Two down, Three to go

Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon day sun, but who goes out in the dead of winter? Why, Sailors of course.

Last week was the coldest we’ve had so far this year. The skies were clear, the air was relatively still, and the docks were icy. In other parts of the country, this kind of weather finds boats swaddled in shrink-wrap on the hard and sailors swapping tales in the warm glow of their favorite tavern. In the Northwest though, true sailors brave the elements not wanting to squander the opportunity for a good day out. The Shilshole Bay Yacht Club helps support those sailors with the Snowbird racing series through the short days of winter. Saturday, December 12th was the second Snowbird race of the season and saw Tim, Phil Osborne, Paul Kent, Rob Johnston, David Lee and Jeremy Court (Laura was hobbled by a nasty cold this time) heading out to trade tacks with a fleet of like-minded lunatics.

Preparation took a little longer than normal this time, since Frog Prints was dressed for the Christmas Ship Parade from the night before. I’ve been trying to find a lighting design which would hold up to boisterous sailing, but it’s not there yet (we’re still finding bulbs knocked out from last year’s attempt). This year the lights were rigged for speedy conversion from a glorious beacon which lights the cold winter darkness to the swift wind chariot we all know and love. The crew was industrious in their efforts, and we departed the dock with plenty of time before our start.

Leaving the marina, the wind was not looking promising. The forecast was for anything between “light and variable” (NOAA) to “0-10” (Sailflow) and the current observations were leaning towards the low side of both. We hoisted the main and headed over towards the committee boat to see what we had in store. The Race Committee appeared to be more optimistic than the meteorologists. They had posted the course: NMWNLN (Start to Meadow Point, to West Point, through the line, to the South Mooring and back to the finish). The course could be shortened, but Meadow to West seemed like a pretty long stretch for the light conditions.

We unfurled the headsail and with Phil at the helm, began milling about with the fleet to get a sense of the conditions at the start. There was enough wind to move us, but nothing like the last race. We picked out our four competitors for the day and began lining up our start as the minutes ticked away. The wind would allow a good starboard reach along the line where we’d harden up at crossing time. The other boats were spaced well enough in their pattern to make it a less nerve-wracking start than the summer races usually had.

As we set up for the last tacks, the wind picked up slightly – not much, but just enough to make us faster than planned. We dumped as much wind from the sails as we could, but we were going to need a spin around to keep us in line for the start. Unfortunately, this ended up costing us a good 30 seconds or so as we jibed down and tacked back up to kill some distance. We crossed the line just behind Sublime. Phil was definitely irked that he mistimed the start. I, however, felt we did quite well (but then I’ve been known to misjudge the start by a minute or more). It would still prove to be good enough.

On the windward leg, we took an outside line looking for better wind, while a good number of the fleet took the more traditional in-shore line trying to avoid the flood current. It was difficult to estimate the efficacy of either tactic – the in-shore boats were ahead of us, but it was unclear if that was from better conditions, or the gap from the start. Breeze was well ahead of us this time, and was definitely the boat to beat. The rating difference between the boats gave us a big buffer, but the light conditions could be very favorable for a racier boat. This could be seen as the light boats from the Flying Sails divisions rapidly gained on our class (it was going to be a busy rounding).

Our outside line gave us a little more situational awareness as we tacked in towards our appointment with the Meadow Point buoy. We could pick our holes in the parade of inshore competitors and see how their lines were combining with the shifty wind and the current. In light winds or heavy tides, the current can radically change the actual line past the buoy. The flooding tide had moved the buoy a bit south and east from its charted position, and would require some extra clearance to avoid being set onto the mark.

We were lining up for our tack to the mark, which gave us a marvelous spectator’s seat for one of the more impressive roundings of the day. A J-boat had run out of water and was forced to tack out well before the buoy. However, they didn’t let that stop them. They took advantage of a little better wind outside and came barreling in on port tack as a parade of starboard-tack boats were fetching the mark more sedately and safely above it (remember, stiff current). The J came inside, tacked over and managed to round at remarkable speed with only a few feet between the boat and the cheese-grater-like hulking mass of the buoy. It was all kinds of gutsy to pull that off (their approach left them with no rights at the mark, and the navigational buoys can do significant damage with the slightest touch), but pull it off they did. I’m not sure I’d ever push it that hard though.

After our more sedate rounding, we trimmed for down-wind and picked our line towards West Point. We decided to stay outside in the higher wind and stronger current while some boats (including most in our class) decided to hope for something better inside. This was going to be a long stretch, and the right choice here could make or break the race for us. We were behind Breeze and Sublime, but we were enjoying the sunshine and the temperatures were rising towards the upper thirties. Once settled in, David switched to the helm, and I went below to start working on lunch (bean soup and croissants).

The downwind leg took considerable attention from the crew. The wind shifted everywhere from abeam to abaft, but we kept our angle and our boat speed up as much as we could. We seemed to be gaining on the inshore boats, although the cross-track can always be deceptive. Our line would take us out towards the outside of the course first, which meant we’d have to cover the distance back towards the center and the mark. If the conditions are just right, they may not have to cover as much perpendicular distance across the course – distance that can rapidly consume the gains we were seeing. When we gybed over to work back towards the center of the course, we could see the gap we had opened closing again.

The wind got quite challenging as we came closer to West Point, but we kept up with the trim. Breeze and Sublime were still ahead, although we clearly had closed the gap somewhat. We stepped from one point of sail to the next – from a port tack, to wing-on-wing, to starboard – as we curved in for our rounding. We were rounding close with another boat on our heels so we had to nail the rounding to keep them from running up on us. We came around the buoy, hardened up, and took off for the line.

The upwind was a good bit speedier than the down, and the wind seemed to settle in somewhat. There was a good gust coming out the ship channel as well which helped out as we headed for our first tack at the channel edge. From there we tacked out until we lined up for our run at the line. We aimed slightly inside as we’d want to round the pin on starboard for the best route to the final downwind mark (the south mooring buoy).

