Okay, all this is taking soooo much longer than we anticipated ... but we're not complaining; however, we are apologizing for the misapprehension on how often we could get to the internet. Assuming you'll forgive us, we move on to happier subjects.
The sunset was photographed at Pt. Cojo, the first anchorage south of Pt. Conception. Pt. Conception has been called, by Coast Pilot, the Cape Horn of the Pacific. That seems exaggerated to me, but Coast Pilot is a respectable source ... so I must be one tough broad. It DID get choppy. (Friends call it "The Maytag Effect.) But, I expected much worse. George has been predicting that once we rounded Pt. Conception we would be in the land of milk and honey - calm seas, sunny skies. I was skeptical, but he was right. (And glad I am of that!)
Pt. Townsend - Preparing Nereid
Pt. Townsend hosted us while preparing Nereid for her debut. The haul out went smooth as ice behind a Zamboni: George is going to write an article on the efficiency and skill of the people in charge of haul out services there. He didn't have an ounce of concern for Nereid, the way they handled her and set her up on stands. It was strange climbing into a boat with only air beneath her: I immediately missed having the water nearby, and when I mentioned it George said he felt the same. However, all that space underneath gave Jaqi room to set up her barbering chair and get Tor prepared for his voyaging.
Those few days were non-stop in activity: washing, sanding, wiping down the hull with mineral spirits (so the paint would stick to the hull, not the dust. We'd heard tales of paint falling away when people neglected this arduous task), painting and replacing zincs - which required a special trip into Seattle (thank you, Jaqi!) The business that was just across from our perch is called B.U.M.S. (Bottom Up Marine Services) and they generously lent us scaffolding and a 5-gallon bucket we could use to reach the upper hull; for which we traded a 12-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon (Their choice: "Did you see our name?" they asked.) George wielded the 20lb. sander, working it above his head in an exhausting labor of love. (He didn't mention Michelangelo, but the experience must have been painfully similar in terms of posture.) We met the couple next door, Tracy and Bill, whose boat Zephyr has much the same gear as Nereid, and when we got talking we found uncanny similarities in our plans, destinations and crew. (They have 3 cats aboard!) They've become boating buddies, whom we've met up with now in two subsequent ports. More about them later (and their blog is http://www.svzephyr.blogspot.com/). Jaqi, Tor, George and I all pitched in, and we got Nereid back in the water by the 2:30pm deadline on Thursday. (They charge $1.00 a minute if you're not ready at the appointed time.) Meanwhile, we had nearly completed our provisioning. You know you're in a mariner-related town when no one blinks an eye at shopping carts full of beans and pickles. Unfortunately, we couldn't leave the next day because our shipments from West Marine had been delayed, and we wanted our AIS (Automatic Identification System) and Chart Plotter installed beforehand.AIS is a satellite-based system mandated on ships over 300 tons and popular on smaller vessels. It transmits and receives position, speed and bearing data as well as the vessel's MMSI (a unique identifier used for SAR - search and rescue. And, if a vessel has Class A software it also sends the ship's name, which is handy when contacting them on VHF. The Chart Plotter translates that into a friendly graphic that alerts you when a vessel (which they call a "target," oddly enough) comes within the distance or time threshold you have set. We don't carry radar, so this is our night time and heavy weather navigational tool.
We tied up at the Pt. Townsend dock and spent our $40.00 a night for two more nights, awaiting the AIS and getting it installed with the help of a seasoned electrician we'd met at the local exchange. It was an 8-hour install with his assistance. (Nothing is simple to install on a boat, despite what the user manuals say. Common wisdom is that the estimates on product packages apply only if you're installing it in a laboratory setting. If it involves running wires, multiply the estimated time to install by 3.) But, the time was rewarding in that we were able to meet up with George's former classmates Christie and Jason (http://www.svhelloworld.blogspot.com/), who looked radiant after having spent 3 months cruising in Alaska. George said that if he had any second thoughts about cruising, being around them cast any doubts to the wind! We met their friends Fischer and Kim (who is the creative force behind the calendar "Sexiest Maritime Women" and Jack Tar magazine.) All of us are headed towards Mexico: this lifestyle seems to be contagious.
