
Orcas Island is the shape of saddle, and we sailed up the middle through a mile-wide finger of water called East Sound (not to be confused with the small town of Eastsound situated at the top of the saddle). This took half a day from Friday Harbor. We dropped anchor just a few yards off shore from the little Eastsound municipal dock. The perfect anchorage is like this: empty, quiet, calm and a no more than a brief row to shore in the dinghy. Extra points if the shore has a carless expanse of loveliness where Nisa can play and run.

We chose Eastsound for a mail and passenger pickup, arriving with no time to spare before the post office closed for the weekend. Ashore, we verified the direction of town with a man who then offered us a ride. Racing the clock, we accepted and hopped in. Our guidebook says the village is a 15-minute walk from the dock. About two minutes and four very short blocks later, we arrived at the post office. [*Learning Moment*: We discovered the guidebook's "15 minutes" usually means five, a "mile" typically translates to a matter of blocks and a "strenuous hike" is never that!] That afternoon, Michael's friend Darin arrived at the little Eastsound airport, just a short walk from town. I'd been looking forward to having him on Bluewater, knowing that a guest aboard for 10 days would force us to keep a tidier space.

We love little artsy Eastsound. The town sits in the middle of Tourist Central without being the primary destination for most visitors to this island, who instead flock to the ferry-serviced town of Orcas Landing, miles away. With only a dinghy dock, Eastsound effectively limits boater traffic to vessels that must anchor and that don't require shore power or water. In town, we found fabulous food, great shops, helpful people, a large artist community and a small farmer's market.

Nisa and I especially loved to roam the trails and race through the bright fuchsia sweetpea meadows of Madrona Point, a preserved ancient burial ground of early residents. It was only after our last walk that I saw the "No Dogs" sign...oops (sorry, Madrona Point, but Nisa loves you anyway). We left Eastsound the next day. Our stay was short but memorable--yet another one of those places we visited and said "oh yeah, we could live here."

Our destination, Crescent Bay, is a short jaunt halfway down East Sound. We could have been there in an hour, but used the luxury of time and gorgeous weather to practice man-overboard drills. We tossed a buoy into the water and retrieved it with a few different approaches. Not so difficult on a beautiful, sunny day with little wind. But still good to practice. May we never need to use these skills in earnest.

July 8 & 9
I'd recommend Rosario Resort to anyone. Built originally as a family mansion, the resort today is much like one might imagine a leisurely family resort in the Catskills in the 1950s (I have this image in mind a la Dirty Dancing). Badminton, croquet and horseshoes beckon from the sprawling lawns that surround a long reflecting pool, a large outdoor swimming pool and a cafe, all connected by flat gravel paths. Deer wander the grass at all hours. Crescent Bay itself is privately owned by the resort, so by simply being there boaters must pay the moorage fee, whether or not you pick up one of their mooring balls (if you come ashore, they'll charge for anchoring as well). We generally prefer to anchor so as to avoid any fees at all, but such places deserve an exception because of what moorage gets you. For $25, our crew of three accessed the amenities of the resort. This includes all the aforementioned perks as well as the spa inside the mansion building: a big Jacuzzi tub, an even bigger hot pool, a sauna, showers and all the clean fluffy towels you'll ever need. We spent two nights lounging around and wandering the grounds.

It was here, too, that we first tested Nisa's ability to stay alone on the boat without being shut inside. She's not a swimmer, but we still worried about her jumping off the boat in order to follow us as we rowed away in the dinghy. Once she could no longer see us, however, she went to her spot on the bow and sniffed at the world around her, obviously glad to be outside. This made us very happy, because now we could trust her alone and outside for short periods. In busy areas we don't risk it for fear someone might like her a little too much and try to take her--not something we really believe will happen, but we'd rather not take any chances.

The nice people at Rosario Resort agreed to accept a UPS package for us, so here is where we received our package from Shred Alert, a hat company that aims to warm the lids of adventurers. They enthusiastically sponsored us with a large selection of hats that should warm us well through an Alaska winter.

July 10
So much to explore on Orcas Island, yet so much EVERYWHERE. We continued on to Sucia Island, one of the jewels of the San Juan Islands, extra special because it is inaccessible to the general public. One must arrive by boat or private seaplane. We anchored with about a dozen other boats in Echo Bay just in time for a gorgeous pink sky above Mt. Baker on the mainland.

Nisa with Mount Baker - Photo by Michael Sharp

Nisa and I went for a long walk on shore, following one of the many trails that criss-cross the island. Wandering together through the woods made us nostalgic for home. We so enjoy the times we can really roam with Nisa, and this was one of those. She loves to chase squirrels and birds, and they love to taunt her. It's a win-win arrangement. The trail winds through trees and berry bushes around the perimeter of one side of Sucia, pops out at little beach strewn with driftwood and shells and continues on to the far eastern shore of the island where we could see across the busy shipping lanes of the Strait of Georgia toward Bellingham.