This last downwind leg kept us a little more inside. We continued focusing on boat speed, since often the shortest distance between two points is not a straight line when sailing. Breeze remained ahead, although the gap was closing. We were coming in on the mooring buoy on a good line, and the wind was right for a fun trip to the finish. With clear air and no traffic around, we rounded the buoy tightly. This would seem to be a safe approach with a flood tide – the current would be pushing us away from the buoy giving us a little extra clearance. However, the south mooring has a big warp hanging off of it (for the convenience of the tugs) which was streaming out in the current. We managed not to snag the line on our underside, but it was a bit close (it’s an awfully big line too).

As we made our way to the line, various obstacles conspired to frustrate us. Between the ship channel and various crab pots, we had to carefully pick our course to avoid getting snarled or needing to add extra tacks. We could see Breeze just slightly ahead, and I marked the time as she crossed the line. I wasn’t sure of the exact course length, but I figured if we could cross no more than six minutes behind, we’d correct out ahead of her in the results.

We tacked over for our final run at the line, and the wind was favorable. We could point above the pin if we needed, and the committee boat end was well below close hauled. This allowed us to sail fast for the finish and still safely adjust to any wind shifts. I watched the time tick away as we approached the line – one minute….two minutes… - it always seems to take longer than you think. Three minutes passed, and the tension was palpable. Four and a half and we were almost there. By five it was looking to be a squeaker. The bow reached the line as the final seconds ticked away. The committee finally sounded the horn – five and a half minutes after Breeze. We had beat them.

We knew we had made second (Araminta was far behind), but we had lost track of Sublime in the last couple of legs. With our first in the first race, we would still be in a strong position for the series overall. When the results were finally posted the next day though, we were in for a surprise. Sublime had not crossed ahead of us (as we had though), but came in slightly over 9 minutes behind. Being a theoretically slower boat (Sublime is a 27-footer who gets over a minute a mile from us), they would gain quite a bit in the adjustments. However, this time it was not quite enough. In the final results, we corrected to first place – by 21 seconds (in a two-hour race). The accomplishment was so surprising, Rob called around to share his amazement when he first saw (and people say sailboat racing isn’t exciting).

Thus ended the second Snowbird race of the season, and the last of 2009. As we go into 2010, Frog Prints holds a formidable lead in our class (three points ahead of both Breeze and Sublime). The others will be gunning for us in the next three races, but it’s all in good fun. Hopefully many of you will be contributing to a successful winter. We couldn’t do it without you.

Wow - What a Saturday

After more than three months without sailing, we picked a perfect day for Laura and me to get back out there. Last Saturday was the Sloop Tavern Yacht Club’s Fall Regatta, and it was just awesome.

The Friday-night storms (over 30 knots) died off a little later than expected – it was still blowing when I arrived for the Skippers’ Meeting at 0830, but it died down to something more normal very suddenly afterwards. By shortly after 0900 when the crew began arriving, wind on the water was in the 15 knot range from the southwest, and it felt like a gentle breeze within the confines of the marina. The forecast was all over the place (as usual) with NOAA calling for 10-20 (with showers in the afternoon) and Sailflow calling for 5-15 dropping to light as the winds shifted to the north by evening. It turned out they were both wrong.

The winds had blown many of the clouds clear, so the sun was shining and warm as we set out for the day. Garr Youngren, one of our long-term crew members, was along for the day, as were David, David, Craig and Megan. This would be Megan’s first day out on one of the larger boats, and she was in for a treat.

The fleet was looking a little lighter than expected – only three of the five boats in our class showed up. Perhaps they were afraid of the rain or the wind, but no matter – we would still have good competition. We faced Marty Bower’s Amoretto (a Jenneau 30) and Whiskey Run (a heavy cruising cutter) in our class, with some of the other familiar boats like Greyling and Breeze in the second NFS class. Amoretto is a relatively close match for Frog Prints, rating roughly 10 seconds slower than us. Whiskey Run rates almost a minute slower, which always makes results a toss-up due to the adjusted times.

The race committee set the first race as a relatively short course given the way the winds had lessened, with a single time around the south mooring bouy and Meadow Point. We hoisted sail and worked around to prepare for the start as the fleet meandered. They were being surprisingly kind, keeping clear of the line while the three of us in the first start prepared our positions. Amoretto and Whiskey Run were going to make port-tack runs for the middle of the line to get the better wind angle for a long tack, while we planned to come in from the outside on starboard to cross near the pin. The wind wasn’t completely accomodating – we ended up crossing close to the committee boat and tacking on the line – but we timed it well and kept the other two boats clear. This was to be the first of three of the best starts I’ve done.

The wind was holding steady, and we were keeping up with Amoretto. Whiskey Run fell away as they couldn’t point as high as the other two boats. It was going to be two tacks and around on this leg. I handed off the helm to check the course – almost everyone would get a turn driving today. The wind was holding up surprisingly well in the lee of Discovery Point, butwe still planned to leverage the outside as much as we could today.

We rounded the mooring bouy right outside of Amoretto, leaving them to risk catching the mooring line floating in the water behind it. From there we parted ways as we headed outside while Amoretto took the more traditional inside line on Meadow Point (perhaps to minimize the flood current). It was a relaxing downwind cruise, with the wind moving us along around 6 knots or so. While the other boats poled out wing-on-wing for a more direct line, we sailed a little higher to keep out boat speed up. It paid off as we reached Meadow Point and turned up for the finish. We had pulled clear ahead of Amoretto and were set to take line honors as they scrambled to make up the difference. They were hot on our tail, but we crossed 16 seconds ahead – a win at the line, but not enough for corrected time. We took second place in the first race by a mere 6 seconds – what a race.

The first race finished fairly quickly with all boats over the line in a little more than an hour. The Race Committee set a longer course for the second race - around West Point and Meadow Point this time. We nailed the start again and headed out for the mark on a really good line. Amoretto tacked in to use the typical local technique of following the lift along the point but they were missing out on the outside wind. As we emerged from behind the head, the apparent wind rapdily built to over 28 knots – quite a blow.

Here’s where we took advantage of some heavy-wind wisdom from Jim last winter – depower the main to keep the boat flatter and the weather helm under control. When the boat is heeled way over, the keel loses its grip and we make more leeway. When the helm is fighting the sails, the big rudder is dragging through the water slowing us down. We eventually threw in two reefs, but we were still doing well over 7 knots and pointing high. Everyone else left full sail up and started to fall behind.

