Wrapping this up.

Steinbeck wrote, “We don’t take a trip…the trip takes us.”  Tho i’m not keepin’ Akimbo on the move, tho i don’t have another rendezvous to make, this voyage is not done with me…until i write these tho’ts down. While i haven’t posted an entry for weeks, i’ve not been idle.  I’ve been fixing Akimbo and re-entering life ashore with my community and son.  And i’ve been exploring my way to the bottom of another page, instead of across an ocean or to another island.  My clearest thinking happens in the morning.  That’s when threads of tho’t lead me to new horizons, or force me out of bed, at 3:30 one morning.  In Akimbo’s dark cabin i get out from under a heavy layer of warm covers, pull on yesterday’s clothes, slip on my fur-lined booties.  I bump the thermostat up a few degrees as i go by, i click on a dim cabin light.  At the stove, the burner sparks to blue flame, which i cover with the kettle.  I come and sit down here, in front of the keyboard, and get this far before the kettle whistles. 

Writing is a solitary endeavor, but my grist for it comes from heartfelt conversations with friends.  Walking with one, she asked  “So how’s it going?”  “Okay, but i sure have plowed thru a lot of tho’ts.  At the end of the 2010 trip i threw most of them away.  This time i want them to add up to something.”  “Why,” she asked. 

Now THERE is a question that i swore off long ago.  Whatever answer i found, “why” could be asked of that answer too.  It never ended, could make me crazy.  The only legit answer, so far as i could tell, was “why not?”  But by now i’ve met enuf of life and death to let go of that vow.  We ask why of mountaineers.  Of sailors, adventurers…of composers, dancers, artists and poets…and of ourselves.  Why do you do what you do?  And the way you do it?  For an adventurer sometimes the question sounds more like “What the hell am i doing here?”  But we’re all “here.”  We gotta do something.  Beyond food, clothing and shelter, we gravitate to what we feel resonant with, to something where we might find…meaning (or money, for some)…even if the thing we seek and the way we strive for it is meaningless.  Like sailing. Or climbing…

Or writing?  I replied to my friend, “Sure, i want to write something beautiful, something that will resonate with other people, something that will last.  But my best writing is when what’s coming out on the page surprises me.  When i ask myself, “where did that come from?”  When i find some insight or viewpoint that i didn’t know i knew.  When the unknown meets me there.  THAT is why i’m writing.”  “Good,” she said, “there’s no better reason.” 

“The most beautiful thing in the world is the mysterious,” Einstein said.  “It is the source of all true art and science.”  This quote comes to me from “North to the Night” by Alvah Simon.  It is the story of wintering in the Arctic aboard his 36’ steel sloop, an extreme adventure far beyond my ken and desire.  He addresses “why” as well as anyone i’ve ever read.  Aboard Akimbo, in that last week of sailing, the “mysterious” included torn sails, an exhaust leak, a fuel leak, a failing pump on the main engine, storms…in the meantime there was trimming sails, cooking, navigating, checking in with crew...  Some of this was not fun at all.  It demanded my attention, all of it, which is to say it was immensely entertaining.  A part of adventure is risking ourselves.  On the theory that every challenge presents an opportunity, we put ourselves where we will likely get more entertainment than we bargain for.   Where more might be required from us than we knew we had to give.  Where we remember that life is dear. 

For living is a tenuous thing.  Whether we face it or not, reality is constantly shifting under our feet.  On shore, in a 9 to 5 routine, this is easier to forget.  Or deny.  Still, “change is gonna come.” At sea, shifting reality is impossible to ignore.  And control repeatedly proves to be an illusion.  It’s not “man against the sea.”  Are you kidding?!  A losing proposition could not be more obvious.  But it’s us in dialog with something bigger than ourselves.  We go “out there”… whether it’s on an ocean or a mountain peak; on a dance floor or a stage; into the eyes of a lover, the arms of your child, or in conversation with a stranger… to discover what this is that we are part of and what our tiny part in it may be.  To explore an unknown it makes sense to reach beyond what we know, beyond our home, to something new.  Horizons call to sailors, but by definition horizons cannot be reached.  They recede…and beckon.  By keeping a horizon in sight, we keep the unknown within sight.  We let what we usually feel as a boundary between ourselves and mystery come close and sometimes blur.  We bring what is inside of us to meet and be met by what is outside.  In doing so we seek…intimacy.  (that is NOT the word that i tho't would end that sentence)

