Day 5 (Red).
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Saturday started like any other day... with a 'd'. Our plan for the day was to try and rent bikes at the state park on shore, and explore the island a bit. So after breakfast we both piled into the inflatable kayak and headed for land. This, I am sure, is a sight to behold. Deb's kayak was branded a "two person" kayak either by some clown in the marketing department who has never sat in a kayak, or someone with a twisted sense of humor. Fitting two people in it requires a gymnasts flexibility and a masochists ability to endure discomfort. We attempted to use two paddles, but quickly realized we were just dribbling water all over each other, and went back to our tried and true technique of each using half a paddle, canoe style. After some amount of thrashing around, we beached our craft and walked over to the bike rental hut, which to our pleasant surprise, was actually open!
After filling out some paperwork, the friendly staff selected two well used mountain bikes of dubious mechanical integrity on which to turn us loose. At some point in the conversation, Deb mentioned that we were both avid mountain bikers. The rental guy proceeded to explain in great detail how to shift gears, work the brakes, and use the kickstand. After borrowing a bike tool so that I could adjust the non-functioning rear brakes, we set off for Lopez Village about 3.5 miles away on the other side of the island. Once out of sight of the rental stand, Deb quickly removed the gross rental helmet and strapped it to her handlebars. Her fear of germs and cooties far outweighs her fear of injury. The ride across the island was quite pleasant. The few cars we encountered were moving slowly, and their drivers were very friendly, in stark contrast to the drivers on the mainland who are busy texting while trying to set a new record hustling a giant SUV full of spoiled kids to their next organized event.
Soon we reached Lopez Village, and found a farmers market in full swing. We stopped and wandered through that, coming away with a loaf of naturally raised bread (wild yeast) and some hand crafted goat cheese which cost more per pound than most precious metals. After leaving the market we found a nice restaurant on the water with a view of San Juan island to the west, which would be our next stop later in the day. Conveniently located next to the restaurant was an ice cream shop. Next to that was a bakery selling cinnamon rolls. So we just bounced from one to the next trading money for calories, finishing at a small grocery store where we picked up a few food items that we needed. With my backpack full we rode back to the state park, returned the rental bikes, chatted with the guys at the booth, and then paddled back to our boat. After stashing the groceries, securing the kayak to the deck, and stowing everything for sailing, it was time for the next leg of the journey: up around the north end of Lopez island and across San Juan Channel to Friday Harbor.
I decided that we should leave our mooring under sail. All we really had to do was untie the line and pull it in, and sail away. It seemed silly to fire up the motor just for that. The wind meter, which only functions accurately when the boat is not moving, was reading 13 to 14. I had never really figured out if the readout was in mph or knots, but the previous owner said that he normally put a reef in the sail when the wind was around 15 knots or so. With the idea that discretion was the better part of valor, I decided to start out with a reef in the sail. My plan was to raise the main while still at the mooring, so that once we were loose we could sail away and not risk drifting into any other boats. I explained this plan to Deb, and with the mainsheet loose I raised the reefed mainsail. As the boom swung back and forth in the wind, I reminded Deb of the importance of keeping her head down and staying clear of the boom when she went forward to untie our mooring line.
CRACK! Nearly 15 seconds had passed since my warning to Deb, and I stood up to do something and got blasted in the head by the boom! I stood there, stunned.
"What the...."
"Are you OK??????"
"Where... where's my hat? WHERE'S MY HAT????"
Now, a little side note. I spent several months looking for a hat that I liked, wandering in and out of every shop in Seattle that looked like they might sell hats. Finally, I ordered one online. And now it was gone! Deb pointed over the side of the boat, where my hat was drifting rapidly past the stern in the wind. I tried to snag it with the boat hook, but it was just out of reach! I extended the boat hook as fast as I could, but the hat was always just a foot or so out of reach, dancing in the waves, taunting me! No, this couldn't be... this wasn't happening... my hat!!!!
"Are you OK?!?? Your head..."
"What? My hat! I need to get the kayak down!!!!!
Frantically I untied the inflatable kayak from the deck, threw it in the water, and jumped in. Deb handed me the paddle and said she thought she had seen the hat "out there." I paddled in the direction she pointed, assisted by the wind. When I got to the general area, there was nothing. I paddled around in my best approximation of a widening circle seach pattern, but to no avail. The hat had sunk or blown away. I am sure that Old Gregg is wearing it now. Abandoning my search, I realized I was a couple hundred yards downwind from the boat in a ridiculously inefficient inflatable kayak. With a vision of being blow out to sea (or, in this case, over to Orcas Island) spurring me along, I fought my way back to the boat, defeated and hatless.