When we came around the mark and headed back for Meadow Point, we shook out the reef for a great sleighride. It wasn’t as much as we got during Swiftsure, but we did break 8.3 on the downwind. We were clear ahead when we rounded and finished a minute and a half ahead of Amoretto – enough to win by 6 seconds! We even crossed ahead of almost the entire fleet (except for Grayling and Breeze).

The sky was something to behold that day (of course – I forgot our camera). The clouds to the south stayed to the edges of the Sound, to the North was a black wall of rain, and above us was clear, blue sky. As long as the south wind held, it would keep the rain at bay. This is what makes winter sailing worth it.

During the race, one of the battens had started to come out again. We took the break between races to try to get it back in, but it flogged itself out as we lowered the sail. The change in sail shape didn’t hurt us too much, but I really need to come up with a solution for these battens – it’s been a regular occurrence for years now.

We expected we’d have a heavy blow for the third race, and so did the Race Committee. They posted a long course, but used short notation since the RC boat was only a Catalina 27 – NWM2N. Since I’d paid attention at the Skippers’ Meeting, I realized what the 2 meant - it would normally be NWMNWMN: twice around West and Meadow point with a crossing through the line so they could shorten the race if necessary. It turned out many of the other skippers hadn’t been paying attention, since very few boats crossed the line before beginning the second lap. Apparently the Race Committee ended up throwing out the DSQs, but it didn’t end up hurting us.

We started with one reef in and set out for West Point. Our strategy was working well, and we made good time the first time around. On the second lap, we went outside from West to Meadow points, while many of the other boats went in to try to get more moderate wind and smaller waves (it was wind against tide). This turned out to be our best bet of the day. About half way down, the wind died off as the new weather from the north started to reach our area. We could see the wind line coming down, and it wasn’t the usual straight line across the Sound. This time, it lagged along the shore, so the wind shift would reach us first. It was an odd one – all swirly and random along the boundary, but it got us moving while the rest of the fleet was waiting for the inside to re-fill. By the time the race was over, this luck had not only countered the extra distance at the second lap (Amoretto skipped crossing through the line), but we finished ten minutes ahead of them (almost 15 ahead of Whiskey Run). The Race Committee was a bit slow with the horn at the end, but we were very appreciative – it had been quite a day out.

The rain held off until well after we were back in and all tucked away. The sun had shone most of the day (I bet everyone got a little bit fo sunburn), and we had a complete variety of sailing conditions. It was a fantastic day. To top it all off, when we stopped by the Sloop for the results later that evening, we had not only taken First in Class, but First Overall for NFS – a wonderful finish.

Now, this means we’re going to have to sail the rest of the Admiral’s Cup races in 2010 to defend our position.

Ballard Cup Monday - 6/15

Boy what a season we’ve been having. When we arrived at the boat, the sun was out but there wasn’t much breeze. This evening though, the weather would more than oblige.

As we prepared to depart, the wind started to pick up, but just a little. It was looking like a classic summer evening – around 5 knots and a short course that hopefully we’d manage to finish. At least there’d be enough to start, and the start might not be too intense (there were 31 boats in the fleet and 8 in our class that day). I’ll be the first to admit that starts make me nervous when everyone’s going full-speed – it’s a lot to keep track of.

The race committee was hoping for increasing winds, so they set an optimistic course of two laps between Meadow Point and the south barge buoy. They did hedge their bets though by including a pass through the line on the second windward leg (that way they can call a short course if necessary). The line was a bit short though – it was going to be a squeeze fitting everyone in with the north wind blowing.

We dropped into the parade making the loop before our start, and actually got a pretty good position. The bulk of our class was heading for the left side of the line, which left a nice hole towards the committee boat for us. There was a goodly flood running and not a huge amount of wind, so I was glad to have the space to work above the pin. We were a little late across the line, but not nearly as bad as I usually do.

The fleet was of split mind in their approach to the windward leg this time. Half the boats went inside right away – less current, but worse wind – while half went outside. We decided to keep the starboard tack towards the outside until we had a clear line, and then head in towards Meadow Point itself. The water was high enough that we could probably get a line on the buoy from just one shore-side tack. The approach worked pretty well for us – we didn’t catch up to the front runners, but we did pass the two closest boats (they had gone up the inside).

As we ran out of water, we tacked over onto what would normally have been a good line for the buoy, but with the flood current today we weren’t going to make it. We were in a tough position – we were out ahead of a couple other boats and they also weren’t going to fetch the mark, but it wasn’t clear if we were far enough ahead to successfully tack over and cross in front of them. We decided to use a little creative maneuvering here – we gybed all the way around rather than tacking. This allowed us to change directions without losing much boat speed, while putting our new line about a boat-length behind where a tack would have left us. Sure, it’s not as optimal in progressing towards the mark, but it left us with better speed as we ducked the starboard-tack boats rather than having to make that decision while we were still gearing up from a tack. It got us up to our tacking point and onto a line for the mark before the others tacked over – meaning they now had to duck us. It was a great rounding.

As we turned down for the next mark (and switched Javier onto the helm), the true wind (or lack thereof) became apparent. We were moving at a little over three knots with the current, but it was a struggle to keep the sails filled. The big boats with their light-wind sails had pulled way ahead, but we still had half our class behind (or at least near) us. By about the Ballard Blinker, it appeared that we were in for a classic summer evening with the wind just dying as we got to the south end of the course. Looking behind us though, the spinnaker boats seemed to be behind a wind line – it wasn’t clear if they’d out-sail the wind, or if it would come down with them. It eventually became clear the wind was coming down with them as it picked up from 5 knots to 10 and then 15 even. It was going to be a great sail after all.

Unfortunately, that also meant that most of the fleet was now approaching the south mark at the same time – the hole in the wind had brought everyone together. I had been looking forward to sailing the rest of the race in that window between the first and second classes where it’s usually just four or five of us battling each other. Now it was 24 or 25 of us – a lot more complicated. We weaved our way through the front of the pack though (we had managed a great line on the mark again) and rounded without incident. On the upwind to the first line crossing, we worked the inside – much less hassle than crossing the dozen or so spinnaker boats still headed for the south mark (even though we would have had rights on starboard) and less current to boot.