My favorite memory of this voyage?  Skinny dipping in the middle of an ocean, in incredibly clear blue water three miles deep.  I’ll have to count how many islands we visited.  If i fell into the “ADI” syndrome (“another damn island”) it was because i felt called home.  It was hard to leave the islands, the adventure, but after enuf time, it was harder to be so far from the people i love and the adventure of loving them.  No, not one of the islands is “just another island.”  Each is unique…like the rest.  Each day.  Each person.  Each breath, drawing us on.  Feeling between chapters in my life, the other day i reached into a bowl full of angel cards and pulled out “intention.”  Tyler asked, “So, what is your intention?”  I answered fast, so that i couldn’t think about it, “To take no one for granted, to appreciate every one.”  

It is irony that fills my sails now, that propels me on.  The irony that surprises me is this:  that the depths twin praise with grief, love with loss, pain with pleasure and in all of it i find myself grateful.  I catch my heart smiling and that feels new.  There is a TED lecture entitled “how to buy happiness”…turns out it’s by spending your money (or whatever your resources are) on someone else.  I am so enjoying loving my son and my friends, involving myself in their lives…and they are letting me in.  “THIS is where they know my name”…what luck!  What a welcome home.   Thank you cannot say enuf. 

A crew member, looking back at his leg of the voyage, wrote to thank me for what he now realized was a high point in his life. “Wow!” i wrote back.  “There you are thanking me...when it's me who thanks you.  It was a voyage made much more possible by the help i asked for and received.  Seeming coincidences led to the opportunity of making this voyage, and once it became possible, for me it became necessary.  I felt an imperative to not look back and wonder what it would have been like, wonder if i should have done it, could have done it.   Instilled in me since childhood, i'd tho't about it for too long...to only talk about it.  "Just (shut up and) do it."  So we did it, took care of it, lived thru it, got it done.  And on deep levels i simply got lucky.  Hinged on too many details, it could have really gone badly.  A distinct part of my luck was your help and encouragement.  Thank you.  I am relieved that no one was injured, and rewarded that your part in this means a lot to you.  Maybe remembering sailing to distant islands and across open ocean...will help us sail into our old age more at peace because we can look back and feel with a certainty that we lived.  
But maybe we knew it before, if we have loved.  For love is a voyage too.  And having loved, we should know we have lived.  
Socrates said that an unconsidered life isn't worth living and a few thousand years later Australian art critic Robert Hughes added that an unlived life isn't worth considering.  In the end, maybe the real risk isn't choosing to hazard ourselves.  Maybe it's choosing to not hazard ourselves.  

A toast to living a full and lucky life!”

(So that feels like a wrap to me.   But how can it be when i’m still here?  This trip that is life has taken me and is not done.  My eyes already look up for another horizon.  I've been filling pages trying to bring it into focus.  But that voyage will not be this one.  This one's done.  And i am grateful for it, for the ancestor it is to the next.)

Whew!

After being within radio range of shore, we had been listening to the weather channels on the VHF.  What we were hearing forecast was hard to believe.  "Are they kidding?"  They were reporting hurricane force winds along the coast, gale warnings turning to storm warnings, and seas that could get as high as 30 feet and on 15 second periods.  "If this is a comedy, it's NOT funny."  Any time the period between the seas is less than their height, life out there is like living in a washing machine.  But 30 feet on 15 seconds?  I can't imagine.  As we pulled into a slip at Port Angeles Boat Haven, we saw more than one person on the dock doubling up mooring lines and a few of them told us we had got in just in time.

But we never felt the weather we had been led to expect.  Maybe it's because Port Angeles was in the lee of the Olympic Mountains.   We found ourselves motoring due to lack of wind as we departed early the next morning to catch the flood into Puget Sound.  As we approached Port Townsend a reasonable wind came up out of the south and our deeply reefed main and jib, combined with the current, carried us at over ten knots at times.  THIS was too good to not take advantage of, so we gave up any thought of stopping in PT.  Three big tacks took us past Marrowstone Island and to Bush Point's squeeze of Admiralty Inlet.

