Tuesday- Thursday, September 18 -20, 2007
Wake to a warm sunny mornings with only a slight overcast. Fiddlers Cove Marina … this will be our home for the next six weeks. Fiddlers Cove is a Navy Marina just south of the Coronado Bridge located on the Silver Strand about a mile from the Navy Seal Training Base, Navy Amphibious Base and the city of Coronado itself. Fiddlers Cove is primarily for the benefit of active duty personnel, but the Harbor Master, Curt Snyder keeps a few slips open for transient retired personnel. Moorage for the six weeks was $500 (about $12/night) and all services (showers, laundry, lounge, BBQ’s and a small store) are available and there is a good-sized RV park that is also part of the marina. We are within walking distance to the bases for shopping and the city of Coronado itself. Coronado is a town out of the 50’s with a quiet main street, subtle, low building architecture, very few neon signs and quaint street front restaurants, shops and stores. We went up to the Del Coronado Hotel and rented a car and headed to provision at the marine stores, exchanges and thrift stores that pepper San Diego. We signed up for wi-fi ($50) for 6 weeks.
Friday-Friday, September 21-28, 2007
Left for Phoenix to visit family and pick up supplies that had been shipped to my mothers’ house in AZ. Nice drive through the desert … certainly different than the watery, wet, environment that had been our home for the past two months. We picked up our folding bikes, passive water maker (waterlog) from England, the inflatable dinghy, extra Sunbrella we’ll need to make the bimini and purchased some nifty shoes called Keenes at Cabella’s. They’re a shoe with the sides, top and heel cut out. They wear like a sandal, but provide good protection for your toes and support for the soles of your feet, and they let your dogs’ breath.
Saturday – Sunday, September 29- October 7, 2007
Return from Phoenix with our stash and it’s time to get to serious work outfitting the boat. I think at some point the boat will be completed, but I don’t see that in the near future. We’ve been working on the boat non-stop for the past year, rebuilding the cockpit floor, shower stall and head, enlarging the anchor locker, installing new steering pedestal, mast steps, halyards, running rigging, wind vane steering system, chartplotter and radar. We’ve redone the interior upholstery, revamped the electrical system, painted the decks, bottom, mast, shear and boot stripes; rebuilt the transmission, alternator and starter, installed new motor mounts for the engine, bilge and shower pumps and built a dodger … it seems the list is endless. The more we get done the more we have to do. I don’t remember this overwhelming amount of work with our other boats, but then they weren’t everything in one then, and I could hire people to fix it for me. Make a trip up to Minnies in Newport (the best used chandlery I’ve ever seen); purchase 3 spare sails (a main a two head sails); extra shackles and blocks, and the stainless steel frame to make the bimini. To Sea Chest to pick up another life raft – the aircraft kind. It weighs only 14 lbs and is the size of briefcase. The life raft we had is a Viking 4 person life raft in a soft vinyl valise. We bought it thinking we could store it below (out of the way) with quick access in an emergency. It turned out to very bulky, heavy (68 lbs) and terribly unwieldy to handle. We couldn’t store it on deck, as the vinyl would deteriorate in the ultraviolet rays (hence the sunbrella cover Julie made in Ft. Bragg). I couldn’t see trying to manhandle that life raft over the side in an emergency, especially if a myriad of rigging and spars were lying askew on it. That’ll go on ebay for sale along with the porta-bote. Went up to the Mexican embassy to obtain our Visa’s, and to Conapesca for fishing licenses for our crew and us. Spent evenings with Jake, Cok Cabuk and Marcus Newbry (a local sailor on the same dock). Jake was flitting around from marina to anchorage cashing in on reciprocals and the free anchorages. They saw a lot more of San Diego than we did, but they’ve been living on their boat for 18 years and know it much better than most of the rest of us know ours. Cok Cabuk and Marcus were both just down the dock from us at Fiddlers Cove. All of us, even Jake, were still jumping like jelly beans outfitting our boats. Cok Cabuk had a car he had driven down from Oregon and was very generous letting us use it. We’d have been lost without it, or worse yet, broke from rental car expenses.
Monday – Friday, October 8 – 26, 2007
We sold the porta-bote, liferaft and Julies nursing books on ebay. We’ve given our new little folding bikes a couple of spins into Coronado (had breakfast with Jake at this nifty little 50’s diner that still cook the eggs in lard and isn’t afraid to give you half a dozen pieces of thick meaty bacon, all for like two bucks). Julie created fine meals with elegant presentation for diner guests; we went to Jake for dinner and the Soprano’s either in our own dinghy or Jake would pick us up at the dock in his dinghy (Jake has a bigger and harder dinghy than I do … no real man need suffer that level of humiliation). Some evenings, we’d just saunter down the dock to Cok Cabuk. Always, no matter where we went in the area we could see the Seals in training … mostly swimming and mostly in the evening or after dark. We couldn’t get very close but we could see the trainees heads bobbing up and down in the water with RIB’s standing by, kind of corralling them in. They were all dressed in very dark clothing and barely visible with the evening light. A group would circle up and tread water ... forever, then disappear beneath the water; sometimes they had scuba gear and sometimes they were just in swim gear. The water wasn’t that warm either. They made no noise and we never saw them leave the water for shore. One evening about 2200 we see a group boarding a troop truck. They had just come out of the water and there wasn’t a sound among them. They were all business. On one night trip over to Jake from Fiddlers cove, via dinghy (about a half hour ride with our mighty 3.5 horsepower outboard), Julie was really feeling stealthy. We were in our fleece and foul weather gear; she turned back to me and said “isn’t this cool” then turned forward and hunkered down like we were about to hit the beach on some secret mission. One of Julie’s highlights was going up to the gym at the seal base and working out; slyly she would ogle all the “seal pups” as she called them. At one point, her stealth was almost revealed though; she fell OFF the treadmill while admiring the young, sculpted, hard bodies all about her. She was cool though … she jumped back on the treadmill as if to say “it’s cool, I meant to do that” (would I give a million bucks for a video of that)! After dark was really very social, but during the day it was all work and running between the various stores for supplies of one sort or another. We picked up a new outboard; Single Side Band radio (SSB); wireless VHF microphone for the cockpit; a satellite phone; solar shower and solar lights; new life jackets; more spare engine parts and more sunbrella and sewing supplies; bought the Garmin Bluewater chip charts for North and South America and the Pacific (I need to upload them onto the computer and then download that info onto the chip, for use in the chartplotter); bought new foulies; an iPod, put a new faucet on the galley sink and installed another manual bilge pump that can be operated from inside the boat (I now have four – two manual, one automatic and an electric). We finished caulking the toe rails (no leaks, no more, forever), made curtains for the interior, made storm windows for the ports, built a bimini and Julie sewed the cover for it and another shade for the remainder of the cockpit. We fit the spare headsails, fit the mainsail mast and boom track slides and sheeted/lined (put ropes on) all the sails.
