Crew
I’ve done a fair bit of solo sailing at this point, but for the first long leg, I decided it would be wise to have a crew member along.  As with anything these days, there are websites for this purpose and just a few short months ago I was on the other side of the same coin, searching for a boat to crew on to build my sailing skills.  Thus, I met Bonnie on the internet and after some email correspondence and a few phone calls, I found her to be not just sane, but downright charming. 

She is a welder in Denver and dabbles in production / set building in LA, NYC, and Iceland.  She once sailed across the Tasman Sea with long periods of hurricane-force winds, so I judged her to be sufficiently salty to weather whatever the PNW had to blow at us.  She also plays the guitar and brought it along to serenade the winds into our favor (which was delightful to listen to, but ultimately ineffective at cajoling the winds in the proper direction).   

The Route
As with all my planning for this trip, I’ve been trying to stay flexible and allow the winds and weather to dictate the best path and timing.  Thus, we hoped to cover enough ground to get out into the Pacific, but I wasn’t sure where we’d really end up and Bonnie’s return flight home was flexible in location.  We departed on the afternoon of the 20th and anchored or sailed each night until the morning of the 25th when we crossed the Grays Harbor bar and moored in Westport, WA.  

For the most part, winds were either from the south and blowing hard, or very light and variable.  Thus, we spent much of this first week beating into the wind or motorsailing along to make better time.  I’d really rather not run the engine and I try to avoid it whenever I can.  That said, I was a bit torn, because I wanted to cover lots of ground while Bonnie was around and we ended up using the motor on a couple occasions to gain a better tack or cover more ground when the winds were <5kts and shifting every ten minutes.

Over those five days, our route started in Bellingham, traveled south through the San Juan Islands, continued down to Sequim, turned west out the Juan De Fuca Straight, rounded Cape Flattery, and raced south in the Pacific.  We saw everything from porpoises and seals to bald eagles and even a pair of fornicating sea otters.  It was quite a cornucopia of natural beasts and there was no shortage of glorious vistas across the islands.  Also, much of our route wrapped around the Olympic Peninsula and we had a few clear days with superb views of shining water in the foreground and snow-capped peaks in the background.

We had mostly sunshine during the first few days, and we spent lots of time in the cockpit, with Bonnie playing guitar and singing to me or one of us reading to the other while the miles passed.  It was even calm enough to stitch some repairs into the dodger and finish up some other tidbits of housekeeping on deck.  While we were anchored at night, we cooked a few proper feasts and ate like kings each night.  A few games of cribbage also transpired, though you could hardly call them games because I really clobbered Bonnie whose skills must’ve been rusty.  That said, it is rare that someone’s trash talking skills match my own and Bonnie is among an elite league of card-game-trash-talkers, despite her yet unobserved skill to back up her bold claims.

The Pacific
Our introduction to the Pacific was… well… not so pacific.  We studied the forecast carefully for days, and while the wind appeared to be contrary for much of the week, there was a period of unsettled weather on Wednesday that brought breezes from a more favorable direction.  We knew this would come with higher winds and bigger seas, but we were well rested and we figured some storminess would be a reasonable price to pay for more ground made in the proper direction.  As it turned out, we were correct and we were able to reel off lots of miles in the right direction that first evening under reefed sails, with Wendy the windvane steering us on a starboard tack.

As the wind increased in force that night, I went up on deck to change out the jib for a smaller jib that I’ve subsequently named “the jiblet”.  As you can imagine, with 25-30kt winds and a solid 10-13ft swell, that is no easy task and the boat was rocking and pitching a fair amount.  I wore my safety harness so that I was securely tied to the boat and couldn’t be washed overboard no matter how much the Pacific wanted to devour me.  One wave came up and over the bow and absolutely drenched me.  I couldn’t help but howl into the wind and it howled right back at me.  That’s a hell of a feeling.

Sailing at night in the open Pacific was magical.  There was some phosphorescence in our wake as we swept along and that, combined with the starry night sky, made for quite a scene.  Stars above and stars below, they say.  At one point, we were sailing along at a pretty good clip and every second or third wave would splash into the cockpit, along with some of these glowing phosphorescent creatures and I’d get a couple seconds to eyeball them until they drained through the scuppers or splashed out the side.

