We motored a full 24 hours or more to round Tatoosh Island (exiting the Straits) and start down the coast. At first our "lower limit" to keep trying to sail was 3 knots. Anything under that, and we would roll up the genoa and kick on the engine. As we got more tired of the engine, that limit became 2 knots... Maybe you wonder why we motor at all? We had this "window" of weather we wanted to take advantage of, and a crew member's flight reservation to meet. Finally at 8:30 on the 6th (our second morning out) i refused to listen to the engine any longer and we put up the drifter, the wind filled and we were enjoying an easy 5+ knots.
While the engine had been running it had shared its heat with the water heater. With Elena aboard, for modesty's sake, we clothes pinned a blanket between the split backstay to create some privacy at the swimstep and at 11:00 took our turns for a hot shower. An "October Oregon Offshore Outdoor hot shower?" Yummm! Sure, the water was hot, but the air wasn't, so we didn't linger. But it was glorious! There's a feeling on a passage like this that when you think of something you want to do (like take a shower), you better do it while you can. You never know when the weather is going to change or something is going to require all your attention. This feeling applies to just about everything. Like making and eating a meal. Or looking at the charts. Or checking some maintenance detail. Or...
I had spent alot of effort and expense over the past months imagining what this trip would be like and preparing for it. Adding this or that piece of equipment and making changes (like a furnace, or a stereo...or new rigging...) anticipating how to make this trip safe, comfortable and fun. I made these anticipations mostly from memory since i haven't been out here much for years now, and from talking to other sailors, reading articles in magazines... As the first few days went by, i learned what anticipations i had made that were wrong. I am constantly "listening" to the boat, sensing this or that vibration, finding out what "that noise" is. A few things broke, but jury rigging to sail without them went well. Like life itself, however much i may try to shape this experience, i have to accept that this experience will shape itself and it will shape me.
The drifter drove us along very well all day, over 7 knots alot of the time. But as dusk approached it was time to put up a sail combination that would be easier to manage if the weather (or our course) changed. See, the drifter is only much help going downwind - if someone fell over, we would have to take it down before we could start the engine and go back for them. And making a sail change is much easier before dark than after, so we went back to a double reefed main and the solant jib.
Thanks to the moon (full on our first night out), if it's been a clear night it's been beautiful. We spent the night changing course to put some distance between us and the shore. That distance, to a sailor, feels like a margin for errors, a buffer of safety. For a well found boat, it is the shore that poses a threat, not the sea.
The next morning we tried a new sail combo for me, since i've never had a solant stay and jib before: genoa and jib, "wing and wing" with the wind behind us. It was okay for a while, and would have worked more easily if i had used the whisker pole, but soon we had enuf wind to sail nicely under the genoa alone. As the day wore on, the wind and seas built. By dusk winds were well into the 30 knot range. By midnight gusts were into the 40s and we rolled two thirds of the genoa up. Seas were about 8 feet and with their help we were touching ten knots of boat speed occasionally thru the night.
We wouldn't have imagined that by noon the next day we would be motoring on a calm sea again, and into Humboldt Bay. Now that we were close to shore again we picked up the weather forecast off the radio and learned that the first big winter storm is headed this way. Our "window" is closing. At first we tho't we would pull in, take showers, drop Jack off to the care of our friend (and one of Ty's college housemates) Laird, and head back out right away to insure getting to San Francisco before the storm hits early next week. Otherwise we might get "stuck here" for a week or ten days. But after showers, the prospect of a calm, uninterrupted night's sleep was too tempting to resist - along with calculating that we could still beat the storm to the Bay area. So we did laundry, got pizza, watched some intramural soccer at HSU (in which Ty got to play - had to feel good to run compared to living on 44' of deck), hugged some Arcata friends and former classmates of Ty's. Laird gave us a ride back to the boat and then gave Jack space to sleep at his and Lauren's place before taking him to the airport the next morning. So we bid Jack goodbye - thank you Jack for being a member of our first crew - and we slept soundly.
In the morning we took our time (while we could) to wake up slowly and have a big breakfast (while we could) before motoring back into a calm ocean.
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