Category Archives: Sailing

Another Year Ends…In Failure

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The decision was made early in the day, as soon as I looked at my smart phone and saw that the temperature was going to drop below freezing last night. I wanted to go home. We had not spent much time on Moonrise lately, as is usual for the winter months, and I was feeling guilty. We have this great boat, we pay for the slip each month. We needed to use that boat! Plus, she was just sad sitting at the docks all by herself. Guilt can be a good thing when it moves people to action, but when it leads to actions that are not based in reality, it kind of sucks. What reality had been denied? The reality of winter: that the cold sucks all the fun out of sailing.

The unretouched actual color of the sky.

The unretouched actual color of the sky.

There was going to be a raft up of folks from the Puget Sound Cruising Club, meeting in Blakely Harbor to watch the fireworks over Elliot Bay in Seattle for New Year’s Eve and it sounded like fun. Never mind that most of the people in that club either live in Seattle, a short ride across the water to the harbor, or very close by and we live 5 hours away by motor if the tide is with us.  We decided to go a day early and spend two nights on the boat. This was our second mistake.

We made arrangements for Andrew to watch the animals, packed some food, and headed out on Sunday. There was no rain, and also no wind. Zero. After a 5 hour motor boat ride up to the harbor yesterday (and that is a record time for us) we anchored in peaceful little Blakely Harbor yesterday. I would like to say that we were excited to be there, and excited to be back on Moonrise, surrounded by cozy looking homes with their Christmas lights up. It was quite festive.

The reality on Moonrise, however, was quite different. Guilt had pushed me to want to do this trip and while excited to be back on the boat, by the time we got to Bainbridge Island, I had reached a state of chill that was pretty uncomfortable and was remembering why we didn’t do much boating in the winter. You see, I have all these memories of being out on Moonrise, enjoying the big outdoors. This time I was actually quite grateful for the lack of wind as it would have dropped the temperature even further. I have mentioned before that I do not do very well with cold. It occurs to me that I may have to give up dreams of sailing in colder locations if I can’t figure out how to stay warm. This leads to a deep depression, so I won’t talk about it.

We hunkered down in the cozy cabin with our propane heater going, had dinner, watched some videos and turned in early. Even though we were warm all night, and the v berth really cannot be beat for sleeping soundly, I awoke with a swollen throat, feeling worried about the weather, my ears hurting down deep and with that inner knowing that if I spend another day on the boat in that kind of cold, I would be well and truly sick. As long as we stayed in the cabin, we’d be warm, but going outside to sit around and visit with people was not going to happen. Not to mention the difficulty using the head with two pair of woolen leggings, polar fleece pants, my sailing bibs, and multiple shirts, plus a jacket, gloves, a muffler, and two hats. I’m not kidding. That kid in “A Christmas Story” has nothing on me when it’s winter on the boat.  In the end, it was the prediction that the temperature would fall below freezing last night, and there was a slight possibility of snow, that made me verbalize my longing for home. And Mike agreed.

This kid has nothing on me. At least he has a mom to zip him up.

So there you go. Our big ‘winter trip’. Five minutes with the jib up. I freely admit that I breathed a sigh of relief when we tied the dock lines in our slip, and the first thing I did when we got home was take a nice long extra hot bath.

The saving grace was the Dahl’s Porpoises playing by the boat in Colvos Passage at the beginning of the trip. Here is a short video, with about 1 split second of playing porpoise, followed by footage where I search the water for them. Exciting, no? You can pretty much stop watching after the first 3 seconds. Happy New Year to all!

Oh, and it was a beautiful, sunny 28 degrees this morning. Thank the good LORD I am home!

Sugar and Spice…. Not So Nice? Oh, the Political Incorrectness!

