Itchen Log Sep 3 -17, 2007

Monday - Wednesday - September 3 -5, 2007
Remained in Morro Bay with the rest of the boats awaiting a weather window around Pt. Conception. Actually Pt. Arguello seemed the nastier of the two. The Points kept showing seven to nine foot swells from the NW, three to five foot wind waves from the SE and winds gusting up to 25 knots; the weather was pretty confused. The passage from Morro Bay to Santa Barbara is right around 100nm (about 17 hours at six knots) and no one felt like taking on the weather, ocean and time when we really didn’t have to. That said, staying in port was starting to wear a little thin; there are only so many provisioning trips one can make. We did break up the in port with trips over to Jake for either dinner and the Soprano’s, or both. The dingy engine burned up so Jake came over in his dingy and retrieved us for evening ritual.
Wednesday evening a 48-foot Irwin designed ketch pulled in. They had a crew of four and were heading north to Seattle from San Diego. The skipper had purchased the boat in San Diego and was taking it home. It was a big, heavy boat made of teak. His main starboard chain plate had broken coming around Pt. Conception in some of the weather that had stalled us in Morro Bay; tough time to head north. He was the fourth owner; the first owner had commissioned its construction and supervised its lay up in Taiwan; the second owner was Burl Ives; and, the third owner lived aboard, in San Diego, for 20 years. He was out of Morro Bay before we were the next morning, and planned to make Monterey. I don’t why it made me think of Buddy Ebsen (the actor), but he had a catamaran and sailed it quite a bit, even as he got older. He said all boats were catamarans; of course there was the cat (catamaran), the half-cat (monohull), and the cat and half (trimaran). Tomorrow there will be half-cat going south and half-cats going north. Where are the fat cats?

Thursday, September 6, 2007
0515 – Depart Morro Bay (finally); dark, heavy fog and 5-7 swells from the West. Pepe left early Wednesday morning with plans to round Pt. Conception and stay in Coho Bay; Jake broke later that morning with plans to stay in Port San Luis, on a can, and round the Point Thursday; Meridan and Cut ‘n Run left at 1900 Wednesday evening and plan to sail all night arriving Santa Barbara Thursday morning; and, Cok Cabuk will leave Thursday afternoon after his crew arrives; he too will sail all night arriving in Santa Barbara Friday morning.
0545 – Silently we motor past Morro Rock, hearing nothing but the waves crashing on the jetty; it’s quiet, dark, cold, wet and choppy. Chop continues to Pt. Buchon where the seas calmed. Swells organized themselves out of the NW and pushed us all the way to Pt. Arguello. But it was too late. Julie was seasick and so was I. I took the first watch and after fighting with mal-de-mer for a while, I finally caved and heaved my Vanilla-Hazelnut Tea over the side; it didn’t look a whole lot different going out than it did going in and the temperature probably wasn’t much different, either. They were clean shots though; no evidence on the rails or in the scuppers, of which I’m mildly proud. Vomiting can be such a messy business, but I cleared the entire boat – rails, deck and hull. Felt much better afterwards, too.
1200 – Julie relieves me and I go down for a snooze. She swears we’re going to hit the oil rigs that litter the Santa Barbara channels and changes our course inside the traffic lanes. Sun is out, sea is a little confused; NW swells and SE wind waves but as soon as we round Pt. Conception it flattens out. A little westerly comes in and I hoist the main and jib for a little extra speed. Cok Cabuk called to let us know his crew arrived and they were underway; he checked the weather with us and told us he’d see us in Santa Barbara. Jake called too; they were about three hours ahead of us and were well down the SB channel as we were rounding Pt. Conception. Lots of sea life again; whales breaching, pods of dolphins around the boat; seals playing, or sleeping, or patrolling (poking their heads up and surveying the ocean around them to ensure all is in order).
Moving along at such a slow pace one has time to make a multitude of observations and reflect. Reflection only serves as a catalyst for heavy drinking and the interrogative “why.” For example, while in Monterrey we were taken up to Costco by one of the local live-aboards. While in Costco we noted an entire display, about six examples of … coffins. That’s right, the kind folks are buried in … burnished metal exteriors, satin and foam interiors, half lids and a variety of pall-bearer handles. Costco sells its products in bulk …(here it comes) why is Costco selling coffins in bulk? Do they know something we don’t? Would we be thriftier if we bought several coffins at once using them when needed (we could stack them next to the garage freezer, also full of Costco products)? Buy now and perhaps give them as gifts when Christmas rolls around? Have them available for the neighbors to borrow should an unexpected death occur? Why … why indeed! Julie went to sleep and I went to go find some liquor.
On the other hand, observing the sea life around me caused none of the perplexing questions the Costco-coffin dilemma did. Watching the sea-life, especially the birds, I couldn’t help compare them. Pelicans are the heavies; like jumbo jets or C5A Galaxies, they lift gracefully and ever-so-slowly from the water, much like one of those behemoth aircraft that take the entire runaway to lift off and at the end of the runway are still only tree-top height. They move slowly through the air with wide arcs, generally staying within about five degrees of an imaginary center-line. They fly solo and in formation; very disciplined, no-nonsense flyers. On the occasion they do land it’s also a relatively shallow glide path; ordinarily though, in a deceptively agile move, they rise slightly and then like a rocket, tuck their wings in, extend their necks, flatten out their bodies and with a great splash, lunge, beak first, into the water. We’ve come across another medium sized, dark bird that flies like a strike fighter. They zoom off the water, low at first, but then rise quickly, not quite ballistic, but at a pretty steep angle. They perform all kinds of aerobatics, searching the sea below them, and when their patrol is over, they come down very quickly and lightly landing in a very short pattern. The little white-breasted birds I described in an earlier blog would be like the earlier pioneers of flying, having a great deal more enthusiasm than skill. I’ve yet to see one successfully become airborne.

