Frisco
The rest of my time in San Fran was glorious.  I was able to accomplish a lot and spend some quality time with friends that happened to be in the area.  I took in a few sunsets and also ended up with a brand-spanking-new windvane.

What I thought at first was just a few cracked bronze gears actually turned into several cracked components and a heavily modified unit that had some pretty critical flaws.  Repairs and replacement parts would’ve been more than half the price of a brand new unit, so I decided to bite the bullet and go for a new one.  Scanmar (the manufacturers of these windvanes) were very helpful and accommodative the entire time and did their best to explain all the pros and cons of each option and make things as affordable as possible for someone of my limited means.  While it’s really painful to drop a couple thousand bucks unexpectedly, I’m confident that I won’t have any self steering failures between here and Chile and that peace of mind (and added safety factor) is tough to put a price on.

With a new windvane, I was also faced with a new dilemma – what to name her!?  I happened to have “You’re So Vain” stuck in my head at the time – which slowly morphed into “You’re So Vane” and I decided that I ought to name the new vane in honor of Carly Simon.  Thus, Carly has been steering my boat for the last couple hundred miles and she has done a brilliant job thus far.  Porter even helped me install her!

Frisco to Santa Cruz
Things lined up nicely for my brother to sail with me for a few days, and we decided to leave San Francisco on a Thursday afternoon.  On the advice of an old colleague, I stopped in to visit a bar that was apparently an old haunt of Jack London and we had a few beers in the sun before we jumped in the boat.  While I’ve no doubt that time has changed the place, I’ve always been fond of Jack London’s work and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

That afternoon, a fierce westerly picked up while we were still in the bay and we had to reef down and beat into some harsh wind chop to get out into the Pacific.  I had discounted the challenges associated with sailing around San Fran earlier in the trip and I found myself eating my words (and some salt spray) by the time we got ourselves under the Golden Gate. 

Naturally, a calm slowly developed as soon as we got out into open ocean and we spent most of the night bobbing around and motoring southward.  Dawn broke with some breezes and we had a lovely morning of sailing, and even found time to cook some steak and eggs.  Porter had his eyes well peeled and noticed a fin out on the horizon.  “Whales!” we both yelled, “Hooray!”  “Wait a second, are those actually whales?”  “Hmm, maybe they’re dolphins standing on their tails”  “I think only killer whales have fins that long”  “But they’re too small and gray to be killer whales”

As we sailed on, we saw a few more.

And then a few more.

And before long, we were absolutely surrounded by them.  Several even did tricks to amuse us. We both estimated there to be at least 200 within sight at one point.  What a great way to start the day. 

Once we got into cell service, we identified them as Risso’s Dolphins, a somewhat rare breed that is common to the Monterey Bay area.  They grow to be 12 ft long and they’ve got a fairly blunt head with grayish coloring and extensive scarring.  

Once we arrived into Santa Cruz, we got a slip for the night and walked out into town in search of a burger.  Once our hunger was satiated, we worked our way back to the boat for beers and a couple of very competitive games of cribbage.  Porter squeaked out a few victories by narrow margins, and I managed to skunk him on one occasion.  It might be decades before a victor is crowned.

While I was in Santa Cruz, I was lucky enough to meet up with a friend of a friend who goes by the name of Brian ‘Kansas’ Thom.  A handful of years ago, he and his wife left Santa Cruz on their Westsail 42 (a beautiful and exceptionally seaworthy craft) named Nomad and got to travel through the South Pacific to New Zealand and back in search of remote surfing locations and whatever adventure they could stir up.  Along the way, they grew their family by one and created a lifetime of memories and wisdom that they were happy to share with me.  I anchored out beside them in Santa Cruz and Capitola for a couple of days and soaked up a ton of knowledge and advice.  They were even kind enough to keep me well fed and watered!

Santa Cruz to Ventura
I continued on my route south with a full belly and a lot of excitement for the cruising grounds ahead.  A brisk northwest wind was blowing and I made exceptional time out of Monterey Bay.  

That afternoon, I passed Big Sur and I recalled that I had a relative that settled here a long long time ago.  There is a creek called Bixby Creek (and a corresponding bridge that bears his name as well) and I was able to see it all from the sea.  He arrived in the mid-1800s and owned some substantial tracts of land back in those days.  

I also happened upon a sea lion whose eyes were bigger than his mouth and was in the process of trying to swallow a fish that was at least the size of his head.  I just managed to catch a picture of him, with his head out trying to choke it down.  Later on, a number of gulls came in to try and wrestle his prize away, but I think he won the day in the end.  