The SSB had been a thorn in our side for the past year. An SSB is like a HAM radio except with fewer frequencies and the HAM license/testing isn’t required. The VHF license covers its use along with the radar. I think the SSB was designed for cruisers to provide and extra means of communication. Most cruisers have either an SSB or a HAM radio on board. The advantage of these radios is they can transmit and receive communication over thousands of miles. There are communication “nets” set up for cruisers to check in on a daily biases and channels that provide weather, time and other important data. They’re like the old phone party lines or the new chat rooms. Information is exchanged and shared. It is, arguably, the ultimate source of communication for a cruising boat; 2500 miles into the Pacific, when your up to your short-hairs in 30,000 feet of saltwater, it’s comforting to know that you can receive help and advice over that vast expanse via the radio. I said earlier it was a pain because I was never able to get a straight story on its installation. The SSB professionals would tell me I needed to buy the latest $6000.00 unit and then they wanted to convert the backstay to an antenna (which involved a rigger cutting the stay) and lay 100 square feet of bronze mesh throughout the boat as the grounding plane. The total bill could easily be $8K. Experienced cruiser would tell me to get the simpler model receiver, there were any number of ways to create a grounding plane and I didn’t need to cut the backstay for the antenna. For the past year, we’ve wrestling with this thing. The pro’s really must not have wanted to sell me SSB radio. However, after talking with the guys in San Diego (Shea Weston of Offshore Outfitting and Alan Kravitz of Dr. Electron) it became probably the simplest thing I’ve ever done on the boat; plug and play, just like a computer. An SSB is composed of a receiver, a tuner, an antenna and a grounding plate. I bought the whole package for a little more than $2K and installed it myself in 30minutes (correctly, the first time … it usually takes me three times to get it right). The Antenna (called a GAM antenna) is secured to the backstay via a vertically sliced piece of PVC that clips over the backstay; it’s then plugged into the Tuner. The Tuner has wire that plugs into the Receiver and the Receiver plugs into a breaker on the electrical panel, for power. For the grounding plate I used a 12” long piece of three inch copper strap and secured it to the rudderpost with several hose clamps and connected the other end to the other side of the Tuner. That’s it … Bob’s your Uncle and I’ve got an operational SSB radio able to communicate around the world.
During this time, at the most inopportune moment (Friday night, a week before we departed), I broke my tooth; one of the upper molars on the right side. Before we left Seattle we paid a visit to the dentist and he told me it was cracked, but neither us had time for him to fix it and he wasn’t really sure it needed to be fixed anyway. I was eating potato chips and I felt it crack off; no pain, but the thought of setting off with half my tooth gone seemed a little foolish. Saturday morning came and instead of working on the boat, we started cruising the Internet for a dentist. After about six or seven attempts we found one in Chula Vista that could see me immediately. Great guy and I had a temporary crown and was back on the job in about three hours. He talked with me about the need for a permanent crown and I told him my time line (a week, really less, is usually not enough time to have a crown made and placed). We kind of decided that I could get the permanent crown in Mexico, which is not a bad option at all. By the time I left his office though, he had me coming back on Thursday for the permanent crown. Thursday afternoon and a thousand bucks later I was a whole man … poorer … but whole none-the-less.
San Diego County began to burn while during our time here. Most of you heard about it on the news (700,000 people evacuated); the marina and RV Park filled up quickly with active duty and retired personnel that had been evacuated. The air was acrid with the smell burning wood. The skies were blanketed with a thick haze that blotted out the sun; everything was covered with the dull gray ash. We were less than a mile from, and unable to see, the Coronado Bay Bridge, a magnificent, lofty, elegantly curved structure that connects San Diego with Coronado. As we looked out over the water of San Diego Bay, there was no shimmer or reflection; only the fine, gritty, charred remains of homes, business’s and vegetation. Prior to the fires we had planned a potluck for all the Baja’ers that were slowly beginning to fill up the San Diego marinas and anchorages, especially Glorietta Bay (between Fiddlers Cove and Coronado) the anchorage the city of San Diego had designated (gratis) for the Baja’ers. It quickly turned into a potluck dinner for the evacuees. About a hundred evacuees showed up. We (the Baja’ers and Fiddlers Cove) provided the food and beverages, and many of the evacuees brought what they could. One fella, who had been burned out and had been living in his pick-up, with his wife, for the past week, offered to contribute to the fund to help pay for the potluck (there was none, of course). What a guy, he’d just lost his house and I’m sure a lifetime of memories and he was trying to help others. Another fella was telling us he had just bought his house and had not yet made the first payment; his house burned to the ground, as well. There were lots of sad stories, but no self-pity. The evacuee’s were upbeat and chomping at the bit to recover, rebuild or move on. The Command Master Chief from Naval Air Station, Coronado came over to pass the word that the base was open 24/7; the barracks and hangers were available for accommodations; the galley was open 24/7; the bowling ally, gym, pool, theater, child care and sick bay were open 24/7 and Navy Relief was standing by to help, until the disaster had passed.
