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.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
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
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
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Through the Narrows and Up the Rabbit Hole
Today we're off on the leg from Telegraph Harbor to Nanaimo, where we'll re-provision before we head north. We left about 0800 to catch the morning slack at Dodd Narrows, heading out into another soggy gray day. Even with a bright morning sun up there somewhere, Preedy Harbor didn't look inviting as we rounded Foster Point and headed up along Thetis. We were hoping we wouldn't face this kind of weather all the way up, and we weren't disappointed.
As we worked our way north, the sun started to break through the clouds - the first of two transformations we would experience that day. With the layered clouds and the sun lighting up the green mountains of Vancouver, it made for a particularly beautiful morning. The view across just north of Hudson Island represented a typical Northwest day perfectly - just about every kind of weather imaginable in a very small area. Happily no more fog though.We were expecting Dodds Narrows to be particularly busy today, as the remainder of the Labor Day crowd headed south at the end of the season. We were making good time though, and as the wind picked up around Fraser Point, we raised sail and decided to make a go of it. We had a pretty good time for a while close reaching between Vancouver and the De Coursey Group, but alas we weren't making enough headway to reach the narrows ahead of slack. The current would be northbound, so we figured we'd be able to go through with northbound traffic before slack (and before the southbound crowd started).
We reluctantly dropped the sails and motored on to Dodd Narrows. We arrived about a half hour ahead of the slack, so the current was down to about a knot and a half (it had been over 5 knots at the morning's max flood). We lined up for our turn through (there was only one other northbound craft at the time), but the south-bounders had already started in. So much for having an orderly progress through the cut. Oh well, what should I expect - it's not any different than how folks drive around here (meaning Seattle - there were a lot of US-flagged boats coming down).
We worked out way up to find an open spot in the traffic and called our crossing. Just as we were reaching the cut, another boat appeared from behind Purvis Point - they must have been waiting on the east side to avoid the crowd, but it made their appearance very unexpected. We managed to slow up enough to let them clear ahead of us, but the notch is smaller than it looks. It wasn't the last of the conflicts going through the Narrows that morning - there was at least one power yacht which waved off due to conflicting traffic after we passed through.Once past Dodd, it was like entering another world. The western shore of the Northumberland Channel is heavily industrial, with pulp mills, saw mills, oil terminals, the BC Ferries terminal, and all kinds of other big smoke-belching marks of humanity. The channel itself is also busy with tugs and barges ferrying materials and products between all the sites. It was a very clear transition crossing from the peaceful idyllic world of the Gulf Islands into the modern-day reality of Nanaimo.
Coming into Nanaimo Harbor proper was also an interesting challenge. We dodged the ferries and tugs to enter the Harbor on the Protection Island side near Gallows Point. We figured that would buy us some time to get a feel for the area, and to find out if there was any room at the boat basin. Unfortunately, nothing would be that simple - as we passed the Gallows Point buoy, a huge log boom - filling what seemed like most of the inner harbor - was on its way out with the little tugs swarming around it keeping everything together. With the Nanaimo River estuary under water, it made for a confusing environment for new visitors (much like the back side of Whidbey Island).
We managed to get across in front of the boom (didn't seem to annoy the tugs as we crossed) and circled around in a fairly small open space outside the boat basin while we waited for a space at the fuel dock. Between the boom, the ferry, the float planes, and the general traffic, we kept pretty busy.
We eventually gave up waiting and radioed in for a dock assignment. We were placed about half-way up on I-dock - what a coincidence (Frog Prints home is I-24 at Shilshole). The Port of Nanaimo Boat Basin is quite a nice marina, with everything convenient, clean, and in good repair (and not too expensive either). We got all settled in (we'd be here for a day to do laundry and some shopping) and headed out to explore the neighborhood. In our wanderings, we found a wonderful Mediterranean restaurant on Waverly called Phoenicia - very tasty, and surprisingly affordable. Highly recommended.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Telephone, Telegraph, Tell A Friend
Since Nanaimo is going to be our re-provisioning point before we head north, we need to plan the next part of the trip around the Dodd Narrows tides. Rather than get a really early start from Prevost (hey, it's a vacation after all), we decide to make one more stop on the way - Telegraph Harbor on Thetis Island.
Coming around the top of Saltspring Island, Chemainus comes into view on the east side of Vancouver Island. With the overcast skys, light haze, and huge plumes coming from the mills at Chemainus, the scene was almost Victorian - the huge factories belching their vile stink into the air, with the sun blotted out. It makes quite a contrast to the magnificence of the mountains rising up through the lower clouds just a little bit north along the shore. Looking back on it, I wish we had taken a shot of the mills - but we focused on more attractive views.
