Conventional wisdom said we should delay the run from Portland, Oregon to Long Beach, California, until at least June. July would be better. Yet, there the three of us were, provisioning for the first segment of our sail to La Paz, Mexico, in March. This time of year, Pacific Northwest weather is dicey. Thirty foot seas are not uncommon. Further, the winds and seas are typically out of the south. So, why leave when the weather and the seas are against us? The catamaran, Island Cat, is scheduled to do eco-charters in the Sea of Cortez. The cat must be in La Paz and ready to take on guests no later than May 1st. Before its first charter, air conditioning must be installed and a host of other things must be addressed. That meant 2,500 miles to go under iffy conditions, and a maximum of twenty days to get the job done. We knew that weather and related repairs, might time us out once or twice, but the charter contract required we go now.
Moving Island Cat south to Newport, Oregon (NOAA's new West Coast Headquarters), went smoothly, notwithstanding the minefield of crab pots that liter the shoreline from the Columbia River bar, to fifteen miles out to sea, and all the way south to Newport. Once in Newport, we held off a week, and left the night of March 31st, six hours after attending Easter Services. As we motored out of the harbor, heavy seas and a dark overcast greeted us. In an effort to avoid the ubiquitous commercial crab pots, we slogged 35 miles out before easing south. Waves crashed over our port hull bow continuing right on over the bridge and cabin. By midnight, we completed our southbound turn. Both wind and waves hit us straight on the nose.
As the morning of April Fool's Day dawned, it was abundantly clear, we were in for a long, hard, grind. All day long we motored south with quarter mile visibility, sometimes barely making way. By night's end we had fallen eight hours behind our predicted run time. Although the cat had all new engine instruments, the constant banging about caused several connections to fail. First we lost the starboard tachometer, and then the port temperature gauge. A few hours later, the starboard oil pressure gauge quit. Each instrument failure caused a flurry of cross-checks to make sure something worse wasn't happening. The buffeting was so intense that at one point, we found the new electronic throttle computer hanging upside down in an engine room. Yes indeed, it got bouncy.
Two days later, the seas began to quiet, and our SOG (speed over ground), began to climb. The winds clocked around 90 degrees allowing us to raise sails, and shutdown the engines. Things were looking up. We congratulated ourselves as we passed by the entrance to San Francisco Bay, some forty miles out. Six hours further south the winds moved around to our starboard stern. Seas began to build fast. Weather reports suggested we would be wise to take the sails down for the evening. That done, we fired up the engines. A bearing on the port prop shaft screamed. It had frozen to the shaft. We shut the engine down. Darn. Night was upon us, the winds were picking up. We were running on one engine with faulty instrumentation. What to do? We angled in towards shore hoping to pick up enough cell signal to determine our best course of action.
It was decided we turn around and head back towards San Francisco, a 12 hour beat uphill at best. Sometime later, a friend called to tell us we would be better to turn back around and head to Moss Landing, in Monterey Bay. In order to maintain cell signal we crept in to within four miles of shore. Bang! We hit a floating crap pot line in the dark, right where regulations said there wouldn't be any. Our only working prop had picked up some heavy line. We immediately reversed to unwind the line's grip.
Although the starboard prop was now vibrating from the line wrapped around its shaft, it still worked. We throttled back to just above idle. Seas continued to grow with white caps everywhere present. It was not the time to be putting a man in the water to cut the line free, IF of course, we could avoid it. A following sea began to pick us up and move us south. A few hours on, the auto-pilot began to overheat from the myriad adjustments now required by chaotic seas. We turned it off and did shifts hand steering outside in the blow. By 0400 we were standing off Moss Landing. It would be a tight entry between two jetties for a 30' wide cat, with only one prop partially working.
We circled until daylight; then strapped the smaller of our two dinghies to the port stern. Our youngest crew member, Chris Miller (yachtscrubber.com), an aspiring future captain, drove the outboard to the helmsman's instructions. Carefully, we crept into Moss Landing, managing to stay off the rocks and make the turn into the cramped, quiet waters of this active commercial marina. We gained a temporary berth, found a responsive mechanic, and settled in for repairs. Chris donned a dry suit and went diving in the dark brown water. A family of sea otters closed in to watch. By feel, Chris cut the line free of our starboard prop and surfaced. Hooray! One prop back on line. One to go.