I was hoping to stop into San Simeon to see the Hearst Castle, but the timing and weather conspired to push me further south and I decided to slip into Avila bay near San Luis Obispo to wait out an approaching gale.  It was there that I sustained my first injury of the trip, a finger I managed to crush in the companionway slider.  I promptly cursed Rascal for biting me and nursed my mangled finger with a cocktail and a hot needle to relieve the pressure that had built up.  I would imagine my thumbnail and I will go our separate ways in a couple of weeks.  Given that a crushed digit is the worst thing that has happened to me in months, I’d say I’m doing pretty good for myself.

The rest of the run to Ventura was pretty uneventful.  I saw my first shark (though wasn’t quick enough to get a shot of him) trailing behind the boat, and spent a day and a night dodging what felt like dozens of offshore oil rigs.  They provided quite a stark contrast to the pristine coastline and water that surrounded me.  I wasn’t aware that there was so much oil and gas industry in this area and I was surprised by how close they were to shore.  You could see several tankers coming and going from them and I even got a couple helicopter flyovers as I passed.

When I’ve been sailing dead downwind up until now, I’ve had the sails configured “wing-and-wing” which is to say that the main sail is pulled out to one side and the headsail (typically the genoa) is pushed out to the other side with the spinnaker pole.  This allows the air from the main to funnel into the genny and allows the entire sail area to be effective (instead of having the main blanket the genny if they were on the same side).  On the downside, however, it means that the boat wants to seasaw back and forth a bit as the swell passes under the boat and shifts the balance between the two sails.  Many long distance cruisers have devised a better solution that utilizes two headsail up front, each poled out on opposite sides.  This provides a similar sail area, but pulls the boat (instead of pushing and pulling it) which keeps the boat more balanced, steers a straighter course, and is typically faster.  That said, you typically need two headstays to make this work.  I realized, however, that I could hank the two sails on (with the hanks overlapping) on the same headstay and hoist them at the same time.  I had a 6-10 knot following wind and decided now would be a good time to give it a shot.  Low and behold, it worked like a charm.  It was much more balanced and efficient than sailing wing-and-wing and without the risk of an accidental jibe of the boom.  I figure I can make several different headsail combinations work in this way, as well: from the genny and the working jib down to the jiblet and the stormjib.  You’ve just got to be careful where the hanks line up and how the sails are raised.

The Future
Porter happened to have a meeting in Santa Monica on Friday, so he and a good friend from college are meeting me this weekend to go out and explore the Channel Islands.  We’ve got plans to explore Smugglers Cove (which is reportedly full of bootleggers and pirates) and do some hiking around on Santa Cruz Island.  I have firm promises from all parties that no beers will be consumed during this event and no plans have been made to cook any delicious meals either.  With weather predicted to be sunny and in the high seventies, I’m sure we’ll have no fun at all.

Last week, I finally pulled into San Francisco Bay.  Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge was like a dream, and this past week has been incredible.  If you like to listen to music whilst you read - this would be a good match to this story.

Departure from Eureka
My time in Eureka was uneventful, yet productive.  I got a few items fixed or jury-rigged and I replenished all of my supplies.  It was a cute little town, but I only got to spend about 36 hrs there before I went back out to sea.

I sailed directly south with the intention of meeting up with a couple of friends for the weekend.  They were hiking and camping along the coastline to the south and the plan was to anchor up and row ashore for campfires, some whiskey drinking, and catching up.  There was a forecasted north wind and the swell was supposed to diminish during the day Friday.  I sailed part of the distance Friday afternoon and spent the night on the hook in a relatively unprotected bay just south of Cape Mendocino.  While it was an exceptionally rocky night, I was in relatively shallow water with good holding sand and I felt confident in my anchor placement and the scope I used.  My surroundings were absolutely sublime and both the sunset and the sunrise were glorious that night.  I cooked up a big batch of dumplings and enjoyed myself immensely.

The next morning, I pulled up my anchor and proceeded south towards our rendezvous point.  The coastline was breathtaking and the sailing was nice and relaxed.  I’ve been occasionally trolling a line, and that morning, I finally hooked a good sized fish.  As I reeled ‘er in, she got feistier and feistier and when she got close to the boat I could see she was a good sized salmon.  I was just lifting her clear of the water when she gave one final triumphant flop and she tossed the hook and headed back into the depths.  Quite a bummer, but that’s just how fishing goes sometimes.