We decided to go for 3 hr watches during the night and play it by ear during the day.  Thus, someone would keep watch from 6 to 9pm, sleep from 9 to midnight, keep watch from midnight to 3am, and then sleep again from 3 to 6am.  This worked out pretty well, and for the most part, keeping watch simply consisted of peeking out under the dodger every 15 minutes to look for boats on the horizon and ensure the sails were drawing well and Wendy was keeping us on the proper course.  Occasionally, you’d have to clip in to go out on deck and make a tack or reef a sail and the spectacle of the wind and waves was exhilarating.  We got a little bit of hail on a couple occasions, which was less than pleasant, but the hail was offset by a couple of lovely sunsets and rainbows that more than made up for it.

I haven’t spent much time in big, open waters and the large, long ocean swell was really incredible.  Rascal isn’t a particularly long craft, so she slowly climbs up one side of a wave, gradually peeks over the top, and then cruises right down the back side.  I was happy for her long keel and her heavy displacement in the open ocean and she took care of us like a wise, old mother.  Beating into the wind is generally dreaded in strong winds, but her motion was slow and sea-kindly and neither of us got seasick (knock on wood).

After a couple of days and nights out on the open ocean, we decided to get back to land so that Bonnie could make it back in time for some engagements this weekend.  The weather had abated to a large degree, so we waited for a favorable tide and we were able to cross the bar at Grays Harbor on Friday morning.  I’m currently moored in Westport, WA; drying things out and getting a day or two of rest and relaxation.  

The Next Leg
I’m planning to take off on Sunday or Monday to start the next leg toward the south, with plans of stopping into Tillamook or Newport sometime early next week.  I’ll be sailing solo for a while, but I’m open to having a crew member on board if someone wants to join me for a couple days.  I’m still planning to make it to San Fran in mid-May and I’ve been thinking some sort of “Catalina Wine Mixer” would fit the bill nicely as far as partying is concerned.  Also, I’m hoping to do some resupplying in the bay area, so I’ll probably be around town for a week or so.

To anyone currently considering it, I must whole-heartedly recommend early retirement.  It has been treating me quite well thus far.

The Name
The boat was originally named “Sea Fever” which made me cringe when I first heard it.  Definitely not my style and the previous owners must’ve agreed because they had removed the lettering on the hull before I even saw the boat.  Keeping “Sea Fever” was clearly not an option, so I got to work brainstorming a new name.

First and foremost – I wanted to name the boat something that reminded me not to take this whole venture too seriously.  I’m entering a world of yaaacht clubs and ascots, and sharing water with massive motor yachts and 60 ft luxury cruising ketches.  That’s (obviously) not me.

I’m sure that within that group, there are wonderful people, but it seems that they also think too highly of themselves at times.  A name like Rascal ought to keep me grounded.  I’m just a twenty-something dude going for a sail, after all.

I also wanted a name that was easily cursable.  I’ve no doubt that things on this boat will go wrong over time, and if I named the boat after a deceased relative or a high school sweetheart, it’d be hard to holler at her when a halyard broke, or the engine died.  Saying, “you damned dirty Rascal!” comes more naturally and I’m sure she’ll give it back to me from time to time.

I’m told that folks within the voyaging community quickly become known by their boat names rather than their given names and being referred to as “the Rascal” for the next few years sounds great to me.  Comical and accurate.

Renaming Ceremony
The renaming of a sailboat is pretty serious business.  Nearly everyone agrees that renaming a yacht brings bad luck upon it from that point forward, unless the proper precautions are taken.  While I do seem to have quite a surplus of luck, I didn’t want to tempt the gods, so I decided to conduct a traditional re-christening of the boat before my departure from Bellingham, lest Poseidon strike me down in the Pacific.

Some good friends from around town and a handful of boat neighbors attended and we all got pretty good and sauced up for the occasion.  To begin with, one must make an invocation to the gods and express gratitude that they’ve let the boat continue to “ply the seas” up until this time.  Following that, you must ask for permission to de-name the boat and ensure that all parties have stricken the old name from their memories.  Next, you go about the process of renaming the boat, and finally, you must ask the gods for their blessing upon the new name.  Throughout this process, there is a lot of pouring libations across the bow and into the sea.  None but the finest wine should be used, and I took the liberty of using a bota bag to disperse much of it into wind.  I have no doubt that the gods were pleased and I trust that I’ll have fair winds through much of my journey.  

Hailing Port
I’ve done a lot of moving around in the past few years and I had a tough time pinning down the best city to hail from.  Most of the places I’ve lived (besides China, haha!) have been pretty landlocked.  I was born in Salida, Colorado and though I didn’t spend much time there, I’ve always thought it was a charming little town.  Salida means “exit” in Spanish and thus it will be easy for folks to pronounce in the countries I’m planning to traverse in the next few years.  Comically enough, the only water in Salida is the Arkansas river, so I guess folks will just figure that I sailed right down it and through the Mississippi.  

