Matia's Fortune

San Juan Islands - Act Two

We made our way out of the four foot waves into the placid waters of the small bay of the island where we would stay the night. 

Typically this bay only has room for five or six boats and we weren't sure if there was going to be room at the inn for us there. As we approached the bay, we could see that there was room for us to tie off at the dock, so we lowered the sail and motored our way to the dock. We were received with friendly welcome from it's current residents.

After squeezing in with the motor yachts at the dock, we opened a few beers and started a lively conversation with our Canadian neighbors.  This eventually led to each of us lightheartedly teasing the other about our countries pronunciations of certain words.  While we made fun of them using "Eh" they thought saying "Yep" was the funniest thing ever.  We ate a wonderful dinner on the dock as we watched jellyfish wander below and the sun drop over the horizon. Settling in for the night, Shamrock's dining table was converted to a double berth for Adrienne and I, while the skipper slept in the v-berth at the bow of the boat. A perfect end to our first day sailing in the San Juan Islands.

I'm usually an early riser and tend to wake with the sun. So, in a land so far north where the sun's light disappears way past ten and shows itself as early as five thirty the next day, my morning was going to start earlier than usual. In the delicate quiet of the morning, I made two cups of chai and woke Adrienne from her sleeping bag cocoon. As the sun rose higher the sounds of birds brought in the morning and the Otters, Great Blue Heron and Pigeon Guillemots joined us in the bay.

We started our day with a hike around the island. These islands are part of a national wildlife refuge and have trails that you can explore their hills, valleys, and bays.  As the story goes, this island used to be home to a hermit who lived here for over 30 years in the late 1800's.  The only signs of life on the ground these days are Chernobyl sized Banana Slugs, Giant Black Slugs, and Tent Caterpillars.  Besides that, there seems to only be birds inhabiting this amazing little island.

Heading back down the trail to the dock we could see the skipper tending to Shamrock. We went down to the dock and spent a leisurely morning drinking coffee, eating breakfast and engaging in fascinating conversations with our dock neighbors.

During our time at the dock, we talked to a guy that had been sailing for the last five weeks in the same waters, with four foot waves and twenty five knot winds that we had been sailing. But he wasn't sailing in a large sailboat; he was sailing in this small yellow sailing kayak that he designed and built himself. He planned on spending the rest of the summer exploring the islands. The consensus later at the dock was that this guy had more guts and courage than most of us combined.

As we packed and prepared Shamrock to go explore our next island, the sunshine decided to join us for the day. But, as is common in the San Juan Islands, the wind had died off to a cat's breath, leaving us to motor our way to the next island in search of further adventure and new experiences.

~J~

Leprechauns and Rainbows

San Juan Islands  - Scene One

Have you ever entered your name into a contest and thought, "Why do I bother entering, I never win?" That's exactly how the conversation in my head went as I wrote my name on that little slip of paper. It was the middle of the winter and we decided to take a trip to Portland to check out the Boat Show. Little did we know what would come of our visit.  

We spent a few hours wandering around the show talking with anchor manufacturers, sailing clubs, drooling over quarter million dollar sailboats, and entering contests.  Apparently, Adrienne is the lucky one in the mix. Two weeks after visiting the show, she was contacted with the news that she won a three hour ride on a sail boat- WOO HOO!  The skipper whose boat we were assigned to advised us that it would be better to sail sometime closer to summer.  

Summer rolled around and through a series of emails, things turned a little Gilligan's Island on us. Much to our own doing, what was supposed to be a three hour tour in the Portland area turned into a three day tour of the San Juan Islands, with someone we had never met. Now, we're pretty easy to get along with, but there is always that chance that the person you just agreed to spend three days with in a space not much bigger than most people's living rooms, could turn out to be an ax murder. Not to fear, we had a plan B. We made the agreement that if either us or the skipper couldn't stand each other we would head right back to shore and go our separate ways. The down side to plan B was, depending where we were at the time it could take 5 hours or more to get back.

Arrangements were made and menus were planned as we set a date to meet the skipper and his lovely boat named Shamrock, a Yankee 30 (see her specs here), in a port just south of the Canadian border.