From Annette Inlet we headed up the Trincomali Channel, through the Houston Passage, and up along Kuper Island to Telegraph Harbor. It was a hazy day with light winds - a generally uneventful trip.
Coming around the top of Saltspring Island, Chemainus comes into view on the east side of Vancouver Island. With the overcast skys, light haze, and huge plumes coming from the mills at Chemainus, the scene was almost Victorian - the huge factories belching their vile stink into the air, with the sun blotted out. It makes quite a contrast to the magnificence of the mountains rising up through the lower clouds just a little bit north along the shore. Looking back on it, I wish we had taken a shot of the mills - but we focused on more attractive views.We spent the night at the Thetis Island Marina. The weather seems to have chased away the crowds - we had lots of space coming in. They said it's been a bad season this year with so much rain in July and August - it was certainly an odd year for someplace that ususally gets lots of good weather in the rain shadow of Vancouver Island. If we had know things would be this empty on the holiday weekend up here though, we probably would have taken a different route up and anchored out. It was still a nice stay though (clouds and rain don't bother real Northwestern sailors), and we did our part to support the local economy.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Off into the Great White North, Eh?
From Reid Harbor, we headed straight to Canada. For non-Canpass holders, the two closest boarder stations are Sidney and Bedwell Harbor. Last year we went to Sidney to re-provision and do some laundry. This year, since we were just two days out, we checked in at Bedwell instead. We had considered stopping to take advantage of the Poet's Cove Resort amenities, but the holiday crowds made that impossible.
Headed across to Bedwell, we had a good chance to see Turn Point Light from the other side. As you can see, there wasn't much wind that day - the water well into Boundary Pass was almost like glass. Not always a bad thing, but Frog Prints is a sailboat. Also no whales or porpoise, which was disappointing. Last year we had a family of Dahl's Porpoise play around the boat in this area as we were returning to the US. Oh well, the day is young.
Since our main goal this year was to make it all the way up to Princess Louisa Inlet, we decided to head on through the islands. Prevost Island is about a third of the way up the Gulf Islands, and was one of our favorite stops last year. So, we decided we'd head for Annette Inlet. Coming out of Bedwell Harbor and along the south coast of North Pender Island, it looked like either opening or closing day of fishing season. There were dozens of boats - mostly various sizes of power vessels, although also the occasional sail boat - fishing off the island. There were of course also a number of seals looking for the ones that get away. I'm not sure what proper etiquette is in this case, but we tried to stay as far away as possible as we wove our way through all the fisherpeople (both men and women out fishing this day).
One of the highlights of the trip came when we were just passing the Acland Islands on the south side of Prevost Island. Just as the log was turning over 7,600 miles under keel, we spotted a whale headed southbound. We cut the engine and drifted as it passed - not 20 yards to starboard. It wasn't a big picturesque event (good thing - the camera batteries had just died), just a lone whale surfacing every little bit as it went on its way. Perhaps it was just a Minke, but I like to think it was an Orca that had left the pod to run an errand and was on its way back.
We decided to anchor in Annette Inlet, a lovely little anchorage (we'll try the other anchorages next year perhaps). It's well
protected and very quiet. There were perhaps three or four other boats in the inlet when we arrived - quite a difference from the crowd we saw in Bedwell. We picked a spot and settled in. There wasn't enough wind to need the anchoring sail, but we put it up anyway. The seals were about and performing their back flips again - one of these times I'm going to get good photos of that. We also paddled around the inlet in the kayak a bit - it's a nice place to poke around, with a deep mud shore at the head and some small rocky outcroppings at various places. In better weather, people often take their dinghies out to the mouth to watch a magnificent sunset over Saltspring Island, but the clouds would not cooperate today.
Headed across to Bedwell, we had a good chance to see Turn Point Light from the other side. As you can see, there wasn't much wind that day - the water well into Boundary Pass was almost like glass. Not always a bad thing, but Frog Prints is a sailboat. Also no whales or porpoise, which was disappointing. Last year we had a family of Dahl's Porpoise play around the boat in this area as we were returning to the US. Oh well, the day is young.
Since our main goal this year was to make it all the way up to Princess Louisa Inlet, we decided to head on through the islands. Prevost Island is about a third of the way up the Gulf Islands, and was one of our favorite stops last year. So, we decided we'd head for Annette Inlet. Coming out of Bedwell Harbor and along the south coast of North Pender Island, it looked like either opening or closing day of fishing season. There were dozens of boats - mostly various sizes of power vessels, although also the occasional sail boat - fishing off the island. There were of course also a number of seals looking for the ones that get away. I'm not sure what proper etiquette is in this case, but we tried to stay as far away as possible as we wove our way through all the fisherpeople (both men and women out fishing this day).One of the highlights of the trip came when we were just passing the Acland Islands on the south side of Prevost Island. Just as the log was turning over 7,600 miles under keel, we spotted a whale headed southbound. We cut the engine and drifted as it passed - not 20 yards to starboard. It wasn't a big picturesque event (good thing - the camera batteries had just died), just a lone whale surfacing every little bit as it went on its way. Perhaps it was just a Minke, but I like to think it was an Orca that had left the pod to run an errand and was on its way back.