Port Angeles - Twilight and the Dawn of a New Adventure
We left Pt. Townsend on a sunny day around Noon, with our first destination being Pt. Angeles, about 7 hours north. There wasn't enough wind to sail, but we were underway and feeling fine. This leg of the trip was easy. We docked at the floating town docks, which rock and rise and have a lot of character. They're $15.00 a night, payable on the honor system. The docks were pretty full with local folks putting down their shrimp pots: one man had two little girls, dressed as cute as could be in their above-the-knee dresses. They were about five years old, and one of them was very proud that she was not afraid of the shrimp.
We settled the boat and walked to the local grocery, passing a tourist shop dedicated to the phenomenon of Twilight. Thanks to Amy, I wasn't clueless about the story: however, we encountered only humans. The night was a quiet one, restless due to the docks, but quiet. We set out the next morning for Neah Bay - our jumping off point for the Pacific!
Neah Bay - Swells and Fog
This was an interesting day! It was clear, with light winds. Light weather sails are high on our wish list. We motored, encountering some chop but having a pretty smooth time of it until we neared Pillar Point. From there, the swells were solid and pretty closely spaced. I had the wheel and enjoyed learning how to take the waves. At Clallam Bay, I maneuvered her through the fishing grounds without drawing a single audible complaint, and then I saw the fog. I called George up to the cockpit for help with navigating, as it wasn't clear to me how far we had before Neah Bay. Soon, we were enveloped in fog. Tor, George and I all took posts in the cockpit; George at the helm, and all of us on watch. We used the air horn to signal our presence and kept an eye on the AIS. There were several fishing vessels on the screen, and it appeared that all were heading in. Slowly, we worked our way westward. After some time, we spotted land and rocks. We moved further offshore and continued our cautious approach. After nearly an hour, the fog began lifting. We were approaching Neah Bay!
We pulled into the bay without incident, the sky blue and the breakwater easy to see. Our first stop was the fuel dock, across from the rows of commercial fishing vessels whose names we recognized from our AIS. Our newfound friends Tracy and Bill were at the dock to greet us. They were anchored in the harbor, and we made plans to meet. It was the evening before Tor's birthday, so while we waited for the fuel dock to become available, I headed to the local store for cake ingredients. Eagles were nesting in the tree near the road, one parent keeping watch from a bough while the youngsters chattered away. It took over an hour for us to get our turn at the fuel line (a large power boat had gone in ahead of us) but the time was well spent. A group of sports fishermen struck up friendly aconversation, showing us their hold full of salmon, a beautiful ling cod and a halibut. They gave us fishing tips, a lure and a fly. Soon enough, we were anchored out in the harbor and dinner was on the table. Bill and Tracy came over just in time for warm chocolate cake with cherry filling. We sang Happy Birthday to Tor and enjoyed a lovely sunset.
Juan de Fuca
Rough! We headed towards the Pacific, thankful that the fog was lifting. The waters were, of course, choppy; but we were elated to be on our way! We soon pulled her into the wind to put up the sails. This was problematic, because the main halyard was wrapped around the mast. George and I went forward, our life vests clipped onto the jacklines that we have set up along the full length of the decks both port and starboard. Unfortunately, the motion of the sea and the attention to detail required for clearing the lines made both of us sick. George was only mildly sick, but I was less fortunate; and would remain that way through the rest of that day and night. Nausea is exhausting, so as soon as possible, I went below to rest. The cats greeted me with eyes that flooded me with guilt. Wolfgang got sick, though only once, and then I was able to rest. Tor took the first 4 hour watch, George the second, then me. Once we got out of the mouth of the strait, the seas were kinder to us. We were hailed by Tracy and Bill aboard Zephyr, and they let us know we were showing up clearly on their AIS. They were headed further offshore than us, though we hoped we might remain in hailing distance.