We’d had a potluck before the fires for the Morro Bay Five. That’s the five of us (Jake, Meridian, Cok Cabuk, Pepe and Itchen) who were all Baja’ers and stuck in Morro Bay for a week, waiting to round Pt. Conception. Fiddlers Cove Harbor Master, Curt Snyder, sponsored our last potluck. Curt is a retired Master Chief and there was no shortage of liquor, bawdy language or sea stories. The party started early and went late. One of the live-a-boards was refitting his boat and had contributed his mast for the bon-fire. It was a box mast made of four beautiful spruce planks. The mast was about 40 years old, but to look at the wood, you’d think it was milled yesterday. I was really in a dither about his cutting up and burning the mast. It is such an integral part of the boats’ soul. It was so beautiful and so functional. Anthropomorphic, though it may be, boats have souls. Speedboats have the smallest souls, Sailboats have the bravest souls and wooden boats have the greatest souls. It is probably the stage in my life, but I’ve never felt so much satisfaction as I have outfitting this boat. The learning curve has been vertical, if not ballistic. The largest job never seemed too daunting and the smallest job gave me great satisfaction. I can say it no better than did Kenneth Grahame in “The Wind in the Willows” when Mole, going for his first boat ride, revealed to Rat that he had never seen, or been, on a boat and said to Rat, “Is it so nice as all that?” " Nice? It’s the ONLY thing,” said the water rat solemnly, as he leant forward for his stroke. “Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING -- absolutely NOTHING -- half so much worth doing as simply messing-about in boats. Simply messing” he went on dreamily … “messing-about-in-boats … messing … about in boats or WITH boats."
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Two days before the Baja Ha-Ha starts. Things need to get pretty much wrapped up today; tightened the nuts on the wind-vane, stowed the dinghy and bikes, donated the $7 sewing machine we picked up in Port Angeles (replaced by Julies good sewing machine, stowed securely), finished fueling and filled a 5 gallon diesel jug (as a spare), topped off the water tanks and emptied the head. Our crew came by and we all ran around doing last minute shopping at the commissary and British store. Stowed the provisions. To a final movie “The Kingdom” with Jake.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
To the skippers meeting and Halloween party hosted by West Marine for the Baja Ha-Ha’ers. Julie went as an oil slick and I went as a environmental clean up guy. Except I never got to clean her up. I took my computer and Garmin Charts along to seek help with downloading them. It turned into a real mess, and took three hours to get the access code from Garmin, upload the CD to the computer and then download the charts onto the chip for use in the chartplotter. Only to find out they were the wrong charts. I have electronic charts as far south as Ensenada, Mexico. So I bought the Garmin Bluewater charts for South America and the Pacific. The map looked like it was covering Mexico, in fact, it does from Puerto Vallarta (PV) South. I needed the chip from Ensenada to PV. Of course, Garmin sells a separate chip (chart) for Southern California (which I have) to PV (which I don’t). So after three hours of very frustrating time with the computer, a couple of guys from West Marine finally broke free and after an hour, they were able to download the charts. I then went and bought the chip I needed. Took the car to Amy’s (the kids’ friend) in San Diego and left the keys and title with her. I mentioned Cok Cabuk had driven his car down from Oregon; we used it so much (and Cok Cabuk was very generous in letting us do so) that we thought the least we could do was buy it from him. It was a bargain and we used it up until the last second. Besides, we thought that one of the kids might want it (Brigid and Tim were just coming back from deployment in Iraq). Julie to bed and I went to Cok Cabuk for one final beer before roll call.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Itchen Log Aug 21 - Sep 2, 07
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Day one of our three-day layover in San Francisco. Did a little boat work. Julie went to the clubhouse and used the work out room and sauna. Walked around San Francisco for four hours. Took our laundry up to a “wash and fold” place and went down to the wharf to schedule a trip to Alcatraz. We got a trip around SF on a double decker bus and breakfast as well, but we have to listen to a 90-minute time share presentation. That’s fine, they want a shot at me, OK … they’ll need to pay for my time. Back to the St. Francis Yacht Club early evening for a cocktail and to catch some one-design racing. The wind was up and the boats were sailing hard and fast.
Wednesday and Thursday, August 22-23, 2007
Lay days San Francisco. We heard from Tim. He didn’t sound to enthused though. He’d just come in off operations and he was tired. We took a walking/audio tour of Alcatraz. It was different from the tour I took 30 years ago that was led by a National Park Ranger. Received our mail, only about 12 letters (half of which were junk mail), not bad for being gone a month; I’d like to get the amount of mail reduced even more though. We were told San Francisco is the second most visited city behind Paris. I believe it! Lots of people … hardly room to walk on the sidewalk. As much as I like San Francisco and as easy as it is to walk around, we were ready to leave. We filled the port water tank and made preparations to get underway the next morning. Had Jake over for dinner.
0555 - Friday, August 24, 2007
Depart San Francisco; overcast with building seas and wind. 0645 - under the Golden Gate Bridge at dawn, through the currents and around Pt. Lobos back into the Pacific Ocean. Wind and seas from the SW … it’ll be a sloppy ride to Half Moon Bay. Only able to do 3.5 knots; wet and lumpy!
1205 – Arrive Pillar Point Marina, Half Moon Bay. Received our slip assignment over the radio (no reciprocals), but pulled into the fuel-up, first. California has a number of marinas that are run by local authorities; city or county governments (including Eureka, Bodega Bay and this one). They are staffed/open 24/7, full service (fuel, showers, laundry and electricity), the employees are uniformed and the transient slip prices are very reasonable (usually somewhere in the mid $20.00 range). So far, our most expensive slip has been in Seattle ($43 at Shilshole) and Port Townsend ($33.00) … go figure. While waiting at the fuel dock to refuel (the attendant was at lunch) a fellow in 47’ Sweden sailboat pulled in. He was working his way North after just coming back from sailing around the South Pacific for three years. He had his boat shipped back from Australia to Ensenada, MX (for $32K). I think he probably could have sold the boat in Australia and bought another here for less than the what he spent to transport it, but he must be doing something right if he can afford it. He was single-handing and his boat was set up very nicely, if not simply. He had SSB and an Iridium phone on board. He used the phone to call his wife, nightly, (ching-ching) while he was cruising (she stayed home).
We found our slip and Julie immediately found a fisherman that was willing to part with a freshly caught Rockfish. We shared the Rockfish with Jake and had a pretty fancy dinner with them (their boat – the Hunter 45 Legend - is an absolute palace inside)! Cok Cabuk (Turkish for “c’mon, let’s get going”) caught up with us. Turns out his water problem was the bilge pump flooding. His bilge hose comes out the bottom of his transom. As he motors, like most sailboats, the transom sinks into the water (from the thrust of the engine). As you’ve read, most of our seas have been following seas from the NW. He didn’t have a flapper valve or a loop in his bilge line, so the following seas and below water bilge outlet caused a siphon effect. He filled with water pretty quickly and the bilge pump was overcome. Once he reduced his engine speed, the transom rose out of the water and, viola, the siphon is broken and bilge pumps works properly. He put a flapper valve in and plans to add a loop in his hose; he’s doing great now, but looking for crew. Julie took him up the local café with wi-fi access and helped him find a crewmember. He was able to contact a retired guy, able to go at a moments notice, and will pick him up in Monterey.