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Just saying… In the Gender Studies department around here, I am feeling more and more like a ‘girl’. To be fair, sometimes I enjoy being a girl. I liked being pregnant, I like that my husband is all manly and stuff, and has skills any girl would envy. Lately I’ve kind of enjoyed clothes and expensive boots (sorry, Tate). Why, just today I engaged in the time-honored girl activity of retail therapy. Keeping the economy alive, folks, just keeping it alive. We’ve come a long way since the 1960’s when I was a child and fervently wished I had been born a boy so I could have both adventures and upper body strength. Yes, we’ve come far, but not far enough!

I admit it. This is what I like best. It requires nothing of me except to know how to set up the hammock.

What gives? Well, I’ll tell you! Mike and Andrew are going to have an adventure next week. And not just any old ‘father/son’ adventure like throwing a ball, which they never, ever did, by the way. It will be a sailing adventure on Danger Kitten, Andrew’s Ericson 25. They are moving Danger Kitten down from Bellingham Bay to Tacoma for the winter.  And I hate them for it just a little bit. Okay, maybe hate is too strong a word, but I’m having a little gender jealousy moment at the very least and I deserve to have some foot-stomping to go with it. If Andrew had two dads, we’d both be going!

“But Melissa”, you say. “You love sailing! Might one inquire why you aren’t going on this grand adventure that is happening right before Armageddon? Surely this would be the best thing you could do during the end times!”  And to that I would say, “Exactly!”  Except for this: The Universe works in mysterious ways and one of those ways was to create men to be able to stay warm without the application of a constant, uninterrupted outside heat source. I may be generalizing here, which I do on occasion when talking gender roles, but I think I will be forgiven for saying that women complain about being cold more than men do. And it’s bloody cold AND wet out there with worse to come.

Here’s the forecast for the weekend of the 14th of December, when they will be traveling:

“… bitterly cold air mass developing in the Yukon, some ‘surface waves’ will skirt over the top and down along the BC coast for more cold rain. One of these waves may arriving by Fri Dec 14. The weekend of Dec 15 looks to mirror this coming weekend: chilly, showery, snow below the passes.”

This forecast does not focus on wind. So it will either be windy and cold and wet, or calm and cold and wet. You see the trend?

Sailors, there is no glory or enjoyment to be found in sailing a small boat with no dodger and no heat in conditions that are likely to bring on pneumonia. As a mother and a girl, I was dead worried about Andrew making that trip either alone or with some inexperienced friend. We get some high winds in the winter around here, and his boat isn’t exactly set up for that yet. I began to fret.  I began to be sleepless worrying about it. I began buying him things.

Oh, they’ve done this before. This was about 8 years ago, aboard the Saucy Sue, our Catalina 27. Do they look like they are having fun? Am I taking the photo from inside the cabin? You bet I am. It’s a wonder Andrew grew up to enjoy sailing with memories like this.

In a brilliant display that gave me hope, the Universe heard my worry and when I went on Ebay to see if I could find some used sailing bibs for Andrew, I immediately found, at the very top of the page,  a ‘buy it now’ deal on brand new, with tags, Gill sailing bibs just like Mikes, in the right size for ……badaboom… $85. With shipping. Score! Here is a video of Andrew testing them out: (Kids do some interesting things in a college dorm.)

While I was busy worrying and soothing myself by spending money, Mike and Andrew were busy colluding without informing me. I had probably two or three days of girl-worrying without knowing they had decided Mike would be going with Andrew on the trip. You see what happens when a father has a son like this? They talk to each other but not to the girl. Apparently this is some kind of Law of Male Behavior as this pattern is repeated in households and college dorms all over the world. Yes, yes, (insert hand flapping here) of course I’m grateful my son has such a great dad. Move on.

Mike and Andrew being manly men together while I hold the boat on course. Barkley Sound, BC. Damn I want to go back up there.

When I waxed disappointed that I didn’t get to go, too, Mike replied that he could take the cold better than I could. That might be true, but I don’t have to like it and I reserve the right to pout about it. The truth is that because of my girl-metabolism, which, by the way, I’m not seeing the point of since I don’t exactly have to conserve energy to grow children anymore, I would be lowly and miserable on that trip. Cold and rain is a sure recipe for disaster for me. I only hope it won’t be for them.