Tor saw a string of Orca, including juveniles, while George and I rested. The cats each found a place behind the bike bags and settled in for the duration. That night, the winds came up. I was at the helm. George decided we needed to have two people in the cockpit at a time, so we set up some blankets and pillows on a side bench and Tor kept me company. Unfortunately, he then succumbed to the mal de mer. Luckily, I had a bucket nearby. Meanwhile, darkness settled in and the winds continued to pick up. Steering required constant attention to stay on our course of 180 to 210. Soon, George came above decks to say it sounded like he was in a cement mixer up in the v-berth. We shortened the genny and reefed the mainsail, and George returned belowdecks, but none of us would get much rest that night or the next two. Before my watch was out the winds had gusted up to 30 knots. At that point, we had already put in our second reef and fully wound the genoa. George said that steering in the dark, watching the AIS and being constantly attentive to the compass felt like playing a video game (though I don't know how he knows that). He was right - it was much like that (only colder.) Finally, it was George's turn to take the helm. Tor went below and I took up the secondary post in the cockpit. It was a pretty active position that night. It was pitch black, and we weren't seeing boat lights but our AIS was reporting them. We kept an eye on them and learned how to better read the chart plotter where their information popped up. Somewhere around 47 degrees 44 minuites (as I recall) I hailed the Arctic Enterprise on our VHF. I was pleased to get a response from their captain, who didn't see us on his AIS but was able to clear away my concerns: they had already passed us. (I've gotten better at checking coordinates.) A couple hours later, I hailed another vessel that appeared to be on a collision course. Again, I got an immediate reply from their captain, who found us on their radar and promised to avoid us.
When morning arrived, Tor took the helm. He hadn't slept; just rested, so we were all pretty tired. George directed Tor to cut the engines (by this time there was no wind) and let her drift during his watch. We were far enough offshore (about 50 miles) that all he had to do was keep an eye out for other boats. George and I went belowdecks and got some much needed rest.
To our shock, the winds never returned on our second day out. We motored, making our way steadily southward. Swells were present and steering required attention, but it was a good day as far as I was concerned: I was able to eat a granola bar. No one got sick again. Later, I fixed us all toasted ham and cheese sandwiches and minestrone. The cats ate treats from my hand but refused wet food or water; they had pretty much just shut down for the trip thus far; though Wolfgang actually made a few trips up to the cockpit to visit with me while I was on shift. (Brave and tender hearted feline!) Our second day and night were spent motoring. George took an extra long shift and (we found out later) suffered bruises on the backs of his knees from sitting so long on the bench behind the wheel. The weather report showed a storm coming in about 24 hours, so the crew voted to head for Newport. It was the smart thing to do, and we anticipated that we could get there fairly early on our third day. Unfortunately, it took much longer.
Our third day was spent searching for buoys amidst the fog. (They call this month "Fogust" you know.) Our AIS kept us informed, and this time we did get visuals on a few ships, including a NOAA research vessel (McArthur). A frustration was that the charts on our AIS/Chart Plotter were poor; something we hadn't realized until this day, when we were seeking more detailed data. The chart failed to list Newport - the most significant port on this coastal stretch! We had a couple of books that gave us pointers on the approach, but none had waypoints for the markers and buoys. We just had to do the best we could with what we had, and that would have been enough if the fog hadn't added itself to the equation. In the late afternoon, we reached the vicinity of Newport. We could not find the entrance buoys. (There was almost no visibility.) We heard a regular horn, but we were looking for buoys with whistles and a buoy with a gong. George thought he heard the whistle, and then Tor thought so too, but it was difficult to tell whether it was a whistle or a horn. Consulting our books and charts, we explored the waters at a very slow pace. Newport has sandbars and two jettys, and there are always many fishing boats and crab pots. It was a pretty target rich environment. Finally, with it being only about an hour before sunset, George gave me his blessing to call the Coast Guard for some pointers. I radioed them on Channel 16, giving our coordinates and asking for guidance. The dispatcher came back with, "I strongly recommend you move west immediately until you reach 100 feet of water." Just as she said that, the jetty appeared before us in the fog. We moved west.
We had been near the buoy, but too far north, which put us at risk of going aground on the sandbar (not disastrous except for the cold) or onto the rocks of the jetty (disastrous). The Coast Guard came back to ask us our particulars (how many people on board, whether life jackets were on, whether we had any medical emergencies or conditions such as asthma). They informed us they had dispatched one of their boats to guide us into the marina. We waited at the 100 ft. depth until they appeared from the fog - a large, utilitarian boat with 5 guardians on board. Politely and professionally, they instructed us to follow. Thirty minutes later, we were at the dock. (And immediately greeted by Peter, on a neighboring boat, who warned us to move to another slip if we were to avoid grounding on the minus tide. We did.) Two Coast Guard officers inspected our boat, which passed muster except for a blown starboard bow light (which we immediately replaced), a lack of registration numbers on the starboard bow (which I remedied the next day) and no presence of a specific Coast Guard publication (Tracy gave us an extra when we saw them in port the next day.)