I walked 5 miles into town, with a propane bottle on my back. It should’ve been only three, but I took a short-cut. I didn’t need the propane, but I did need the walk and figured I might as well get the bottle carrying experience now. I was told that the only place to get propane bottles refilled was at the Chevron station in town (Moss Creek, I think). We (my bride and I) started walking up this long, straight, lonely (airport) road that appears to be going nowhere. About 25 paces up the road, my bride decides she needs to return to the boat to get dinner ready (ha!); I, however, persevere. Maybe 30 minutes up this road to nowhere, I see a Chevron sign. Between me and thee though, is an airfield … a small one, but an airfield none-the-less, with a high chain link fence around it. At first, I decided to not be tempted into foolishness by this siren … I can walk around. I walk a little further and unable to ignore the Chevron siren (sluts) call, I begin to investigate the fence for weakness, holes, any small gap I can squeeze through or hop over. Nothing … no weakness can I find. The fence surrounding Fort Knox is not in as good shape as the fence surrounding this unmanned, half-baked airfield in Half Moon Bay. In addition, this chain link fence has no top bar, leaving the jagged links exposed. I’ll digress for a minute to share with you one of the traumas of my childhood. I was a handsome toddler at one of my older brothers’ (who was supposed to watching me) football games. Nearby, was one of these no-top-bar-chain-link-fence’s … probably about six feet high (the same as the airfield). Unsupervised, I managed to climb it. I nearly got to the top before I slipped. The only thing that prevented me from crashing to the ground was both of my wrists becoming impaled on the jagged chain-links like … like … a crucifixion. Some kind Samaritan lifted me from this stainless steel crucifix and I was carted away for stitches. Anyway, you get the picture of what’s going through my head as I face off with this airfield fence. I spot a crate next to the fence, hop on it, but it’s still going to take a good deal of balance, a little gymnastics and some luck to negotiate this puppy. Up I go, carefully … on the top … OK … damn! I gotta jump/fall the six feet on the other side, with a 10 pound aluminum tank strapped to my back; too late now. Over I go, falling, tumbling, spilling, mercifully, crashing to the earth below. No impalements though. No one witnessed this mysterious stranger with a tank strapped to his back jumping the airfield fence, so my freedom remained intact; now the airfield. I start to hustle through the ditches, weeds and freshly plowed earth for the tarmac (just in front of the FCC and a federal prison term). Just as I hit the tarmac, I hear the overhead buzz of a Cessna, naturally. I looked up and don’t see anything (what … I’m gonna wait at the edge of the tarmac, like a kid at a school bus crossing) and hustle across the airstrip. The Chevron station is very close now (and I’ve saved myself probably an hours walk) but something isn’t right. As I get closer, I notice the Chevron station is really a restaurant and a tank of AVGAS separated by, of course, another chain link fence. Yup … I said it (the mother of all swear words); I didn’t just say it just once either; and, I didn’t say it quietly. Tantrum quelled, I resumed my trek (now on Hwy 101) into town. I get the propane – load it my backpack – and head back down Airport road, which, not so coincidently, happened to begin at the marina and end at the propane filling Chevron station. Itchen’s enuresis continues; the transmission, packing gland and v-berth.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Lay day in Half Moon Bay. We resealed the toe rail bolts – those we could get loose. Julie finished sewing a sunbrella windlass cover. Went up to the local stores and found some good smoked salmon and a minimalist grocery store. The harbormaster advised us to take the 100-fathom line to Santa Cruz and visit Capitola. Cok Cabuk is headed straight for Monterey, where he’ll pick up new crew. Julie found another fisherman, so we had more fresh Rockfish (grilled this time); over to Jake for an episode of Soprano’s and lots of snacks.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
0600 – Depart Half Moon Bay for Santa Cruz – skies overcast, calm seas. 0700 – Cok Cabuk called on the VHF – he had left the harbor 30 minutes after us and wished us well. Cok Cabuk is a 38’ Wauquiz (pronounced Va-qey). Her skipper is a retired Naval Officer and retired from another career as a communication executive. Cok Cabuk is the boat that had the death, near sinking and the challenge with crew. I’m glad she’s sticking with us. She’s a good boat and her skipper’s a great guy.
1500- Arrive Santa Cruz, but decide to moor at Capitola. Employees from Capitola Marina are there to help us hook the mooring buoy. $25 bucks for the buoy and no reciprocals; they had dingy service, but wanted three bucks a head for the ride. Jake inflated his dingy, picked us up and we motored into the pier. Capitola is a sucky little town that has nothing but artsy-fartsy shops and wanna-be Caribbean restaurants; crowded too. We had an early dinner and everyone else went back to the boat, while I hiked into town. Didn’t really find anything. Jake picked me up at the dock and took me back to the boat.
Monday, August 27, 2007
0800 – Depart Capitola; skies overcast, seas calm, no wind; short trip to Monterey but came across some huge swells over the Monterey Canyon.
1200 – Arrive Monterey Bay and tie off at the city docks; $25/night and no reciprocals; free electricity, great showers and laundry facilities though. All leaks are still present and accounted for. Cok Cabuk hooked up with his new crew. We went into town for provisions and found a thrift store and walked around Cannery Row; to Jake for another episode of Soprano’s.
