Lessons Learned

We have been asked to comment on what we wish we had known before we left so we put our heads together and came up with this:

1.    We experienced miserable conditions along the Washington/Oregon coast and the other northwest boats in the rally concur.  The fog was dense, wet, and cold and the seas were rough.  We do not have a full cockpit enclosure but many of the cruising boats do, and it would have been nice.

2.    Movement, moisture and corrosion cause equipment failure:  electronics, navigation lights, navigation systems, and alternators, lines chafe and fuel lines clog.

3.    Have several weather sources to confirm forecasts and conditions.  We downloaded weather via Sailmail from our SSB, and listened to NWS via VHF.  We also have a friend with the Marine Traffic Weather app on her iphone who texted forecast conditions to us when we were within cell phone range of land. She was invaluable. Everyone needs a friend like Joan.

4.    We rounded Cape Flattery and set a course 40 miles offshore.  After encountering severe weather, we changed course and headed for the coast.  It took us ten hours to reach the safety of a harbor.  After that experience, we stayed three to five miles offshore for a more comfortable ride, the ability to duck into a harbor if conditions changed and to obtain local weather information via VHF.

5.    Dedicated winches for all sails.  In San Francisco we added a winch for the trysail roller furl.

6.    We have motored more than we have sailed so carry plenty of fuel. We carry 57 gallons in the tank and 25 gallons in jerry cans.   

7.   The most common equipment failure in the fleet has been auto pilots. Our Autohelm 6000 is still working, but plenty of rally boats had problems because their system was too small to control the boat in heavy seas or experienced mechanical failure.

8.    Many boats took on extra crew members who abandoned ship in various ports when they became fed up with conditions either down below or out on the water leaving the captains scrambling to find new crew.  We did not take on extra crew and we are still happy co-captains.  Overnight cruising can be exhausting but we prefer to buckle down and get through it – just the two of us. 

9.    From Seattle to San Diego, we split our time 50/50 between anchoraging out and docking in marinas.  We spent five nights at sea.

We're sure to learn more on the next leg of our cruise!

 

 

San Diego

Our to-do list clambers around in my head and wakes me at 4:00 a.m.  I go over it again. The list has shrunk in the three weeks that we have been docked at Cabrillo Isle Marina.  Our routine goes like this: commute by dinghy to the other side of the bay, walk one mile to buy groceries, boat parts, cat food, etc., load some of our bulging bags into our backpacks and the rest onto our hand cart and reverse the route.  The trip takes hours and we make it almost every day.  The moorage fee includes the use of the luxurious amenities of the Sheraton hotel at the head of the dock.  A dip in the pool and then the Jacuzzi is a restorative end to each day.  

 

We replaced the holding tank, replaced the alternator, installed new watermaker filters, completed the requisite Costco run, made copies of all immigration and customs documents, took the cats to the vet for their International Health Certificates, filled the diesel and gasoline tanks and jerry cans, shipped Christmas gifts, and exchanged dollars for pesos.  

We have enjoyed our stay in San Diego and we’re ready for the next leg to begin.  This morning we reached the bottom of the list so I dug out the "Q" flag and the Mexican flag that we will fly from the starboard spreader. We will leave at 9:00 a.m. on Monday joining 145 other boats that are sailing 740 miles south to Cabo San Lucas.  Our first anchorage will be Bahia Tortugas after 360 miles and 36 hours of coastal cruising.  Our second anchorage will be Bahia Santa Maria, another 240 miles south.  And then after cruising yet another 180 miles, we expect to arrive at Cabo San Lucas around November 8. We’re excited.    

Avalon, Catalina Island

The hot, dry breeze cascades through the companionway, hovers in the salon and settles in the main stateroom.  Surprised by this offshore wind, I stand in the cockpit absorbing it.  We are on a mooring near the casino, and I am hotter here than I was in town. 

The one square mile quaint town is packed with contradictions.  Cheesy souvenir shops share the sidewalk with jewelry stores showcasing exquisite, handmade jewelry from around the world. Much to Ken’s consternation, I discovered the magical, eclectic collection of Ayala Bar, an Israeli artist.  In a storefront facing a sleazy liquor store, a small deli offers a selection of French cheese that rivals the caves in France.  Restaurants are abundant; a corner wine bar displays a regional selection of fine wines in a sophisticated ambience, while down the street, a noisy, rowdy crowd spills out of Luau Larry’s beach-front bar. Golf carts, the main local transportation quietly roam the narrow streets in town while trolleys and packed with tourists wind their way up into the hills.

Scirocco is a striking 75-foot classic wooden ketch with an interior so beautiful that she is featured in yacht design books.  At one time, she was owned by Errol Flynn.  A photo of him and Scirocco hangs in the Catalina Island Museum.  In the 1960s, she was owned by my uncle.  He plied these waters for years, sailing with family, friends and clients.  The photo that I have of Scirocco moored in Avalon in the 1960s testifies to the changes of this town.  Back then there weren’t any homes clinging to the hillsides and there were far fewer than the current 270 moorings in the harbor.  Now, so many years later moored in the same bay I feel like I have come full circle, as though I have come home. 

