"How many miles is the trip?" our son Duncan asked as we passed Cape Flattery in the mist of dawn.
"About 700 miles from here," Andy replied. "It should take four or five days with the present weather forecast, and be a great ride with the wind behind us and not too strong."
Due to September commitments in Vancouver, BC, we had decided to sail our 38-foot Beneteau, Bagheera, to San Francisco in August and avoid the notorious high seas and ugly storms that are common later in the year. The preferred months for this route south are June to September, and winter passages along this notorious coast are not recommended.
The planned route would take us 15 to 30 miles from the coast, which we hoped would be out of the coastal fog and give us lighter, steadier winds than farther offshore. It worked well—the northwest winds gave an excellent sail and the Californian current, which is strongest close to the coast, helped us by half a knot. If the weather deteriorated we would have gone farther offshore to gain sea room from this inhospitable lee shore that is known as the graveyard of the Pacific. For those with a flexible timetable and a relatively shallow draft, it is also possible to harbor-hop down the coast, but entrances can be tricky to navigate, with bars that become rough, if not impassable, in strong winds.
"I had such a great sleep," said Richard, crewing for his first time, coming on deck for his watch. "What a comfortable cabin." He had the starboard aft cabin that we generally use for guests. With a cozy quilt and thick pillows it is easy to get comfortable whatever the angle. Our cabins have individual hanging lockers, a wide shelf above the berth and a lift-up desk so guests can unpack, be organized, and feel right at home.
"It's been quiet," I informed him on the handover. "Just one ship out to sea and a flat calm. Hopefully the wind will soon pipe up."
"Sounds good. I'm on until 10.30 a.m., right?" he confirmed.
"Yes, three-hour watches seem to work best for us. It's not too long to stay alert but gives enough time off for sleep. We start on the half-hour since it gives time to plot our position on the chart and write in the log on the hour, and it seems to make the watch go faster."
Over the next three hours Richard noted, "Still flat calm, passed Waypoint Two, shearwaters to starboard, wind up, unfurled jenny, off we go, just cruising!"
Much of the time we could fly our new cruising spinnaker that had our trademark Bagheera logo, a blackcat with red slit eyes stitched to the center. This spinnaker is far smaller than the old racing chute that we used during our circumnavigation and much easier to manage because it is launched from a 'sock'.
"The wind has shifted. We're now dead downwind and the chute keeps collapsing. Shall I go up to the bow and put on the pole?" asked Duncan on his watch that afternoon.
Avid racers, we like to have the boat moving well and expect to cover at least 150 miles in a 24-hour period. Despite making good time, there is also a safety factor in this philosophy. The less time on the ocean, the less one is likely to get caught in bad weather. As Duncan went forward he clipped the tether of his life harness securely to the jackline that runs along the deck from bow to stern. This is a safety rule on our boat, reinforced by an experience in the South Pacific while cruising through the French Tuamotus. One night in the calmest of seas, we were rolled right over by a freak wave—and have learned never to risk going to the bow unattached.
The spinnaker pole is kept on the mast. "Can you take up more on the topping lift?" Duncan called back after he had lowered the inboard end. "That's great," he continued, when I had taken in the line from the cockpit so the pole was horizontal.
Suddenly there were dolphins leaping beside him. They soared and dove in the bow wave, crisscrossing before Bagheera in the green depths of the translucent ocean. For half an hour we watched them jumping and diving, tantalizing us as they disappeared, then jubilantly returning for a spin just as we were giving up hope. "They have the best of lives," Andy commented to Richard. "It's what I want to be next time around!"
With the annual migration of the gray whales between Mexico and Alaska, 20,000 whales pass up this coast in spring and fall. Richard was particularly hoping to see some, especially after the magnificent films in the Imax theatre. He was not disappointed; within minutes of the dolphins disappearing Duncan called out, "Whale to starboard." It was a lone fin, some distance away.
Richard reached for the binoculars. "Definitely a whale," he confirmed satisfied. "This is marvelous—a great wind, great sailing, birds, dolphins, whales. It's so wonderful being on the ocean!"
The ideal conditions continued, with winds of 15 knots and moderate seas. Andy, Duncan and I quickly slipped into the familiar pattern. Richard soon adapted to the duties on watch and routines on board.
"I think I got everything right today," he commented with a grin as he joined us in the cockpit. "I remembered to turn off the gas at the stove and bulkhead, use the clips on the drawers in the galley, haven't got any twists in my safety harness, and oh yes," he added with a twinkle, " I sat down on the head at all times!"
Duncan had been reading Charlie's Charts of the U.S. Pacific Coast as well as some travel guides.