By about 9am, the wind was shifting around to the west and I started to get nervous.  I knew I needed that north wind to make the anchorage safe and a west wind would push me towards the rocky coastline if my anchor dragged.  As I got closer to the appointed location, the wind bumped up to 15kts gusting to 20 and I realized that the wind and the 7 foot swell would make things a little dicey.  I sailed a few circles to see if things might change, but conditions appeared to be getting worse.  I could see Dave and Greg hiking along the shoreline and it felt pretty crushing, but I knew I had to bail.  I gave them a few consolation honks and started sailing south.  Two bitter defeats in one day.

The remainder of my sail to San Francisco was fairly uneventful.  I saw some high following winds for a while, and made really good time.  That stretch of coastline is pretty sparsely populated and there wasn’t much boat traffic around me.  I was, however, surrounded by nature’s beauty and it was humbling how many glorious sunsets and sights I was able to take in.  

San Francisco!
I tried to time my passage so that I would be arriving around midday with a flood tide when I crossed the San Francisco Bar and passed under the Golden Gate.  I checked the weather during the approach to find that it couldn’t possibly get any better.  

After having passed my first 1000 miles of sailing for the voyage and crossing under the bridge, I was on top of the world.  Mother nature even turned up the heat to about 90 degrees and gave me a glorious sunny afternoon to bask in.  It felt like a big milestone.

I planned to dock in Richmond to be close to the windvane factory and my route led me past Alcatraz as well as some other neat SF Bay landmarks.  The next afternoon I got to sail across the bay with some good friends and we had perfect weather and wind yet again!  I spent all week hanging out with friends, exploring around the city, and chowing down on the tastiest food the bay area has to offer.

Saturday brought the event everyone had been waiting for – The First Annual Wine (and Swine) Mixer.  Everyone was encouraged to dress in their finest “yacht club” attire and bring a bottle of wine and some cured pork products.  40 or 50 folks showed up over the course of the evening and fun was had by all.  I believe Rascal broke some records for capacity with 22 people lounging on her deck at one point.  I got the chance to see and catch up with some childhood friends from Bow, some buddies from college, as well as a few other acquaintances I’ve met along the way.  All-in-all, it was a great send-off and I felt honored and privileged that so many folks are interested in my voyage.

Food
A couple people have asked about what cooking and eating looks like on a boat at sea.  For the most part, I've been cooking and eating in all the same ways I normally would at home.  I'm in port roughly once a week (or more) and its easy enough to walk to a grocery store and grab fresh food - meats, cheese, bread, veggies (sparingly), fruits, etc.  Ya know - normal food.  I have a small ice box, which is kind of like a really well insulated cooler, and when I was living up north, it stayed about the same temperature as the water (which was 45 degrees at the time) and I didn't even need to buy ice.  Now that I'm further south, things are heating up and I've been getting a bag of ice every 5 days to keep things cool.  I've got enough canned food on the boat that I could probably last for a month without hitting a port if something were to go wrong (or if I wanted to stay out in the boondocks at a really nice anchorage).  When I'm cruising instead of just passage-making, I'm planning to do a lot more fishing and try to supplement my diet with things that I catch as much as possible.

Perhaps more interesting than the food itself is the mechanics of cooking and eating while the boat is pitching around in a seaway.  My stove is a two burner model that runs on kerosene (less volatile and safer than other fuels) and it is gimbaled so that the pots and pans always remain vertical even if the boat is tilted over sideways.  It also has fiddles on the side so pans can fly off.  I use my standard nonstick as well as my heavy duty cast iron combo-cooker and it works great.  It doesn't burn quite as hot as propane, but gets the job done for all but the thickest of steaks.  Unless I'm anchored up in a protected area, I tend to just hold my plate in my hand, but I do have a nice little fold out table that seats four in the main dinette area.  Silverware, plates, and ingredients tend to move around, so you've got to try and wedge yourself in to be able to work effectively. It is often pretty inconvenient to fire up the stove when the boat is really rocking, so sometimes I'll cook a few meals in advance if I know the weather is going to be rough.

Below are a few pictures of a poblano jambalaya and cornbread-pancake meal I made while I was on passage one afternoon. 