It’s easy to be healthy here.  Hill climbs deliver spectacular views.  Wandering the twisting roads, one is smothered in the scent of eucalyptus and fragrant pine. There are swimmers in the bay, sunbathers on the beaches, divers on the point, kayakers along the shoreline, and hikers on the hill tops. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the early morning darkness all is calm.  The surf meeting the beach is the only sound; no traffic, no sirens, no trains.   

 

Buttonshell Cove, Catalina Island

The full moon casts a swath of broad, glittering light on the water on this Friday night, just before midnight.  Twinkling green lights, like 25 small floating emeralds are scattered across the water.  In slow motion, they bob and flutter from the fully lit dive boat 200 yards from us to the rock cliffs where they trace an outline of the shore before they circle back. 

For five days, we have been the only boat in this extraordinary cove – a veritable nature playground.  In the crystal clear water schools of silver fish, blue fish, and orange fish are abundant in the towering kelp that sweep up from their base 30 feet below and rock rhythmically in the surge.  Sometimes, thinking that it will escape a seal, a fish will make a mistake and jump out of the water. Simultaneously, the seal jumps, catches it in its open mouth and returns to its home with a splash.  Dolphins frolic, pelicans fly by wing tips hovering just above the water in perfect balance, ducks quack in formation, deer scurry up the hillside.  We have kayaked, snorkeled and walked the niches and beaches of the neighboring coves.  Other than the kids from Camp Fox who pass by on their kayak outings, we’ve had this place to ourselves. 

 

Then Friday arrives.  I look toward the mainland and see sticks and white blocks resembling Legos toys on the horizon advancing toward us with the determination of an invading army.  The ten buoys are filled by afternoon.  Boats arrive late into the night. 

We awake on Saturday with five boats anchored around us.  Next door, Hen Rock has 25 moorings and all are in use.  Further south, White’s Cove and Moonstone Cove have a combined 58 moorings.  We hear on the radio that just a few are still available. A flotilla of 25 kayaks from the camp passes.  By noon, there will have been three flotillas and I learn that this is a YMCA father-daughter weekend with 225 participants. 

Our quiet cove is suddenly a very busy place – a playground shared by nature and humans.      

Two Harbors, Catalina Island

The afternoon heat ricochets off of the red, iron rich soil.  Trapped by the brim of my hat, it creates rivulets of sweat that meander down my face, my arms, my entire body.  On this ridge, the scrub oak trees offer shade sparingly and it is only when we find some that we stop to catch our breath and I remove my backpack, letting my shirt fall off of my shoulders to revel in the slightest breeze.  We are on the steep incline of Silver Peak trail.  As we reach for our water bottles we admire the territorial views at 1500 feet; the fog entrapping the peaks to the south, the anchorages below.

 

When we think that we’re at the top, we dig deep and find renewed energy.  We have a spring in our step as we turn a hairpin corner just to find the steep road continues up.  We spot a signpost directing us to Water Tank road.  We take the turn to the north.  Glad to be walking in a different direction, it feels like we’re getting somewhere.  Shortly, we arrive at Goat Trail/Lions Head junction.  The wide road becomes a skinny trail bordered with pear cacti.  Used by deer, it clings to the side of the island winding its way down to the main, unpacked dirt road.  We walk the perimeter from Cherry Cove to Two Harbors watching the exodus of weekend boats returning to the mainland just 20 miles from this Gilligan’s island retreat.  The road deposits us on the beach in front of the bar 3-1/2 hours after we departed.  We are hot, tired, salt encrusted and oh so very happy to have made the climb; after all, a refreshing Margarita and a swim in the warm, crystal clear water await us.   

Channel Islands Harbor - The Night Visitor

The splash is deep and dark...the sound of black.  A heavy weight ker-plunk, like a lead buoy going straight to the bottom. Our 30,000 pound boat rocks; it was that close.  Seconds later, there’s a loud tenor barking, the sound of a dysfunctional rubber bicycle horn so close that the cats dive under the comforter, their survival instincts on high alert. 

Many protected species live along the California coast.  This means that they can be seen en masse.  Tonight’s visitor is a California Sea Lion.  Males reach 850 pounds, females grow to 220 pounds. They are very social creatures known for their intelligence, playfulness, and noisy barking. There are seven of them piled on the dock and on each other and one is lounging on the swim platform of a powerboat.  They bark in loud conversation when they think no one is around.  Upon first sight of a human nearby, they slide or flop into the water, swimming, frolicking, chasing each other with summersaults as if they had not a care in the world.   

Santa Barbara

We entered Santa Barbara Harbor just after the sun rose.  Finally, we were sailing in shirt sleeves…ahh.  We were greeted by a massive congregation of brown pelicans that had overtaken the sandy spit as well as the dredging equipment.  The harbor patrol was trying to gain some control by spraying a fire hose.  This 2800-slip marina is shared by commercial fishing boats and pleasure boats.  Sailboats race in the afternoon winds.  

Palm trees lined the beach, sunlight bounced off of the water, beach goers were setting up for the day, fishing boats headed out.  This is a beautiful, busy city with convenient public transportation.  We browsed bookstores, wandered through the well-funded art museum, had trouble choosing the restaurant of the day, bought treats from artisan bakeries, and explored the energetic downtown shopping area.  The very best amenity was the outdoor, 50-meter swimming pool adjacent to the marina and filled with 80-degree water.  Nice.