“Hey, it’s the lighthouse on Cape Disappointment.”, I commented, calmly, serenely, getting out my camera.

Mike, at the wheel of Galapagos, looked up.  “What? Are you kidding? Really?” he queried in his surely-you-are-a-crazy-woman voice.

I was amused. Seriously. Mike always amuses me, but generally it’s on purpose. Was this his brilliant attempt at dry humor? Did he think I was being ironic? I mean, we were in the middle of the damn Columbia River bar. What cape did he THINK we would be passing?

“Yeah, that’s Cape Disappointment over there.” I said, pointing my camera to the north and using the voice of extreme patience because clearly this man was confused and yet he was steering a 40,000 pound vessel across waters known as the Graveyard of the Pacific. My life was in his hands. I didn’t want him having some kind of a mental health moment just then.

He looked at me. Perhaps his eyes puddled up, or maybe that look meant he was coming down to earth from wherever he’d been.

“Melissa. You know what that means?”   Was I supposed to answer that? Was this a trick question? Maybe rhetorical in nature?  I could only shake my head in mute anticipation.

“It means we’re really doing this! We’re really doing it!”

Whew. Yes, of course. We. Are. Doing. It. This man has been so micro-focused on completing tasks, on doing what needs to be done, the fact that we are actually ready to bring Galapagos home was lost on him. Sometimes it’s the small things, like seeing a light house, that brings the entirety of the whole info focus. Crossing the river bar for the first time is a small symbolic victory, in spite of the fact that we chose our time carefully and it was calm and uneventful. Whoop de doo. Still, there was a decided thrill of excitement as Galapagos galloped out to sea, hoping to turn left.

Measuring the wind speed with the cool little Vaavud wind meter for smartphones. We love this thing!

This was the second day in a long and eventful weekend during which we checked many small things off our ‘to do’ list. It started with getting fuel for the first time. Let’s just say this: gone are the days when 12 gallons fills our tank. We put in 50 gallons for now. We don’t have a clue how much fuel the new engine consumes. It’s supposed to be very efficient. Keep a good thought on that.

Our goal of the day was to find an anchorage and hopefully do some sailing. The last time we went sailing was when we delivered Moonrise to her new owners. It’s time to check ‘sail this bloody boat’ off the list. I breathed a sigh of intense relief as we exited the marina without drama.  With the wind behind us, we put out the head sail and before long we were getting 6-7 knots on the GPS, against the current and tide. Galapagos is a heavy boat. We were well pleased with this.

We love it that this boat will move under headsail alone. We did have about 15 knots of wind, but we were going against the current and the tide, so we’re still pleased.

We tested out the anchoring system and spent our first night at a lovely anchorage just north of Tongue Point. The windlass works smoothly, although there is work to do on the electrical switches at the bow. The cockpit switch works, making the repair of the bow switches something that we can put off until we are in Puget Sound. We hardly know what to think that we are now people with an electric windlass. Somehow, that seems out of character.

Being able to anchor out is mission critical.

Workaholics that we appear to be (we really have you fooled on that one!) we though we would accomplish a couple of things while at anchor. We accomplished much. Mike accomplished a long and deserved nap in the cockpit. I whiled away the afternoon doing a little thing called ‘READING A BOOK’.  Oh joy!

While there we did actually measure our mast. Let’s just put it this way: that Port Townsend cut with its bridge clearance of 60 feet is no longer an option for us. We are at 59.75 feet from the top of the mast to the water, plus a couple or three feet for the antennae at the top. And Mike checked out our running lights and anchor light. Check!

This 100 foot tape measure came in handy for measuring the stick.

Mike made a delightful discovery as we whiled away the hours at anchor. He kept looking at the GPS display and noticing that our batteries were more than fully charged and had remained that way even though we had been using electronics and the fresh water pump inside. Because we don’t yet have refrigeration on the boat, we figured we had a pretty low energy draw. That is true, but still be should have been seeing some kind of decline in the charge, especially over the course of many hours. I mean, we did use the electric windlass and that surely uses some kind of power. The only answer was that we must be getting extra charge from somewhere and that was, in fact, the case. Apparently the solar panels, which we thought needed replacing, are still working! Who knew? What a pleasant surprise that was.

I thought anchoring out was probably enough of a goal for one weekend, but Mike had other ideas. He wanted to cross the river bar and get out on the ocean. After early morning coffee in the cockpit (have we mentioned lately how much we love this cockpit?) we pulled up anchor by 9:00 Sunday morning so we could motor down to the bar and cross at slack tide. Having a few years of sailing experience helps when anticipating stuff like this. This area of water is dramatic and treacherous, leading to many stern warnings about staying safe. Only two days before there was loss of life, again, in that passage. (They were in a small, open boat, Mom.)  Rather than focus on what not to do, we prefer to focus on how to do what we need to do safely, then follow directions. So we timed it and crossed at slack water and it was completely uneventful. The view of Cape Disappointment, flying pelicans, sea lion buddies, and millions of seabirds were more interesting than anything going on with the water beneath the hull.  We will do our best to be that lucky next time.

