As we wound down the outside coast of Vancouver Island at the end of our 1997 trip from Seattle to Ketchikan, John and I assumed that we would break up our passage home with a few stops along the U.S. west coast. We talked about jumping off from Neah Bay to Astoria, to Brookings, to Eureka, and on to San Francisco. But we would have had to go out of our way to go into Neah Bay, and there seemed no reason to stop at any of the other places by this time.
We were more intrigued by the idea of "going all the way." Our longest offshore passage to date had been 54 hours from San Francisco to Santa Cruz island in the Santa Barbara Channel Islands, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to test our sea legs. We prepared for the possibility of needing to enter a harbor on our way south, but we planned to go non-stop, hoping to sail our Hans Christian 33 as much as possible.
We began our offshore passage to San Francisco on August 30, 1997 under mostly sunny skies with John fishing on our way out of Barkley Sound, British Columbia. We had originally planned to run our usual three on/three off watch schedule, but John volunteered to stand the second watch and it didn't seem to be too long for him. So after I gave it a try, we followed that pattern (more or less) for the rest of the passage both day and night.
We had to motorsail into light southerlies for the first three days, and John caught a 30 lb albacore our second morning out. It's a good thing he found that gaff while we were beachcombing on the Brooks Peninsula! Of course I was off watch at the time, trying to sleep, but I got up long enough to dig out the gaff and hand it to John before leaving him to grapple with the fish by himself. He told me later that there was blood everywhere so it was probably for the best that I didn't share the experience.
John was too sick of the tuna by the time he finished cleaning it to cook any for dinner. The next day I took my watch earlier than scheduled and John canned two batches of tuna in our pressure cooker, which hardly made a dent in the big hunk of tuna wrapped in new garbage bags and taking up most of the space in our fridge. By the end of that day we were both too tired of the smell of tuna to want any for dinner. The following day the wind finally filled in and we began to sail. The motion of the boat changed dramatically and neither one of us was willing to do any significant food prep after that. What a waste of fresh fish!
I wish we had known to bring more "grazing" foods. We ate our supply of apples quickly and would have eaten more. We had been given dried foods like apples, persimmons and homemade beef jerky as going away gifts, but we had already eaten those during our trip. They would have been appreciated even more during our passage. Granola bars, crackers, hard boiled eggs and trail mix were other good foods. Anything that was easily at hand and required little preparation was most desirable. One night I sat there feeling hungry, thinking I would like some cheese and crackers. But as I ran through the scenario in my mind - locate the cheese somewhere beneath the bloody tuna in the refrigerator, get a sharp knife out of the drawer, balance the cheese on the cutting board, try cutting the cheese without slicing my fingers, etc. - I was exhausted and settled for dry crackers instead. Sweets and junk food like Pringles held no appeal because of my somewhat precarious stomach during the first few days.
Our passage was six days and six nights, and we were exhausted by our last night. Obviously we couldn't have continued for another 2-3 weeks eating our meagre snacks and getting only two or three hours of solid sleep on our off watches. Concerned by what this portended for ocean passages of 3-4 weeks, I asked a friend how she survived her ocean passage from Baja California to Hawaii. She said that it took her about a week before she could settle into a comfortable routine of sleeping and cooking. One can only hope.
Here are some entries from my journal:
09/01/97 - At 0400 I gasped at the sight of lightning off in the distance towards the coast. Big flashes in the cloud cover. It made me nervous but I figured it was okay since if was so far away and we were under clear skies. We had been running at half speed since 0230 to see if that would help John sleep (less bouncing and crashing that way), and it did. But by 0445, when I had been watching lightning flashes in a squall cloud on our right (toward sea) for about 15 minutes, I decided to get the heck out of there. The seas were much calmer and John didn't get up until 0515. He says he wasn't aware of the change in RPM, though subconsciously it may be what woke him up. He got to see the lightning too. We agreed we like lightning even less than we like ships.
About mid-way through my watch I had the big dipper low in the sky behind me, Pleiades rising to my left and a bright planet setting forward and to my right. The planet was so bright that it left a shining path on the water. Today is the new moon.
Between 1030 and 1550 I saw a total of: one fishing boat, a tuna jumping, a few Dalls porpoise, one tug and tow, one piece of plastic trash and one freighter.
At 1400 we were 43.5 miles off of Cape Foulweather/Depoe Bay, OR.
1610 - John is trying to sleep. I just saw what I thought was the nastiest looking log two to three boat lengths off to port. I watched as we got closer to confirm that it really was an ugly log, and laughed to see that it was a sea lion, nose in the air with one flipper holding its hind flippers in the air! Didn't disturb him in the least as we passed by.
09/02/97 0430 - Whew! This has been a busy watch. Non-stop ship tracking from midnight until now. Sure makes the time pass quickly when you're avoiding being run down by fishing boats and freighters. Why do they all have to come out at night? We scan the horizon six times an hour during a six hour watch. In the daytime we hope we'll see something just to break the monotony. But at night we dread a ship or boat sighting because it's more work figuring out where they're headed and how to keep out of their way.
We've been downwind sailing since I went off watch. I know it's heresy to say this but I really prefer motor sailing in calm seas like it was last night - so calm that the stars were reflected in the water. We have the main out to one side now with a preventer on and the jib is poled out to the other side. The windvane is steering. The motion is much more difficult because the boat rolls from side to side. I suppose it's easier than being heeled hard over, but things slide back and forth instead of over to one side at a time and staying there until you tack. Took me over an hour to wash the dishes and make sandwiches. John thumped his head twice while cooking breakfast.