There the wind went light.  We shook out reefs, put the jib away and unrolled the genoa and finally resorted to motoring.  We enjoyed beers and talk of the first things we would do when we got to shore. We called family and friends who would meet us there to give them an ETA of dusk.  But all that changed at Point No Point, where a solid 25 knot wind in our teeth met us.  It felt almost mean to have to triple reef the main and at least unroll part of the genoa, to don our foulies and even put our harnesses back on.

Nearing Edmonds, the only other sailboat out there spun round upon our approach and waved.  We waved back and blew on by - they were under reefed main and motor and put in at Edmonds.  We still don't know who they were or if we knew them.  At this point we considered motoring too, but the engine refused to pump raw water thru its exhaust - which meant it would soon overheat.  Winds gusting into the 30s, finally we rolled up the genoa, unpacked and hoisted the trusty old jib again - NOW we could really sail to weather, if only that old rag and its halyard would hold together.  Still, we had to call friends and family back and revise our ETA.

As dark fell, we listened to a few dramas developing on the Sound.  Another sailboat without instruments, lights and with a weak engine was being shadowed by a Coast Guard cutter until he could be directed to someplace safe to re-anchor.  Flares had been sighted off West Seattle.  "There but for the grace of whatever..." went us.

Finally we tacked for the south end of Shilshole's breakwater, tired, wet, cold and late.  It felt like the day had "thrown a lot at us."  To add insult to injury, the light we were looking for at the end of the breakwater was out.  Luckily we had enuf local knowledge to make our way in, drop sail and motor a minimum (so the engine wouldn't overheat) into the slip.  Where...we were greeted by applause?!

Oh my!  Twenty or so hardy souls, many of whom had been crew over the past seven months, were there to catch our lines and welcome us home.  Their numbers had dwindled as the night had worn on.  We were getting in at nearly nine pm.  Their welcome stirred too many deep emotions for me to single any out.  I felt overwhelmed, grateful, sorry, happy...  I wish i had made that last week look smooth and easy, but what has pride got to do with anything?  We were in, unhurt, smelly, safe and glad to be home...well met and hugged.  Thank you all!

Closing tho'ts soon.

Final leg

Before i start telling you about the final leg of this trip, i want to share a few photos from our all-too-short visit to Hawaii.  Our friend, Jim, did his best to take Greg and i on a few quick hikes and whet our appetites for coming back.  Pololu was the name of the beach we hiked to.

There is something remarkable about having a friend waiting for you where you are going.  Thus i am remarking.  Especially so with Jim and Dar.  One comes away from meeting Jim feeling well met.  He wants to do something, anything, for you.  Like you're doin' him a favor to let him meet and help you?  When what you are enjoying is meeting him.  And Dar's gracious welcome parallels that feeling.  She can't wait to have you over.  Thank you both very, very much.










Again excerpted from our noon position reports.  

Tough stuff, beating or close reaching against 20 knots and 6 to 8 foot seas.  Starboard tack.  Life at an angle.  Under solent jib and triple reefed main.  6.9 knot average speed, noon to noon.  HOT sun and clouds.  One crew member motion sick.  But she's game anyway and stands her watches.  Akimbo doing well what she was made for.  The chores we took care of at our last harbor seem to be standing us in good stead.  Dropped the jib this morning to check its halyard for chafe.  Found a flat spot in it but no chafe.  Wrapped some sail repair tape around the flat spot and re-hoisted.  This'll be a daily check.  Wind should clock a bit more tomorrow according to the weather charts, and life be a little more reachy/less heeled over with it.

Beam reaching now, but still tough out here.  And beautiful too.  Big swells and steadily 20+ knot winds.  Sailing under triple reefed main and jib still, with main traveled well down.  Appetites are low...likely bought too much food for this leg. 

Curious:  woke up to find flag and flag staff at the transom…gone.  No one saw it go.  Before dawn, shackle on the starboard running backstay broke, replaced it and re-tensioned the stay.