So here we are in Newport. We've had fun meeting several other boaters headed south and feel we are part of a "constellation" (for lack of a better word) of yachtistas.
We'll be heading out today for Coos Bay, which may be as far as we can get before the next weather front puts us on hold a few days.
We love you all, and we'll try to get some postings from George up here this week. He said he felt like Odysseus heading for the sirens, when he came up on the jetty.
Probably our biggest hope and task now is to find ways to conserve our energy during any future tough stretches. We'll be able to use our windvane when sailing in reasonable air, and we need to practice hoving to with the sea anchor. Keep an eye out for updates on those.
"Easier said than done," is a phrase that must have entered the English vocabulary at a very early date. It's certainly been with us for awhile!
We spent June in Seattle, back at Shilshole, and had time to catch up with visiting some of our great neighbors, family members and friends. Shout out to Aunt Genny, who is 81 and still game to out for a chick flick with her nieces. We stayed in Seattle until June 30, so we could join Dawn and Aubrianna for a joint birthday celebration at the zoo then set out for a rendezvous with the captain and crew of Nomadness. Did we sail? Why, yes we did!
One night at Honeymoon Cove then several nights with our new friends, moored off Hope Island - where the fireworks display seems to be one of the best kept secrets around. After a weekend with Steve and Sky I was feeling very "ordinary." I'll have to do something unusual one of these days ...
Just after we passed through Deception Pass for the first time aboard Nereid, a pod of Orca appeared. One or two juveniles jumped clear out of the water! We couldn't catch it on film, but we did get to see the fins and hear them chatting it up.
Looking back over the past 8-10 weeks, it's been mostly about friends, family and fresh air: the stuff that makes you want to live longer. George and I agree that we must be getting more fit ... we're just too tired to feel it yet.
We had a chance to spend an afternoon in Friday Harbor hanging with Dave and Tanya, then a week at Anderson Island with The Graffs and The Beans. Love our family! (Family makes rain in a campground endurable.) Caught plenty o'crab.
Somewhere along the way we (or I should say, George) solved the starting battery issues. Turns out we're wired European-style. Maybe it's a sign. Between then and now we also fixed a leak and George got the first solar panel installed. We're getting ship shape, an amorphous state of being of course.
In Poulsbo, focusing on work. 2-3 weeks and then who knows where the wind will blow us to ... but not knowing is half the fun.
We are in California, though Nereid did not make this trip. We helped our friend Renee move to Ashland (an adventure in itself) and then rented a car to scout SF Bay Area locations. We think we have found our spot for the winter in Sausalito - at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge. (Thank you to our Shilshole neighbors Rich and Linda for pointing us in this direction!) If all goes well, we plan to sail down the Washington and Oregon coasts before August 15th and spend September '09 through April 2010 anchored there. The film posted here was taken today at Point Arena lighthouse, on the northern California Coast. Those are pelicans flying in formation, playing on the wind. Of course, the drive up Highway 1 was beautiful: wildflowers and wild life. (We stopped to let a deer and her two wobbly-legged fawns cross the highway.) Tonight we're lodging near the Redwoods and by Tuesday we'll be back home with Wolfe and Mimi. (Thank you Lilli & Barbara, for taking such good care of them while we're away!)
We did get some good sailing time in over Memorial Day weekend, spending a full day out on Admiralty Inlet as we made our way to Hood Canal. We anchored near the home of our friend Kyra Petrovskaya Wayne, and George and Ron (Kyra's son) got out for a sunset sail as well. (We hope to post pictures soon!)
Our anchoring has been going well lately. The current and wind in Hood Canal were a good test - not only for the anchor but for our rowing abilities in the dinghy! (Think current and wind forces opposing each other, while we pull for Nereid.)