Echo Bay is where we began experiencing what we call "dinghy envy." Bluewater came with her own inflatable dinghy, well loved with several patches and a thwart (cross-piece) with a slow leak. It didn't row particularly well, and we didn't dare test its capacity with more than two adults and Nisa. In Echo Bay we met a man zooming around the anchorage in a beautiful little hard sailing dinghy and we wanted our own. As with any major purchase, we weighed the pros and cons and put off any action for later. In the meantime, our dinghy works just fine. The guys named it Stubby, Jr., as a nod to a particular boat they both remember from their days together as raft guides. Darin spent a good deal of time in it because, try as he might to use his visit as an opportunity to quit smoking, he failed. Every time the urge hit, rain or shine, he climbed into the dinghy, rowed a good distance away from the boat, and smoked to his heart's content often under an umbrella.

Darin and Michael Head to Shore - Photo by Susanna Sharp

Darin slept in Nisa's bed, aka the settee and the spot where, offshore, one of us sleeps with a lee cloth holding us snug in place. On a day-to-day basis, this spot is our "couch" and Nisa's preferred sleeping place. Nisa was relegated to her only two other options: the cabin sole (floor) or on the bed with us. She seems not to mind much, as with that change also came another pair of hands for petting.

Darin and Nisa - Photo by Susanna Sharp

The following day we sailed up and around the top and west side of Orcas Island--timing our morning with the speediest of currents and topping 10 knots over the ground--and back to San Juan Island to introduce Darin to the fabulous mussels we'd found in Westcott Bay.

Posted by Susanna at 8:40 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

July 7, 2006

San Juan Island Part I

We had every intention to depart Port Angeles with the early flood tide on Saturday, July 1. At the 4am alarm, we were barely conscious of thinking awwww, we're so sleepy...just a few more hours. We left five hours later, give or take, and that was the day we learned to truly respect the tides and currents. Our transit to San Juan Island--across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, northward along the Canadian border and up Haro Strait into Westcott Bay--took 10 hours, more than double what it should have, as we clawed our way ALL DAY against a speedy head current. The boat made five to six knots over the water, which translated to a measly two to three knots over the ground against that pesky current. After that day, we really paid attention to our tide and current tables.

July 1, 2, 3
Westcott Bay, San Juan Island. This place certainly vied for a top spot among our San Juan anchorages, but it's impossible to name a favorite. Every corner we round brings a host of new experiences and every place wins for different reasons. On our arrival at the beginning of the holiday weekend, Westcott Bay and its neighboring Garrison Bay teemed with boats of all shapes and sizes. Giant motor yachts rafted with smaller yachts, sailboats and trawlers.

Just a taste of the rafting craziness!!!

We counted as many as a dozen tied together in a row, each boat with its own dinghy tender floating behind it. Some had extras: tethered kayaks and canoes and floating tubes. We chose a spot behind Bell Point, still in close company with others, but at least visually apart from the craziness in Garrison Bay. Nearby, we had a sweet little beach where we could take Nisa. This is where we first inflated our dinghy and mounted the outboard. We learned quickly of nearby Roche Harbor's nightly tradition of shooting a cannon and lighting fireworks at sundown. A cacophony follows as all boaters within earshot of the cannon blast sound horns to celebrate the end of another great day.

After the passage from Oregon and a long a stay in Port Angeles, we felt like the vacation, island-hopping, sailing-for-the-fun-of-it portion of our voyage had really just begun. This is, I think, why our time there remains so memorable. Meals in particular. My first attempt to use the pressure cooker resulted in a fabulous concoction (thus far an anomaly in my shipboard cooking) that we dubbed "Westcott Bay Beans." (I recorded my recipe for later and, for whatever reason, I have yet to duplicate the meal as I made it that day). I don't know if it really was that good or if we were just famished, but Michael talked about that meal for days. We slept long and hard that night, our day of slogging having taken its toll. In the morning, I made a very successful coffee cake, only the second baking experiment after Michael's birthday cupcakes. I couldn't wait for him to try his French bread recipe. We poked around the boat most of the first day, shook out and sunned our bedding, cleaned up our lines, washed the floors and read about our surroundings. The u-pick Westcott Bay shellfish farm sold mussels at four dollars a pound from a clean-water-flushed tub system that exempted them from the red tide locally in effect (a red tide means shellfish are unsafe for eating). We bought three pounds and I took Nisa for a hike while Michael made dinner. When we reached the shore nearest the boat, we called for a ride.

"Bluewater, Bluewater, Bluewater, this is Admiral Wonderdog."
"Admiral, this is Bluewater. The sleigh is on its way."

Nisa became very excited when Michael dinghied over to pick us up. She loved motoring around in the small boat. That's when I took one of my favorite photos.

Susanna's Favorite Picture thus far.

Dinner awaited. Michael steamed the whole lot of mussels in cooking sherry with sautéed onions, garlic and bacon, and we ate it all with a few bottles of cheap Belgian beer we'd hung over the side to chill. We wrapped it all up with Milano cookies and tea for dessert as we watched the sun set across the bay. The cannon blasted, more noise followed with a smattering of fireworks as night fell, then total silence. We sat under the stars and crescent moon and agreed it had been the perfect day. We decided that if we ever win the lottery we'd like a little cabin in that bay with a small sailboat moored just off shore.

Yummy!