We decided to anchor in Annette Inlet, a lovely little anchorage (we'll try the other anchorages next year perhaps). It's well
protected and very quiet. There were perhaps three or four other boats in the inlet when we arrived - quite a difference from the crowd we saw in Bedwell. We picked a spot and settled in. There wasn't enough wind to need the anchoring sail, but we put it up anyway. The seals were about and performing their back flips again - one of these times I'm going to get good photos of that. We also paddled around the inlet in the kayak a bit - it's a nice place to poke around, with a deep mud shore at the head and some small rocky outcroppings at various places. In better weather, people often take their dinghies out to the mouth to watch a magnificent sunset over Saltspring Island, but the clouds would not cooperate today.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
A Day at Reid Harbor
Today we decided to stay at Reid Harbor so we could hike Stuart Island (and to celebrate Tim's birthday). Stuart is in the northwest corner of the San Juans, and is kind of dumbbell-shaped with Reid Harbor on the south side, and Prevost Harbor on the north side. Turn Point Light (the fourth turning point of the US/Canada border) is on the western end of the island, and is a nice hike from the anchorages.
Last year, we only had time to make it about half way to the lighthouse. The farm at the midpoint of the hike has some breathtaking views. It was clear enough to see the mountains in the distance, and even a couple sailboats in the frame to lend a nautical flare to the landscape. I can imagine the hassles of living here, but I can also understand why people do it. It was also the dustiest hike I'd ever taken, with a thick gray rock dust that got into absolutely everything and stuck. This year, it had rained a little bit the night before, which kept the dust down.Since we had options for getting to shore this year, we decided to kayak in to the beach rather than row the dinghy in (Laura much prefers paddling over rowing). It's an interesting perspective paddling through a busy anchorage - since we're much closer to the water, the boats look that much bigger. This must be what it's like for the seals we keep seeing. Last year, one followed us all the way in and back out when we rowed from Frog Prints. This year, they were more distracted by all the other boats.
After landing on the beach, we set off on our hike. It's something like 3 miles to the lighthouse, so it was a nice bit of exercise. On the way, we had to stop at the Stuart Island Treasure Chest to see what was new for this year. Laura picked up a new T-shirt, but I just browsed. Luckily there weren't any yellow jackets around the chest this year. If you haven't been to the Stuart Island Treasure Chest yet, I highly recommend it. Perhaps it's a bit touristy, but it's one of those little secrets of the San Juans shared only by locals and boaters.
We ran into quite a few other people this time, both hiking and in the park, but not enough to make it unpleasant. Considering the number of boats in the harbor, I would have expected to be mobbed.
Turn Point Lighthouse was originally built in 1893, and has a commanding view of Canada - everywhere you look. It's a common place for Orca sightings, but we didn't spot any today unfortunately. It's interesting to see the light up close - it is clear that the Coast Guard is enjoying the views as well, since there are no fewer than four different cameras mounted along with the light. Given the number of calls for assistance we always hear on channel 16 when we're up here, it's good to know the USCG is keeping tabs (granted, it's also to watch the boarder - have to make sure the Canadian whales aren't sneaking in without a passport).
The light's been all automated since 1974, although you can imagine the keeper living out here in times past. It must have alternated between incredibly beautiful and incredibly boring - particularly for anyone who was assigned rather than here by choice. The light keeper's house, the fog signal house, and the stable all remain, along with odds and ends from past structures such as the bases of what was most likely some kind of antenna. The place has a very "out of time" feeling about it - you can imagine the keepers passing the time on this grassy point as the merchant ships ply the waters on their way to the seaports of the region.
Next to the point is a huge rock cliff which plunges down to the water. It's very characteristic of the rugged beauty of the Pacific Northwest, and foreshadows some of the locations we'll see later in the trip. It's interesting rock though - it looks almost like concrete aggregate - lots of small pebbles in a dense gray substrate that looks like it should erode much more easily than it apparently does.The variety of environments we see hiking around the San Juans is remarkable. Where else can you go from a shore line, through forest, across fields, and into mountains in just a couple miles? I remember we were on Orcas one time where we had warm, sunny weather down in Eastsound, and yet were met by snow at the top of the mountain. I can't recommend this area enough as a great vacation - especially from the water.