Don’t let anyone say I don’t at least try to pull my own weight. Also, this was before we invested in decent inflatable life preservers. I can attest to the fact that the big ones are warmer. Yes, I was completely miserable. And yet I did it. Why? Why?

So now all I get to do to participate in this little outing is the usual wife/mother/girl stuff like making sure they have plenty of nourishing food on board and plenty of things to keep them warm, like a box of hand warmers from Costco. It’s not that they are not capable of thinking ahead to what they will need for any contingency….. HAHAHAHAH! Who am I kidding?

Then I wait for 3 or so days at home while they are out having boy fun and bonding time and seeing whales, no doubt. Stupid boys and their stupid boy clubs. Rats. Maybe I will go have a spa day or something. Or buy shoes. I’m sure you’ll get to read all about it when Mike brags blogs about the grand adventure.

Maybe these would make me feel better. Hmmmm?

 

How I Spent My Summer Vacation, An Essay

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It might have looked like this, but it didn’t.

It was a dark and stormy night.

This is only partly true, but I love the way it sounds and I’ve always wanted to lead with that sentence. Consider it foreshadowing.

Readers who are familiar with the geography of this area may have read our recent post The Luxury of Time and realized we had begun the story in the middle, that is, that we were already halfway home when that story began. This, then, is the story of the day before that night; a day which shall be known forever as ‘the longest day in eternity’, until it is usurped by a day even longer.  Especially when on a sailboat, having a schedule is terrible. Time, as they say, is the enemy. And for us, the Universe always conspires to keep us in the San Juans just a little bit longer, no matter how much we plan in advance.

This chart will keep us all organized in the telling. Match the letter to the corresponding part of the story. It’s easy.

After a lovely sail on Friday down the west coast of San Juan Island, looking for whales (but being there too early in the day, as usual) Mike and I were headed to the south end of Lopez Island, ready for an early start across the strait the following morning. You see, we had PLANNED to have two full days to get home. It would be a little hurried, but not too bad. We never seem to get to the south end of the islands quickly. I guess that’s because we’re really never ready to leave.

We were just west of Cattle Pass about 5 miles looking at a lovely sunset. (A) The wind had died, leaving us no choice but to crank up the trusty Westerbeke. And that’s when things began to really get interesting. The word ‘interesting’ in this context  means something UNplanned, something that will need to be dealt with, something that will keep us from our stated goal of getting home in a timely way. That’s because the Westerbeke, a work horse engine if there ever was one, decided just at that moment that it needed a new starter solenoid. It communicated this by responding with a decided ‘click’ when we tried to start the engine. Click. Click. Click. Try again. This time push real fast. Clickclickclick!  Nope.

I looked at Mike and he had that look on his face that he gets when things begin to go wrong. It’s a look that combines irritation with thoughtfulness and manly self-control.  That’s when I decide to simply enjoy the scenery and keep quiet so he can think. In a way, it made poetic sense to me that this would happen. I mean, every other part of the engine has been rebuilt. It has been extremely reliable. This is the last piece. So of course, it had to go out on us during the trip.

On these trips to the islands, if we are going to have any kind of trouble, it’s going to happen on the leg home. And because we always go home the same way, it’s destined to happen on the west coast of San Juan Island.  Our boat knows that we don’t really want to leave the islands. It tries to keep us there, whatever the cost.

Be honest. You’d stay here, too.

While Mike tinkered and swore,  I began to think about our relationship with various starters over the years. There was the old Cutlass convertible that we used to start with a screwdriver, jumping the solenoid. Worked like a charm. Then there was the starter in the Ford Fairlane that stranded us in Salt Lake City at Christmas time, just before we got married. Mike took that one apart on the hotel room floor with a cheap set of tools and blind faith. Such are the stories of a long marriage. And they build a kind of trust in one’s spouse over the years. A firm knowledge that things will work out, that we can handle ourselves well, and that we are unfailingly resourceful. And so our interesting trip home began.

