Summer 2007
It is funny that I was concerned that I would not have enough wind to sail the 30 or so miles I had to go from Reid Harbor (actually Coffin Island) on Stuart Island to Hughes Bay on south Lopez Island, but this August summer day in the San Juan’s was going to be one of the most technically challenging and physically demanding sailing days I have had in years. The day before was mainly a drifter but I did manage to once again not use the engine, including anchoring, sailing from Garrison Bay on San Juan Island to Coffin Is. The "secret" to success, well one of them anyway, in truly sailing the islands is working the currents for all you can. Sometimes this can be a challenge if the timing is wrong, and the timing was way wrong today. Even though I had a long way to go, the currents weren’t favorable till 5pm. With the forecasted light winds I figured this might be a motoring day and I would get going earlier in the day. The ace up my sleeve was the nearly full moon that would let me get in after dark.
Although my Columbia 26 mkII Shariyat’s engine is quite reliable, I have become loathe to use it and will "endure" hours of drifting, as long as it is in the right direction. I guess I have made it a personal challenge to see how large a percentage of time I can truly sail the boat. My guess, and it is only a guess, is that overall I have sailed 75% of the time and over the last 2 years it would be closer to 90% here in the islands. On a recent trip with 15 sailing legs I went engineless for 10 of them days and for 3 others used the engine only for a few minutes to get past a reef or rocks that seemed intent on ruining my day. Perhaps it is the rebel in me that when I see so many sailboats motoring with their sailcovers on a day with a decent sailing breeze it makes me want to show them how to do it.
I figured I would leave at 2pm regardless of wind, but a bit of a breeze came up so I sailed off the hook as usual. I have actually found it easier and much more rewarding to do this than using the engine. With experience I have learned many tricks like sailing backwards and making the bow fall off on either tack when in irons. So I sailed out around the protective little islet I was behind but soon lost steerageway and was at the mercy of the contrary current. Had I just waited it out for 15 minutes the breeze did come back but, unusual for me, I had a schedule to keep and could not "waste" time. (Aha, another secret). Had I been told that would be (almost) the only motoring I would do that day I would have said "no chance"!
I usually don’t do many island sailing trips in the summer because it is harder for me to remain engineless with the fickle winds. There are other reasons as well such as too many powerboat wakes, noise and crowded anchorages. Frankly, sailing, the San Juans and summer just don’t go together well in my mind and I wait for fall, winter and spring. So when the breeze kept building I was really delighted, even though it meant sailing to weather against the current for at least 3 hours. I was glad (at this point) that I had the big 150% genoa up even though it was almost too much sail already. Having not seen a really good breeze out here for almost 2 weeks, I fully expected it to drop, even though I could see good wind on the water everywhere including far ahead.
To avoid the crowds I decided to sail west around San Juan Island in Haro Strait and I thought I might get better winds there. I had lots of room for long tacks but decided that I would short tack along Henry Island where twice before I found a strong counter-current. I did so again but the wind was more variable and I was often overpowered and rounded up a bit in the gusts. I wasn’t sailing very efficiently but I gained 2 knots close up along the shore where it is plenty deep (my sounder wouldn’t even register at times-over 400’). I finally reefed the main and things were OK again, but I came to the southwest tip of Henry Island where I had to pay the current-piper. There was no way to avoid the accelerated flow coming around the point, it seemed to create a venturi effect, and I had to take 6 rather lengthy boards (why did they call tacks boards?) to get around it. It was quite frustrating as my COG (course-over-ground for you anti-GPS sailors) was 40 degrees off to the not-fun side of my compass course on my starboard tack, nearly eliminating the 3knot current reduced 6 knot speed I was making through the water on the port tack. I tried sailing further out away from the point but never found relief and I also wanted to tuck back behind the point after I passed it to get more counter-current again along San Juan Island.