At this point, we used a trick taught to us by Captain Jim which has worked out remarkably well. Since we were seeing apparent winds well over 20 knots, we eased the main as much as possible to keep the boat flatter and remove much of the weather helm (the large rudder really slows us down if it’s angled too far). When that left the main completely luffing, we threw in a reef. We were the only boat to do so, and the advantage was immediately apparent. Sailing flatter and with less rudder drag, we were keeping up with much faster boats (and pointing just as well). We held our position all the way up, and opened a gap with the last half of our class.

The last two legs of the race were much busier than the first two, what with more boats nearby and better wind to move us. John was driving for the last part as we jockeyed ahead of Blue Lullaby and traded tacks with Smola. Some rollers had come in with the increased wind, so the last half was a bit bumpy (but in a good way). Our last tack inside has us close-hauled at an oblique angle to the rollers, with the bow alternating between riding over the trough and cutting into the waves – it was marvelous to watch. With a last tack by the breakwater, we crossed the line one second ahead of one of the Seattle Sailing J24s (who apparently was disqualified). With corrected time we finished 8th in our class, but we clearly had a good shot at 5th or 6th that day.

It’s been an exciting season, and it’s only half over.

Spring Tides 2009

Around 160 miles, three days, twenty-six people, and five boats – mix them all together and the result is the 2009 Spring Tides trip. Probably the most ambitious Windshare in recent history (if I do say so myself), the Spring Tides expanded the skills and imagination of many a sailor, and provided a wonderful weekend.

The basic premise of the trip was that we would leverage a particularly large tidal change (it was a new moon) that occurred at a relatively convenient time to have a three-day weekend in the San Juan Islands. Many folks think the San Juans are someplace to head with a week or more, and preferably in the summer. This weekend, we wanted to dispel those myths and show the San Juans as an accessible cruising ground that’s particularly fun during the “shoulder” seasons (before the summer crowds show up).

We would be departing on Friday, April 24th – a day with a 9 foot tidal change in Seattle, with the largest ebb beginning at around 3:30 in the morning. We certainly didn’t want to leave that early, but we would need to leave around sunrise (0606) to ride the ebb out of the Sound. With so many people traveling, we didn’t want to wait until that morning to load up (I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not a morning person), so most of the crew loaded on Thursday evening and slept aboard.

Amazingly enough we managed to depart in our planned time window. All five boats were fully crewed by shortly after 0600 that morning. Each boat stopped off to pump out prior to departing the marina (a good idea with 5 people on each boat), and the last boat crept out from behind the breakwater just a little after 0730. Frog Prints was that boat, having waited to make sure everyone else got out ok. There was not much wind, and the fleet had already pulled ahead, which unfortunately meant we wouldn’t close ranks again until reaching the Islands.

With the calm weather and the long motor ahead of us, it was a wonderful opportunity for a nice breakfast. We are firm believers that the crew of French boats must eat well, and we wanted to demonstrate that remarkable things could be accomplished with just a small galley and some creativity. The demonstration began with a breakfast of fresh-baked cranberry scones (served with butter, jam and Dulce de Leche), Greek yogurt with granola, and a nice pot of French press coffee (it was a bit chilly in the morning). We took turns with one person at the helm, so everyone had a chance to sit down to a civilized meal – it was a good way to begin the journey.

Going into this trip, there was some skepticism about the power of the currents. My goal was to get us far up into the Islands in one day – we were aiming for Blind Bay as a good central location for Saturday. However, some of the other skippers were making contingency plans for Mackay Harbor (outside Cattle Pass) or Griffin Bay (just inside) in case we didn’t make it in time. From Meadow Point to just inside Cattle Pass is about 55 NM. Th ey were expecting it would take all day to cover that distance. I suspect their expectations changed fairly quickly.

By 0900 (about two hours from Meadow Point), we were already at Point No Point. Even at a fuel-efficient 2800 RPM (1/2 gph – don’t you love sailboats?), our 6.5 kts of water speed was gaining an additional 2 kts of current speed carrying us north. We were zipping along, and this wouldn’t even be our biggest push for the day. The others were still well ahead of us, but the sky was starting get those strange blue clouds we occasionally see around here, and no one seemed to mind. This sure beat being in the office.

As we continued north up the Sound, the current picked up. Between Hood Canal joining the Sound and the way things narrow down into Admiralty Inlet, the current’s influence can become quite intense. Between tide rips in various places and some swirls around the Inlet, it pays to know what the current is doing in as many places as possible. When we were headed up for Swiftsure last year, we were going to stop at Point Hudson for the night. The flood had already begun, and there was a couple knots running in past Bush Point. By following the lighter stuff along the Whidbey side, we went way north and then let the current set us back down to Point Hudson. One of the other boats followed us, but tacked out too early and was set back down past Marrowstone Point.

This day, we were trying to make the best of the end of the ebb. We had made it to Marrowstone by 1030 (it would have been a good day for a lunch trip to Port Townsend and back), although the current was starting to drop off. We had missed the biggest part of the flush out Admiralty Inlet, but we had to carefully play the Whidbey side to get the best push out with what was left. The rest of the fleet had gathered off of Admiralty Head, so we were all more or less together heading out into the Straits.

The Strait of Juan de Fuca seems like it’s always either flat calm, or roaring with chop. Today was the former – sunny, warm, with a light breeze and pretty much flat water. There was some traffic in the lanes, but mostly inbound with the tide so we were out of their way after the first turning circle. We guessed that we were going to b e into the flood by the time we were across the Strait, so we aimed a little west of Cattle Pass. The rest of the fleet took a more direct route (based on my notes from Waggoners – sorry) that took them a little closer to Smith Island. They made it across faster than we did, but they missed out on one of our first big thrills of the trip.