Yesterday (Monday) was our rig inspection day. No, we didn't go aloft ... we just cranked the winch! George had met Wendy in a sailmaking class. She and her partner, Daniel, rig and inspect. They are a great couple of people, and we thoroughly enjoyed working with them and visiting over lunch at SeaJay's.
They gave us some tips on improving our rig's stability - primarily mousing the shackles and guarding against chafe. ("Mousing" means putting a wire through to secure the shackle in case the pin drops out.) Since Nereid's rigging is only two years old we're in pretty good shape. There was one fairly serious problem: the radar reflector we'd had installed had shaken loose and was at risk of falling. Any object falling 60+ feet to a deck is sure to do some damage. We decided to stay another day in Port Townsend so Daniel could customize a new brace and reinstall the radar reflector. It was well worth it.
George diagnosed and repaired our water leak on Sunday. There's an unfinished piece of fiberglass (rough edge) where the cold water line leads to the hot water tank. We're not sure if that was the cause or if the original hose had a manufacturing defect, or if something caused the hose to heat and stretch. There was a 1/4" area that had gone thin and a pin size hole was there. Apparently, trouble can come in through a hole that small!
The only repair left to be made is to the Webasto forced-air heating system. George ran some further tests and determined the problem is not at the exhaust but is in the tubing system: either a gap or a blockage. Now that he's done with his sailmaking, he'll have weekdays to work on that.
His class now is in Oak Harbor, at the Skagit Valley College's Marine Technology center. It's an ABYC Electrical Certification course, and he is enjoying it. The instructor's dynamic and the curriculum practical: ideal for George.
George is single-handing it up to Oak Harbor aboard Nereid today, and we'll dock there until mid-May. (I'm transporting the car.) It's a calm, clear day, and I did everything I could think to make it comfortable for a one-at-the-wheel day. Of course I'll worry anyway, but he was happy with the prospect of a beautiful day on the water.
Oak Harbor's a military town. We wouldn't have thought twice about this if the Skagit College administrator hadn't recommended we have breakfast at Frank's Place.
Frank's Place is a shrine to war and warriors. We failed to notice the statuary in the parking lot, as we were in a hurry to eat. The interior walls are plastered with newspapers, photographs, uniforms, posters, etc., only two of them with positive messages about the peaceful conclusion of a war. We got a pretty friendly greeting, but--and maybe this is just in my head--the man who took our order looked like he'd as soon kill us as serve us. SPAM is on the menu, and the poached egg order came back fried, but I think my appetite was cut more by the photos. I recently edited a Vietnam veteran's memoirs, so I've got some pretty grisly images in my head, and the photos of bombing runs on the wall next to the table really brought those up for me. It's sort of "pancakes with a side of PTSD." We got the message that some people around here feel very positive and proud about their participation in a war, and I thought it showed good taste and some wisdom to not spit in their eye, so I removed our "Biodisel: No War Required" sticker from the car. Call me a weenie, but we're not getting biodiesel up here anyway.
The sun came out on Palm Sunday, and an eagle perched by our boat all morning. The otters are not shy, and the mountains are visible. As we said goodbye to Port Townsend this morning, we commented on how much we love the sounds of this place: the steeple clock and the mill whistle. George said in Gloucester the mill whistle always rang at 5 minutes before start/finish and break times and then again at start/finish and break times. It was so regular everyone assumed it was automated, but it turned out that all through the 1950s there was a man whose job it was to blow that whistle - and he always did so, on time.
Trial by water. We came home to find our water tank down to 2 gallons. That was odd, because we'd set the watermaker to add 6 gallons before leaving this morning, and we'd started with 20. The first question we asked ourselves was, "Where did the water go?!" The main water tank is under our bed. With visions of gallons undernearth our mattress, we hurriedly stripped the bed, lugged out the bulky mattress and got a flashlight. We pulled up every wooden platform covering the compartments: no water. Next we headed to the quarter berth, where the hot water tank is underneath the bed. (That's where you'll sleep when you come to visit!) Recently, the quarter berth has been serving as our storage unit. We pulled everything out and stacked it in our saloon. (Yes, that's the proper name for the living area aboard a yacht.) There were a couple gallons under the hot water tank; some water, but not a flood. There was also some water in the engine compartment and some in the bilge, but no flooding; not enough to trip the automatic bilge pump.
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