The weather forecast for the three days we had picked was looking a little soggy and on top of that there was a small craft advisory. This advisory is given when winds have reached, or are expected to reach within twelve hours, a speed marginally less than gale force.  This is some where around thirty knots, or for those of us on land, thirty five miles per hour. The skipper had put Adrienne in charge of wind and the weather and at this point it was looking like we were going to just get the wind and not the sun. "Perfect for sailing, the more wind the merrier." I thought.  

Meeting up with the skipper at the dock, we talked for a bit, he showed us around Shamrock and then left us alone to get better acquainted with her.  When he returned, we had all our gear and food stowed below in the cabin of the boat and we were ready to shove off. Freeing Shamrock from her dock, we motored out of the harbor, into the salty bay, and set sail.

Once the wind took hold of our sails, Shamrock heeled over and we took off across the  bay. I stayed up on the foredeck until repeated soakings from waves coming over the bow sent me back to the cockpit. Adrienne was on the helm and seemed to really be enjoying the power that the sails harnessed. The winds were pushing up in the mid-twenty knot range and we were going about as fast as the boat would go. We estimated it would take about five hours to get to our first stop a little island in the northern end of the San Juan Islands. 

 After and hour or so we reached the edge of the bay where we headed north through a straight. The southerly wind was at our back pushing us a healthy seven knots. Along with the wind there was squall that was chasing right behind us, threatening to bring rain along with the wind.  This combination produced some gorgeous panoramic views. With sunny areas to the north east, scattered clouds to the west and ominous dark skies behind us to the south.  It was a mixed bag and we weren't sure what would be in store for us.  

Arriving at the northern end of the straight, we crossed over to the west and headed out into less sheltered waters. The wind was still blowing twenty five knots from the south. But no longer was the wind pushing us from behind, it was blowing directly on the side of the boat. With the wind persisting in these less protected waters, the wave heights had reached three to four feet and were now hitting us from the side. This is where I saw my first Puffin- yes, you heard me right. I didn't even know there were puffins here. Yet, there it was floating on those four foot ocean waves like it was perfectly at home.  

If the winds kept up as they were, within an hour we would arrive at the island where we were to stay the first night.

~J~

Triton's Concubine

Get Out And Push!

They say the devil is in the details and that was never more true than tonight. With winds light and 360 degrees of beautiful views, the plan for tonight was adjust, adjust, adjust, and adjust some more.  

At the starting line, we were given a hand up when two of the boats in our group crossed the starting line before the horn signaled. They had to return to the line and cross over it again as we sailed on. Lucky for us, one of these boats usually finishes first. Now, you may be thinking that's not the most honorable way to get ahead in a race.  But that's where many of us underestimate the difficulty in timing the approach to the start line. Not to fast, not to slow, and there are all the "rules of the road" that dictate your interaction with the other boats at the starting line. If another boat has right of way and you're all lined up and timed perfectly to cross the start line, the other boat can cut right in front of you, blocking the line and forcing you to make a turn away from the line. 

If you ever watch a sailboat race, don't underestimate the skill it took just to get across the starting line.

While sailing at a snail's pace, most of our race was spent looking at every little detail that could be adjusted on the boat to increase her speed. We adjusted sails, mast angle, travelers, crew positioning, and the boat's angle to the wind. About half way through the race, we were doing more than holding our own; we were in the lead position. Our nearest competition was one of the boats that had crossed the line early, the one that frequently wins this race. We had them by more than a couple hundred yards and we were increasing that lead with every minute.

As we made our final run, it happened, like when you're on an important call and you hit a dreaded dead cell zone, we sailed right into a dreaded dead zone of wind. Our sails dropped and we glided to a halt. 

 We tried every trick in the book to get even the slightest bit of wind to fill the sails but all we could do is watch our competition gain on us and sail right into the same dead zone we sat in. We spent what seemed like an eternity sitting only a few yards away from the boat that had, before, been so far behind us. We both adjusted and readjusted any part of the boat that we thought could make a difference. I could overhear the skipper of the other boat say "Nothing we can do, we can't make wind."  "Ain't that the truth." I thought.