Tuesday, Wednesday August 28-29, 2007
Lay Days in Monterey. Moved to the Monterey yacht club, rafted off Jake; able to use reciprocals. The transmission leak is gone. I removed more fluid from the transmission and got it down to the right level and made a readable dipstick from a long white handled plastic serving spoon. Then I discovered the bolt holding the primary fuel filter canister was leaking. I tighten it, pushed the packing gland down further on the shaft and resealed three bolts on the toe rail with life caulk. Jake hitched us a ride from a liveaboard (Jim) to Costco, Target and the grocery store. Jake was previously tied up next to Jim, who had a Hunter 45. In fact, Jim is hull number 78 and Jake is #79. We walked up to the Farmers Market and I walked down to West Marine. Later we borrowed Jake’s folding bikes and rode all over. These might be a worthwhile investment; we’ll look into getting a couple. Filled the water tanks and plan San Simeon tomorrow, where we’ll anchor out.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
0600 – Depart Monterey; patchy fog and calm seas. Fog thickened and continued until mid-afternoon. NW swells 1-3 feet and NW wind light and variable. 0800 – a pod of dolphins started to escort the boat. Probably 15 or so all around the boat surfacing briefly for air and darting beneath the water and around the boat; they cruised with us for about 5 minutes and then went on to take care of other business. The day before we had heard about a shark attack on a surfer off Monterey. While in West Marine, I overheard one of the first responders talking about it; he said the shark attacked the surfer, left, and then returned to attack him again. The second attack was stopped by a pod of dolphins that attacked the shark. I wondered if it was the same pod, ensuring us safe passage. 1100 – A little land bird flew … well, crashed into the cockpit. He looked like a Meadow Lark, smaller and darker though, but with that same bright yellow breast (for some reason, it made me think of Lark Bunting; what a dumb name for a bird … it sounds more like a sub-division of an upscale neighborhood, than a bird). He hit the dodger (from the back) bounced off, landed on the aft lazaret, hopped onto the windvane lines and finally made a final hop to the dock lines coiled on the pushpit (aft rails). He stood there for a few seconds getting his bearings, fluffed up his feathers and promptly tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep. He was out! After a short nap he woke up and spun around and looked directly at me as if to say “what … who are you!?” Uncomfortable with my proximity to him, he hopped under the dodger. That had him befuddled; he could see out through the vinyl windows but couldn’t fly out. He kept looking up, but just couldn’t figure it out. Too tired to worry about it he rested a bit longer, keeping a wary eye on me. He finally flew out and up on top of the furled mainsail. I lost track of him there, but I hope he made it back to land; we were about 7 miles offshore. 1200- The container ship Jarvis Bay radioed the CG for assistance. The Jarvis Bay had two pleasure craft that were blocking his way. As he advanced on his course, the two small boats would maneuver into his path. Visibility was very poor with maybe only 50 yards visibility at times. Apparently, he could see them though. He was about 2nm off my starboard beam. This went on for some time. He slowed, circled, and finally reported he was almost at a dead stop. The CG requested the Jarvis Bay go 50nm offshore; the Jarvis Bay reported he would comply, but the pleasure craft kept blocking him. Finally, the CG reported they were sending two boats out to investigate, at which point the Jarvis Bay reported he had cleared the pleasure craft and was on course again. I can’t figure out why he didn’t run over them, or how he got the ship stopped in what seemed to be a fairly short distance. 1300 – Jake called and asked me about the thunderstorms. I didn’t have any. He said there was a mariners warning and he had already dodged two. We were about 5 nm abeam of each other and I had no change in my weather or seas; nothing came up on the radar and I did not hear the mariners report on the VHF. About 15 minutes later I noticed this huge (mile wide and a little bit longer) irregular mass come up on my radar screen. I watched the screen as the blob moved around in front of us, never closer than two miles, and then onto the East off my screen. I guess it was a thunderstorm, but nothing changed for us weather-wise and the fog remained. 1700 – skies cleared and winds rising so I hoisted the jib; we got a little boost for about an hour-and-a-half; surfed a couple of waves at 10.5 knots. 1900 – Rounded Point Piedras Blancas (http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=89) … white rocks. This and a couple of other rocks coming down the coast; Reading Rock (south of Crescent City) and Point San Pedro (south of San Francisco) are these magnificent obelisks that jut out of the sea, all by themselves. They just sit there, as they have for millions of years, serving as nothing more than a place for birds to land. The only thing I could think of was the amount of bird guano on them … millions of years of bird-shit! I just can’t fathom that … millions of years. Maybe they aren’t rocks at all; maybe they’re just huge piles of bird doo … millions of years … !?
2000 – anchored in San Simeon; skies clear but fog rolling in; seas calm. Dropped the hook with four other boats around us; nice, snug, protected, secure anchorage. The tippy-top of Hearst Castle is just barley visible. No fuel or transmission leaks, hooray!!! Dripless still dripping, and the jury is still out on the foredeck leaks.
Friday, August 31, 2007
0825 – Weigh anchor and depart San Simeon; dense fog; calm seas. Jake having mysterious engine, electrical and cooling problems, so we decided to go to Morro Bay for repairs. At one point, he needed to shut down and requested I standby. I asked him for his coordinates, but the ones he gave didn’t make sense. The coordinates had him way in front of me and he wasn’t on my radar. His alternator was overcharging; after disconnecting it, he was able to restart the engine and we motored into Morro Bay (turned the regulator on the solar panels had malfunctioned and just needed to be reset). We continued chatting on the VHF, but I was never able to find him. The last position he gave me, when plotted into my chart plotter, had him midway down the Morro Bay spit, well past the entrance. During the final hour motoring into Morro Bay I almost ran over a CG cutter. He came out of the fog, 50 yards in front of me and I think he was as surprised to see me as I him. I quickly altered course to port, he hesitated and then goosed the cutter and disappeared into the fog as quickly as he had come out of it. In the meantime, a Samaritan powerboat found Jake and escorted him all the way into Morro Bay. No communication was exchanged; he just sat off Jake’s port quarter like a guardian angel. As we were entering Morro Bay, I heard the CG cutter we had encountered request of the Morro Bay CG station, berthing, so that they could affect repairs. Strange morning out there … 1130 – enter Morro Bay. We passed the Morro Rock and the fog cleared. Went to the fuel dock, but they were closed for lunch.