We wanted to go thataway. But it was not happening. Not at all.

No wind, no engine, strong tidal currents in that area. Big rocks on the shore.  These conspire to create a situation that cannot be dealt with by sitting passively by, beautiful sunset notwithstanding. Mike began to tinker with the solenoid, looking for a way to bypass that piece and jump start the engine. He assures me that diesel engines are not rocket science, that they need fuel, air, and spark (to get started, thank you very much , Tate) and that’s pretty much it. It was the spark that was missing from the equation and if anyone knows electrical stuff it’s Mike. He took stuff off, put stuff on, made me push buttons, said ‘DAMN!’ a few times. By the time he started throwing tools into the bilge I knew he had just about had it.  The sun was going down, and just sitting there at the mercy of currents wasn’t an option. We had to get going somehow.

He put the little two horse Honda engine onto Puddler, tied her close to the stern of the boat, cranked the motor, and began pushing. The thing about that part of the islands is that there is no place to anchor. If you are on the south western side, you have few choices. We had about 1 1/2 gallons of gasoline for the Honda, so keeping fingers firmly crossed I steered Moonrise and we began to head toward Cattle Pass at about 3.5 knots. The tide was with us and this was a huge bit of good fortune as Cattle Pass is downright dangerous when your are trying to go against the tide. According to the tide tables, we had almost two hours to get well clear of the pass before the tide turned. Our stated goal at that point was to find a safe anchorage for the night and we knew we would find this in Griffen Bay. When faced with impending doom, we find it’s important to keep the short term goal clearly in the foreground of your thinking.

Feeling pretty smug, we chugged along at a right good clip and rounded the pass. The night was dark, though, if not stormy,  and it was fortunate we’d been in those waters before. We knew where to go. (And, of course, we had paper charts and a GPS).  The combination of smugness and fatigue, and being in a rush to beat the tide proved to be our undoing.  I tried to take the shortest route possible to get into the bay. (Hey, I was tired and getting cranky. I wanted my bed.)  I chose a course that sent us right through an uncharted garden of huge bull kelp. And the night was too dark to see it until we were upon it. My smugness vanished. (B)

Now, kelp is lovely. It flows so gracefully in the water. It provides food and protection for critters. But it eats sailboats alive. We were well and truly stuck in the kelp just north of Goose Island (an island no one could ever miss because if you can’t see it you can surely smell it). Mike was unable to use the Honda to push us through because the kelp would wrap around the little prop and pull it right off. The only thing was to try to kedge ourselves out of the situation. Out came the extra anchor, the one Mike almost didn’t bring because we ‘probably wouldn’t need it’. By this time it was midnight. Nothing I enjoy more than being stuck in kelp with no engine on a moonless night downwind of Goose Island. It’s more fun that you can shake a stick at.

I attached the line to a winch on Moonrise and Mike rowed the anchor out past the kelp. I winched Moonrise toward the anchor and we made a little progress. We repeated this dance a couple of times, which takes much, much longer to do than it does to write. By the 4th time it was clear the the tide was turning and Moonrise was being pulled backwards into the kelp again. This would have been pretty discouraging, but soon we realized that if we just waited, we’d be free of the kelp with the help of the sea and we could go on our way around the corner to our safe harbor. And this came to pass. Victory was ours against the massive kelp. I’d like to post photos of this part of the story, but it was dark, and besides, Mike gets pissed off when I start taking photos at tense moments. Even though I usually think to do it. Can I help it if multiple parts of my brain operate at once?

Thanks to the sturdy Puddler and our little Honda, we anchored at about 2:30 AM in Griffen Bay (C) in about 15 feet of water, close to shore. The night was fine. We were safe, Moonrise was safe, and the next day we’d carry on to Friday Harbor where we would find services. I cooked a hot dinner and we went to bed.  I had a ridiculously good night’s sleep. Mike, of course, did not. His mind was working the problem all night.

We awoke early to a lovely day, fair winds, and a big Coast Guard boat anchored close by. Makes me wonder what we looked like on their radar as we waded through that kelp the night before.