Friday, September 7, 2007
0030 – Arrive Santa Barbara; calm seas, clear skies, visibility excellent. Nineteen-hour passage; 103 nm. Bow is still leaking. See Jake and Meridian in their slips and pass a huge catamaran. I know it was huge because the BIG screen TV in the main salon is the size of Itchen and served as a back-up lighthouse for the harbor. Moorage $29.00 (no reciprocals); $7 of the $29 covers the cost of a lifetime bathroom card.
0900 - up after a good nights sleep. It’s warm … like shorts, sandals and t-shirt warm. We can feel the suns nourishing rays deep in our bones. Lots of activity in the harbor; they have a beach! one with sand and sunbathers and volleyball nets. What a difference a day (and 60 degrees of latitude) makes. Cok Cabuk arrived about 1130 and Cut’n Run is here too (having never been more than 3/8 of mile off Meridians stern during their entire night passage). Pepe anchored in Coho, briefly, but left for the Catalina Islands as the waves were just pounding the anchorage (Meridian heard from Pepe as they were rounding Conception about 0200).

Saturday, September 8, 2007
Lay day in Santa Barbara. Dinner and the Soprano’s with Jake. Cok Cabuk off for Ventura. We plan Oxnard (Channel Islands Harbor) tomorrow.

Sunday, September 9, 2007
1130 – Depart SB; clear skies, calm seas. Fuel up with 32.8 gallons of diesel. Jake over for breakfast (crab eggs benedict). Jake and Meridian are off to Santa Cruz in the Channel Islands; and, Cut ‘n Run will stay in SB for two weeks and then move to Ventura to begin the ritual year-long boat preparation prior to offshore cruising. His part of the journey is over and we will miss him.
1500 - we duck into Ventura just for a look see. Not much really – a very neat and open harbor to the starboard, and houses built on man-made canals up the port channel. The home owners park their cars in front and their boats in back (not a bad way to go).
1700 – tie off at Pacific CorinthianYacht Club in Oxnard. The yacht club is way up the end of the port channel and the last moorage prior to the bridge (which we can’t get under). We pulled in behind a 44 Hunter (newer with a raised coach roof). Reciprocals abound; “Of course we can stay on the dock; oh no charge, and let me show you around the bar, jacuzzi and pool; here, have a key with unlimited access to our showers and library.” What a lovely and hospitable place. To celebrate, we tied off, ambled up to the finely appointed watering hole and bought ourselves a drink. Later we walked over to Ralphs, West Marine, Boaters World and Rite Aid.