Very good crew, unphased by the weather's intensity.  A wave just tried to splash thru the dodger, into the companionway and onto the computer!  I slammed it shut and got more wet than the computer.  Close one, that.  Would have stopped these noon reports in their tracks...and you'd be left worrying about us.  At which point my back-up report would be the "we're okay" button on Art's "Spot" beacon…and you'd have to call each other.  Will keep the companionway hatch slid shut now. 

Hooked a big fish and had a good fight until the line broke.  I think it was a dorado. 

Gettin' tired of this but expecting more of it.  I keep reviewing the textbooks on this leg and finding we are following their lessons.  Seas big now, occasionally breaking. This young crew laughs at getting splashed.  We're wearing our harnesses now when we are on deck.  Kinda just hangin' on. 

After yesterday's noon report, conditions began to moderate.  Last night’s sail was very pleasant.  Woke up and shook two reefs out of the main.  Pretty glorious, close reaching at over 7 knots on relatively calm and sunny seas.  In a way it feels like we've paid our dues for an easy day.  Enjoyed a brief visit from a school or porpoise this morning.  And lost our 4th lure to another fish too big for us.  Hot showers for everyone, outdoors, at the swimstep, ahhh!  Always a morale booster.  We are profoundly lucky. 

We wish you were here.  And so do you. 

Given the weather reports we receive from our fathers (thank you Bud and thank you Gary), plus the grib files i get and re-reading the textbooks...we began our easting a little earlier than originally planned (plans being especially subject to change out here).  There's an ugly lookin' low churnin' SE in the Gulf of Alaska that we want to stay well away from (south of).  At the same time, the LAST thing we want to do is close with the coast south of the Straits of Juan de Fuca and have to beat up the coast.  Meantime, the High we want to leave to starboard?  It's too big to miss.  We'd be wasting miles and time trying to go around it.  Thus we began our northeasterly arc from 33 north and 159 west and expect to motor some.  The drifter has been working magic for us, to keep us sailing in very little wind.

This morning we got a big tuna to the swimstep before s/he gave a last thrash and got away.  So we're learning, visions of sushi dancing in our heads.

Well, we put the calms of the Pacific High to good use:  went for a brief mid-ocean swim; cooked a big dinner while the galley was quiet.  Only motored 5 or 6 engine hours, put the drifter back up and sat in the cockpit to watch a movie. 

In the night, went to the genoa alone, and around dawn, the jib alone.  Morning found us broad reaching in 25ish knot winds at 6 plus knots.  Rolling quite a bit in building 8' seas.  Since then the wind has, as expected, clocked to the north.  Welcome to port tack.  We are now - noon - beating under jib and triple reefed main.  

If the weather info we got about the ugly storm now crossing our bow about 600nm away still holds (moving east at 35 knots?!), it is past our closest point of approach (about 550 nm).  But we are warned that as much as 720nm in our direction, until noon today, we could feel 25 to 40 knot winds and see 8 to 14 foot seas (better than the 35 to 50 knot winds and 15 to 30 foot seas ?! at the storm itself).  We remain alert and battened down.  By tomorrow this thing that has all our attention should be well away.

A long night of winds arcing back and forth thru 40+ degrees, from single digit strengths to mid-20 knot gusts...  We "fought a good fight" and made what progress we could.  But this morning, as i write, we motor a few hours to make more northing and find better winds.  I'll write more at noon.  Weather is turning markedly colder now, under gray skies.

Almost noon, Kara called us up as she reeled a dorado close up to the boat.  S/he (the fish) freaked out up close and took off.  I tried reeling him/her in.  Jack took over and finally the fish jumped and got off.  Jack thinks he is cursed as a fisherman - we need to convince him otherwise. 

Okay, wind and waves looking more consistent - or at least our optimistic eyes see them so.  Engine off.  Jib back up.  Whew!  Sailing again…”a superior form of travel."  Thank you very much.  So grateful to have the engine, more grateful to not have to use it. 

And now...good afternoon.  The wind has continued to back to the NW, still at 14 knots.  So we are on a course of 25 degrees magnetic, speed of 7.5 knots and REACHING.  Oh boy! 

We are north of 40.  Basically halfway.  So it's time for everyone to place their bets by estimating our time of arrival at Shilshole. My guess?  Before noon on September 30. 

We hooked another tuna today, but again s/he was too big for us.  We fought and s/he then took back whatever we had reeled in.  Finally our line broke.  It’s startin’ to feel like anyone who catches a fish out here will also gain one of our lures.