1200 – Tie up at Morro Bay Yacht Club; actually, raft off another boat; $20/night with electricity, showers and laundry. Cok Cabuk is here; along with Meridian (48’ Tayana); Cut and Run (Hunter 37’ cutter); Pepe ( a 38’ Morgan) whose owners’ brother was one of the Time-Share salesmen that presented to us in San Francisco; and Moana (a 32’ Downeaster) who had just made a 41 day passage from the Marquesas after spending three years in the South Pacific. Jake, Meridian, Cok Cabuk and Itchen are all doing the Baja. In no time, we had gathered on the boat tops swapping stories and drinking beer. This evening the Yacht Club has invited us up for hors d’oeuvre’s and drinks. Cok Cabuk has lost the latest crew-member (the one that joined him in Monterey); weather has postponed their sailing and the crew needed to get back to his family.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Lay day in Morro Bay. We played musical boats last evening as Jake, Cok Cabuk and Itchen planned to go to Point San Luis today. The 1430 weather report was very favorable, but the 0300 synopsis reported heavy seas and small craft warnings. Cok Cabuk found another crew-member so he’s ready to go. We wandered into town more for the walk than supplies. Organized a pot-luck for this evening and all boats participated. We called it the Baja he-he or the Beje. Went to Jake for the Soprano’s. Maybe we can shove off tomorrow.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Decided to stay. Weather not cooperating and we were advised Point San Luis is not the ideal place to spend a couple days on the hook. Next weather window around Point Conception is Thursday. Looks like the entire fleet will go to Point San Luis Wednesday for the jump on Point Conception Thursday. After that it looks like Jake and Meridian may spend some time in the Channel Islands; Cok Cabuk will head straight for San Diego; Cut and Run will head to Ventura harbor: Pepe ?; and, Itchen will head for San Diego via the Southern California coast. We’ll all met up again at the end of October for the Baja.
Day one of our three-day layover in San Francisco. Did a little boat work. Julie went to the clubhouse and used the work out room and sauna. Walked around San Francisco for four hours. Took our laundry up to a “wash and fold” place and went down to the wharf to schedule a trip to Alcatraz. We got a trip around SF on a double decker bus and breakfast as well, but we have to listen to a 90-minute time share presentation. That’s fine, they want a shot at me, OK … they’ll need to pay for my time. Back to the St. Francis Yacht Club early evening for a cocktail and to catch some one-design racing. The wind was up and the boats were sailing hard and fast.
Wednesday and Thursday, August 22-23, 2007
Lay days San Francisco. We heard from Tim. He didn’t sound to enthused though. He’d just come in off operations and he was tired. We took a walking/audio tour of Alcatraz. It was different from the tour I took 30 years ago that was led by a National Park Ranger. Received our mail, only about 12 letters (half of which were junk mail), not bad for being gone a month; I’d like to get the amount of mail reduced even more though. We were told San Francisco is the second most visited city behind Paris. I believe it! Lots of people … hardly room to walk on the sidewalk. As much as I like San Francisco and as easy as it is to walk around, we were ready to leave. We filled the port water tank and made preparations to get underway the next morning. Had Jake over for dinner.
0555 - Friday, August 24, 2007
Depart San Francisco; overcast with building seas and wind. 0645 - under the Golden Gate Bridge at dawn, through the currents and around Pt. Lobos back into the Pacific Ocean. Wind and seas from the SW … it’ll be a sloppy ride to Half Moon Bay. Only able to do 3.5 knots; wet and lumpy!
1205 – Arrive Pillar Point Marina, Half Moon Bay. Received our slip assignment over the radio (no reciprocals), but pulled into the fuel-up, first. California has a number of marinas that are run by local authorities; city or county governments (including Eureka, Bodega Bay and this one). They are staffed/open 24/7, full service (fuel, showers, laundry and electricity), the employees are uniformed and the transient slip prices are very reasonable (usually somewhere in the mid $20.00 range). So far, our most expensive slip has been in Seattle ($43 at Shilshole) and Port Townsend ($33.00) … go figure. While waiting at the fuel dock to refuel (the attendant was at lunch) a fellow in 47’ Sweden sailboat pulled in. He was working his way North after just coming back from sailing around the South Pacific for three years. He had his boat shipped back from Australia to Ensenada, MX (for $32K). I think he probably could have sold the boat in Australia and bought another here for less than the what he spent to transport it, but he must be doing something right if he can afford it. He was single-handing and his boat was set up very nicely, if not simply. He had SSB and an Iridium phone on board. He used the phone to call his wife, nightly, (ching-ching) while he was cruising (she stayed home).
We found our slip and Julie immediately found a fisherman that was willing to part with a freshly caught Rockfish. We shared the Rockfish with Jake and had a pretty fancy dinner with them (their boat – the Hunter 45 Legend - is an absolute palace inside)! Cok Cabuk (Turkish for “c’mon, let’s get going”) caught up with us. Turns out his water problem was the bilge pump flooding. His bilge hose comes out the bottom of his transom. As he motors, like most sailboats, the transom sinks into the water (from the thrust of the engine). As you’ve read, most of our seas have been following seas from the NW. He didn’t have a flapper valve or a loop in his bilge line, so the following seas and below water bilge outlet caused a siphon effect. He filled with water pretty quickly and the bilge pump was overcome. Once he reduced his engine speed, the transom rose out of the water and, viola, the siphon is broken and bilge pumps works properly. He put a flapper valve in and plans to add a loop in his hose; he’s doing great now, but looking for crew. Julie took him up the local café with wi-fi access and helped him find a crewmember. He was able to contact a retired guy, able to go at a moments notice, and will pick him up in Monterey.
