Anacapa Isle Marina, Oxnard

The forecast today was for light air, so we didn't even bother taking the sail covers off.  You'd think a forecast only an hour before the fact would be reasonably accurate, but you'd be wrong.  We motored out of Santa Barbara harbor this morning and immediately set sail for a glorious beam-to-broad reach all the way here, starting with 5-10 kts, ending with 10-15 kts.  Robyn was fishing, of course, and just as I was taking the topsail down when nearing the harbor, she hauls in a nice barracuda.  Minor excitement to end the day.  Actually, there was just a bit more.  Marina operators have little clue about the information yachties need.  Mintaka is difficult to maneuver in tight marinas, to say the least, especially with any breeze.  Well, they gave us the slip number, but the numbers are hard to see, and by the time I saw it, it was too late downwind to make the turn.  Thankfully, there was another open slip further downwind that we could turn in to, or it would have been a challenge to back out for another try.

Southern California

Up at 0430 to catch the tide -- why is it always so early? -- we cast off and motor out from Alameda towards the Golden Gate.  Luck is with us; there's no fog this morning, so the stress level is way down.  There's more wind than I would like, right on the nose, but it's not a problem until we're outside the Gate where we start struggling upwind and up swell.  After an hour of smashing our way unpleasantly upwind, we're far enough out to raise sail and bear off to the south.

The run down to Santa Barbara was a mixed bag.  Unlike the previous leg, we had wind the whole way.  The two daylight periods gave us extraordinary sailing, but the two nights were not exactly restful.  Luck stayed with us concerning fog, though.  Except for the last half of the second night, visibility was good.  Approaching Point Conception we ran into pea soup for a number of hours, but that burned off just as we were closing the point, giving us a magnificent view of the bold, rocky coast.

Point Conception is a divide for weather patterns, and the most amazing thing happens when rounding it.  The weather gods turn the fan off and the heat lamp on, and you can't strip the foulies and longies off fast enough.  You go from cold, windy sailing, often in the fog, to motoring on a flat sunny sea in just minutes.  The abrupt transition is almost jarring.

So, we got into Santa Barbara late yesterday.  Today, we rinsed the sails, washed the boat, did laundry, and said goodbye to Matt.  Tomorrow, we'll day sail over to Ventura where Mintaka will hang out until late October.  We will also have the pleasure there of meeting up with some cruiser friends, Brian and Lisa of the boat Glide, who have just finished a circumnavigation.  We met them way back in Mexico, sailed with them off and on across the Pacific, and hung out with them in New Zealand until they sailed on westward.

About to Head Further South

We've caught our breath, done some maintenance, and visited a number of friends here in the Bay Area.  Ben and Pat have jumped ship, and another friend is joining us for the next leg.  We met Matt Dusanic and his family when we were all cruising in Tonga some years ago.  The weather looks good for an early departure on Friday, so that's the plan.  Next stop, Ventura, where Mintaka will wait for us until the end of October when we'll continue down to Mexico.

Garmin Didn't Plan for This One

Headlands often create their own weather, and Point Reyes is such a place.  As we approached the point, the winds and seas built until we were running in 25-knot winds before twelve-to-fifteen-foot seas -- exhilarating but not at all extreme.  Of course, that was in dense fog, which did add a certain element.  So, we rounded the point, the wind rose to gale-force briefly, and at that moment, a wave crested and sloshed into the cockpit.  Again, no big deal, except it splashed onto the chartplotter screen, which then stopped responding.  Remember, dense fog.  Now, I can navigate just fine without a chartplotter, but under the circumstances, the workload was going to increase dramatically.  Anyway, the plotter has a touch screen, and the salt water apparently confused it.  Once I realized what was happening, and wiped it off with a rag, it worked fine again.  Got my heartbeat up for a moment, though.

Wildlife Tour

We had precious little wind for long periods down the northwest coast, but there was compensation in the form of tremendous wildlife.  If we had been sailing in more usual conditions, we would have missed most if not all of the many, many whales, not to mention the dolphins, sharks, and a really weird  fish called a Mola.  Actually, we might not have missed a few of those whales.  Twice, we had to alter course abruptly to avoid running into them.  A third time, two whales appeared within a few dozen yards crossing our bow.  Too close to react with the autopilot, we just hoped they saw us.  Not sure if they did because they slid alongside us within ten feet.

Dolphins also came to visit a number of times, but one of those was especially memorable.  A large pod of spinner dolphins entertained us doing synchronized backflips repeatedly.  They left us gaping in awe at their antics.

Quite a few times, the dorsal and tail fins of some fish appeared protruding above the glassy surface.  After many such sightings, we are pretty sure they were Blue Sharks.  Never seen that before, and wouldn't have had there been any wave action.

One fish that I have long hoped to see is the so-called ocean sunfish, a Mola.  This is a huge, bizarre looking fish -- you should Google it for a picture.  Anyway, we saw one sunning itself on the surface, waving a fin in the air.

Lastly concerning wildlife, Robyn did well fishing, hauling in a 35# Albacore.  Sashimi first, then meals for four for several days.  It's hard to believe that the stuff in a can is really tuna.

Many Eyes Make Fog Work

We pulled in to San Francisco yesterday, after a great passage down from Neah Bay, Washington.  I have much to write about, and I hope to cover it all before heading off again later this week.  This entry is about the last, and most exciting day.