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Once Mike realized we were in the clear in terms of water turbulence, he was chomping to get the sails up. We had not even cleared the bar when he decided I should take the wheel and he would put out the head sail. Um. No.  I know ‘oh captain, my captain’ and all that, but it seemed to me that we could get out past the coast before tooling around on the foredeck and adding more to the steering equation. And thus it came to pass. We cleared crab pot alley and then put out the headsail. And it was glorious! Our plan was to sail as close as we could to the wind and try to go northwest. HAHAHAHAHA! Silly fools. That will never work.

We were hoping to avoid the usual motorboat ride up the coast of Washington State, thinking maybe we would tack way out into the ocean and then back. But there is southbound current and then the wind is almost always from the north as well. So those two forces of nature together conspired to the point where, after three hours of sailing, we were no further north than we started. It was sort of like having one of those lap pools that allow you to swim constantly but still get nowhere. That will teach us. At least it would be easy getting back to the coast at the right time.

Cape Disappointment, aptly named I’m sure. 100% rock.

So we took a break, pulled in the sails, and christened our vessel on the sea. We had denamed her previously, and she’d been patiently waiting for the renaming ceremony. We recorded it for our own amusement, but we share these raw, unedited videos with you here for yours. Yes, those champagne flutes are glass, and no, we are not drunk in the videos. That’s just how it looks when you are balancing on a heaving deck with bottles and glasses and papers everywhere. This was a serious occasion. Try to be respectful, will you?

One sip for Mike, the rest for Poseidon.

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And the final chapter. Watch while Mike hits his stride, his Southern Baptist origins beginning to show, presence of alcoholic beverages not withstanding.*

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So she is well and truly named, the Coast Guard paperwork is filed, and we are on target to leave Astoria over the 4th of July holiday, now that the gods have all been appeased, we hope. Next weekend we will have a Coast Guard safety check, just to cover our bases, and finish up small projects such as locating the source of the smell in the engine room. Hint: we fear it is plumbing related.  More on that as things develop. Other projects that may or may not be addressed as time allows include a new mattress in the aft cabin (file this under cheap boat tricks), paint in the aft head, and more cushion coverings. And that’s just my own list.

Live long and prosper?

In other news, today is Mike’s birthday and I’ve been dribbling presents to him for a couple of days now. Of course, the best present was this weekend’s successful venturing. But he’s also, so far, received a sailor’s palm and very cool leather thimble, and a picture of his grandpa Hiram Boyte who was called ‘Red’, to hang in the engine room. We’ve named the Beta ‘Hiram’ after him. “Red’ Boyte was a steady and reliable influence on Mike when he was growing up. We like that in a grandpa, and also in an engine.  More surprises await Mike at his birthday dinner tonight. Nothing like stringing this thing out.

‘Red’ Boyte behind the counter at a diner in Chicago, circa about 1935.

*In spite of how it looks in the photo, we are not fans of drinking and driving, whether it be on boats or in cars. We don’t do it. Period. Be assured that the gods of the sea and wind had most of both of those bottles of champagne. I hope they liked them.

This week our Little Cunning Plan reached an important milestone. Have we sailed across the Columbia River Bar? No. Have we anchored somewhere overnight? Well, no. Have we docked without drama? Decidedly not. Sorry.

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But, oh happiness! Joy! Rapture! Bring out the champagne! After weeks of perseverating, we finally have a name for our boat. We know some people have been a little, er, frustrated at our delay in naming this vessel. More than one reader has commented to us that we really need to get around to the business of naming the boat. And it would be a lie if I said we didn’t feel a certain amount of internal pressure to get it done. But we couldn’t rush the process. That’s not how we roll around here. We wait for epiphanies to come. We may have to wait awhile, but we’re generally not disappointed in the end and this time is no exception.

All this time Mike and I have been bouncing all kinds of words and names around, hoping one would have that certain ‘ring’ to it. We played word games in the car on the way to Astoria. We created lists on our iphones. Mine had, oh, about 40 word combinations. In the mornings we texted each other names that came to us in the night. We cast our nets far and wide for this. But we just couldn’t agree on one. The ones Mike came up with left me saying, ‘Hmmm’.  The ones I came up with left Mike flat.

We needed a name that will fit on the transom.

Finally I decided we better get more serious about this naming business. When all else fails, reach for logic and organization, right?  We would get out the large paper easel and sit it on the table. We would make our word cloud of our favorite words and write all the combinations we loved. Then we would each make a list of our top 10 names and see where the lists overlapped; like a venn diagram, except we never got that far.