I did enjoy the favorable back-eddy of current I now found south of Henry Island and the wind moderated there so I considered shaking out the reef but didn’t as I saw strong winds ahead. Looking back I see this would have been the best time to change down to the working jib while things were relatively calm. I listened again to the weather broadcast which, as before, called for 10k winds from the south. It was now 5pm and the current would soon be in my favor but the best gift was the wind clocking to the west which soon had me on a very close reach instead of hard on the wind to weather the Kiln Point light. The wind slowly increased. I diehardly refused to change out the genoa. Still expecting it to diminish, my course would slowly turn to the east making it even more of a reach where, short of 20+knots, I could still hang on to it and use it to advantage surfing.
The coast was now zipping by at over 7 knots, and the challenge was that the autopilot could not easily handle it, even though it is the largest available tillerpilot designed for 40’+boats. A lesson here, especially for fin-keel/spade-rudder boats; your pilot cannot be big and fast enough as the demands are immense, especially off the wind. I suppose my typically over-powered approach to sailing may have something to do with it also. I found I could tie-off the tiller and the boat steered just fine. Needless to say the seas were building also as we were now fully exposed to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and Admiralty Inlet. It was now difficult to make my afternoon tea and on my first attempt my mug dumped over even though it was nicely sitting in the sink. I picked up the few things that found their way to the cabin sole and tied and arranged things better below while I had a chance. Since 45 degrees of heel (at least momentarily) are not that uncommon to my sailing style, I have things well tied down below.
I got no second chance for teatime. Finally I admitted regret for not changed to the working jib. I was able to bring the course down as I approached Salmon Bank so our course was now nearly a beam reach. My tiller-line did not work and the pilot was useless. I was now stuck on the helm while I contemplated the joys of singlehanding. Fortunately I had put on my foulies already as I didn’t have 2 seconds to let go of the helm. So now, Salmon Bank with its 9-18 foot depths, the current coming south out of Cattle Pass, the seas heading northeast undiminished from The Strait, and the overpowered and undermanned Shariyat were now fated to meet at the same time and place.
The wind increased, but I made it over the bank without too much trouble. Just ahead, however was the largest "potato patch" I have ever seen. Any discernable wave pattern had disappeared as tall, steep pyramids of water were erupting from below like from a boiling volcano, over 8’ high. The tip of each watery spike was blown away by the wind creating the most ominous and devouring appearance, amplified by the nearly setting sun’s visual effect of turning the sea jet black and highlighting the spray into silver fire. We approached at 8 knots and I was oddly filled with a glorious sense of awe. (Although I usually singlehand, I find I often say "we" instead of "I" as Shariyat, with all the experiences we’ve had together, seems like a living creature to me). Speed and windpressed sails seemed to be a stabilizing factor as the demon possessed elevator ride began. At least we didn’t role much but even the intense vertical motion was eclipsed by the noise of objects below levitating and then crashing back down. Interestingly, the thought of earthquakes I experienced growing up in California came to mind as I hung on the tiller and braced myself in the cockpit.
Then I remembered the dinghy I was towing! Looking back it seemed that its survival was hopeless. At times I couldn’t even see it as it disappeared into what I thought was its final grave. It kept coming up for more but I felt like I was watching an old friend die in front of me. It was being thrown from wave to wave and was going sideways as much as forward. I knew from experience that if it filled with enough water it would trip and flip instead of sliding sideways when hit by a wave. I also remembered what it was like trying to bring it alongside and empty it in a February gale in Rosario Strait. (see 48N____?) There would be no hope for that today. There was nothing I could do so I looked away knowing that if my speed dropped to 2 or 3 knots it meant it had turned into a sea-anchor and I would have to cut it away. The wild ride helped me to put it out of my mind and it was over in just minutes. To Shariyat’s credit I had good helm control and very little water came into the cockpit.
The wind increased. The sun had now set so it was getting dark soon and I was approaching my destination- the series of 3 bays on the S end of Lopez Island, behind an offlying reef. I saw a larger powerboat coming out from Mackaye Harbor straight into the seas and I couldn’t believe why anyone would be trying to come out in this. As it came closer I saw it was a classic sportfishing type and I could see half of its bottom as it leapt off the top of a wave. Then it was almost completely hidden in spray going clear over the flybridge when it landed. I could see it quite well as it passed pretty close astern and I could only imagine the ride for those aboard as well as the certain damage to the boat if it continued. Fortunately it turned around shortly and I could concentrate on my situation.