As we waited, the faint and finicky wind showed itself.  After several minutes of indecision the wind found it's direction, filling our sails first and then our competition's sails.  Both boats picked up speed towards the finish line, but we could taste first place.  Slowly the other boat was creeping up on the side of our boat that the wind was blowing against. If we could just make it a few hundred more yards we would have them, but they continued to gain on us. We were one hundred feet from victory when the other boat crept up close enough for their sails to steal away the wind from our sails.  As they crossed the finish line, not even half a boat's length ahead of us, first place slipped right through our fingers and we had to settle for second. 

After the race, I was given the honor of steering Party Girl back to the dock for some well deserved burgers and beer.

~J~

Third Times a Charm

Racing Party Girl - Day 3

Again, Newton's first law of motion has been tested and is still mother-approved. It wasn't the whole law that was put to the test tonight, just the first part- you've all heard it, it goes something like "An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a force".  

Our night started as usually. Getting the boat ready, we ran all the lines (ropes) through the blocks (pulleys) and secured them off, prepared the sails, and headed out for the race course.  On the way to the race course, I was standing by the mast and needed to walk forward to the very front of the bow to look for other boat traffic that the rest of the crew was unable to see.  

You see... you're supposed to keep one hand holding onto the boat at all times  But in this one section of the boat there exists a place where you have to release your hold of the boat in order to get to the next secure place to hold onto. So, I'm in this place where I have just let go of my secure handhold, breaking one of the basic rules that I learned in my Sailing 101 class.  That's the first lesson of the night, don't let go of the boat. The second lesson is one that hasn't been taught to me directly, but- it's one of those things that comes from spending time on the boat.   It has to do with my feet, and how I arrange them in relation to the boat. If I stand with my feet spread apart and the front of my hips facing the front or the back of the boat, then the only way I can loose my balance is if the boat were to accelerate quickly, which isn't really going to happen on a sailboat like this. Or we run into something, which is highly unlikely, yet does occasionally happen.  

Apparently I left my smart at home tonight. As I left the safety of that secure hand hold to move forward, my feet were spread apart and my heals about twelve inches from port side (left side of boat looking forward) of the boat with my toes pointing towards the middle of the boat.  What happened next was lighting fast and I'm surprised that I'm still alive to tell about it- not really, but it does makes for a great build up. 

The helmsman (guy steering), at that one precarious moment where I don't have a secure hold on the boat, decides to steer the boat to the starboard (right side of boat looking forward).  This was where Newton had his say- my body, which was neither moving to the port nor the starboard, stayed in place as the boat beneath me moved sharply to starboard. I could feel myself heading backward over the edge of the boat as it moved out from under me.  My instinct was to bend my knees and drop my ass to the deck as fast as humanly possible,  followed closely by my hands planting next to me to help cushion the landing.

Now, this is where I have interrupt this story to tell you I spent my fifth and sixth grade Friday nights at the local roller rink trying to impress the girls with my... let's say, less than stellar roller skating skills. I would get my little rollerskating self going way faster than I could control and the inevitable would happen. After numerous times landing on my knees, hands, face, etc., I discovered if I could land on my ass before my feet left the floor, the chance of loosing all dignity was at a much lower rate.

It would appear that the twelve inches of space I had behind me, which might have been ample space to set my butt down back in middle school, wasn't going to do the job tonight.  Instead of landing on the deck, I landed butt first over the life line and onto the toe rail that protrudes up from the edge of deck. Then I slid right over the edge of the boat.  To my amazement, both of my hands managed to get a solid hold of the lifeline!  There I was, hanging backwards over the edge of the boat, with just my lower legs on the deck and only my outstretched arms to keep me from imminent embarrassment. I scrambled like a cat trying to avoid an unwanted bath and managed to hoist myself back on the deck without a drop of water on me.  

As I think back on it, I'm still suspicious that may have been some sort of initiation process gone wrong.  

~J~

Close Encounters

Racing Party Girl - Day 2

On tap for tonight... a crew of six aboard Party Girl.  With a full boat, we headed out to the race course.  Party Girl was starting in the third group and the skipper wanted to get us out early so I could get some last minute instruction on setting the spinnaker sail. If you've ever seen sailboats with those larger than life, colorful sails, then you have seen what a spinnaker looks like.  Now, you have to treat the spinnaker with respect. In heavy winds the spinnaker can get out of hand and pull the whole boat over into a broach... not a pretty site. YouTube has several examples of this. You can see the broach at about the 57 sec mark.