We were motoring across peacefully on this beautiful sunny day. Laura, Dana and Karoline were napping (it was a short night from Thursday) while Garr was at the helm. Just off of Partridge Bank, we came upon big rafts of birds bobbing on the water. It’s not uncommon to see birds gather near good fishing, and the shallows of Partridge Bank are a good fish spot. There is another common reason for these groups of birds though – whales! As we were passing through a number of bird rafts, I spotted a fin as a whale arched to dive. “Whale!” I called out, as I cut the engine. The rest of the crew came up from below wondering what all the commotion was about. As I explained what I saw, we started to search the surrounding water for more whales.

The birds were our best guides – wherever they moved, we were likely to spot a whale shortly thereafter. I managed to see a tail and a nose, while the others saw some spouts as well. From the size and color of what we could see, our best guess is that they were Minke whales – too small to be Grays and no telltale white of the Orcas. We tried to let the other boats know why we had stopped, but couldn’t raise them on the VHF. So, we bobb ed along running from side to side trying to make the next sighting of our private whale watching tour. Shortly thereafter, two powerboats were headed towards us at high speed. We thought they may be whale watching boats, but they turned out just to be a couple unobservant (I’m being polite) sports fishers in a hurry to get to their fishing spot. As they roared by at a speed well into the teens, their noise seemed to have scared the whales away. The birds started moving southwest marking their progress. As they got too far away to see, we started our engine and continued on towards San Juan Island.

Crossing the Strait always seems to take forever, and this was no exception. We passed the time with another cooking demonstration for lunch. This time, we had tomato soup with Gruyere toasts – nothing difficult, but it provides the distinction of a “yachting” experience. We even had the Grey Poupon aboard if we were asked. We didn’t spot any more whales, but we were relaxed, rested, well fed and just outside Cattle Pass by about 2PM – and they thought we wouldn’t make it. Fun with currents was just beginning.

The others had already reached the south end of Lopez Island ahead of us. Tehanu had decided to wait outside and see if any wind would come up (the flood would be running into the Pass well into the afternoon), while the others were going to head in for a stop at Friday Harbor. Limu had discovered shortly after departing that they were out of propane, so they would stop for a fill-up while the others just wanted a leg-stretch. We would follow them up and decide what to do around Turn Island.

We entered Cattle Pass from the Goose Island side with the current running at quite a clip. We were doing a little under six knots through the water with almost a five knot current flushing us in – we were flying. Cattle Pass and the area just inside are always interesting – the lumpy bottom and huge volume of water sets up tide rips and upwelling that makes the whole area look like it is boiling. Even the relatively calm areas have these odd spots where the water pushes up like a spring-fed pond with the bottom water spreading across the surface in shapes like flagstones. We missed the choppiest sections, but everyone got a chance to experience the strangeness of tide rips at some point in the weekend. When the boat enters one, it starts moving every which way, and the rudder gets a strange, loose feel while the turbulence reduces the water’s resistance to the huge blade. It’s something every northwest boater should become familiar with – sort of like driving on ice back east.

Once through the pass and past the rips, San Juan Channel between Lopez and San Juan Islands is quite a peaceful stretch. We headed for a left at Turn Island to meet the others outside of Friday Harbor – we figured we’d stop and get an ice cream, or at least hover outside while the others finish up. When we got to the turn though, our plans changed. There was a beautiful wind blowing down the channel from the west – after seven hours of motoring, we couldn’t waste it. We hoisted the sails and set of for Blind Bay the long way around (clockwise around Shaw Island) – we’d meet the rest of the fleet there. We tried calling Tehanu to let them know there was no reason to hope for wind in the Strait, but we couldn’t get an answer on any of the cell phone numbers we had (coverage for anything but Verizon in the islands is a bit spotty). Hopefully they’d discover the wind before it was too late.

The first stretch, between Friday Harbor and the end of Shaw Island, it looked like the wind might be far enough aft that we could get the spinnaker up. We hoisted and launched, and even got one gybe in before the wind came around too far to continue. It was the only down-wind sailing of the trip, but at least we got to have the experience. We had plenty of sunlight left, so we took the long route around the Wasp Islands going up through North Pass. The Wasp Islands are considered by some to be a hazardous stretch of water – there are lots of little islands and unmarked rocks – but following the marks really isn’t as bad as it might seem. After all, the ferries cut through there without problems.

Since we didn’t need to save any time (and we were having too much fun sailing), we went around the outside this time. North Pass is a big open area between Jones and Orcas Islands on the north and the Wasp Islands on the south. It’s the convenient route to Deer Harbor, although we wouldn’t be headed there until Saturday. The wind was carrying us on a perfect line for the space between Reef Island and Orcas, and would have carried us right through Pole Pass if we had wanted. That would have been too short a sail though, so we tacked over towards Bird Rock and short-tacked our way down into Wasp Passage. This part of the passage is pretty open, although there is one tricky point at the bottom of Crane Island. The southwest point shoals out a good stretch, going from 10 fathoms to 1 in less than 100 yards. We used the 10 fathom contour to select our tack point and were shortly on a good line for the pass between Crane and Shaw Islands.

On the east end of Wasp Passage, there’s another little bramble patch of shallows just before Broken Point. Although there is a channel mark just east of Bell Island, it is a little tricky to avoid the rocks just west of the mark – for that particular mark, the best approach is to just stay way clear of it. We safely stayed in six fathoms or more, although we probably should have steered further towards Broken Point. Broken Point was a great demonstration of AIS (a tool which helped tremendously on numerous occasions). The Shaw Island and Orcas Island ferry docks are right across from each other by Blind Bay, with the ferry going west through this passage on its way to Friday Harbor. With the AIS receiver, we could see the ferry coming on the other side of Broken Point – way before we could see it with our eyes, and keep out of its way. The ferries around here aren’t as bad as in British Columbia, but they are surprising frequent.

Rounding the point, the wind continued to favor our route to Blind Bay. We sailed right up to the entrance before reluctantly dropping the sails to motor in. We probably could have continued, but the entrance to the Bay can be a little tricky. The safe passage is east of Blind Island (which sits just to the west of center in the opening of the Bay) mid-way between the island and a privately-maintained danger mark on a rock in the entrance. At the present tide height, we couldn’t see the rock (it’s 3 feet above the water at a zero tide), but the mark was clearly visible. Blind Bay is a wonderful anchorage – with a very flat 2-3 fathom mud bottom and reasonable shelter from all sides. We went deep into the bay and picked a place to temporarily anchor until Epiphany would arrive with the Raft Master (Dana Yaffee). The night’s raft would be the next big learning experience for this trip.