I cleared the table and got out the magic marker. Surely some of its magic would bleed into our process. We made our word cloud and our lists. I picked my top 10. When Mike could come up with only 6, I knew we were in trouble, especially since my two not-so-secret top names were not even on it. Only one name was common between our lists: Saucy Swan. We both heaved great sighs. Neither of us really thought that was the right name for the boat. Logic had failed us yet again.

For the record, until the name revealed itself  my top pick was Flying Duchess, followed very closely by Queen of Skye, and in that order only because Mike would probably eventually have agreed to Flying Duchess.

For the non-boaters among you, naming a boat is harder than naming children.  This is especially true if the boat is a Coast Guard documented vessel.  Take a look at the completely scientifically accurate chart below. Then, using the link in blue above, go to the website and look up your favorite boat names. Then come back and continue reading with more compassion, okay?

                          Child Name                                               Vessel Name
Can be complex, named after many ancestors        Must be simple, one word is best
Unique names likely to attract bullies                        Unique name is best
Name said three times = kid in trouble                      Name said three times = radio use
We also wanted the name to remind us of why we have the boat; to bring up feelings we associate with the boat and with the trip we want to take. The name needed to generate the right kind of emotional tone. So that makes it all a little more complex. While it’s important to us to go through the motions of choosing a name logically, kind of like we went through the motions of choosing a boat logically, (you know, making lists and all that) in the end it is the gut that chooses the name. And it is some kind of boat name sorcery that brings the name into conscious awareness. Just like choosing a boat. You know it when it comes to you and only in hindsight will it make sense.

This name arrived through fabric. That’s right. You’ll recall that I bought fabric to cover the cushions in the salon. I knew the minute I saw this fabric that it was perfect. It had all the colors I love, and just looking at it made me happy. It’s the kind of fabric that took me exactly 30 seconds to choose. All the cells vibrated when I saw it.  I wanted to touch it, clutch it tightly to me. This was a fabric of blue water, of bright colors, of fantasy. I would not be leaving the store without it regardless of cost. So I simply could not believe it was only 5$/yard. At that price, the universe was practically giving it to me. I should have known then there was more to this fabric than met the eye.

The glorious fabric. I could eat it with a spoon I love it so much.

I got 10 yards of it, but I needed a few more. I had bought all the stock the store had, so I had to rely on the web. I knew the designer name as it was on the selvage of the fabric. But I didn’t know the name of the pattern. FabricGuru.com carried this design house and I matched it quickly. The name of the design?

Galapagos

My heart gave a little flip flop. My mouth opened on its own.

“Hey Mike! You will never believe what this fabric design is called!”, I shouted from across the house.

“What?”, he yelled. I walked into his office.

“Galapagos”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. Can you believe it?

“Wow! (Pregnant pause) That would be a great name for a boat.”, he said.

We exchanged knowing looks, energy fields crackling as one.

“Yes, it sure is.”  I replied.

The name had announced itself.  It had presence in the room. After that, the name would not leave my head. I don’t know how Mike’s head reacted, since I’m not in there and he doesn’t tend to focus as minutely on these things as I do. But each time I asked if he still liked the name ‘Galapagos’, he looked at me in that way he does when he is confused by the question. So there it is.

Yes, hindsight is certainly 20/20 sometimes. Some people dream of doing a circumnavigation.  When we dream of this big trip, we dream of going to the Galapagos Islands and then down the coast of Chile. The rest is up for grabs. We’ve talked about this lots of times. Mike has always wanted to see that part of the world.  I studied the biogeography of the Galapagos Islands back in the day when I had planned to become a marine biologist. I only this year gave away all my research papers, written on erasable typewriter paper back in the late 1970’s; carefully footnoted and annotated. I wrote about the marine iguanas. There was another one about the Darwin’s finches. Then there was one about the tortoises. I gave the papers to my neighbors who were preparing for a trip to those islands. Maybe they didn’t read them, but somehow I couldn’t throw them away. I wrote a lot of research papers during my undergraduate years. I didn’t keep them all. Only those.

When we were looking at boats, my mantra was that I wanted a boat that could take us to the Galapagos Islands and down the coast of Chile safely.  And she appeared. How dense are we that we didn’t know her name all along?

So she is named. Maybe I’ll ask my neighbors if they still have those papers I wrote. If they do, I will put them on the boat as a special talisman. I also have a picture somewhere of me sitting on a real Galapagos Tortoise back in the early 1960’s (before animal rights was a ‘thing’). I need to find that.  I have had the special champagne for her christening for many weeks, waiting in the boat for her baptism. We’re planning to bring her up to Washington over the 4th of July holiday, gods willing. We think having the naming ceremony out on the Pacific Ocean would be just about perfect.

S/V Galapagos. Let it be written, let it be done.