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trip logs

Cruising Bootcamp. Part Two.

When we motored north from La Conner out of the Swinomish Channel the following day we had planned on an easy 9 mile trip to a cozy anchorage on Saddlebag Island near Anacortes. It was a windy day, with local forecasts for up to 20 knots or so. We were traveling through protected waters though and weren’t too concerned.

It was a long, breezy slog out of the Swinomish; because the channel was so narrow we chose to motor through it so we could stay in the center of the channel. Once we were clear of the final set of markers and into the deeper water of Padilla Bay we pulled out the staysail and scooted along on the last two miles to Saddlebag.

We were disappointed when we arrived at our expected anchorage however. The anchorage was tiny and looked quite shallow. It also was not very well protected from the SW winds blowing. It only took us a minute to decide to continue on. We scoured our guidebook for another anchorage. Our choices in the area were very limited: either backtrack to Anacortes or continue on to Lummi Island where Inati Bay looked promising. We decided to press northwards.

Luckily the SW wind, while strong and gusty, made for a fantastic sail with our staysail and mizzen up. The gloom had even cleared up and the sun was shining upon us as we sailed on. We were very pleased with Wondertime’s easy, balanced motion even in heavier winds.

Two hours later we finally reached Inati Bay. The steep hillsides of Lummi Island were sending williwaws down into the anchorage that we were disappointed to see already crowded with other boats. We found a spot along the north side of the pretty bay where we could tuck in and dropped our Rocna into 35 feet of water. After letting the chain out we reversed as usual to set the hook; instead of grabbing onto the bottom as expected the hook just kept dragging and dragging; since we were now heading backwards out of the bay we had no choice but to crank all 120′ of chain up with our manual windlass. It took more effort than usual to get the anchor up and with it came a bit of line so we assume it had become fouled on something. With the wind still howling down the hillsides it was no easy feat to keep the boat in position; the rock cliffs were much too near for our liking as well as other anchored boats. We knew it was not a good situation and decided quickly to ditch Inati and head further north still. Our next destination was to be Sucia Island so that is where we pointed our bow. It was nearly 2000 by this time however so we were not especially thrilled with continuing on.

The wind continued to howl as we motorsailed up Hale Passage. We were comfortable on board though: I cooked chili below while Holly was tucked into her carseat in the cockpit and Leah had decided to take a (rare!) nap in her bunk below. We hoped the crazy gusts were just the effect of the land but as we rounded the top of Lummi Island we were greeted by 25-30 knots and accompanying wind waves from the southwest. We motorsailed on, trying to reach Sucia before nightfall.

I tucked Holly into her bed too and told the girls it was going to be a little bumpy for a while. They weren’t concerned at all and thought it was great fun to bounce around in their forward bunks while we pounded onward. We only had seven miles to go to Sucia though and even with the wind and seas made about 4 knots as we splashed and bounced through the wind-streaked waves and watched the sun set.

Finally, at 2230 we reached Echo Bay at Sucia Island. The wide open, protected anchorage had ample room and only a handful of other boats. We dropped our hook right smack in the middle in the last few minutes of dusk and all was still at last.

We have been here at Sucia for two idyllic days now and are contemplating a third. It’s sunny and calm. We’ve hiked the easy woodland trails onshore, played in the sand, dipped our toes in the chilly water, marveled at all the sandstone sculptures on shore, napped, read, explored by dinghy, eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner in the sunny cockpit. It’s what we came this way for.

Cruising Bootcamp. Part One.

The past three days have truly been a visit to cruising bootcamp. We’ve had it all: pea soup fog, dodging ships, calms, sun, clouds, breezy conditions, tricky navigation in narrow shallow channels, dicey anchorages, nearly fouling our anchor, salt water drenching, beating against wind and seas, anchoring in the dark, goodbyes to old friends and hellos to new ones.

After our quick visit to Blakely Harbor (and of course Blakely Rock), we had a quick easy sail over to Shilshole. Our friends from Lea Scotia (www.leascotia.com) met us there and kindly taxied us all over town for a few items we needed to get at Fisheries, West Marine and Fred Meyer. We enjoyed one last fish & chips dinner at the Lockspot then spent the evening aboard Wondertime going over our Vancouver Island charts with our friends, as they have circled the island multiple times previously.

The next day we were off to Kingston where we enjoyed a fantastic fireworks show from Grandpa’s back deck. It was a bittersweet visit, a difficult see-you-later to him and other family members who live in that area.

Wednesday morning we woke early, poked our heads out the hatch and were none too thrilled to discover a thick white fog had blanketed the sound overnight. Not to be deterred, we decided it was a good chance to test out our AIS system and new (to us) radar. Oh boy, is AIS a treat! We easily tracked the few ships that were in the lanes and crossed the sound without trouble.