Noon position:  39 degrees 45' north and 152 degrees 9' west.  Distance made:  164nm. 

Halfway?  Time for a toast. 

Startin' to look like home?  Awoke to gray skies, 30 knot winds, big waves, occasionally breaking, water temp 66.2F...but we're still 1100nm away.  My crew seems to welcome and relax into these things.  True northwesterners, hardy stock.  We expect less wind tomorrow and then more of the same after that. 

Broad reaching under triple reefed main and jib.  Deep dipping and reeling.  Gotta hang on to get about the cabin.  Considering...this is going pretty well.  But Akimbo is workin' hard - she's got new leaks showin' up.  This's a little disappointing, but to be expected.  She’s not new, in fact she’s gettin’ older and has not sat at a dock but travelled far.  "The list" of work she'll need is growing. 

Sighted a big ship this morning for only the third time this leg.  The AIS (thank you Tina and Jim for gifting it to Akimbo) reveals more shipping nearby but over the horizon (5 at a time)...as far as 93 miles away. 

It’s time to rest and pace ourselves. 

We've been beam reaching in solid 25 knot NW winds and 10 to 15 foot waves all night.  When we look up from the troughs of the bigger waves, we estimate they top out above our lower spreaders.  Say 20'.  Gusts are into the lower 30s.  Jib and triple reefed main are doing yeoman's duties.  So far as i can tell from the grib files and forecasts, we're in for a few more days of the same.  While today, Puget Sound has gale warnings. 

Sitting at a table lit by Florida sunshine nine months ago, with charts and paper in hand, the guiding ideas for planning this trip and keeping it fun were 1. to get out of hurricane territory in a timely manner and 2. get into the NW before the winter storms and 3. enjoy the scenery and company along the way.  While the storms seem mostly focused on the Gulf of Alaska, we are feeling their effects and they seem early this year.  The #2 goal of the plan isn't working out.  I guess the plan should have been more subject to change.  What are our options?  We're not goin' back to Hawaii.  We're committed here. 

Last night after running the generator to charge up, i smelled diesel in the garage.  Investigating today, inside the gen's sound shield i find fuel to mop up.  Can't see where it's coming from.  Instead i see a pinhole leak at the fitting where the exhaust hose hooks up.  Dangerous. to one’s health, exhaust leaks...looks like we will rely on the main engine for charging this last week.  The engine being noisier, consuming three times as much fuel and charging a quarter as fast as the gen...still, glad we've got the engine. 

A big wave came aboard this morning and busted out most of a dodger window, around its edges - we hand stitched it back into place.  It leaks more but suffices.  The hatch over the galley is dripping a little...  Chaos is chipping away at us.  Pained to see Akimbo's defenses crumble, we fight back where and when we can.  Still, the important things are here - the jib, the autopilot, instruments to navigate by...and a good crew's cheer in the face of everything.

We sailed thru a pleasant night.  (tho what i might call "pleasant" you might not)  Winds and seas moderating a bit.  Stars out.  COLD.  This morning i fired the furnace up to take the chill off. 

No new news is good news.  We keep finding our ever changing equilibrium out here.  Don't know what else to tell you (i must be tired).  Our AIS tells us we will see some shipping go by within the hour.  There is a beauty out here, a very dynamic beauty, shifting and moving, sun coming up and contrasting with grays, sharply white white caps...tumbling, gnashing...  Asking each of the crew for an adjective:  Jack describes this place as a giver of perspective and gratitude;  Kara names humbling, salty, infinite and blue;  Jen says "boundless, endlessly unique and immediate."  Wow, i think they got it.  "You don't have to be old to be wise."

It feels like we've "turned a corner?"  Or maybe it's just the music on the stereo (thank you again Susanne and Juli, for their compilation) and the sun on deck.  It feels like we don't have to work so hard for our northing now and can beat feet for our easting.   Wishful thinking?  Shall see. 

I see a jet's con trail in the sky as i write this.  Another sign of civilization. 

There is a High chasing us.  I don't know why it's so persistent, but it seems to be shouldering aside the Lows.  We're trying to stay ahead of it, to take advantage of 15 to 25 knot winds and beat it to the coast.  To Tatoosh Island, to the Straits.  If it catches us...Thursday? we will be motoring in its calm. 

