Photo: Sam Mamoud on an S.F. Bay sail. Sam would not have liked this
photo, because nobody is panicking.
In which the boat heads into rough waters... Water in the cabin... On excellence in nautical photography... Arrival at Doe Island... A somewhat disastrous mooring...
Matia Island Cove near Puffin Island 1998 Aug 07 02:17am
The boat was lurching and dancing around the waves like a horse. I looked at my watch: 2:17am. Oh well, I might as well get up and check the lines. We were near low tide, and so had substantial scope on our line. She's not going to give way unless the winds were really strong or changed directions quickly enough to break the anchor out from holding on to the ground. I put on a shirt and climbed out on deck to check for chafing along the anchor line. Larry spotted me to make sure I didn't fall into the water. The line looked pretty solidly hooked in, and there were no signs of chafing. So I climbed back into the boat and fell into another deep sleep, assured that we would not be dragging anchor for at least awhile.
This shallow cove, while beautiful, was not so well protected. The boat rocked, and I clutched for something to make the rocking stop. I hugged a pillow to my chest, and that sort of worked. I slept fitfully. When he was done checking the anchor line, Piaw asked me how I was sleeping. I thought of pre-dawn light, coming along in just a couple of hours. If I wasn't sleeping, it was too late to do anything about it now. "Fine," I lied. I promised myself caffeine with breakfast.
The boat was really bucking when I woke again at 7:00am. This time, the tide had risen, so I asked Larry to let out another 10 feet or so of rode. I did not dare let out too much rode, but I reasoned that we were going to be done fairly soon, and the extra rode would just make breakfast more comfortable. Breakfast was quickly over, and I again had the engine powered out. We could sail off the hook, since the wind was really strong, but I did not want to risk the boat, and having the sail up made the boat unwieldy if we needed to power out of the situation. The fenders were made ready, the deck cleared, the boat hook placed along the rails. Once again, the Bruce anchor proved itself, as the crew weighed anchor without a problem, and I drove the boat out of the precarious cove we had spent the night in.
I am by no stretch of the imagination an experienced sailor. I have never been a boy scout. I don't know much about knots. My shoelaces are usually tied, but I generally slip my shoes on and off without bothering with the laces. In the midst of our anchoring attempts the night before, Scarlet had showed me how to tie a bowline (pronounced as if it rhymed with "Roland") knot. Once we'd pulled up the anchor this morning (whee!), I put this new knowledge to work. Soon we were motoring into big waves. From the cockpit, I watched in horror as the front of the boat swung up into the air, slammed down into the water. Waves crashed over the prow. But that knot held. Maybe some of that sailing expertise stuff is useful.
Once out of danger I asked for the main to be raised and the jib unfurled while pointing the boat directly into the wind. Both tasks were done quickly, since the crew was now practiced in such matters. But when I fell off the wind and the sails drew power I was impressed. The boat heeled over almost immediately and started splashing into the waves. I wanted to make sure the crew was going to be ok, so I fell off towards Orcas island.
"You have a choice. Dead calm or Howling Wind," I said. "Howling wind," said Scarlet. How about Larry. Did you sleep well last night? No, not really. I'd really prefer it to be calmer. So we sailed towards calmer waters and suddenly the wind died down. The waves did not, however, and Larry soon felt that if he was going to suffer the waves, howling wind might as well come along with it, so we headed the boat backed up. The Healer heeled over and once again we were sailing, going 4 knots into the wind.
Photo: Sam Mamoud on an S.F. Bay sail. Sam would not have liked this
photo, because nobody is panicking.
Sailing in high wind is a hoot. Sometimes the boat will heel over hard, sometimes it'll head up and right itself. Your world is turned upside down as you thump thump thump into the waves. Before I left I had spoken to Sam Mahoud, another certified sailing skipper and also an avid photographer. He told me that he wanted a picture of the boat heeled over all the way, the crew scrambling to manage the boat, and the skipper therefore calm enough to pull out his camera and take a picture. I decided that this was the right moment to indulge him, so handed the tiller to Scarlet and went below to search for my camera. I found my point and shoot, and when I showed up at the hatch with it, Larry must have remembered that conversation I had with Sam and started cursing me. This was really good. The boat wasn't in any danger of course, despite being heeled over, so I was quite comfortable letting the crew handle her.
Photo: In case you can't read lips,
I'll point out that this is me pronouncing an "f".