Except for the open porthole above Holly’s bunk. After a 900 foot long cargo ship had passed, we started crossing the now open shipping lanes. We bounced over the ship’s huge wake and a wave of water was thrown into the anchor well. “You’d better go check the girls’ cabin!” Michael exclaimed. “I think their portholes are open!” When I got to their cabin, I found Holly sitting up in bed with water dripping down her hair. Seawater was still pouring in the little open porthole above her bunk and I quickly shut it and ran for some towels to dry her, her bed and her stuffed animals off. What a way to wake up!

The rest of the trip up to the Swinomish channel was fairly uneventful thankfully. We had a chance to sail a bit while we made our way up Saratoga passage between Camano and Whidbey Islands. The wind was extremely shifty so it was frustrating sailing but we did get to try out multiple sail combinations.

It was fairly low tide once we reached the Swinomish; Michael was white-knuckling the wheel as we entered the narrow, super shallow channel. With only 8 feet of water under the keel we were sweating keeping the boat right in the middle. Of course about a half-mile in we saw a tug ahead pulling a load of logs; we were able to sneak by on his port side and continue on to La Conner without incident.

We tied up to the guest dock at this adorable waterfront town and were greeted right away by our new friends Steven K. Roberts and Kirsten Hansen (www.microship.com). We’d met Steve last year at the Swantown boatyard when he had his beautiful Amazon 44, Nomadness, hauled out and kept in touch via Facebook. It was so wonderful to get to know this fascinating couple in person again. Steve is the first true technomad: he biked across the U.S. back in the late 80s on a fully computerized, HAM equipped recumbent bicycle he built and has launched countless technomadic engineering projects since. We spent a special evening getting to know these two new friends, sharing our similar philosophies and learning about all the entrepreneurial ventures they have underway. Very inspiring!

“You can have freedom, or you can have security but you can’t have both.” -Steven K. Roberts

A week underway

First anchorage, Hope Island

If our logbook is correct, we are on day 7 of Living the Dream. It really does feel like a dream: we have truly begun a new life and it’s still a little shocking and hazy. These first few weeks are going to be bumpy, we remember this from our past trips but especially our two weeks up in the San Juans last summer. It takes a while to get the rhythm going. This past week has been filled with many goodbyes as we make our way north. That part is hard. It’s easy to forget that we won’t be passing the same place twice very often from now on. That gives us butterflies too, since each day is wholly unique and it’s oh so very exciting to think about all that is ahead of us.

Already we have to look at the calendar to know what day of the week it is; even just a week in, our days no longer have names but are known by events, places, memories. After arriving at Hope Island a week ago we relaxed, hiked, slept and stowed as planned. Two nights later we motored in flat calm to Point Defiance (Tacoma) where we visited our favorite little zoo one last time. We slept that night anchored at Quartermaster Harbor (Vashon Island), continuing north to Seattle the next day with plans to borrow a friend’s slip at Shilshole for a couple of nights. We were enjoying a lovely sail with SW breeze, the skyline of Seattle to starboard and Blakely Rock to port in the distance. Leah notices what’s on the port side and exclaims “I can’t wait until we go back to Blakely Rock!”

“Why not?” Michael and I shrug and we turn the wheel to port, now sailing towards one of our favorite Seattle anchorages. That’s what this life is about right? Traveling on the wind and a whim.

Saying hello to our elephant friends at the Point Defiance Zoo

We hadn't planned on taking a carseat with us, but it's quickly become a must-have item for our 2-1/2 year old cruiser

The Puget Sound really is lovely in July

Leah summits Blakely Rock

 

Our Favorite Island

Holly has declared that Hope Island is her favorite island. Of course, just this morning she grabbed the stool the girls use to reach the head sink and declared “this is my favorite stool” so I think that she may be using the term generously. Nevertheless Hope Island really is our favorite south Puget Sound island destination. The entire island, over 100 acres, is a State Park accessible only by boat. There are mooring buoys on the west and south sides but the anchorage is so easy that we prefer to drop our hook. If you anchor on the NE side, between Hope and Squaxin Island, both shores surrounding you are devoid of any buildings or evidence of human existence; it feels like a glorious British Columbia anchorage much farther north. (Watch out though for the current here; it runs swiftly. Set your hook well.)