Monday, September 10, 2007
0900 – Planned to head for Marina Del Ray, but decided to have a lay day instead. The hunter was gone and the Yacht Club was closed so we had the entire dock to ourselves. I spun the boat around and caulked the starboard toe rail. Walked up to the local chandleries and back for an early dinner and quiet evening.

Tuesday, September 11, 2207
0815 - Depart Oxnard; clear sky’s with NW swells 5-7 feet. Wind out of the west at 10 knots. Cleared the harbor and raised the main and motor sailed to Marina Del Ray.
1515 – Arrive Marina Del Ray - Pacific Mariners Yacht Club, reciprocals again; starboard bow leaking very little now. Sparky Mundo (Port Captain) guided us in and was there with a cold drink and warm introduction to his yacht club. Julie had a diet coke and I had what all of our hosts were drinking, a Grenade. A grenade is two shots of Vodka, a splash of soda for looks (actually they just wave the soda dispenser over the glass) and splash of cranberry juice (for color). It’s no wonder they were such a happy lot. The yacht club is open 24/7; in addition to a fully stocked bar (honor system) with gallon size bottles of booze (not puny little fifths – the consumption rate is just too high), they have several decks with huge barbecues, a large lounge with a big screen flat screen TV, DVD, VHS player; a decent library (reference books, novels and sailing rags); internet access; a mobile shop; showers; laundry; and any number of members willing to chauffer you around for supplies. After that weighty introduction, we stumbled back to the boat and around the marina searching for what other goodies we could discover. We were told to go to the Chart Room (a restaurant right behind the yacht club) for dinner. We “… should sit in the bar and order drinks and appetizers … hell you’ll get outta their fat and happy for less than twenty bucks.” We were already pretty happy, but did as instructed; for $18 (including the tip) we had tuna nachos (a thick piece of raw tuna on a large taco chip with wasabe and Worchester sauce) a prime rib sandwich, two kir-royals and a glass of white wine. We were headed back to the boat, and almost made it too, except for a guy from the yacht club recognized us from Morro Bay. He and his girlfriend were coming back from Seattle (where they had left her son at college) and had stopped at the Morro Bay Yacht Club. He saw our boats and recognized the Baja burgee and invited us up for another drink … well, how could we refuse. We met more members of this very active club, talked and of course drank some more. At some point we stumbled back to the boat intoxicated with the camaraderie and generosity of the yacht club and something else … I can’t remember.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Lay day, Marina Del Ray. We were headed into town, when Sparky and the gang offered to give us a lift. It’s our usual habit to walk, but they were headed out for lunch, very persuasive, damn nice and in all good taste we would have been bores to turn them down. Our little squad made its way to Sparky’s van and piled inside. While sitting in back I noticed a bathroom smell. Sparky had his van set up like a camper and I chalked it up to an unseen head. Sparky started the engine, turned on the AC, but seemed to be pondering something. Shortly, but very diplomatically, Sparky calmly, clearly, concisely and without conjecture announced, “one of you has stepped in dog shit.” I looked down at my sandals (big huarache looking things), sandals I had worn only for the first time since leaving Seattle and sure enough, there oozing up the sides of the sole, having been ground into the vans floor liner, was a moderate to large, now pancaked shaped, deep in the sandal tread, nasty, offending, odiferous, entire pile of excrement. This really sucks! They were all very understanding and supportive, though. Apparently the condo dwellers surrounding the marina basins routinely take their dogs out but fail to clean up after them. One of the crew quickly provided me with a paper towels, a spray cleaner, wire brush and an extra pair of sandals. I exchanged my soiled sandals for the replacements, sprayed the van floor and began the process of scouring the dog-doo away. At one point I became a little too enthusiastic with my scouring motion and nearly, adding insult to injury, sprayed myself. Once I had the van clean, it was time to start on my own sandals. I toddled over the hose with sandal and stool in hand; as I reached for the hose to rinse out the offending substance, I noticed another pile of relatively fresh dog stool, coiled neatly on top of the coiled hose, just where I was about to put my hand … when it rains it pours.
After that ordeal they took us up around the corner to the Costco. I was in a foul mood from the dog crap incident. You know after you step in it, the smells crawls into your nostrils and permeates every olfactory nerve in your head … one feels like they are walking about with the Eau-de-Stool fragrance. We step out of the van at Costco and I’m convinced I’m covered in this stuff (I don’t what that dog had to eat, but it was sure smelly). I’m checking my sandals and sure enough there’s still a little bit hiding in the left sandal. I grab the nearest twig from the parking lot landscaping and gingerly try to scape it out. A lady passes by and, knowingly, states “I just hate when that happens.” I think I’ve about run the ambush-at-dog-shit-row into the ground, so I’ll move on … other than to say this whole ordeal resulted in us buying one Costco container of mixed nuts for the club. What a loser!!!
We returned from Costco and Jake called. They had secured a slip a couple of yacht clubs down from us. They came up for dinner and we introduced them around. We’ll leave tomorrow and give our spot up to Jake. Cok Cabuk called from San Diego; they had just arrived and were tied up at Fiddlers Cove (our ultimate destination) way inside San Diego Bay, south of the Coronado Bridge.