I walked 5 miles into town, with a propane bottle on my back. It should’ve been only three, but I took a short-cut. I didn’t need the propane, but I did need the walk and figured I might as well get the bottle carrying experience now. I was told that the only place to get propane bottles refilled was at the Chevron station in town (Moss Creek, I think). We (my bride and I) started walking up this long, straight, lonely (airport) road that appears to be going nowhere. About 25 paces up the road, my bride decides she needs to return to the boat to get dinner ready (ha!); I, however, persevere. Maybe 30 minutes up this road to nowhere, I see a Chevron sign. Between me and thee though, is an airfield … a small one, but an airfield none-the-less, with a high chain link fence around it. At first, I decided to not be tempted into foolishness by this siren … I can walk around. I walk a little further and unable to ignore the Chevron siren (sluts) call, I begin to investigate the fence for weakness, holes, any small gap I can squeeze through or hop over. Nothing … no weakness can I find. The fence surrounding Fort Knox is not in as good shape as the fence surrounding this unmanned, half-baked airfield in Half Moon Bay. In addition, this chain link fence has no top bar, leaving the jagged links exposed. I’ll digress for a minute to share with you one of the traumas of my childhood. I was a handsome toddler at one of my older brothers’ (who was supposed to watching me) football games. Nearby, was one of these no-top-bar-chain-link-fence’s … probably about six feet high (the same as the airfield). Unsupervised, I managed to climb it. I nearly got to the top before I slipped. The only thing that prevented me from crashing to the ground was both of my wrists becoming impaled on the jagged chain-links like … like … a crucifixion. Some kind Samaritan lifted me from this stainless steel crucifix and I was carted away for stitches. Anyway, you get the picture of what’s going through my head as I face off with this airfield fence. I spot a crate next to the fence, hop on it, but it’s still going to take a good deal of balance, a little gymnastics and some luck to negotiate this puppy. Up I go, carefully … on the top … OK … damn! I gotta jump/fall the six feet on the other side, with a 10 pound aluminum tank strapped to my back; too late now. Over I go, falling, tumbling, spilling, mercifully, crashing to the earth below. No impalements though. No one witnessed this mysterious stranger with a tank strapped to his back jumping the airfield fence, so my freedom remained intact; now the airfield. I start to hustle through the ditches, weeds and freshly plowed earth for the tarmac (just in front of the FCC and a federal prison term). Just as I hit the tarmac, I hear the overhead buzz of a Cessna, naturally. I looked up and don’t see anything (what … I’m gonna wait at the edge of the tarmac, like a kid at a school bus crossing) and hustle across the airstrip. The Chevron station is very close now (and I’ve saved myself probably an hours walk) but something isn’t right. As I get closer, I notice the Chevron station is really a restaurant and a tank of AVGAS separated by, of course, another chain link fence. Yup … I said it (the mother of all swear words); I didn’t just say it just once either; and, I didn’t say it quietly. Tantrum quelled, I resumed my trek (now on Hwy 101) into town. I get the propane – load it my backpack – and head back down Airport road, which, not so coincidently, happened to begin at the marina and end at the propane filling Chevron station. Itchen’s enuresis continues; the transmission, packing gland and v-berth.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Lay day in Half Moon Bay. We resealed the toe rail bolts – those we could get loose. Julie finished sewing a sunbrella windlass cover. Went up to the local stores and found some good smoked salmon and a minimalist grocery store. The harbormaster advised us to take the 100-fathom line to Santa Cruz and visit Capitola. Cok Cabuk is headed straight for Monterey, where he’ll pick up new crew. Julie found another fisherman, so we had more fresh Rockfish (grilled this time); over to Jake for an episode of Soprano’s and lots of snacks.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
0600 – Depart Half Moon Bay for Santa Cruz – skies overcast, calm seas. 0700 – Cok Cabuk called on the VHF – he had left the harbor 30 minutes after us and wished us well. Cok Cabuk is a 38’ Wauquiz (pronounced Va-qey). Her skipper is a retired Naval Officer and retired from another career as a communication executive. Cok Cabuk is the boat that had the death, near sinking and the challenge with crew. I’m glad she’s sticking with us. She’s a good boat and her skipper’s a great guy.
1500- Arrive Santa Cruz, but decide to moor at Capitola. Employees from Capitola Marina are there to help us hook the mooring buoy. $25 bucks for the buoy and no reciprocals; they had dingy service, but wanted three bucks a head for the ride. Jake inflated his dingy, picked us up and we motored into the pier. Capitola is a sucky little town that has nothing but artsy-fartsy shops and wanna-be Caribbean restaurants; crowded too. We had an early dinner and everyone else went back to the boat, while I hiked into town. Didn’t really find anything. Jake picked me up at the dock and took me back to the boat.
Monday, August 27, 2007
0800 – Depart Capitola; skies overcast, seas calm, no wind; short trip to Monterey but came across some huge swells over the Monterey Canyon.
1200 – Arrive Monterey Bay and tie off at the city docks; $25/night and no reciprocals; free electricity, great showers and laundry facilities though. All leaks are still present and accounted for. Cok Cabuk hooked up with his new crew. We went into town for provisions and found a thrift store and walked around Cannery Row; to Jake for another episode of Soprano’s.
Tuesday, Wednesday August 28-29, 2007
Lay Days in Monterey. Moved to the Monterey yacht club, rafted off Jake; able to use reciprocals. The transmission leak is gone. I removed more fluid from the transmission and got it down to the right level and made a readable dipstick from a long white handled plastic serving spoon. Then I discovered the bolt holding the primary fuel filter canister was leaking. I tighten it, pushed the packing gland down further on the shaft and resealed three bolts on the toe rail with life caulk. Jake hitched us a ride from a liveaboard (Jim) to Costco, Target and the grocery store. Jake was previously tied up next to Jim, who had a Hunter 45. In fact, Jim is hull number 78 and Jake is #79. We walked up to the Farmers Market and I walked down to West Marine. Later we borrowed Jake’s folding bikes and rode all over. These might be a worthwhile investment; we’ll look into getting a couple. Filled the water tanks and plan San Simeon tomorrow, where we’ll anchor out.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