Epiphany arrived a short while later without incident, although they did do a double-take on the bay entrance. We weighed anchor and as Dana selected a position to build the raft. We would be alternating the boats to space the spreaders and laying out four anchors to secure the five boats for the night. It would be a different maneuver than we typically did with more temporary raftings. First, Epiphany firmly set her anchor in a good clear area of the anchorage (in about 26 feet of water). Once they were in place, Limu, as the second largest boat, was the next to join. Limu would normally be dropping their anchor astern of the raft to keep us from rotating if the wind were to shift. Since this is the first time they’ve tried this maneuver (and backing into the wind may be tricky on some boats), they decided to set their anchor by hand after rafting up. So, they rafted to Epiphany (port to port) and then rowed out their anchor in their dinghy. When doing so, it’s best to put the anchor and all of the necessary rode (or at least the chain) into the dinghy. Otherwise the weight of the chain will try to pull everything out of the boat. The operation went well, and they set the anchor about 100 feet back from the raft. We came next, as Frog Prints is third in our little fleet by size. We came up to Epiphany’s starboard side (starboard to starboard) and tied up – probably the easiest of the four joints.

Tehanu would be next, as Sean has had quite a bit of Med mooring experience. They dropped their anchor out and to the side of the raft so that their rode would lie at a 45 degree angle once they were tied up. This would help hold the raft, while keeping the rode safely away from Epiphany’s. Coming in next to the raft with the rode pulling the boat slightly at an angle was a bit tricky, but once we got lines across to the raft, it wasn’t hard to pull them in. Last but not least, Sleipnir joined in a similar manner on the other side. The result was a raft with the boats facing alternating directions, with three anchors forward (one in the middle, two off at 45 degree angles) and one aft. We weren’t going anywhere that night.

Once we were all rafted, the Frog Prints crew upheld the yachting tradition of sundowners before dinner. We broke out the coffee pot (which is also a convenient pitcher) and mixed up a batch of Bermuda Rum Swizzles. We originally discovered this recipe on our last trip to Bermuda at the Swizzle Inn – the drink’s namesake – on Bailey’s Bay. If you find the secret link to the recipe on their web site, you’ll understand why we are sure this is the signature drink for Frog Prints. It’s very tasty, and a convivial way to unwind at the end of a sunny day of sailing.

Joe Cabral, the social director of this motley crew (and skipper of Limu for the trip) organized some light pre-dinner snacks in their cockpit before the crews dispersed. People were happy with a good day out, although the fresh air and long day had taken its toll. The festivities were more subdued than the typical Windshare, although we’d make up for it the next night. We swapped stories of the trip up – we told of our whale sighting, while two of the other boats told of running out of propane. One additional learning from the trip – carry a small (30 lb) fish scale that can be used to weigh a propane tank. That’s the best way to accurately know how much gas is in the tank.

Dinner on Frog Prints was another in our series of simple-but-elegant meals. We had Linguini Bolognese with a green salad and baguette fresh that morning. Laura broke out the place mats and cloth napkins for a true ‘yachtie’ presentation. The food and the company were both good and well enjoyed. After dinner was cleaned up, we all headed off to our bunks for a well-earned rest. There was no hurry to depart on Saturday, as we had only a few short hops to Deer Harbor and then to Mud Bay planned. With the clear sky cooling the air and the gentle motion of the boats, we would sleep well that night.

I awoke Saturday morning around 0600 more out of necessity than intention. As I crept back to the head, the rest of the crew remained sound asleep – despite what you may read, people really do sleep well on boats. It had gotten quite chilly during the night, so I switched on the heater on my way back to my bunk (we had shut it off to conserve battery power the night before) so it would be pleasantly warm by the time we all awoke in a couple of hours.

The crew re-awoke much later (around 0800, I think), as a ferry wake rolled the raft. It wasn’t an overly unsettling motion, but it was a disruption from the peacefulness of the night (even small changes sometimes get your attention when you’re anchored out). The clouds had come in during the night, but they looked like the type that would burn off in the morning. The Bay was still quite (no crowds of tourists yet in April) and there was nary a breeze, so several of us took the opportunity to gain some exercise in the dinghies. We didn’t use them as much as I would have liked during the trip, but it did provide some good photos of the raft.

While we were taking in the morning, Laura began on breakfast. Since we new we had some time on Saturday, we went traditional with buttermilk pancakes (made from scratch, although pre-measured) with bacon and chicken apple sausage. French press coffee and orange juice washed everything down, and Garr prepared a thermos of his excellent Chinese tea for later in the morning.

The first order of business on Saturday’s itinerary was to head for Deer Harbor to get everyone pumped out. There are only five pump-out docks in the San Juans – Deer, Fisherman’s, Friday, Reid, and Roche Harbors – and Deer Harbor was the closest to where we were. It’s also the most scenic (save for Reid), so it would be another good experience for folks. It’s a short jaunt from Blind Bay to Deer Harbor, so we decided to take the long way around again (through Wasp Passage). Since there wasn’t much wind, but there was some favorable current, we’d cover the 5 nm in under an hour – which made our noon departure less of a problem.

If you haven’t been to Deer Harbor yet, we can’t recommend it enough as a destination in the Islands. The harbor is a deep notch into the south side of Orcas Island. On the west side of the harbor, steep cliffs rise up a couple hundred feet from the water, while the east side has the Deer Harbor Marina – a very nice and well kept marina down the hill from a small group of timeshare cottages. The fuel/pump-out dock is easy to access, and the high hills around the harbor provide excellent protection. There is lots of good anchoring space in the harbor, although the marina docks are very nice (as are the showers).