Woke up this morning to find John sharing the cockpit with a plain little shorebird. He arrived at 0830 and stayed with us all day mostly in the cockpit. He didn't mind us coming out for our horizon checks or sitting quietly with him, but if we had to do any sail handling he would fly out and up to the sidedeck on the cabin or to a more precarious perch on the pushpit. Mostly he liked the helm's seat. We gave him bread and water which he seemed to appreciate. Tucked his head under his wing in the evening to snooze. John last saw him perched on his fishing pole at 2100. Very windy and we're 30-40 miles offshore. Can't imagine how he got out here in the first place.
We were able to see the coastline today. Have been a bit closer in, still following 125 W longitude. Wind built all day along with the seas. We heard a fishing boat estimate 20-25 knots with 4-6 foot seas. Pretty moderate for out here I'm sure, but feels a bit much to us. Rocketing along at over six knots by evening with only reefed main and staysail up. Good thing we dropped the jib before I went off watch.
09/03/97 0215 - Very windy. Probably a bit higher seas, but I don't want to look at them and can't tell anyway. Still flying along. After wishing for such a favorable wind for three days John and I both wish this one would ease just a little. John had to avoid two ships, both of which came within two miles.
Forgot to mention that during my afternoon watch yesterday we went through what must have been the Chetco River/Brookings, Oregon fishing fleet about 25 miles off Cape Sebastian. Thank goodness it was daylight and they did all the maneuvering. I didn't have to do a thing to get through them. John said they were tuna boats, and could he put out his tuna lure. With dead tuna leaking out of the plastic bag all over the contents of our refrigerator, I said no.
Tonight is cloudier and very dark. John said he saw some more lightning on the coast near Brookings. He managed to heat up some chicken with rice soup. I'm jealous but I don't have the energy to try it myself.
On a quiet night watch there's
not much more involved than doing a visual 360 check of the horizon and
12 and 24 mile checks on the radar, and keeping quiet as a mouse so the
off watch can sleep. Which is a little humorous when the boat is
blasting along under sail at six knots making tons of noise. The
wind howls in the rigging, the waves are crashing or gurgling, things up
on deck are creaking and banging, and things down below make noise as they
shift back and forth. Nevertheless I try to keep my deck shoes from
squeeking (which they do if I scuff them on the teak sole), and my harness
from clanking as I clip or unclip from my tether. John has even taken
to putting duct tape over the harness clip to quiet it. It takes
a lot of effort to move around the boat without crashing into things or
bumping John's feet hanging over the end of the settee. And hauling
yourself in and out of the companionway
every 10 minutes without
getting slammed or pitched is tricky too.
Had to get John up to make certain we were on a non-conflicting course with a ship and a fishing boat. The boat slews around so much on the swells that it's hard to confirm radar bearings. Was good that I got him up though or he would have missed the most amazing shooting star either of us has ever seen. Big, bright and with a thick tail that went clear across the sky.
Rounded Cape Mendocino in late afternoon. About 25 miles offshore, so we can see a hazy blur of land. Time to work our way in from 125 W towards Point Arena at 124 W. After that it will be Point Reyes at 123 W.
09/04/97 0245 - Mid-afternoon yesterday John dropped the jib and raised the staysail in anticipation of wind and seas building like they did the day before. No different when I went off watch at 1800, but by 2000 it was howling. The forecasts all said, "Wind not to exceed 30 knots," so we'll take their word for it and figure it's blowing 25 with gusts to 30. Would be nice to have an anenometer to know for sure, but on the other hand that just makes it scarier. Seas are probably only eight feet, but I'll have to ask John later. (He says no, they are 10-12 feet.)
I went back to sleep for a little while, but then John woke me before 2200 to help take down the main. I think he said he was seeing 8 and 9 on the knotmeter, and had been agonizing for about an hour over waking me or waiting until I woke up on my own. Got dressed and I handled the main sheet while John went up to the mast to drop the halyard. Wind flattened the sail against the spreaders making it difficult for John to pull down, so I headed us up into the wind a bit to take the pressure off. (Actually the Cape Horn windvane took care of that - it has been steering since we turned the engine off.) Wasn't easy but John did a good job of getting the sail in. Now averaging 5 knots under staysail alone.
The first wave broke against the hull and splashed into the cockpit at 0100 just as John was going out. It's a good thing he had already thought to put the bottom drop board in the hatch, but we still took water in the boat from that one. Because of this we have the added exercise of having to push open the heavy companionway hatch, balance on the steps while inspecting the aft horizon, then try to clamber over the drop board without kicking it, without tripping on your tether, and of course timed so you don't pitch out headfirst on a bad wave. Do a quick scan of the rest of the horizon (try not to look at the big, bad waves) before you get splashed, and repeat the first steps for the return to the cabin. All while trying to be quiet as a mouse for the person trying to sleep.
09/05/97 1715 - Went off watch this morning at about 0730. John put the reefed jib up by himself and took the staysail down. I got 2-3 hours of sleep and got up at 1100. John ran the engine to charge the batteries and we both took showers. Conditions had moderated by then, so wasn't too difficult. Felt great.
John wants to be on watch from Point Reyes into San Francisco because of all the shipping traffic, so we have switched to four hour watches starting with mine now. Last night we each ended up doing an eight hour watch. Both of us are very tired today and glad to know this is the last night shift.
The rest of the night was uneventful. The wind died at Point Reyes. Not completely, but enough so that it felt like we were rolling even more at the slower speed. To get this last part over with as easily as possible we decided to motorsail through the home stretch.
09/06/97 0642 - Arrived to a beautiful, calm, clear morning in San Francisco!