We explored nearby British Camp, breaking to picnic and nap on the former parade grounds, a supremely nappable spot if there ever was one. British Camp, and American Camp on the opposite side of the island, comprise San Juan Island National Historical Park. The camps existed in the mid-19th century when both nations claimed possession of the island. They occupied opposite sides of it more or less peacefully until an American settler shot a British pig in his garden. Great hoopla ensued, both sides beefed up their forces, naval ships arrived, there was big talk of battle and then...nothing happened. The incident became known as the "Pig War," which some may recall from grade school history lessons. There was no war and the pig was the only casualty, but it all makes for a great story and a lesson in making a whole lot out of nothing really. Several buildings from British Camp remain well preserved, the formal garden has been restored and trails exist to sites of the officers' quarters and the camp cemetery. Periodically visitors find bits of china, tools or buttons and leave them with the on-site rangers, who display the collection in the barracks building along with other artifacts and a film. All in all, a pretty interesting and very beautiful spot.

July 4 & 5
We moved the boat around the corner to Roche Harbor for the Independence Day festivities. We anchored in the harbor with at least 100 other boats who had the same idea. Such a contrast to Westcott Bay, just a mile away as the crow flies. Roche Harbor is a resort town with a seasonal student staff from all over the world, a marina full of mega-yachts and its own little airstrip. For every airplane that landed behind the resort, 20 seaplanes gracefully glided to rest in front of it amid the chaos of anchored and motoring boats, speeding tenders and paddling kayakers. Such skill must be borne by pilots with at least a smidgen of hunger for danger. I imagine such flying to be exhilarating--just enough hazards to keep a pilot on her toes at all times. These planes land anyplace with enough distance to stop. There were days at anchor when we'd look out to see a plane landing on a narrow swath between boats that only someone from above could possibly see.

The Fourth of July had a crazy air about it--part Disneyland, part summer camp, part tailgate party--full of drunken, sunburned parents and their joyful untended kids, all in long lines for beer and/or ice cream, and taking part in the hilarious log-rolling competition and blindfolded dinghy races. So many spectators crowded the floating docks that, at times, whole sections submerged along with the people on them. At some point we learned the resort has a web camera pointed into its garden, refreshing the image on the internet every three minutes. Michael called his dad and over the course of a half hour of shifting this way and that we managed to position ourselves in a spot where Al could see us online. All in all, it was fun to just be in the middle of the chaos, but at the end of the day it made our return to Bluewater perhaps more pleasant than usual. Our own private space. We stayed with Nisa during the fireworks because they tend to scare her so much. So the three of us snuggled under a blanket on the foredeck and watched an awesome display launched from a float not 100 yards from us. We slept in the next day to allow the hangover crowd some time to disperse. When we returned to shore, we wandered through gardens and along trails of a very different Roche Harbor. Quiet, clean and civilized. We laughed at the contrast. Nisa recovered. We took her for a long walk, out past the sculpture garden and the airport to the Mausoleum, a family memorial for the early owners of what used to be a rambling estate. We raced Nisa down the trails and through brush and snapped photos of her leaping full speed over fallen trees. We stayed in Roche Harbor a second night with plans to leave very early with a favorable current.

July 6
We sailed from anchor, something we strive to do as often as possible, and left in a light breeze. Blue skies and steady winds escorted us all the way to Friday Harbor, on the east side of San Juan Island. Along the way we identified each island we saw and inspected our charts to learn of passable routes for later. Upon reaching Friday Harbor, we opted out of the northern anchorage because we thought 50' feet of water seemed excessively deep. We laugh about this now. Every day we learn something new, about ourselves or about our boat, or both. I've started calling these *Learning Moments.* This day we learned that 50' of water is only the beginning. The farther we move north, the more dramatic the terrain. These mountains we sail among continue to drop away from us under the water. Some places plunge to 100' deep or deeper just a few feet from shore. After a bit of driving around, we eventually anchored in 65' closer to town. Friday Harbor greets visitors and does its very best to keep them. Frequently we suffer from inertia in our travels, and this place nearly sucked us in. It's a place for perpetual wandering, tasty donuts and great hot showers. I particularly enjoyed the dinghy rides between the boat and the docks. With the large island ferry in port, we snuck under the pilings far below the loading ramp. With the ferry away, we zipped across the gaping slip with its towering pilings. Either way felt like we were doing something incorrigible and oddly romantic. Then we wound our way under, through and around fingers and ramps of the various docks until we reached our destination. In town, a cafe proprietor sold us a bag of UHT (non-refrigerable) creamers, something we covet for our morning coffee but that we have difficulty finding. We bought a new life vest for Nisa. We drank a beer and watched without sound a bit of Wimbledon and a bio of Pete Sampras. We shopped for fresh produce and something to grill for dinner. Back aboard for the evening, a neighbor called over to inquire about our solar panel and "the white things on top of the spreaders" (small foam fishing buoys that protect our sails from chafe) and then rowed over to tell us how our boat "has rad lines." I loved that. Friday Harbor wanted us to stay, so that probably means we'll return someday.

Posted by Susanna at 5:42 PM | Comments (2)