   

Before last Thursday, I had never seen a real live sailing race, moreless know about the different race courses that exist in the universe. We have been racing on a course called The Olympic Circle. It consists of a middle buoy called a center pin, and circled around it are eight buoys called cans. They are numbered one through eight, placed at equal distances from each other along the cardinal points on the compass and each is a half mile from the middle buoy.

The way it works goes something like this- we sail out to the race course to join all the boats that are going to race for the night. When we arrive on the course, this is what we find: a center pin, the eight cans, a finish line buoy, and two power boats that are home to the race officials. Sailing within the course on standby, all the boats anxiously await for the officials to choose a specific race pattern for the night. Each night it's different and each night it only becomes known to the racers just before the race.  

So, like, ten minutes before the race begins we see the sign pop up out of the official's boat. We can't quite read it, it's too far away and it's blocked by the sails of other boats.  We tack and move closer and see it's D4. The list of maybe 50 race course combinations is consulted. We see that we have to go around Can 7, then around Can 2, around Can 4, back to Can 7 and around it, and around Can 2, then back to the center for the finish.  So, I'm advised that means we will put up the spinnaker sail two times during the race.

The race is about to begin- there is a series of flags and horns issued by the officials that let the first race group know it's time to start.  Once the first group starts, five minutes later the second group starts, then it's our turn.  The goal is to get as close to the starting line, with as much speed as possible, without crossing it early- not an easy task.  We get closer and closer to the line, along with the 4 other boats in our starting group, all trying not to cross early.  In our boat, we're wondering if we should slow down or make a 360 turn to stall for time, but our helmsman (the guy steering) does a beautiful job at timing it just right, and we are off to a great start.  

We go around Can 7 and it's time to put up the spinnaker sail.  We raise it, and a quarter of the way up the halyard (rope) comes loose from the top of the spinnaker sail.  Now you might think- well, just reattach it.  Not so easy. The snap shackle at the end of the halyard retracted some thirty feet up to the very tippy top of the mast.  The spinnaker halyard was out of commission. We spent the rest of the race tediously switching the halyard off of the head sail (sail at the bow of the boat) and putting it on the spinnaker sail and then back on the head sail.  

While racing, the close proximity of the boats is exhilarating and something that will take getting used to. I felt like I could have reached out and handed my camera to the guy in the above picture. At one point in the race, we perpendicularly intersected the first starting group. In a nerve racking move, another boat in our starting group and our boat weaved between three or four of the boats from the first group.  There are four boats in the picture below, can you pick them all out?

So, what happened to the spinnaker halyard that was lost at the top of the mast?  Well, back at the dock we asked around to the other boats if there was a bosun's chair to borrow.  The guy next to us dug one out of the bowels of his boat, and I don't mean that figuratively.  As wet as it was, I think they had actually stored it in the very bottom of the boat.  Not just in the very bottom of the boat, but in the bilge area where all the stray water collects.

Climbing the mast is like drawing the short straw. Most people don't want to, and are downright fearful of, climbing up a thirty foot aluminum pole attached to a boat that can, even while docked, move randomly and unpredictably.  There was much debate as to who would go up the mast, taking in account: personal weight, height, girth and number of beers consumed.  

Reading about this sort of things in books, I had always been distrustful that such a skinny tall pole (mast) on a sailboat could safely hold a person. Even though I know the force the wind puts on the mast is in the thousands of pounds, there still exists an unreasonable fear somewhere in the back of my mind. So when presented with the opportunity, I thought I would nip that fear in the bud.  While they were debating about who should climb the mast, I piped up and said, "I'll do it".

Even though I was strapped into the Bosun's chair and attached to two other halyards, the whole setup lacks the ability to hoist me up the mast- only catch me if I fall.  I had to climb the mast under my own strength, while the boats small movements were amplified up the mast. With the reassurance that the chair and the crew below were there watching out for me in case anything went awry, 

Up I went!

~J~