Thru the night, the winds dropped to ten-ish knots and clocked well forward on us.  Seas dropping.  The crew trimmed well to the shifts.  Under genoa and full main we've been close reaching around 7 knots.  Some blankets of stratus clouds with some blues in between just now    gave way to lots of blue and winds under 5.  In other words, the High seems to have caught up with us...we just now turned the motor on...after quite a pleasant noon to noon (moonlight on water, whoosh of our wake, world to ourselves...). 

A high point is that Jack persisted with our fishing:  we finally landed a tuna.  10+#, 3 or 4 meals worth.  Oh boy!  Fish tacos for dinner last night.  Tuna fried rice for lunch today.  Sushi?  Any other suggestions?   

Oh my kingdom for a square rigger.  Did i write that?  I didn't mean it.  Really.  But last night the winds went light again and aft while the seas shook out whatever the sails would catch.  Anything else and we could sail, but we motored 5 or so hours.  Tired of the noise and fumes, about dawn we were more willing to compromise our course.  Kara and i hoisted the drifter and we sailed 30 or 40 degrees north of course to keep it full.  The wind built to 19 true.  At 7 knots of  boatspeed we felt 12 knots across the deck when, without warning, the drifter split completely in half.  Half at the masthead, the other half swimming along side.  Instead of having to go aloft to get the remnant down, Kara simply pulled the sock/snuffer down and with it what was left of the sail.  Cool!  We drug the rest of the sail out of the water, stuffed the whole mess in its bag and unrolled the genoa.  It was a warhorse of a sail and owed me nothing more. 

Some hours later, still not satisfied with being off course and the quartering sea slapping the genoa around, i decided to hoist the tri-radial spinnaker.  With its pole well aft, seemed we might make our course and good time too.  Bad decision.  I very rarely choose this combo and we blew the hoist.  The sail is fine but i've got more repairs to make.  Damn!

No Jack, it's an ear patch, not a nose patch. 

Okay, so next we tried the main and genoa wing and wing.  Again the seas were uncooperative.  So now we are very broad reaching (still 20 degrees off our course) on starboard tack with the main way out and half the genoa (half collapses in the lee of the main less than the whole thing).  Expecting to tack downwind to the Straits.  Starting to wonder if we will ever get there.  Feelin' like a rookie again.  Do you get some idea of how much work this can be?  I once compared the lifelines on the foredeck to the ropes around a boxing ring. 

Just a moment ago a very big whale surfaced parallel to us on starboard at most 70' off.  Whoa, big fella!  That’s close enuf.    Guessing s/he is at least as big as Akimbo.  Jen spotted him/her (or another) a little while later similarly close off our port side.  And then…they were gone.

We are in fog, glad for the radar and the AIS.  Chatted with a 592' cargo ship 6 miles off our starboard beam, "Tiger East" heading for the Columbia River from Asia, and confirmed we show up on their radar. 

I've been wearing my foulies and boots too long.  Can't take them off for fear of the odor.  Maybe you can smell us comin' already.  

Had to "get back on that horse." 

We spent the night under the genoa, going 5 to 7 knots and very nearly in the direction we wanted.  But around dawn the wind got lighter and backed and the waves were shaking the sail and rig while we went over 30 degrees off course.  So we hoisted the spinnaker and pole again and have been enjoying good speed about 15 degrees off our rhumb line to Tatoosh Island.  With good luck, we will carry this until dusk and then switch to the genoa for the night.  Prayer:  may the taking down the spinnaker go well when the time comes. 

The night started with the NW misting rain that soaks to the bone...but soon got better.  Y'know how the eskimos have 80 some names for snow?  Can anyone explain to me what northwesterners mean by "rain turning to showers?" 

Anchored in Neah Bay. 

THAT was "a day and a half."

I think it was the third(?) storm of the year to hit the NW that caught us "out there."  So please forgive the tardiness of this report - we were busy.  The weather forecast (thank you Gary and Jim) pretty much tells it. 

"Tonight: W wind 5 to 15 kt...becoming S 15 to 25 kt after midnight. Wind waves 1 to 2 ft...building to 2 to 4 ft.