We had anchored in Drake's Bay Saturday night, about twenty-five miles north of the Golden Gate, because it was too late in the day for entering the Bay and finding moorage.  Sunday morning dawned with a dismal fog -- one eighth to one quarter mile visibility -- and our radar refused to start.  Motoring along with the chart plotter, it wasn't long before the first fishing vessel emerged out of the gloom.  We had four pair of eyes on sharp watch, and gladly so when the second trawler emerged dead on the nose heading right at us.  A quick jink to starboard cleared him, but there were over three dozen more -- trawlers, charter fishing boats, small private fishing boats -- to dodge at short notice before we got clear to approach the Golden Gate.  That's when it began to get exciting.  The fog was still dense, as was larger traffic, and the wind came up to twenty-five knots or so, thankfully behind us.  We barely got a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge -- straight up above us.  After dodging several more large boats, our instruments warned of a large vessel about to pass us heading outbound.  The first view of it as it emerged from the fog was with heads tilted well back, looking up a hundred feet or so at the bow of the Grand Princess cruise ship, less than a hundred yards to starboard.  Definitely got our attention.  However, the fog broke as we passed Alcatraz, the beautiful skyline of San Francisco emerged in bright sunshine, the wind eased, and all was right with the world again as we motored over to moor in Alameda.

Why do we check the weather forecast?

We left Port Angeles yesterday morning at 0700, motoring out the Strait of Juan DeFuca.  Twelve hours later, as we were passing Neah Bay, the last possible anchorage before the open Pacific, we checked weather one more time.  Well, they were calling for thunderstorms over the next few hours, so we decided to duck in here for the night.  Of course, it was totally calm and quiet all night.  Now they're calling for light and contrary winds over the next few days, but what do they know?

Ready for Sea

Mintaka is tied up to the guest dock in Port Angeles, Washington, awaiting our return from a brief family visit, as well as the arrival of our two crew.  She's ready for sea, and so are we.  Except for a few more chores, of course:  remounting the radar, pickling the new water-maker membrane, filling the fuel and water, and reorganizing stowage to make room for the crew.

I installed a new radar and chart-plotter from Garmin last year, and have been very impressed with them both.  Last week, though, the radar stopped working.  Bad timing!  After a telephone consultation, we sent it off second-day air to Garmin's repair facility in Kansas; they repaired it in two days, and sent it back next-day air.  Thank you, Garmin.  I still have to haul it up the mizzen mast, though.

The chart-plotter quickly seduced me to the Dark Side.  I still prefer paper charts for planning and visualizing the bigger picture, but the plotter really lowers the work load for minute-by-minute navigation.  It also makes some things possible that I would never have done before, like leaving harbor through a dog-leg channel before dawn in fog (caveat here -- been through that channel many times, and had a back-up plan).

Over the past month, we've sailed around a little, but mostly anchored in various places to do chores and to rendezvous with friends we'd met in far-off places:  Ric &Kitty, American friends living in New Zealand but cruising on their boat in British Columbia; Jim and Deb on Roriki, who we met on a street corner in Tahiti; Willy & Cindy on Pazzo, who we met in Samoa; and Will & Joan on Chaika, who we met in Mexico.   Surprising how many cruisers fetch up in the Northwest.  The meeting with Chaika was completely unexpected; they just sailed into our anchorage one afternoon.  It is amazing sometimes how boat-paths cross.

So, we cleaned and greased all the winches, installed a new manual bilge pump in the cockpit, replaced part of the engine exhaust system, varnished the mizzen mast and boom, re-rigged the spinnaker pole and moved the genoa tracks forward on both bulwarks to work with the new sail-plan, swung the compass, etc, etc.

Swinging the compass is an interesting exercise.  It involves taking relative bearings to a landmark some miles away, and at the same moment recording the compass reading.  Do that at numerous points in all directions on a calm day, graph the results, and you know the accuracy of your compass in any direction.

The mizzen mast being wood, it needs to be varnished a couple of times each year.  I use a halyard to rig a non-stretching rope to ascend, go up once to sand lightly on the way back down, then go up again to varnish on the way down.  Takes a few hours.  Unfortunately, I picked an anchorage with more boat traffic than I had bargained for -- wound up swinging around a bit up there.  Good thing I don't get queasy easily.

The new sail-plan necessitated a different lead for the jib sheets, so we had to move the bulwark tracks forward a few feet.  Nothing ever being simple, several of the screws proved intractable and had to be drilled out.  Then, in moving the cars along the tracks to new positions, the knob that retracts a spring-loaded pin broke off on one,  meaning that car could not be moved. These things are heavily made of cast stainless steel, and was the devil itself to cut off.  Even the almighty Dremel tool failed to do the job.  I finally resorted to muscle and hacksaw.

Lest you think that all is fun working on a boat, consider the consequences of a plumbing failure with the head.  On land, one just calls a plumber, and mops the floor.  Not so simple on a boat.  A month or so ago, a guest pumped the head with a valve miss-set, and blew a hose off.  If we didn't know shit before, we sure do now.  It was truly an unholy mess, in some very difficult spaces.  Took almost three days to clean.

All that is behind us now, the open sea and far-off shores ahead.  Weather permitting, we'll cast off next Saturday morning, next stop San Francisco.