![[Photo: Larry cussing on the tiller]](epithets.jpg)
Strangely enough, the way I remember this was that I was on the tiller while Piaw went down below. He claimed he was just wanted to use the head, and I figured I could handle the tiller for a couple of minutes. We were once again sailing close-hauled, when a mis-handling could cause the boat to lurch. I was once again heating up my brain cells trying to figure out how to steer under these conditions, how to watch the wind. After a couple of minutes, steering had ceased to be fun. But I really hadn't been steering for very long. Could I foist the tiller on someone without it being awkward? And then Piaw came up with his camera. Yeah, I remembered that conversation with Sam. I'd barely started to curse him out when I'd ceased to be angry about the situation. I mean, Piaw obviously wasn't worried, so there must not be anything to worry about, right? Still, I let fly with a few more choice epithets.
The reason why a skipper can be calm when the boat is heeled over is that when you're headed into the wind, the worst the boat could do would be to head into the wind and then stop. Big deal. In strong wind like this, you'd simply push the tiller around and the boat would get going again right away.
I happily gave up the tiller soon after.
We spent some more time sailing while very heeled over so that we could get photos of water washing over the decks. The fenders bobbed around on deck, held in by the life-lines. Waves broke over the prow, splashed through open hatches onto the bed of the fore cabin, onto our stuff in the main cabin. Oops. Someone closed hatches. Which might be like closing the barn doors after Poesidon's horses have already escaped, or it might not.
![[Photo spread: Heeling]](heel_sm.jpg)
Doe Island
We rounded Clark Island and the three sisters and the wind died a little, but still enough to keep us going at a good clip. At this rate we were going to end up in Anacortes today, a whole day early. We hugged the coast, following along Orcas island heading South. I was looking for Doe Bay, one of the first places I had been to in the San Juan islands in my 1993 cycling trip. Right past Doe Bay was Doe Island marine state park, and the map showed there were moorings near that.
By the by, we were soon at Doe Island State park, sailing into the cove. I spotted a mooring buoy and asked the crew to prepare to moor. "Where's the boat hook." Shit! It must have fallen off the boat while it was heeled over. Well, too bad. Larry, you've done this without a hook before, right? We're going to sail onto the buoy. We sailed in, headed up to wind and started easing out both sheets. Scarlet went forward to help moor us. I went below and kick started the engines. I didn't want the boat to move too far forward, not knowing how deep the waters were, so I backed the boat up so the buoy was along side. "Oh great, I dropped my glasses!" I was busy keep the boat head into the buoy so ignored the commotion until the boat was properly tied up. I then encountered a frustrated, unhappy Scarlet. My glasses fell into the water. Oh great. What are we going to do? I'm going below to get my goggles. She went below, and came up in a swim-suit. Are you really going to dive in this? It's cold. You're not going to see anything down there, you're practically blind without your glasses. I'll dive for them, said Lea.
Another sailboat, The Puffin, swings into the harbor and parks on the other buoy. With a boat hook, they manage it with no loss of items aboard the vessel. I feel like an oaf.
You're cursed Piaw. Every time you go sailing someone has to dive. That's not true. I did an overnighter to Monterey and that wasn't necessary. Hmm... Maybe it's me, said Larry. Ok, Lea was going to dive. We rafted around, and gave her a line to hang onto. The water was cold. She couldn't stay under long enough, and couldn't see much from the surface. It looked like a lost cause. Someone who had a boat moored nearby felt sorry for us and gave us a wet suit. Lea squeezed into this. Hey, it looks like you'll fit into this, Piaw. Well, you're already wet and cold, Lea, you might as well finish the job. I wasn't going to volunteer to jump in for a lost cause. Boat keys yes, important documents yes, but a pair of glasses while important, aren't exactly irreplaceable. Scarlet, desperate, offered to marry the person who found her glasses for her. Scarlet made hot tea for when Lea came back.
Lea dived some more, circling the boat. Where might the tides have taken the spectacles? With scuba gear, it would be easy, but without, it was pretty much futile. It was an effort to stay under water. Pretty soon, Lea had to give up and come back aboard.
Lea had noticed that the buoy had the word "Private" marked on it. What could that mean? There were all these mooring buoys marked on our nautical chart (map). Would the chart show private buoys? We talked about improvising snorkels, dredging with the crab-pot. We talked about current, shifting sands, frustratingly opaque plants. We almost had workable ideas several times over. If we'd had a water hose, we could have used it as a snorkel, if such a hose would make a good snorkel.
It was so hot. I was so tired. I stared at my knees. They were bruised, lacerated, abraded. I'd sliced skin with a winch handle, had contused them against who knew what. I'd applied sunblock faithfully, but I could see diagonal sunburns across each knee. I'd been sitting with my legs crossed, and no doubt the top leg had rubbed sunblock off the bottom knee. I felt decrepit. Mostly I felt useless. Why couldn't I think of a way to find the glasses?
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