By Steve Sharpe
Ever wish you could eat your words? For the past five years, I had talked incessantly of sailing on Puget Sound. Now, about to embark on the maiden voyage of
Sailing Lady, I was having all kinds of second thoughts. Although the trip was a relatively simple 62-mile jaunt from Gig Harbor to Oak Harbor, WA, with a stopover in Kingston, it had been seven years since I had sailed anything—and that was a much lighter, simpler boat in Florida.
Nightmares of making a total fool of myself and drowning in the process floated into my mind. Did I still remember my navigation basics? How did that new
GPS work? What if things broke while we were out? Worse yet, I had my son, Corey, for crew. I had figured that his muscles might come in handy yet also hoped that I might actually still be able to teach him something. At 16, he doubted that I still knew anything worth learning. At 52, I doubted that I would be able to stand his music for the next two days.
Puget Sound, with its sweeping jagged mountains that drop straight down to the water is really a mini-ocean, cold and deep, presenting an alluring challenge to those who have a bit of salt in their bloodstream. The San Juan Islands stretch from north of Seattle, all the way into Canada with rugged wilderness and beauty. I had been longing for the coming of the adventure, until now.
Finally finding some extra money this year, we located a 1969 Coronado 25 for sale in Gig Harbor. It was well equipped, with a new
furling jib, split backstay, heavy-duty traveler, as well as a new mast with dual halyards—all recently installed. These were upgrades that I had never owned in Florida and I did not have any idea of how to use them! Fortunately, the owner proved that they were working by demonstrating them—once. Now, I was vainly trying to remember exactly what he did.
We spent the night at the marina before setting out the following morning. Somehow, Corey figured out the magic formula to start the engine all on his own. Between us, the only thing we really had trouble figuring out was the head (toilet) and I hoped we could wait and use that facility ashore, the next evening.
Next morning I resigned myself to fate. A true landlubber, Corey wouldn't know if I did screw up, unless we ran into someone outright or ran aground. I was not going to raise the sails until the next day, so as long as the engine held up we should be OK. I would simply concentrate on learning the feel of the boat under power the first day. Corey again worked his magic on the engine and we headed north, toward Seattle. The shoreline drops quickly and deeply in Puget Sound, to over a 1,000 feet, in many places. I found out that the aged depth finder still worked quite well, accurately measuring depths down its limit of 600 feet. At least something was going right. The steady hum of the Honda seemed to say, "Give me enough gas and I will run forever!" The day brightened.
To the east, Mt. Ranier was more magnificent than I had ever seen it. One could see from the very top all the way to the bottom of the great mountain. Where were my wife and her camera? The opposite direction yielded an equally magnificent view of the Olympic Mountains. As I sat back and breathed in the salt air, I realized what I had missed for the past seven years! I still loved sailing. In the Sound, one can sail in just about any direction, marvel at mountains, tall greenery, and lots of quaint coastal towns.
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The first test came that afternoon. A ferry was rapidly crossing our course, about 500 yards away, heading east, while another was going west, slower, at greater range. After the first one passed, I held our course right at the other, till we closed to about 300 yards. I was not exactly sure who had the right of way on the open water. When in doubt, chicken out. I pointed our bow at his stern, overtly indicating to the captain that we were not going challenge the area in front of him. I thought I saw him wave.
We managed to put the boat neatly into the first slip in the Kingston Marina, late that afternoon, without upsetting anyone. I reversed the engine to stop us smartly and Corey hopped off and secured one dock
line. Then I shut down and made fast with the other
line. We got off the boat and checked in like a couple of old salts, feeling very full of ourselves. Kingston is a quaint little town that can be walked easily (albeit uphill!) with nice restaurants, bars, and several gift shops worth a future visit.
By noon the next day, I was confident enough to raise the sails. Unfortunately, the unsteady wind was coming from the wrong direction. I still got a trace of the old thrill every once in a while, when the sails filled and boat began to heel over a bit. It brought back memories of times in Florida when the hull would literally vibrate with the wind and the boat came alive beneath my feet, the deck tilting at some mad angle while the waves broke over the bow. This boat promised more of that good feeling.
Corey and I alternated napping on deck and at the helm, finding that the worst feature of the boat was the stereo. Just as well, I did not want his music to get too loud, anyway. The acid test was still to come in the final hours of the cruise. As we approached Oak Harbor, the sky grew dark and the rain moved in. It was a very wet ride toward the harbor, fighting the wind, while trying to get the sails down.
Most people will never fully appreciate the power of the wind in nylon sails. After pulling and shoving with all our strength for almost an hour, we had the sails down and were trying to find the entrance buoy of the marina, in the now blinding storm. It was a good thing the
GPS and
compass were waterproof, since my charts were not and visibility was nearly zero. We arrived soaked and tired, but we had made it!
Coming in to the dock, I put the engine in neutral to slow down. All of a sudden, it raced at full speed making a racket. Apparently the throttle control had developed a kink. Those on the other boats gave us some disparaging looks as we were apparently disturbing their afternoon siesta despite the storm. But I just stared back. I wasn’t going to be intimated. I had reawakened the passion and the salt water flowed in my veins once again.