The swell from the strait had increased and I had to bring my course further downwind. We were now surfing to 10 knots, which I briefly enjoyed. Before long I would have to turn into the shore and find refuge and I knew this would be a dangerous maneuver, as I would have to gybe. Handling the sheets, vangs and tiller by myself in these conditions would be foolish and hindered by the bicycle lashed to the rail aft that would catch the mainsheet on its seat as the boom came across. I could no longer put it off; I had to reduce sail NOW. I could not let go of the tiller for a millisecond so I decided to heave-to to solve that problem.
Being able to heave-to was like having another ace up my sleeve, but I had never done it with so much sail up in this strong a wind. I sheeted in the genoa to leeward as if on a close reef, left the mainsheet all the way out, released the vang (I have two- one per side so it acts like a preventer also), quickly came up into the wind and tacked. It was a bit frightening coming up into the big seas and wind with both sails violently shaking but it was over in 2 seconds. I quickly tied the helm to leeward and the boat, in spite of the conditions, settled down to a gentle pitching with the mainsail rather lazily waving back and forth in the lee of the big headsail. It was actually working better with the larger headsail up! We ranged ahead slowly at about 2 knots and I leisurely tied in the 2nd reef in the main, took a much-needed pee, ate an energy bar and drank some water. What a relief to get off the helm! I checked our position and closely examined the chart. The reef to the east of Swirl Island was the danger but I could see the seas breaking on it and was confident in avoiding it as long as I gave it a wide berth. I decided on Hughes Bay in these conditions and noted it was relatively clear of obstructions. I charted a compass course for the way in and saw that the full moon was already up and providing a lot of light.
I thought about dropping the genoa while hove-to but decided it would not work so I sheeted in the main, put the helm up and easily gybed back onto our original course. Now I had to deal with the genoa. It was no use changing down to the smaller working jib as the 2nd-reefed main was more than enough in this wind. I would just drop it downwind which wouldn’t be too hard if I had someone to steer. I found that with the smaller main and running almost downwind the pilot would now steer the boat well enough to not accidentally gybe. For an emergency jib-drop I knew all I had to do was let it out to a broad reach position, let go the halyard and go to the bow and pull it down the headstay. It usually goes into the water that way but no one was watching so who cares. I thought I could do better though, so I took all the turns off the winch but one and went forward with the halyard to the headstay. I let it down a bit and gathered it in, let it down some more and took more in and gradually got it down without getting it into the water. I always keep sail ties attached to the stanchion bases and well as to the lower lifelines between them on both sides of the foredeck. It looks rather unkempt at the slip but it paid off now as I easily had many places to securely lash it down.
Now to gybe I brought the boat onto a reach, brought in the main as far as I could, gybed and let out the main on the other tack quickly securing the vang/preventer. I remembered from my racing days the when tacking to carry on a bit longer than I first thought and when gybing to do it before I thought it necessary. I found I had done right this time and I was clearing the reef nicely right on my due north compass course for Hughes Bay. The pilot was doing OK now steering the boat with the greatly reduced sail but we were still doing over 6 knots. I will now admit that below- and I could now get below again- I had my computer navigation going on my laptop and I could double check my position passing the reef’s edge. I will admit to the computer’s usefulness but I try not to use it as my primary source. I have heard of too many CAGs (computer assisted groundings) and I believe in the "use it or lose it" theory by staying in practice with my piloting skills.
As I passed Swirl Island the seas diminished and the moon’s path on the water was gorgeous as we came into Hughes Bay. The wind died to nothing and I also admit that I started the engine instead of raising sail again to anchor. It was extremely satisfying to feel the hook bite into the bottom. I tuned into the marine weather and heard that it was blowing over 30 knots in Admiralty Inlet. I took my flashlight and looked into the dinghy. Oddly, There was no water that I could see! HaHa, we lived to sail another day! I was very grateful.