After hiking back to the harbor, we paddled back out to Frog Prints. That evening we watched the first of many seals we'd be seeing this trip. There were at least three of them doing back flips all over the harbor. We weren't sure if they were diving for food, playing around, or just showing off for the crowd, but it was fun to watch nonetheless.Dinner was excellent. That's one of the nice things about island hopping here at this time of year - local fresh food is almost always within a day or so reach, so we eat really well even with a relatively small fridge (which we haven't mastered figuring out where things freeze and where they don't). Laura was on a real experimental cooking kick this time too - it's amazing what can be done on two burners and an oven.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Venture Continues - Deer Harbor to Reid Harbor
Now that Labor Day weekend has officially started, we're headed off to Reid Harbor for some (hopefully) peaceful time at anchor, and to finish the hike to the Turn Point lighthouse. We ran out of time last year at the intersection by the air strip. Hopefully it won't be as dusty this year (it took months to get all the dust out of my shoes).
We were hoping the crowd in Reid Harbor wouldn't be too bad with it only being Friday. We figured most people would be wanting to stay someplace more developed for their first night out. We were wrong - there were around 80 boats in the harbor that night. It took a while to find a spot, and we annoyed at least one power boater while we were looking (they must have had a heck of a lot of scope out). We finally found a spot towards the outside - not perfect, but good enough. It would be good exercise rowing in from there.
Our nearest neighbor was an island of power boats. I think they were trying to see how many boats they could hang off of a single anchor. At first it looked like a boat show, with a small, medium, large, and extra large boat all rafted together, although the island kept growing as the evening wore on. It must have been a dozen boats of different sizes at its peak. They were well-behaved though, and didn't disturb us.
Well, two days into the trip and we're already set for a day off. Tomorrow's just hiking before we set out for Canada on Sunday.
Unfortunately, we hit the first maintenance snag of the trip this morning. Frog Prints has her holding tank mounted high in the hold - a location which is excellent for emptying the tank by gravity where allowed, but means there's a good uphill run in the line from the head to the tank. This morning the head doesn't seem to be pumping uphill as well as it should, and things seem to drain back. The layout prevents a siphon, so it's not a disaster, but it's not pleasant and would require filling the tank faster than usual (it's only a 12-gallon holding tank) to avoid sewage from running back. Most likely it's a bum joker valve.
Fortunately, we're not that far from West Marine in Friday Harbor. If we divert early, we should be able to miss the growing chaos of a holiday Friday at Friday, while still picking up what we need.
We set out for Friday Harbor around 1015 for an uneventful trip. We managed to get the last spot on the temporary dock, although it was a bit of a trick wedging in. There seemed to be a good current, and there wasn't a lot of space. Laura did a great job getting us in to the dock, and we levered her in on the lines.
Happily, West had what we needed, although only in the full rebuild kit. We stopped and picked up some extra stuff at the grocery on the way back down to the marina while we were there, and I began the project. Flushing some raw water through the system kept everything reasonably pleasant, and the shower sump pump got the water out. The old joker valve had calcified and was not closing well. The new one fixed everything up nicely, and with a douse of Lysol and hot water, we were ready to head out around 1345.
We were hoping the crowd in Reid Harbor wouldn't be too bad with it only being Friday. We figured most people would be wanting to stay someplace more developed for their first night out. We were wrong - there were around 80 boats in the harbor that night. It took a while to find a spot, and we annoyed at least one power boater while we were looking (they must have had a heck of a lot of scope out). We finally found a spot towards the outside - not perfect, but good enough. It would be good exercise rowing in from there.
Our nearest neighbor was an island of power boats. I think they were trying to see how many boats they could hang off of a single anchor. At first it looked like a boat show, with a small, medium, large, and extra large boat all rafted together, although the island kept growing as the evening wore on. It must have been a dozen boats of different sizes at its peak. They were well-behaved though, and didn't disturb us.This was our first opportunity to try our new anchor riding sail. Laura was going to sew something up, but we ran out of time so we splurged for one from Banner Bay Marine. They do a nice job, and since they ship by USPS, it only took three days to get the sail.
Given a choice, Frog Prints actually likes to lie stern-to in the wind. It makes backing her into a slip when the wind is blowing her off quite easy, but it also means she tends to wander when at anchor. Personally, I think she just doesn't like to stay still (first thing heard at any dock is some variant of "She looks fast"). Anyhow, we're still experimenting with the best way to rig the riding sail, but it does definitely help keep her pointed. Since we opted for the colorful one, it also helps spot her when rowing back in a crowded harbor.
Well, two days into the trip and we're already set for a day off. Tomorrow's just hiking before we set out for Canada on Sunday.
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