Thursday, September 13, 2007
1015 - Depart Marina Del Rey; clear skies; winds west at 10knts. Hoist the main and jib and have a nice ride all the way to Newport. Lots of vessel traffic around Long Beach; huge container ships lay off the harbor and wait for the harbor pilots to come out and take the ships in. We had several pass within a couple hundred yard of our stern. They slow down just enough for the harbor pilot to get aboard and then it’s full speed ahead.
There was also a good deal of VHF traffic from warship(s); (the names the Navy now uses for all of their ships. The Navy used to identify their ships by their proper name … “this is the USS Bon Homme Richard …” but now it just “ this is warship … vessel at latitude 34.38, longitude 128.27 you are six miles off our port bow, be advised we are conducting military operations and you are directed to alter your course.” We never heard them ask twice. Cok Cabuk is a retired naval officer and later, in San Diego, he was relaying a story to us about a similar incident. He was stationed aboard a heavy cruiser as a young Lieutenant. This particular cruiser was 610 feet long; had 12 five-inch canons and any number of other menacing features; had seen action in every war since WWII; and, served as the fleets’ flagship. He was standing a bridge watch as the ship was going into an area to conduct firing operations. This particular area was populated by a number of fishing boats, which apparently did not want to give up their fishing spots. The ships Captain relieved our hero on bridge watch and observing the fishing boats advised (over public address system) the fisherman to vacate the area as they were about to commence firing exercises. As fishermen are won’t to be, they were not impressed and made no effort to get underway. After a wait just long enough to ensure the fisherman’s intentions were clear, the Captain (again, over the PA system) announced firing exercises would begin in 10 seconds … and began counting down. In the meantime, he had instructed his gunnery crews to load two of the five inch batteries with parade rounds (blanks) - remember they were the fleets flagship; … three, two, one - KA-BOOM!! Cok Cabuk said you’ve never seen fishing boats move so fast … like roaches in a restaurant, they scattered.
1700 – Arrive Newport Breakwater. Very nice harbor; open with houses all along the shore and lots of beach activity. As we motor up the short causeway the harbor splits in two. We went up the port side intending to dock at the American Legion. Surprisingly, the harbor is not developed with marinas. Most all of the boats are on buoys – there are some docks, but they are fairly small (12-15 boats); lots of kids in small boats, organized racing.
1800 – Tie up at the American Legion Dock; $20.00, no reciprocals. It’s difficult to find the American Legion dock, but after first tying off at the Newport Yacht Club, with some nebulous directions, we locate it. The American Legion staff is not very helpful and charge us $50.00 deposit for the bathroom key; no showers, hot tubs, saunas or open bar, just a commode and urinal (something which they are pretty big-chested about). The power at our slip is not working and they make no effort to fix it. The bartender is uninformed and brusque and the manager is too busy drinking and socializing to hear our concerns. We make due and head up into town. Not much to see, get some groceries and head back to our floating domicile.