Our Coasty neighbors. Who knows what nefarious they thought we were doing in that kelp?

Fresh wind gave us a great sail into Friday Harbor (E) where we were warmly welcomed by the good people at Friday Harbor Marine. They offered us a slip and talked to Mike about a possible cheap fix to limp us home. You’ve got to love a business that could milk you for every dollar you have because you are at their mercy, but they don’t.  If you are going to be stranded someplace, you could do worse than Friday Harbor. I walked up the hill to buy a few things for dinner so I wouldn’t have to cook.

Mike thought he had a fix that would work, but as the day wore on I saw that he was getting more and more frustrated and discouraged, not to mention just plain tired. He started talking about maybe leaving the boat in Friday Harbor and us taking a ferry back to the mainland, then having to come back and get the boat. All I could think was how much that was going to cost us not only in actual dollars, but in time and hassle. And for such a simple problem. (And the story of the Ford Fairlane, stuck in a garage in Salt Lake City, came to mind once more…)

It’s hard to be stressed out about being stranded in Friday Harbor. That sailboat in the middle of the photo belongs to our new diesel mechanic friend. He lives on it. Sweet!

Let me just say that at this point the only thing making this a stressful situation was the issue of time. There it is again! If Mike hadn’t been pushed for time, this would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. We could have hung out at the dock in Friday Harbor, had the thing rebuilt, enjoyed our time there, and been on our way. Life would have been interesting, but not stressful. And my husband would have had a good night’s sleep.

I thought having a fresh set of eyes looking at the problem would be worth the cost at this point. I just did not want to leave Moonrise behind. It felt somehow wrong.  Fortunately our new friends at Friday Harbor Marine knew just the guy. Brent Huntington is one awesome diesel mechanic, and a pretty nice guy as well. Plus, he is a sailor. Within 1/2 an hour he and Mike had worked out the solution to the problem. (And he told us about his other gig as a captain for Sailfast Adventures. What a life!)

Sometimes it pays to have someone else to scratch heads with.

Trusty Westerbeke once more full of life, we headed back to Cattle Pass to cross the strait. It was already late in the day and we had at least 30 miles to go. But the day got REALLY interesting when we approached the pass. The tide was going out, but a gusty 20 knot wind was against it creating the huge haystack waves for which this pass is famous. And they come from multiple directions.  Again, time is the greatest enemy in the world when you are sailing. We couldn’t wait so off we went, knowing we’d just have to gut that part out and that as soon as we were out of the pass the wind would be on our starboard beam and we’d have a great sail across the pass. (G)

And this was true. What was also true was that the wind picked up to about 25 knots and the waves were, in a word, big. They positively roared. They were directly on the starboard beam.  And once again, we were crossing the strait at night. What is it with our karma that we’ve crossed this thing at night so many times? You cannot be complacent with waves like we had. You have to steer the whole time, working the waves to keep the boat on an even keel. I don’t mind being heeled over at 20 degrees, but I get a little annoyed when she lays over to 30 very often. We don’t really have the appropriate size sails for weather like this so keeping the boat balanced takes effort. Moonrise does have two reefs on the main, but still the main would have been too large with that weather, so we were sailing with only a very reefed jib and using the engine to keep the boat moving through waves and balanced. It was truly that dark and stormy night! We crossed in record time for us, sailing into Port Townsend at around 9:30.

I’d like to say that the day ended there with a nice quiet anchorage and a good night’s sleep, but that would be a lie. We went on to witness that sailboat on the rocks that same night. Still, it made for an interesting day/ night combo, and we learned, once more, that we can be resourceful. We learned how to use our extra anchor to kedge ourselves out of kelp. We learned to push our big boat with our little boat. More than that, we learned, once again, to rely on one another and to get out of a ‘situation’ and into safety.

Actually, now that I think about it, what we really learned is that we should move to the islands. That would solve all of these problems right away.

Cliche sunset shot.