Deer Harbor is one of the smaller outposts on Orcas. The marina itself has a nice little store/snack bar (with excellent coffee drinks), there’s a post office across the street, and the Deer Harbor Inn (excellent, affordable restaurant) is a short walk through the woods and across a field. Other than that, it’s a nice walk through the residential neighborhood to the south, or you can head into town (East Sound is the main business center for Orcas) by bus, taxi, or 30-minute bike ride (bike rentals are available at the marina). Deer Harbor is also the jumping off point for kayak tours and whale watching tours. It’s a much more peaceful place to stop than Friday Harbor.

As all the boats pumped out and picked up some fuel (not really necessary, but we felt obligated for using their pump-out), the crews perused the store and made use of the shore-side facilities. For the Frog Prints crew, this was our only time ashore for the entire three days – kind of surprising when I think back on it. We picked up some odds and ends of groceries and an extra lighter for the stove (the one we had was being temperamental – I was usually the only one who could get it to work). We were last off the dock again, but the fleet was closer at hand this time.

From Deer Harbor, we were headed for our anchorage for the night – Mud Bay. Mud Bay is at the bottom of Lopez Sound, the body of water on the east side of Lopez Island demarked mainly by Lopez on the west and south, and Decatur Island on the east. Mud Bay is a huge bay in the hook of Lopez with 1-2 fathoms and a mud bottom throughout the bay – lots of room to anchor (although I can imagine it gets crowded in the summer – everything does). It would put us in a good position to head out Lopez Pass and down Rosario Strait on Sunday.

We had about 14 miles to cover as the powerboat flies (closer to 17 by sail), so we decided to take Pole Pass this time on our way back. Pole Pass can seem a bit intimidating on the charts – it’s less than 50 yards wide at the narrowest point, there are lots of shoals and rocks on the south side, and there’s a “strong current” note on the chart – but it’s not really as bad as it seems. The current wasn’t running very strongly when we were going through, although it’s a good opportunity to practice danger bearings. We plotted our line through the pass along the 6-fathom notch, so if the depth starting coming above about 30 feet, we knew to turn away. We made it through with no problem and headed back for Harney Channel.

As we came into the wider part of Harney Channel, our progress was rewarded by some wind coming up between Shaw and Lopez Islands. It was time to raise the sails again, and hopefully sail the rest of the way to our destination. As we hauled the canvas up the mast, the rest of the fleet did the same until we had five sailboats quietly slipping into Upright Channel on a beautiful sunny day.

As we crossed towards Upright Head, we could see a ferry near the Lopez Island ferry dock. Not being sure where the ferry was going from there (could be on to Shaw and Orcas, or down to Friday Harbor – I keep forgetting to pick up ferry schedules), we circled back towards Hankin Point to wait it out. It only took one look for the ferry to clear, but on a day like today we don’t mind the extra sailing.

The wind curved around Lopez Island as if it was intended just for us. We held the same tack all the way around Upright Head, past Spencer Spit and down into Lopez Sound. Apparently one of the boats mistakenly headed out Thatcher Pass, but they managed to catch up eventually.

Coming down past Decatur Island, Tehanu decided to take a shot at racing us. The wind was quite light, which might give them a weight advantage (Tehanu is actually supposed to be surprisingly heavy for her size), but we’d still take it easy on them – it is a fun trip after all. It turned out that the dinghy was our biggest handicap – the energy involved in changing its direction on a tack slowed our tacks down considerably.

Once well behind Decatur (just before Trump Island), it became a tacking duel. The wind (what there was of it) was coming straight up the Sound. The favored section of water changed considerably and often – sometimes the Lopez side had the wind, others the outside. Up until the last two tacks (at Ram Island and Hunter Bay), we sailed for the wind, while the last two were made to avoid obstructions. At Hunter Bay, it looked like we might force Tehanu down the wrong side of the head, but they managed to clear out and into Mud Bay. It was some good sailing, and everyone deserves a hand for handling the light wind well and with patience.

We dropped the sails and drifted slowly as we awaited the remainder of the fleet. Once Epiphany arrived, we build the big raft again. This time went much more smoothly as everyone was now familiar with the seemingly complicated pattern of boats and anchors. We were all nestled in short order.

With a good night’s sleep and a relaxing day behind us, everyone was in high spirits and much more sociable than the previous evening. The crews all mingled topside while our pizza was cooking (tomato & goat cheese; and Bolognese, summer sausage & fresh mozzarella). It was a lovely sunset, and the raft provided ample room to mingle. All the Dufours have wine racks (as good French boats should) so we all shared from the selections of the fleet.

As the sun faded, a beautiful night capped off another great day. The shores around Mud Bay are relatively low and it’s further away from the population centers of the Islands (mainly Friday Harbor and Eastsound), which combined provide a huge, star-studded sky on a clear night. It’s not quite what you’ll see further north on the Sunshine Coast (perhaps a future trip?), but it is enough to inspire everyone to play amateur astronomer. As we all sat out and chatted, people were picking out whatever constellations we knew. It was all so far away from the normal grind – a remarkable transition in just two days.

We would be departing by 1000 on Sunday to catch the tides home – early but not overly so. People wandered off to bed fairly late; happy and well relaxed. I don’t know about the other boats, but we all slept solidly again. I even managed to sleep past sunrise this time (often a challenge on a boat).

The morning brought us our third almost-perfect day. The low clouds were back again, but there was promise of at least some gentle wind. As the crews stumbled out from their hibernation, the raft began to come alive with preparations to depart. There was some sense of sadness that we would soon be back in our regular lives, but the experience provided a promising glimpse of what is to come as we continue in our adventures as sailors. Additionally, two of the boats had practical reasons to anticipate the departure – their holding tanks had reached their limit.

I’ll take this opportunity for an educational, although perhaps not glamorous, digression on marine sanitation systems. One of the challenges in cruising US waters is effective waste management. Marine sanitation issues are probably the top maintenance problems in a charter fleet, and many such issues can be avoided with proper head etiquette.

The sanitation system on a sailboat consists primarily of the head and the holding tank. The head can pump in seawater for flushing the bowl, and pumps waste and water to the holding tank. Two important things to understand about these systems are that the plumbing is considerably smaller than what you have on land (typically 1-1/2” hoses), and due to space constraints, the tanks are relatively small (12 gallons is not atypical). These two design issues are key to understanding proper head etiquette.