Pirate Speak
Cole commented and asked about how I developed such a salty vocabulary so quick.  The short answer – for the past three or four years, I’ve been steadily devouring sailing novels.  When I first dug in, it was like I was reading a foreign language, but little by little, I googled my way towards sailing literacy and I’ve got a pretty good handle on things at this point.  From classics like Moby Dick to newer stories like The Voyage of the Cormorant, I love them all and couldn’t get enough.  A few of my favorites if you're inclined towards great books:

• Sea Wolf, London
  
• Across Islands and Oceans, Baldwin
• The Old Man and the Sea, Hemmingway
  
• Eight Sailing / Mountain Exploration Books, Tillman

Future
I'm sailing with my brother around the peninsula and down to Santa Cruz later this week and from there I'll be making my way down to LA and San Diego to meet up with some other friends.  After that - I'll high-tail it down to Cabo and spend the following few months in the Sea of Cortez drinking margaritas and spearfishing while hurricanes whip through the Pacific.

My Route
Some nasty weather pushing past the Washington coast raised a pretty mean swell and the Coast Guard ended up closing the bar for a day before I could get back out to sea.  I used the time to rest, cook a few big meals, and catch up on some preventative boat maintenance.

When I finally got through, the sunshine was out, the wind was light but favorable (from the northeast!), and the bar crossing was casual.  After the rough, wet weather over the last passage, this felt heavenly.  I cruised along all morning with the wind at my back, listening to Santana, relaxing with the gentle rock of the ocean swell, and soaking up the rays.  I even made a big batch of jambalaya for lunch.  This, I realized, must be what cruising is all about.

My route took me out to the west (to avoid as much fishing and shipping traffic as I could) and then to the south until I got to one of the bars on the Southern Oregon coast.  For the most part, winds were light and variable, but generally from behind and it made for very enjoyable, if slow, sailing.  I saw very few boats while I was far offshore except for a massive cruise ship, and I went for a full 24 hours without seeing land or any vessels whatsoever.  I could’ve been anywhere in the world during that 24 hrs and only my compass and gps kept me grounded.

The Pacific
I spent most of this last passage about 60 miles off the coast.  When you’re that far out, you don’t see much of anything except gorgeous, clear, incredibly blue water.  The area I was sailing through got as deep as 9000 feet deep.  Almost two miles deep!  I literally spent two hours at one point with the sun at my back, just staring into the depths of the water.  Its color is beyond my ability to even begin to convey.  It’s blue, but like no blue I’ve ever seen before.  There is so much nuance to it and a certain glow flickers in the shadows of the waves.  The closest thing I can liken it to is staring deeply into someone’s eyes.  I can tell there is a message hiding in there, somewhere.  I guess I’ll have plenty of time to figure out what it is.

Sea Creatures!
The lack of boats and land to keep me entertained and focused was more than made up for by the various ocean creatures that roamed around me. 

I think my favorite thing to watch was one certain type of bird.  They glide effortlessly across the tops of the long rolling waves and swoop and curl across them as they dip and fall.  Very graceful and efficient birds.  They look like gulls, but they’re shorter with longer wings and thick barrel-chests.  I’m currently reading a book about a British mountaineer in the 60s who used a sailboat to access remote portions of coastline where he climbed and explored uncharted peaks.  In the book he describes a bird (the "skua") that sounded really similar to these elegant, powerful birds I was watching.  Once I got back to land, I looked for some pictures and they are indeed one in the same.  They apparently migrate from the Arctic and Antarctic to more temperate waters during the year and are tenacious hunters and fighters.  Some have even reported witnessing them fighting a bird 3x their size for a fish or taking down and killing a grey heron.  A gorgeous, formidable bird that really seems to be at the top of some sort of evolutionary plateau.  

Though perhaps a bit less graceful than the skua, I had the great surprise and excitement of seeing a couple different pods of whales.  I actually didn’t spot them at first, but instead heard the pffft of one of them surfacing for air and spouting into the air.  

Some that I saw were way off in the distance, but some came very close up to my boat.  They were GIGANTIC!  It was a humbling feeling to be able to watch a creature that big from so close (from my tiny little boat, no less) and I have no doubt that one of them could’ve sent my boat reeling with just a flick of his giant leviathan tail.  It was tough to tell, but I would estimate some of the larger ones I saw to be about 50 ft and some of the younger ones to be half that.

After some internet searching it seems that some of the whales I saw were Fin whales (the ones with the long back and curved fin) and some of the whales were Humpbacks (the picture with the tail out).  They’re most likely in the process of migrating from their wintering grounds on their way north for the summer.