W swell 5 ft at 7seconds...building to 7 ft at 14 seconds.

A chance of showers...then rain after midnight.

Sat: S wind 15 to 25 kt...becoming SW 25 to 35 kt in the afternoon. Combined seas 9 to 12 ft with a dominant period of 13 seconds. Rain.

Sat Night: SW wind 25 to 35 kt...becoming 25 to 30 kt after midnight.

Combined seas 14 to 17 ft with a dominant period of 12 seconds…” 

In other words, ugly.  And getting worse.  We don’t want to be out here any more.  This will soon be THE very wrong place to be.  We want out of here in the worst way, and we want some shelter from the storm.  We want to anchor in Neah Bay.  But CAN we get what we want?   

We got the spinnaker down in the nick of time as the weather worsened, glad for the progress it had given us.  With luck, it put us within range of where we are tonight.  The genoa carried us downwind until it started to blow too hard for all of it.  We wrapped up half of it and carried on.  By dawn its lack of help to windward was going to send us to the shores of Vancouver Island.  To make matters worse…there is no sign of water flowing out the engine’s exhaust.  Effectively, we have no engine.  I begin keep confirming the sea-strainer is clear, and begin replacing the water pump impellor.  This is easy to write, but, tossed about in a boat on stormy seas…imagine. 

I’m not one inclined to this, but i called the Coast Guard on the VHF radio.  Wondering why i called, they asked if we needed assistance.  “No, i replied.  But i want you to know that we are out here, and where here is.  If more things go wrong, this could get serious.”  I proceeded to answer all their questions, spelling our names for them by using the “alpha, bravo, charlie, delta, echo…” alphabet.  They replied that they would NOT monitor our float plan, but to call them if we need them.” 

So we tried the storm jib and triple reefed main - found the storm jib too small to be any use.  Back to the trusty old jib, with a prayer.  But boy was that the right choice.  Suddenly instead of being dragged toward a lee shore (best case: a harbor to shelter in, worst case: shipwreck), we could point even closer to the wind than our destination required.  (“destination:  a place from which the wind blows”).  Our prospects improved drastically.  If we pushed to average at least 7 knots, we MIGHT make it to Neah Bay by dark. 

It was a truly rough day.  The kind of day when i'm on shore that i say "sure am glad i'm not out there today."  And worse to come.  But our luck held, we're all soaked.  Clammy in here! We're safe and sound and will consider our next sail in the morning.  Thank you crew, thank you Akimbo, thank you luck of the draw. 

Tired.  Good night,

(I learned later that as i posted that last “report” via sailmail to friends and family (we found no cell service in Neah Bay), Tyler was actually on the phone inquiring from the Coast Guard if they had heard from us.  He may have been even more concerned, knowing me, to learn that i had indeed contacted them.  And Kara’s parents, sailors too, were too well aware of what the weather was dealing to us.  They were worried.  But then our report arrived in their e-mails and they could breathe a sigh of relief. 

Our good luck held.  It seems my long trips end with a storm (having said that, i’ll likely never be able to get crew again for a last leg of a trip).  My 2010 trip ended on a really stormy November night.  That night i clearly learned a lesson:  never stop trying to sail your boat.  Continue to consider the engine a last option, keep trying to play your game instead of letting the conditions overwhelm you out of your tools, out of whatever you’ve gained from experience, out of your wisdom…and into simply holding on.  Maybe it was dumb luck that we came thru this storm okay, or maybe it was because we remained pro-active.  While this storm gave us a thrashing and we have wounds to lick, it held some much worse possibilities that we are glad to have dodged.)

Good morning. 

We have time to get 50nm closer to home, to Port Angeles, before the worst of this weather hits.  The forecasts we are hearing on the VHF radio are phenomenally ugly.  And we hear there's something there called a "shower," and something else, maybe "cell service?"  And "laundry" perhaps...  So, picture us stumbling about the docks there as if we were drunk (we might be) because our sea-legs haven't been ashore for 17 days.  If Monday is as bad as advertised, we might just stay there...or with luck make the next 20nm to Port Townsend?  Or even home.  We'll let you  know. 

Okay, that last day is a report in itself.