Breakfast on Saturday was a dutch baby smothered in maple syrup, which warmed our bellies and the aft cabin from baking in the toasty oven. We piled in our dinghy for a trip ashore. We’d barely set foot on the sand and the girls were already captivated by the tide line ripe with sea stars, hermit crabs, sea urchins and all sorts of interesting rocks and shells. Our pockets quickly filled and we coaxed the girls into the trees for a hike around the island. An easy 2-mile long trail circles Hope Island and we set off into the brilliantly spring green woods. As usual, we saw no other humans on our trek; even in the height of summer the island is never crowded and we were all alone exploring our very own island wonderland on this visit. We eat our snack by the caretaker’s cabin which is set upon the island’s original homestead, near the perpetually empty campground. Continuing on the loop path, Leah says hello to our old friends Face Tree and Onion Tree. Our trail meanders through towering douglas fir and cedars; it looks like it was mowed by fairies through bright green moss. We arrive back to the beach where our dinghy awaits and another Hope Island circumnavigation via foot is complete. We return to Wondertime for a late lunch and spend the rest of the day lounging around our true island home.

After a long night’s sleep on moonlit millpond waters, Sunday morning arrives. We are always a little sad on our last day of a weekend getaway but we are determined to enjoy the day before thinking too much about the return sail back to our marina and another work week. The sun is actually shining in a brilliant blue sky. It is glorious. Another hearty breakfast and we are off to the beach again. Michael and I watch as the girls run around the beach gleefully, throwing rocks in the water, climbing on logs, finding raccoon prints, turning over rocks to watch crabs scamper around. We draw out the easy morning as long as we can.

We eat our picnic lunch on the beach, then return back to the boat to put Holly in her bunk for her afternoon nap. Exhausted from her beach adventures she falls fast asleep.  We tidy up below then Michael begins cranking in our anchor chain. With a light north wind blowing it’s the perfect chance to unfurl the genoa and start sailing home. So I do and Wondertime is on her way. The wind is perfect all the way back to Olympia, we zoom down Budd Inlet with 15 knots pushing us the whole way. It’s bittersweet though, the returning to port, when it doesn’t really feel like home anymore. Home is where the heart is and our hearts are definitely “out there” already.

(Hover over photos for a description, click for full-size.)

Anchor Down, Hope Island

When we woke up this morning, I knew at once we were swinging on our anchor. I knew this because the sun was shining and a square of it swung across the cabin top above our bunk in a graceful arc. At anchor feels nothing like being tied to a static dock. Here, the boat dances always, even if just tiny little steps at a time. Her bow bobs gently up and down in the wind waves, she swings slowly one way, then the other, gliding with the currents. Out here, there is always, always motion.

We spent the better part of the past week putting Wondertime back together: re-stitched headsails on, rigging tightened and tuned, cotter pins in, toys put away below. We cleared the cockpit of the piles of clutter that had gathered the past seven months we’ve been tied to the steadily unmoving dock. The forecast this weekend is for temperatures in the low 50s, light winds, partially sunny and only a few rain showers. It’s the best weather we’ve had since October: time to sail.

Yesterday, Friday, we loaded groceries onboard, took down our Shade(rain) Tree cockpit cover, tied the dinghy to the stern, piled sail covers in the shower, started the diesel and — the most difficult part of any trip — tossed the docklines aboard. We reversed out of our slip and found ourselves doing what had seemed impossible with the boat is such disarray just last week: floating free. Out in the inlet, once clear of the shoals, we hoisted our new Lee main and mizzen sails for the first time. We only had about 5 knots of wind ruffling down from the north but with only the mainsail up, Wondertime heeled a bit and was already sailing.

Engine off, we glide along under low clouds and fog. We are sailing at 2.5 knots through heavy mist; soon the water builds up on the sails and booms and it is not long before it feels like a full-on rain to us. It does not matter though: it feels so good to be moving towards our destination with free wind. We huddle under our dodger, coming out only to tack a few times. Holly naps cozily below and Leah and Xena are snug in their cockpit nest of pillows and blankets. I escape below to boil water for hot cocoa.

Three hours later we are just south of Boston Harbor, 4 miles as the crow flies from Olympia. We are soaked and cold and hungry but are giddy with having made our way under sail. The sails are rolled in and flaked and we make our last mile under power to Hope Island. As we come upon our favorite beach, Michael readies the shiny new Rocna anchor at the bow. I slow the boat, neutral, then reverse and he drops our virgin anchor into the murky green sea. We slowly drift backward and the Rocna grabs immediately (and immediately we are in love; we are used to dragging backward for meters before our CQRs finally set).

We tidy up on deck, put out our cockpit anchor light, then go below for our regularly scheduled Friday pizza and movie. Afterwards, we tuck the girls into their beds and talk about our plans to hike and explore our favorite island the next day; despite their reverberating excitement they fall asleep the second we turn out the light. At home, at Hope Island.