I know it’s not a pleasant topic, but it’s best to be blunt about the rules for effective head use. First, if it didn’t go in your mouth, it doesn’t go in the head. While some say a small amount of single-ply toilet paper is safe to run through the head, this is the #1 cause of blockages. Keep a trash bag in the head compartment for paper and bring along some baby wipes. It may seem somewhat icky, but having a clogged head is much more so. Second, use as little water as possible. If there’s only liquid waste, just pump the bowl dry. The purpose of the water is primarily to rinse the bowl, so save it for that (and if it’s not rinsing easily, wipe with TP and put it in the trash bag). Again, not as pleasant as a full-flush land head, but more so than a full holding tank. A 12-gallon tank for 6 people will usually be able to last two days (2 gallons per person is a lot if you’re not adding a lot of water). Finally, if you do get a blockage, be gentle in clearing it. Plungers work on land heads because the waste pipes are well vented (the pipes that stick out the roof, as well as a big sewer line). Boat systems have small vents from the holding tanks (3/4” is not unusual). Applying plunger pressure can over-pressurize the system and cause leaks or blown fittings – trust me, you don’t want that to happen.

Now, back to our regularly-scheduled travelogue. We selected our anchorage in Mud Bay to give us a quick route out into Rosario Strait, where we’d catch the end of the ebb to down to Admiralty Inlet, where the flood would then carry us back down to Shilshole. With the current at Admiralty changing over around 1300, we’d be fine leaving by 1000 – a nice leisurely morning again.

The weather pattern was continuing to be consistent – low clouds in the morning which would burn off to a beautiful afternoon. Lopez Pass is a little notch between the islands just at the top of Mud Bay leading out into Rosario Strait. It makes a very convenient starting point for either Deception Pass (roughly straight across) or down to Admiralty Inlet (a short stretch down the side of Whidbey). Since we were riding out on the ebb, there was a little bit of current pulling us through the pass, and we were met by some marvelous wind just outside.

The wind was coming up Rosario from the South. This can often create some big rollers in the Strait as the wind blows over the ebbing tide, but today the water was relatively flat. We had a good line across towards Whidbey and with a nice lift and a couple of knots of current, we were soon moving at over 8 knots over the ground on a long tack south. The current along this stretch is particularly convenient for our route. There’s a big ebb coming out the main part of the Strait which follows along the side of Whidbey Island and doesn’t start to curl out into Juan de Fuca until just about Admiralty Inlet. Even as the current switches to the flood, it continues to pull along the island before Rosario starts to dominate the upper part. This meant we could be reasonably sloppy in our timing (we didn’t have to hit slack perfectly, or go way out to compensate) and still gain the current advantages.

For the first bit, the fleet stayed mostly together (or at least in view). The others stuck a little more to the west side of the Strait, probably to position for the flood in. We were having a wonderful morning until the sun started to come out around noon. Unfortunately, the weather seemed to have traded the sun for the wind, and the wind died off as the skies cleared up. Soon we were barely drifting along off the end of the air station, and we could see the rest of the fleet dropping sail and starting the iron winds. We held off, ever hopeful, as long as we could, which put the other boats about an hour ahead of us, but the day was too nice to rush (plus, the Partridge Point area is popular with whales, although we didn’t see any this time).

We finally hit the starter around 2PM. The Inlet was well into its flood, so we would still make good time south from here. The currents in the north end of Puget Sound can vary significantly between different points across the water. It’s valuable to find a copy of the Tide Prints book (Starpath Navigation put it back into publication), or at least plot out a bunch of the current stations along the way. For our trip down, the Whidbey side would be favored, and the extra push brought us well over 10 knots over ground from about Admiralty Head to Marrowstone Point. It was also another opportunity for the crew to experience the tide rips that sit off of Marrowstone and at the top of Hood Canal. In both of these places, the water practically boils as the currents come together. At some times, it just kind of parks the boat in place, while at others it rushes you past. In any case, the turbulence of the water greatly diminishes the effectiveness of the foils – the rudder becomes less effective, and the boat tends to slew around at the whims of the currents. It’s quite an experience if you haven’t tried it yet.

Although we were well behind the rest of the boats, our tardiness was rewarded with another uniquely Puget Sound sight. As we motored along past Bush Point, a submarine and its escorts came into view on the west side. They were headed out to sea from Hood Canal. The subs travel on the surface with two small container ships shielding it – one on each side. There are also two small (perhaps 70 foot – small compared to the sub) Coast Guard cutters that dart around outside the formation to chase anyone away. If you are ever in Port Ludlow and there are two cutters there for the night, it means a sub is going out the next day. One thing to be aware of with these convoys though: they don’t show up on AIS (even the little cargo ships). So keep an ear on Seattle Traffic (channel 14 south of Bush Point, and channel 5A north of it) for any Navy activity. It’s not a problem in good weather, but if things ever fog in, the Navy and Coast Guard ships can be an extra hazard.

The remainder of the trip was fairly uneventful. We dodged a few commercial vessels as we worked our way down, but it was mostly a straight shot. We arrived back at Shilshole shortly after 7PM – about an hour after the rest of the boats. We tucked Frog Prints into her slip and packed up, tired but energized from an awesome weekend.

Overall, we accomplished what we set out to do: we demonstrated how the currents of the area can make the San Juans a viable option even for short trips, we provided a true on-the-hook cruising experience for a whole bunch of club members, and we had a lot of fun doing so. Hopefully, the experience will inspire more club members to go out cruising – we are truly blessed to be living in one of the best cruising grounds in North America (if not the world). I’m also very sure it’s the first of many such Windshares we’ll be doing. I’m already thinking about what we’ll do next year (perhaps Sucia or Canada), and perhaps a fall trip. It was a lot of fun cruising with a group, and I hope everyone enjoyed the trip as much as we did.

Until next time, may you have fair winds and following seas.

Special thanks to Benjamin Woodall, Dana Brooks, and Dana Yaffee for their photos. These and others are available for viewing online.

Links from the text which may not be in the PDF:
http://www.acsonline.org/factpack/MinkeWhale.htm
http://www.swizzleinn.com/
http://picasaweb.google.com/TOnders/2009SpringTides