Night Watch

It’s 0230.  Startled by a loud noise, I yank out my ear buds and throw off the warm blanket.  I uncurl with lightning speed.  Tethered to the jackline, I bolt from the safety of the companionway. In my mind, I heard a ship’s horn, loud and close. A big ship’s horn. I check the radar. It picks up only sea-clutter.  As Gitane rocks gently in the ocean swells, I grip the dodger rail and pull myself up onto the starboard settee.  I jump to port and back again. I strain to see just a few yards through the foggy darkness.  The flat, black seas are disturbed only by the bright, white foam from our wake.  Sizzling and bubbling, it sounds like a gentle sauté.  The wind is calm.  The engine hums softly.  The glow of the stern light illuminates the limp flag and the engine exhaust as it billows and slides away. The darkness of the night envelopes us.  We are completely, utterly alone.       

Charleston, Oregon - A Refuge

At 0645 we motored out of Hunter's Bay on Lopez Island in dense fog and slogged out the Strait of Juan de Fuca with the west wind on our nose for 18 hours.  Rounding Cape Flattery at midnight Friday we set a southwest course 40 miles offshore, following the Bluewater Route in Don Douglass and Reanne Hemingway-Douglass’ Pacific Coast Route Planning Map.  With the jib raised, Gitane sailed effortlessly down the Washington coast.  We kept an informal watch schedule, each of us taking a break when we needed one.  The kitties adjusted to life at sea, Ginger by snuggling up under the dodger where she could sleep safely in the sun experiencing minimal motion from the ocean, and Cheng preferring to squeeze in next to one of us in the cockpit where he hoped to control his sliding onto the cockpit sole.  Cheng’s second choice of refuge was to squish in behind the head effectively minimizing his rolling but eliminating his view.

By Monday night, with northerly winds increasing and seas building we furled the jib, set the trysail and altered our course to southeast, Gitane gracefully gliding up to the wave crests and rolling down through the troughs.  Responding to a warning of gale winds further south and deteriorating conditions, we again altered our course and steered easterly, seeking the nearest harbor for refuge.  We approached Newport at midnight and decided not to attempt to cross the unfamiliar bar.  We continued south on a route just three miles offshore and heard the Coast Guard close the next bar, Siuslaw.  By Tuesday morning, in deteriorating conditions of increasing winds, high waves and dense fog, we decided to bypass Winchester Bay, a reportedly difficult bar to cross, and continued south to Coos Bay.  We ducked into Charleston Boat Harbor around 1300.   The Coast Guard restricted entrance to the bar just as we passed into the safety of the channel. 

We arrived drenched from the dense fog and taking waves on the port aft quarter, cold, hungry (chicken noodle soup only goes so far) and very tired.  To us, Charleston was the Center of the Universe.  We tied up in the marina, took hot showers, enjoyed a local brew and early dinner at a pub and slept for 12 hours.  Waking refreshed, we have spent our days in paradise repairing the navigation lights that failed on the foggiest night and re-stowing gear now that we know the conditions that await us. 

Charleston is a busy fishing port and has been a wonderful refuge from the storm. The Port staff and fishermen on the docks are very friendly, there are marine chandleries and repair facilities, small grocery stores and numerous eateries with fresh fish and good local beer.  We have regrouped and will head south on Friday morning to Crescent City with forecasted light southwest winds.

Mexico Here We Come

We have provisioned, picked up parts, spent time with Mom, stowed the dingy on deck, and replaced the cockpit table with a liferaft.  We're ready to go!  There’s a high pressure system sitting off the coast so we will be casting off in Saturday’s pre-dawn darkness and heading west out the Strait of Juan de Fuca, turning south at Cape Flattery and cruising with northerly winds to our first stop at Noyo Harbor, Fort Bragg to visit family.

Our e-mail address while we are offshore is: WDF4241@sailmail.com.  This is for TEXT only!  Please keep in mind a few things:  1.  do not simply hit the respond button as this uses precious time and energy to transmit what has already be said, and 2. please do not send any attachments, no pictures, no jokes, no forwarded e-mails.  They will be too large and we will not be able to download them.  Our transit time is approximately six days, so if a message can wait, please send it to our Hotmail addresses and we'll pick it up when we return to wifi land: n_hunting@hotmail.com or Gitane2008@live.com.  Thank you!