Friday, September 14, 2007
1200 – Depart American Legion for Lido Isle Yacht Club – just across the bay. The Lido Isle Yacht Club staff are very helpful and we are able to use our reciprocal yacht privileges. They also offer us a ride into town, but that’s a lesson we’ve learned and shan’t repeat that mistake. They have power and water and nice bathrooms and don’t request a dime from us, deposit or otherwise. Julie walked into town and I worked on the boat. The PSS vent hose fell down and was leaking – plugged and elevated it - simple fix; took down all the sails and measured them in preparation for a trip to Minnies (a used sailboat chandlery); sewed the main which had two holes in it; and disconnected the traveler. We’ll use preventers from the boom to port and starboard tow rails to control the boom.

Saturday, September 15, 2007
Julie stayed on the boat and I went up to Minnies for sailboat hardware. No sails – I wasn’t ready to pull the trigger and I got too distracted by all the other goodies they had in the store. Minnies, on the outside, looks like a Mexican restaurant. On the inside it’s two stories of new and used boat hardware, in addition to a back lot where there have dinghies, motors, stanchions and a multitude of larger, unique boat items. It’s fairly famous in California; well organized and prices are very reasonable. Hoofed it back in time for a noon shove off.
1200 – depart Newport. Midway down the bay we cross about 50 kids in an organized sailboat race. The course crosses the traffic lanes!?! What’s up with that? We have a sailing vessel, approximately our size and infinitely more expensive, on our port; an entire moorage field on our starboard; tons of little sailboats forward; and, any number of pleasure craft and tour boats off our stern. We’re the ones with the most maneuverability and we’ve no place to go. The sailboat to the port gives way (he’s in the same spot we’re in, except he’s sailing) – we’ve seen this since Santa Barbara; people sailing in very close quarters. They have an entire ocean, 6000 mile to the next landfall, but they just have to sail in the harbors, I mean between the piers or mooring buoys; I don’t get it – we both come to port taking one of the snotty, stray little bastards right between us. Clearing the racing snot, we’re still in the harbor but into marginally more open water. We sail right into a fog cloud. Visibility is reduced to about 100 yards. The traffic, both pleasure and commercial, has increased significantly, maneuvering remains restricted and visibility has decreased significantly, yet … wait for it … yes … here it is … people are still sailing … sailing, oblivious to any hazard, traffic or impaired visibility around them … sailing retards, that’s what they are. Sailing in tight quarters because you have no choice is one thing; sailing in dangerous situations and endangering others is completely different. Power boats, big power boats, are moving way in excess of the posted limits, not to mention conditions; a tug and tow came down the channel, on the wrong side; dinghies, kayaks and jet ski’s are in attendance; I didn’t see it, but it wouldn’t surprise me to hear of someone in a inner tube floating about. Just about the time we clear this mess, we come upon a middle age couple, moderately obese, scantily dressed sitting in a vinyl dinghy (the kind you buy at Wal-Mart) dead center in the harbor entrance, fishing, with not a life vest around! Do you have a visual picture of this? I kid you not, they were absolutely indignant that we should motor by their fishing grounds. Run over the sons-a-bitches, that’s what I should’ve done. If we never go back to Newport Harbor, it’ll be too soon.
The fun wasn’t over, yet. No wind and the skies cleared about an hour south of Newport. We were doing our usual 6 knots, enjoying the scenery and discussing what would take us four hours on the boat to travel, we could do in a car in 30 minutes and watching the sailboats … little white pyramids bob northward . About and hour outside Dana Point, Julie looks aft and says “are you kidding me!” I spin around and coming right up our stern is a 30-35 foot powerboat. He’s coming up our stern at about 25 knots and I mean dead on. I reach down, flick off the autopilot and swing hard to port. Five seconds later he passes by not 100 yards from us. I’m convinced no one was on watch and the people in the back of the boat were pleasantly surprised to see us. Not so much so after Julie flipped them the one finger salute; I was more verbal in my salutation, although I may have use two fingers. I hailed them on the VHF and received no response. We watched them and 15 minutes after passing us they rounded up and anchored just off Dana Point. We closed on them, circled and I shouted over if they knew how close they had come to us. They waved and smiled and continued to fish. I reported them to the Dana Point Harbor Police, but nothing was ever done. The name of their boat was Anger Management; I’ll bet they were from Newport.
1530 – arrive Dana Point. The harbormaster is there it greet us and help us tie off; able to use our reciprocals; beautiful marina. He gave us the key to the showers and gate and told us to just leave it on his boat when we left in the morning. Out for a long walk around the marina and up the hill to a park; a wedding was going on. Wandered into town, picked up some supplies, had an ice cream and went back to our cottage on the sea.