I’ve been lucky to have lots of visitors in the past few weeks.

Wade!
Wade grew up in the back woods of Montana, earning his keep as a fly fishing guide and skiing all winter.  He has been attending Law School in Missoula for the past few years, and the second he walked up the dock, I could tell it had changed him.  Wade the country boy had disappeared and in his place was First Mate Fellin, looking like he popped straight out of a yacht club.

I couldn’t let him out-class me on my own yacht, so I decided to step up my game a little bit, as well.

We sailed out to Cypress Island and lucked out with some strong wind and a quick run.  We anchored up in a little sheltered bay and enjoyed an incredible dinner of wild Alaskan salmon we bought from a local fisherman, elk steaks courtesy of Wade’s hunting trip this past fall, and pasta with nettle pesto we made from scratch!  Delicious!

The trip home was against a burly 3.5 knot current for much of the way and it was a bit of a struggle to make headway at times.  That said, we were lucky enough to be surrounded by porpoises for much of the trip and they circled us for quite some time like we were a merry-go-round.

The weather held out the following day and we made a trip up to Baker to partake in some spring corn skiing.  Fun was had by all.  Heck, we might’ve even enjoyed a few Rahn-yays. 

My Folks!
I’ve been bugging my folks for quite a while to come out and see the boat and they finally made the trek this past weekend. 

We completed a pretty incredible tour of farmers markets from Seattle up to Bellingham on the morning they first arrived and we picked up some killer produce, dairy, and local, grass-fed beef.  We had lots of fun carousing that afternoon and we went out to a big meal in town, followed by a pretty serious game of cribbage that lasted into the wee hours.  The following morning, the weather looked good, so we sailed out into the San Juan’s to anchor up for the night.  We put all of our delicious farmer’s market food to good use that evening and I think everyone slept like a log.

We wanted a change of scenery for breakfast, so we sailed over to Wildcat Cove and anchored just off of the venerable “Whiskey Rock”.  Some breakfast sausage, sharp cheddar, and early morning sunshine rounded out the scene and we were all pretty content.  Sadly, the time had come for my Dad to head back to work, so we shuttled him back down to Seattle.

My madre was able to stick around for a few days, and she was eager to help me tackle projects.  We ran a multitude of errands and managed to accomplish a lot of provisioning as well.  The most important accomplishment, however, was the final commissioning of Wendy the wind vane.  I had heard that they can be finicky to get dialed in, but she must’ve been eager for sea time, because she was steering beautifully the second I hooked her up.  Yahoo!  

My mom was kind enough to drive the truck back to Wyoming for me, so now I’m officially 100% moved onto the boat.

Jesse!
Jesse recently quit his job as well and he has been doing some traveling around of his own.  He was kind enough to put me up when I was moving through San Fran and I was excited to try and repay the favor.  We fired up the engines as soon as he arrived and charged off across the bay to a snug little anchorage out of the breeze.  It was a fierce wind we were working against the whole time, but Wendy the wind vane kept us on course and we arrived in good style with the beer locker a touch emptier than when we had first started.  As soon as we pulled up, we saw a bald eagle hunting by a waterfall in the bay.  We both agreed that the only thing that would've made the scene more American was if the eagle had been wearing jorts.  I suppose evolution will catch up some day.  

A fisherman pulled into our anchorage for the night and we tried to persuade him to sell us a crab or two, but I guess the heavy hand of Johnny Law persuaded him otherwise.  We managed to drown our sorrows effectively, however.

The Future!
I’ve been slowly putting the finishing touches on boat projects and it looks like she’s nearly ready to take to the sea.  I’m planning to depart next weekend, on my birthday, April 20th, to begin the journey southward.  I’ll be slowly bouncing my way down the coast, taking my time and being flexible with weather windows.  The plan is still to spend hurricane season in the Sea of Cortez.  As of now, it looks like I’ll be in San Francisco in the early / middle part of May.  I know a number of folks are hoping to meet up with me there – I’ll try and nail down a definite date once I’ve made some progress down the coast.  I’m hoping to do a formal christening ceremony at that point – so if you’re in the area, you won’t want to miss it.  There will be champagne, numerous oaths to seafaring gods, and perhaps even a sea shanty or two.