The next morning as the three of us headed up the ramp seeking breakfast, our savior mechanic "Hai" materialized with the needed parts and an assistant. The dock master leading us up the dock to register as a visitor yacht, turned quietly to me and said, “I know you Mr. Neal.” I apologized that I did not recognize him and asked him how he knew me. His response floored me. “You were my GED instructor at Sherton.” Wow. What a shock. In the middle nowhere on a dock surrounded by sea otters an inmate with me from Sheraton Federal prison. He was afraid for my friends to hear, but I immediately voiced to them both that we knew each other, and from where. I could tell he was truly surprised that I was not embarrassed to tell others. I put my arm around his shoulder and asked if he learned anything. He replied that he had passed his GED exams thanks to me. It was very good to hear. A deeply emotional moment.
By the time we had finished breakfast the shaft had been pulled, (while in the water no less), repaired, and reinstalled. Simply amazing. Fueled and anxious to get moving, we continued to fiddle with the gremlin running through our engine instruments, found a couple problems, fixed them (only temporarily as it turned out), and headed back to sea.
As we departed the marina and came out into the bay, we saw a lone sailboat hugging close to shore. This was the one and only boat we would see in the first 800 miles of our trip. Yes, we did see some container vessels in the approach corridors to San Francisco, and again outside the Los Angeles-Long Beach harbors, but not a single fishing vessel, sailboat, or private yacht showed up on radar, AIS, or was seen visually. Hmmm. What might that tell us?
As we angled out of Monterey the sun came out. What a difference. We passed the magnificent Pebble Beach Golf Course as whales made their way north, blowing and showing. We watched a mother Grey and her calf move right by us. Our hearts dropped ten minutes later when a wolf-pack of Orcas shot by in hot pursuit. The Orcas can't easily bring down a full sized grey, but they can, and do, kill their calves. Once the Orcas separate the calf from its mother, they drown it, and eat only the tongue, letting the carcass sink to the bottom. Very sobering.
The next several hours we basked in unexpected sunshine as we sailed along the Central California coast. When the wind blew up again, we took in two reefs on the main, furled the jib, and angled further out to sea. Before long the winds were clocking 45 knots and the seas were reported at 17 feet high, the swells six seconds apart. Now we were surfing. The seas continued to build. It was quite exhilarating. Once again, the auto pilot had trouble keeping up to the myriad adjustments, and the pump began to overheat. We put cold packs on the pump. It leveled out for a bit, but we knew it was wiser to take turns steering from the outside helm. (We had become spoiled staying inside through the nasty weather.)
What a ride! Water boiled all around us. The seas were all white froth. With engines off, the jib furled and two reefs in the main, we were clocking over 18 knots. Pretty darn fun. At one point I was able to take a photo of the SOG gauge clocking us at 20.2 knots. It was quite the ride and unusually noisy, as the raised bottom would strike the front side of each swell as we sliced down the 17 to 18 foot waves, and then bottom out again as we turned up the face of the swell once more. As night fell, prudence suggested we come up into the wind, drop the main, and proceed on engines. The winds were howling. Before we could get turned into the wind, we experienced an accidental jibe. Andrew Richardson, a skilled professional sailor who once competed in nineteen international races, immediately left the house and assailed the helmsman. "Give me the helm," he yelled, trying to be heard over the wind. Chris handled him the wheel. Literally. The wheel's keeper had sheared off from the constant heavy steering. The wheel simply came off in Chris's hands. The jibe had been the result of no helm control. The antics that followed would have been comic relief if it weren't so serious. A part of the keeper found, we duct-taped it in place. We turned into the wind, and dropped the main. Whew!
Once back on route with sails down and the engines on idle, we were still clocking over 12 knots. About 3:00 in the morning, the winds eased and the rolling seas began to abate. We slowed to make Cabrillo marina in San Pedro harbor, Los Angeles, in morning daylight. Our intended marina in Long Beach was full. In fact, they just laughed when we asked if they had room for a 60' cat. Cabrillo, on the other hand, was very accommodating. Andrew flew home the same day. Poor guy, he has to work for a living. Andrew is the harbormaster in Oregon for McCuddy's marinas. Chris Miller stayed on with me. At the time of this writing we are awaiting his father to join us before we head south to Los Cabos.
As we all discovered, Island Cat is one heck of a boat. She doesn't creak or sound off when hit by high winds and waves. She is built strong and is a powerful sailing vessel. Her extra width levels out rocking, which makes for a much more comfortable offshore ride than I have ever experienced. We are looking forward to an easy run downhill to Cabo, then around the peninsula and up into the inside of The Sea of Cortez. La Paz will be Island Cat's new home at some point. To be continued…