Sunday, September 16, 2007
Awoke to a mildly overcast morning. Lazed around and cleaned the 4 fenders I got from Sparky at Marina Del Rey. 1300 – cast off; clear skies and calm seas. Fog set in and dissipated an hour later. Just off Oceanside we came across a couple of tall ships (brigantines) doing battle. It was “Pirate Days” in Oceanside and the ships were there as part of the festivities. The wind was very light and they were flying all sails; from the Royals and Top Gallants at the top to the Flying Jibs and Spankers fore and aft. Still, with all sails flying they were just ghosting along, maneuvering, ever so slowly for position and then the low, slow BOOOOOOOM from the ships cannon would echo across the expanse, followed by a huge cloud of white smoke misting up from the vessels hull. Seconds later the opposing ship would fire their cannon, with the same majestic clamor followed by the visual confirmation of white mist. It was quite the ballet, as the vessels glided over the sea only to slowly pirouette and fire their massive cannon, again. It gives one an appreciation for the mariners skill and patience from another time; almost within reach of their enemy, they must steel themselves waiting for the just the right moment to fire. All the time, keeping a watchful eye their opponent, hoping he didn’t get into position first; the wind favoring chance. We were going to engage them by crossing their “T”, but alas we had no cannon. We entered Oceanside harbor and made sure we went up the starboard channel; the port channel leads directly onto The Marine Corps Base, Camp Pendleton. We had no desire to be boarded by America’s finest.
1630 – Tie up Oceanside Yacht club; guest moorage available and reciprocals accepted. Up to the Yacht club for drinks and then a short walk around “Pirate Days.” Vendors lined the entire quay, dressed in variety of pirate costumes; some looking a little too authentic. Oceanside is a deceptively large marina with two basins. Upon returning to the boat we saw one of the brigantines depart. The wind had kicked up a little, as well as the seas. As the ship rounded the jetty at dusk, heading north, you could see him pitch fore and aft. His great bowsprit pointing nearly vertical then disappearing behind the jetty leaving only the tops of his masts visible; another pitch and the great bowsprit came into view only to disappear again. The motion continued with perceptible progress north until, as the sunset and night cast its long shadow, the ship disappeared into the obscurity of another time.

Monday, September 17, 2007
1000 – Depart Oceanside for San Diego; slight overcast (marine layer); winds 5-10 knots from the south; skies cleared and wind died – motored all the way to San Diego, past Carlsbad, La Jolla, Mission Beach, Ocean Beach and around Pt. Loma; heavy kelp beds around Pt. Loma (had to back up several times to shake the kelp from the prop). A U.S. Navy submarine was entering San Diego Bay just as we were. He had only a Coast Guard RIB and Navy Security boat as and escort. Remember up in Straits of Juan de Fuca and the CG Cutter that had come all the way across the Strait to tell us to alter course; we could barely see the sub up there and down here, the sub was within shouting distance … go figure. A barge came out to meet the sub; a gangplank was thrown between the two ships and a working party started to offload supplies from the barge to the sub. By the time we had rounded Naval Air Station, North Island the sub had turned around as was headed out to sea again. San Diego is a big harbor and it took us two hours to get from Pt. Loma to Fiddlers Cove Marina (just beyond the Coronado Bridge).
1830 – Dock at Fiddlers Cove Marina (this will be our home for the next six weeks). We have navigated the entire west coast of the Untied States coming 1542 nautical miles; spent the last 55 days on the boat; spent 260 hours of motoring; burned 176.7 gallons of fuel; used 3.2 gallons of propane; performed two oil changes, three engine cooling repairs; drained the overfilled transmission; tightened a loose fuel filter, a dripless packing gland and repaired a leaking anchor locker. We stopped in 26 harbors, spent $845.00 on moorage and participated in one potluck dinner … not a bad set of figures.