     

Anacortes, Fidalgo Island

It’s good to be home following our successful shakedown cruise to Desolation Sound during which we re-gained our sea legs.  Moored at the very friendly Cap Sante Boat Haven, everything a cruiser needs is within walking distance:  a laundromat, post office, banks, chandleries, gift shops, grocery stores, and restaurants.  In the summer, the Port offers free community concerts on Friday nights, on-going sidewalk chess games and rental bikes.

On Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings, there's an energetic farmer’s market where a colorful and tasty array of vegetables, fruits, berries, breads and crafts are presented by friendly local vendors. We savored a grilled salmon dinner and local brew while listening to live music, enjoying the sights, sounds and scents of summer.       

Bowen Island, Howe Sound

When we sailed into Howe Sound on a sunny afternoon, we were suddenly gliding along on an incredibly beautiful, translucent ribbon of jade, as if we were skating on a bracelet.   Susi, from Meadowlark 1, told us that this water is usually more of a steely blue due to the glacier runoff.  We were thrilled to have witnessed the anomaly.

This stocky ferry dwarfed the boats moored in Union Steamship Company Marina.  We walked the docks intrigued by the motley mix of vessels and houseboats.  The village is an eccentric mix of up-town trendy meets organic cozy cottage.  Great place to re-enter civilization from the islands.     

Hague Lake, Cortes Island

Our guide book states that Hague Lake is just a 30 minute walk from the public wharf at Cortes Bay and that it offers idyllic, warm water swimming.  Period.  No other information.  No road names, no take a right here or a left there, no suggestions on what to pack.  No nothing.  So off we went with our daypacks containing a chamois towel, water, and a small lunch, winding our way up, down and around on a road carved through a heavily scented forest of red cedar and Douglas fir. After the 30-minute estimated travel time had passed, we occasionally asked directions, as the road stretched on and on, and were assured that we were headed to the lake beach, the first that we heard our destination described as a beach.  A few minutes later, we came upon a lively community hall with a Friday market in progress and stopped in at this local bonanza offering fresh baked goods; smoked, troll-caught salmon; and locally made jams, jellies, jewelry and crafts.  Thinking that we were just taking a walk and going swimming, we hadn’t packed any money, but we enjoyed checking out the local bounty.    

We got back out on the road and continued on to the stop sign as instructed, turned right, and right again at the dirt parking lot and entered the forest path that led to the most surprising and extraordinary white sandy beach.  The beautiful sand extended 100 feet from the shoreline and created the most inviting shallow water swimming hole.  Swimmers, kayakers and frizbees abounded. 

It took us no more than one minute to deposit our daypacks in the shade on the driftwood-lined shore before we were splashing and swimming in the clear, warm water. 

Sometimes, having just a vague idea of what you’re looking for turns into a most unexpected pleasure.   

The Trapper's Cabin, Princess Louisa Inlet

It’s a 1,750 foot nearly vertical climb to The Trapper’s Cabin, or what’s left of it. 

For the most part, the trail consists of ascending a mountainside following orange ribbons tied to stumps and branches. It was with relief that every so often we would come across something of a plateau giving our muscles a much needed break from the tortuous climb.  With our hearts pounding and our breathing labored we would find ourselves in a quasi-meadow scene of dappled sunlight in the midst of this dense forest of vibrant colors issuing from the reds of the rotting cedars and the brilliant green of new, young foliage, and we would rest a few minutes in the deafening silence of our breathing.  There was no wind in the trees. No birds.  Not a creature.  Not a sound.

 We crossed streams in which we tantalized our fingers and splashed our faces and necks with the clear, cool water.  Just when we thought we were at the tree line, just when we thought that we could go no further, we heard the roar of the falls, felt the cool, moist air and saw the remains of the cabin.  We ate our lunch sitting on the hand-hewn log walls, wondering how the mattress frames and the piece of fabric that remained had been delivered, how the trapper had shaved the logs to make the floor and reflected on his life in such an isolated place. 

We walked down a path of meadow greens and onto a plateau of slippery boulders, wetted by  curtains of mist as the falls tumbled and roared down the mountain.  It was a clear day and the view to Malibu Rapids at the entrance to Princess Louisa Inlet was extraordinary.  A bird’s eye view of the inlet is humbling to say the least. 

The hike down was cooler, but harder on the knees.  The trail looked entirely different, more colorful, greener, more dense, the perspective broader.  Our hike took five hours and was worth every minute of it.  To cool off, a quick dip off of the stern ladder of our boat into the fresh glacier water sealed the deal.  It was an extraordinary day.