"I know you said it's a rugged coast," he commented, "but it seems every harbor can be difficult. Listen to this. "Entry requires a great deal of caution and deliberation, not a recommended stopover, pass by unless one has local knowledge," he read out as he flipped the pages. "The Columbia River has 2,000 wrecks at the bar and if you don't get stuck there you can still easily go aground in the mud that came down the river after the Mount St. Helen's eruption in 1980. I can see why you didn't plan to stop!"
"Especially with our seven-foot draft," added Andy.
We have driven down the Oregon coast on US 101 many times, and the stark contrast of green, cloud-clad mountains meeting the pounding surf never fails to impress. Rocky headlands soar hundreds of feet from the ocean as huge waves crash below. Beaches are rockstrewn. Large pillars of stone and small islands fashioned into remarkable angles and arches by the swirling surge are dotted out to sea, disappearing into the blue haze or fog bank that frequently lurks off the shore. Everything here is huge, whether mussels, goose barnacles, clams, oysters, or sand dollars.
Newport, in Yaquina Bay, which calls itself "Dungeness Crab Capital of the World," is the first place south of the Columbia River that is easily entered by boat. Ninety miles farther south, after passing sand dunes 500 feet high, lies Coos Bay, the most important harbor between the Columbia River and San Francisco. This major port developed around lumber: from shipbuilding to serving the needs of the exploding population in California during Gold Rush times, and due to the demand for local spruce trees in aircraft building in World War I, Coos Bay became the largest timber port in the world. Since the '80s business has declined, as has the fishing industry that gave rise to a large local fleet. Although a good harbor of refuge, with bar reports given hourly, even on a favorable flood the entry passage can be hair-raising, with the roar of huge swells thundering against the jetties.
After three and a half days Bagheera entered Californian waters, passing by the massive redwood groves. These are the world's largest trees and before goldrush times the coast's is redwood forests stretched 450 miles long and 30 miles deep. Only small areas still exist, but walking down the "Avenue of the Giants" and gazing up at the canopy of the 300-foot bows arched cathedral-like overhead is not only a breathtaking experience, it is also an awe-inspiring insight into the timelessness of nature. In the l930s a fallen redwood tree proved to be an incredible 2,200 years old.
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By this time Richard was getting quite blasé about ocean sailing in a 40-foot boat, despite the reputation of this coast. Up to this point the maximum wind strength had been 20 knots, with frequent spells of less than 10. Bagheera was just south of Cape Mendocino when the barometer started to drop rapidly and the wind began to increase. From nine knots at noon it had risen to 25 knots by 3.00 p.m. and by 6.00 p.m. was blowing a full gale, gusting 40. We had reefed right down, and were comfortable running before the wind, but the waves were definitely building, the whitecaps turning to a sea of spume with spray flung violently against the hull. The sky darkened, becoming a mass of turbulent clouds, and we decided to doubleup on watches for the duration of the storm, Andy with Duncan, Richard with me.
Unperturbed, Bagheera surged along delighted with wind and waves from behind, the autopilot fully in control. Richard and I were in the cockpit, life harnesses firmly clipped on, when suddenly Richard gasped, "Look, the next wave is huge. Are we going to go over it? Will we get pooped?"
I turned quickly. The massive green wall of water was about to break, but it wasn't threatening. We have done nearly 60,000 ocean miles in Bagheera, weathering much higher seas, but only once have we been pooped.
"Don't worry," I reassured Richard, "Bagheera is very buoyant in the stern and will have no difficulty riding over these waves."
Not fully believing me, he kept glancing astern. "Maybe you should explain again how to work the Life Sling," he suggested, "Just in case there's a problem." Safety had taken on a new meaning to him, as had ocean voyaging.
During the day we heard two Mayday distress calls on the radio that were immediately answered by the Coast Guard. They were too far away for us to offer assistance and we didn't hear the subsequent discussion. It wasn't until after our arrival in San Francisco, when we received a message from our insurance company to phone, that we heard of them again.
"How was the trip?" our agent inquired immediately.
"Pretty routine, with a short blow on one day, but perfectly manageable." I replied.
"Really!" was the surprised response. "We had a new customer who three days ago abandoned ship because the conditions were untenable. They must have been right behind you."
Only later did we hear the true story. Two novice sailors panicked when their boat got out of control as the winds increased. They put out the Mayday call claiming 60-knot winds and 40-foot waves. The Coast Guard informed them the wind was actually a steady 31 knots with wave height about 12 feet, quite typical and to be expected along this coast. The couple still wanted to be taken off. Three months later we read in a yachting magazine that the boat had been recovered sailing peacefully off the coast of Hawaii.
Suggested Reading:
1.Safety Precautions Underway by Liza Copeland
2.Landfall-The Pacific Northwest by Liza Copeland
3.Headsails by Brian Hancock
4.The Advantages of Selective Memory by Beth Leonard
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