After securing the kayak again and spending several minutes lamenting my situation, we raised the main again and sailed away from the mooring without incident. Heading downwind to the north, it seemed that the wind had lessened a bit, as we were only making about 4 knots. We unfurled the genoa, and that added a knot or so to our speed. Things seemed to be well in hand, so we shook the reef out of the main and raised it to its full height. I say "we" but it was mostly me. Deb would be perfectly happy to douse the sails and run up a dishcloth as a storm sail any time the wind is strong enough to blow out a candle. Everything was going well though, as we headed up to a beam reach and sailed west across the north end of Lopez.
And then... thing's weren't fine anymore. Rounding the top of Lopez, we sailed straight into a howling southwest wind. I don't know what the actual wind speed was, since my meter doesn't correct for boat speed or direction, and I didn't have time to look at it anyway since we had our hands full trying to sail the boat. But, my best estimate is that the wind was about 100 knots. Hmmm... that might be high. Between 15 and 20? Lets go with that. What I do know is that we were close hauled, and pinching up into the wind enough that the sails were luffing a bit, and the boat was still heeled over a solid 30 degrees. I won't say we were completely overpowered or in danger of being out of control, but it was definitely outside the window of what I would describe as "comfortable."
"Deb, I think we need to put the reef back in the main, I'm gonna need you to drive while I do that."
"No, I don't WANT to drive!!!!!"
"Well, then we have to keep sailing like this."
With what I will describe as "great reluctance," Deb took the wheel. Deb's sailing skill far exceeds her confidence, and she did an excellent job of driving the boat, feathering up into the wind enough to flatten the boat without accidentally tacking. My plan was to first roll up the genoa so that we didn't have it flogging around while I reefed the main. This proved a difficult task and required maintaining just enough tension on the sheet to keep the sail from flailing, while simultaneously operating the furling lines, which in itself requires two hands. After a bit of a struggle, I got the genoa rolled up, and reefed the main. With the genoa re-deployed, we resumed sailing. Control and comfort had improved, but we were still on the verge of being overpowered. In retrospect, I should have left the genoa partially furled as well. Next time...
Just as we were recovering from this operation, we spotted the ferry boat coming towards us. It became apparent that we would pass by each other at the narrowest part of the channel, between Canoe Island and Flat Point on Lopez. Our last experience passing close to a ferry boat involved us getting caught in its prop wash and tossed around a bit. I was not eager to repeat this experience. Nor was I eager to run aground near Canoe Island on our right. While doing my best to give the ferry plenty of room, and steer with the wind to keep us sailing properly, I tried to read the chart that Deb was holding up for me so that I could determine how deep the water was off Canoe Island. It turned out to be plenty deep... I probably could have scraped the gunnel of the boat along the rocks of the island and not run aground. So we eased over a little more towards the right side of the channel, and ended up passing by the ferry boat and its prop wash without incident. Whew! At some point during this whole experience I realized that one of the sail slugs had broken. These are plastic slides that the sail attaches to every 2 or 3 feet. They ride in a track in the mast, and are what holds the leading edge of the sail to the mast.
Once past Canoe Island we were able to bear off a bit. I rolled in some of the genoa and the rest of our sail towards Friday Harbor was much more comfortable. As we neared our destination, the opposite direction ferry boat was coming up behind us. This caused a few more moments of anxiety as we did our best to sail out of its path, while avoiding some rocks in the middle of San Juan channel. If it seems like I am a little paranoid of ferry boats, I will just say this: they are big, they are fast, and the father of one of my friends was run over by a ferry while sailing in this general area. His boat sank, he was rescued, and the state of Washington paid him a lot of money. After the ferry passed safely by, we fired up the motor, dropped the sails, and motored the last half mile or so to the Friday Harbor Marina. After calling on the VHF, we were assigned a slip, and docked without incident.
After tying up, the first order of business was a good stiff drink. The next order of business was to go find someplace to eat. We were too worn out to bother cooking. We ended up wandering around most of the town before we settled on a place that seemed to offer what we wanted... reasonably decent food with a relaxed uncrowded atmosphere. After that we explored the marina a little bit, and went to bed, exhausted.
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