The last notable sea creature I passed was a monstrous cruise ship that I could see as it peeked up onto the horizon perhaps 15 miles off.  By the time it was 5 miles from me, I could hear its big engines churning and the water crashing off its bow.  He came within a few miles of me and I couldn’t quite read its name, but later heard him hail the coast guard during some radio chatter when he was a few miles out.  It was apparently the Golden Princess full of passengers headed up to Seattle.

Whoops!

My intention originally had been to pull into Coos Bay another 30 miles south along the shoreline, but on Thursday afternoon, the dreaded south winds returned with a vengeance and I spent the night beating to weather with a double-reefed main and my beloved jiblet pulling me along to the southeast.  The wind slowly let up as day dawned and I was able to raise the genoa and shake the reefs out of the main.  I figured I’d light up the engine to give myself a little boost so that I could cross the bar at slack tide which was around 11am.  I had enough wind for the previous two days that I hadn’t run the engine at all for a while and evidently the running lights (which I run all night) had drawn the battery way down in that time.  When I turned the engine over, I heard that dreaded rrRRRrrr rrrRrrr rrrrrrr of a battery that just wants to give up and go to sleep for a while.  “Shit!” I thought.  “Well, at least I was wise enough to switch over to the second battery bank; the first ought to have plenty of juice to start the engine, right?  Wrong.  You forgot to charge the first bank the last time you ran the engine.” 

So there I was sailing along towards Coos Bay with no engine.  Could I cross the bar under sail?  Yeah, probably.  Would the wind die once I crossed the bar and send me towards the breakers and the rocks?  Maybe.  Perhaps I’ll try to pull start the engine or crank it to life!  After an hour of trying, I realized she was just a little bit too ornery to be started by a mere mortal like myself.  “If only I had some solar panels,” I thought.  I decided to divert to Winchester Bay on the Umpqua River as that was closer and easier to get to.  I hailed the Coast Guard for an update on bar conditions and to ask their opinion on the feasibility of sailing in and anchoring without dashing Rascal to pieces on the rocks.  They replied with, “Heck, we’ll just come on out and tow you into the dock!”  That sounded a hell of a lot safer than the alternative, so with my hat in my hand, my pride swallowed, and Rascal breathing a sigh of relief, I sailed up to the channel buoys and prepared to be towed by the Coast Guard.

From the middle of the breaking waves of the bar and amidst a thick fog I saw a form begin to emerge.  Lo and behold, it was a massive Coast Guard lifeboat.  It was probably about 50 feet long, a hulking behemoth of welded aluminum and bombproof hatches and diesel might.  They came up alongside me while I dropped sail and they threw me a big, thick towing bridle and in a flash, we were heading up the Umpqua towards Winchester Bay.  They had no shortage of throttle to play with and the Rascal really got the ride of her life.  She is a displacement hull, so her speed is limited by the wave she makes as she pushes water out of the way and, in theory, her top speed is only about 6.5 knots.  With a couple of monster diesel engines pulling me along, however, she got up to 7.9 knots.  You could’ve surfed on the wake she was making.

I thanked the four gentlemen in the Coast Guard boat profusely and they were very professional and polite.  I think the Umpqua River is a fairly sleepy outpost and they were just stoked to get out and do some good.  They dropped me off at the transient dock and did a quick safety inspection and returned to their station across the harbor.  While I was a little ashamed at being towed in, I figured I was better safe than sorry and the folks at the Coast Guard station were super helpful. 

The Future
I’m leaving in the morning for Eureka in the lovely, sunny state of California.  I expect it will take me a 2-3 days,and the weather looks ideal for trucking my way south (winds of 15-20kts out of the north). Another downwind run sounds great to me.  I’ll plan to spend some time working on boat stuff for a day or two and then head down to the coast a little ways to meet up with some friends that’re hiking in that area on the weekend of the 10th.  From there, I’ll finish the trek to San Fran and hopefully spend a week hanging out with friends, re-provisioning the boat, and eating as much delicious food as I can get my hands on.  If you’re in the bay area and you want to meet up sometime between the 15th and 20th, let me know!

You guys!
I started this blog to stay in touch with friends and share this adventure as I undertake it.  There is something incredibly liberating and energizing about being able to sail alone, but I also really value the friendships and connections I’ve built and I don’t want those to suffer while I’m gone.  I want to share this new life of mine with you all!  I want to hear from you… and meet up with you along the way… and get suggestions about what to do... and answer your questions!  Lots of folks seem to have questions about this voyage and I’m happy to answer them.  Sound off in the comments on the bottom of this page and I’ll answer your questions during my next blog post.  

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.