0600 – Depart Monterey; patchy fog and calm seas. Fog thickened and continued until mid-afternoon. NW swells 1-3 feet and NW wind light and variable. 0800 – a pod of dolphins started to escort the boat. Probably 15 or so all around the boat surfacing briefly for air and darting beneath the water and around the boat; they cruised with us for about 5 minutes and then went on to take care of other business. The day before we had heard about a shark attack on a surfer off Monterey. While in West Marine, I overheard one of the first responders talking about it; he said the shark attacked the surfer, left, and then returned to attack him again. The second attack was stopped by a pod of dolphins that attacked the shark. I wondered if it was the same pod, ensuring us safe passage. 1100 – A little land bird flew … well, crashed into the cockpit. He looked like a Meadow Lark, smaller and darker though, but with that same bright yellow breast (for some reason, it made me think of Lark Bunting; what a dumb name for a bird … it sounds more like a sub-division of an upscale neighborhood, than a bird). He hit the dodger (from the back) bounced off, landed on the aft lazaret, hopped onto the windvane lines and finally made a final hop to the dock lines coiled on the pushpit (aft rails). He stood there for a few seconds getting his bearings, fluffed up his feathers and promptly tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep. He was out! After a short nap he woke up and spun around and looked directly at me as if to say “what … who are you!?” Uncomfortable with my proximity to him, he hopped under the dodger. That had him befuddled; he could see out through the vinyl windows but couldn’t fly out. He kept looking up, but just couldn’t figure it out. Too tired to worry about it he rested a bit longer, keeping a wary eye on me. He finally flew out and up on top of the furled mainsail. I lost track of him there, but I hope he made it back to land; we were about 7 miles offshore. 1200- The container ship Jarvis Bay radioed the CG for assistance. The Jarvis Bay had two pleasure craft that were blocking his way. As he advanced on his course, the two small boats would maneuver into his path. Visibility was very poor with maybe only 50 yards visibility at times. Apparently, he could see them though. He was about 2nm off my starboard beam. This went on for some time. He slowed, circled, and finally reported he was almost at a dead stop. The CG requested the Jarvis Bay go 50nm offshore; the Jarvis Bay reported he would comply, but the pleasure craft kept blocking him. Finally, the CG reported they were sending two boats out to investigate, at which point the Jarvis Bay reported he had cleared the pleasure craft and was on course again. I can’t figure out why he didn’t run over them, or how he got the ship stopped in what seemed to be a fairly short distance. 1300 – Jake called and asked me about the thunderstorms. I didn’t have any. He said there was a mariners warning and he had already dodged two. We were about 5 nm abeam of each other and I had no change in my weather or seas; nothing came up on the radar and I did not hear the mariners report on the VHF. About 15 minutes later I noticed this huge (mile wide and a little bit longer) irregular mass come up on my radar screen. I watched the screen as the blob moved around in front of us, never closer than two miles, and then onto the East off my screen. I guess it was a thunderstorm, but nothing changed for us weather-wise and the fog remained. 1700 – skies cleared and winds rising so I hoisted the jib; we got a little boost for about an hour-and-a-half; surfed a couple of waves at 10.5 knots. 1900 – Rounded Point Piedras Blancas (http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=89) … white rocks. This and a couple of other rocks coming down the coast; Reading Rock (south of Crescent City) and Point San Pedro (south of San Francisco) are these magnificent obelisks that jut out of the sea, all by themselves. They just sit there, as they have for millions of years, serving as nothing more than a place for birds to land. The only thing I could think of was the amount of bird guano on them … millions of years of bird-shit! I just can’t fathom that … millions of years. Maybe they aren’t rocks at all; maybe they’re just huge piles of bird doo … millions of years … !?
2000 – anchored in San Simeon; skies clear but fog rolling in; seas calm. Dropped the hook with four other boats around us; nice, snug, protected, secure anchorage. The tippy-top of Hearst Castle is just barley visible. No fuel or transmission leaks, hooray!!! Dripless still dripping, and the jury is still out on the foredeck leaks.
Friday, August 31, 2007
0825 – Weigh anchor and depart San Simeon; dense fog; calm seas. Jake having mysterious engine, electrical and cooling problems, so we decided to go to Morro Bay for repairs. At one point, he needed to shut down and requested I standby. I asked him for his coordinates, but the ones he gave didn’t make sense. The coordinates had him way in front of me and he wasn’t on my radar. His alternator was overcharging; after disconnecting it, he was able to restart the engine and we motored into Morro Bay (turned the regulator on the solar panels had malfunctioned and just needed to be reset). We continued chatting on the VHF, but I was never able to find him. The last position he gave me, when plotted into my chart plotter, had him midway down the Morro Bay spit, well past the entrance. During the final hour motoring into Morro Bay I almost ran over a CG cutter. He came out of the fog, 50 yards in front of me and I think he was as surprised to see me as I him. I quickly altered course to port, he hesitated and then goosed the cutter and disappeared into the fog as quickly as he had come out of it. In the meantime, a Samaritan powerboat found Jake and escorted him all the way into Morro Bay. No communication was exchanged; he just sat off Jake’s port quarter like a guardian angel. As we were entering Morro Bay, I heard the CG cutter we had encountered request of the Morro Bay CG station, berthing, so that they could affect repairs. Strange morning out there … 1130 – enter Morro Bay. We passed the Morro Rock and the fog cleared. Went to the fuel dock, but they were closed for lunch.
1200 – Tie up at Morro Bay Yacht Club; actually, raft off another boat; $20/night with electricity, showers and laundry. Cok Cabuk is here; along with Meridian (48’ Tayana); Cut and Run (Hunter 37’ cutter); Pepe ( a 38’ Morgan) whose owners’ brother was one of the Time-Share salesmen that presented to us in San Francisco; and Moana (a 32’ Downeaster) who had just made a 41 day passage from the Marquesas after spending three years in the South Pacific. Jake, Meridian, Cok Cabuk and Itchen are all doing the Baja. In no time, we had gathered on the boat tops swapping stories and drinking beer. This evening the Yacht Club has invited us up for hors d’oeuvre’s and drinks. Cok Cabuk has lost the latest crew-member (the one that joined him in Monterey); weather has postponed their sailing and the crew needed to get back to his family.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Lay day in Morro Bay. We played musical boats last evening as Jake, Cok Cabuk and Itchen planned to go to Point San Luis today. The 1430 weather report was very favorable, but the 0300 synopsis reported heavy seas and small craft warnings. Cok Cabuk found another crew-member so he’s ready to go. We wandered into town more for the walk than supplies. Organized a pot-luck for this evening and all boats participated. We called it the Baja he-he or the Beje. Went to Jake for the Soprano’s. Maybe we can shove off tomorrow.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Decided to stay. Weather not cooperating and we were advised Point San Luis is not the ideal place to spend a couple days on the hook. Next weather window around Point Conception is Thursday. Looks like the entire fleet will go to Point San Luis Wednesday for the jump on Point Conception Thursday. After that it looks like Jake and Meridian may spend some time in the Channel Islands; Cok Cabuk will head straight for San Diego; Cut and Run will head to Ventura harbor: Pepe ?; and, Itchen will head for San Diego via the Southern California coast. We’ll all met up again at the end of October for the Baja.
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