Good friends we'll miss.
|
|
|
Good friends we'll miss. |
Of course, no voyage can be commenced without a good casting off party. With promises of good beer and chips, our best friends and (ex) co-workers came down to Shilshole on the Friday evening before our departure and gave us a casting off party to remember.
Saturday, June 1st we topped off our diesel and water tanks and jugs and cast off from the marina one last time. We had an excellent sail across the sound in the early summer sunshine. We spent that evening at anchor in Manzanita Bay on the West side of Bainbridge Island. Prepared to spent a quiet evening to ourselves testing our new anchor setup, we were surprised to see some several boatfuls of friends from Bremerton sail into the bay and invite us over for dinner.
The next few days were spent with more old friends over in Brownsville, and as it just seems to happen while cruising, new friends were made. Brad and Beth on Diva, a gorgeous 48' steel Amazon were anchored near us, and it would turn out to be not the only anchorage we shared.
Early in the week, we cast off again and had a swift sail up north, where we would anchor off Camano Island and visit with Sara's parents for a day or two. We had just reached Whidbey Island when our nice southerly died and we sat baking in the sun nearly becalmed. What a perfect time to practice setting the spinnaker!
 |
|
At anchor at last! |
I (Sara) opened up the starboard cockpit locker where the spinnaker lives, took a few things out to free it, then pulled it out of the locker. Halfway out, it became stuck on something so I gave it a few more tugs. All of a sudden I heard a POP as a weird smokey yellow powder started billowing out of the locker. I started yelling for Michael to help me figure out what was going on when my stomach sank as I realized it was the fire extinguisher. Before we knew it, it had exhausted all of it's corrosive yellow power and I was able to pull the spinnaker bag out into the cockpit.
We both nearly began to cry as it hit us what a mess I had made. Nearly our entire lazerette, including our new Adler-Barbour fridge compressor were covered in powder. Nervously, Michael pulled the steps that cover the engine off and screamed in horror as he saw the entire engine compartment and our new Universal coated in the same evil powder. We took a few deep breaths and gathered ourselves back up and set to work cleaning up the outrageous mess with towels and water. In fact, the next two days were spent cleaning off all our electrical connections from the corrosive powder (it was an ABC extinguisher, not recommended for nav stations of course).
After visiting with family for the last time for a few months and getting the boat and ourselves back together we set sail for Hope Island, just east of Deception Pass. Sailing up Saratoga Passage, we had the main double reefed as the wind howled down the pass, but we had a great time tacking back and forth. Suddenly the smell of diesel began wafting up from down below. Investigating, we found a small trickle of diesel on the floor coming from our small fuel tank. Turns out when we're heeling over to starboard, the fill pipe leaks when the tank is very full. So our "boat bug" list has begun....
 |
|
The Captain and his cat |
We had a rough night anchored off Hope Island as the westerly winds continued to blow into our unprotected spot. 30 knot winds were forecast in Juan de Fuca Strait but we decided to brave it in order to get into a nice calm spot in the San Juans. At 0800 the next morning, we motored toward Deception Pass as slack time approached. Still groggy we heard the following words over the VHF: "US Coast Guard radio calling fishing vessel; can you describe for us the approximate location of the body?" Our ears perked up real quick. Our hearts jumped as we heard the reply: "Yes, it's on the south end of Deception bridge, east side about 10' up on the rocks."
Ewe. Of course, one of us jumped below for the binoculars.
Sure enough five minutes later we motored into the wind in the pass and saw the poor soul that had jumped or been pushed from the bridge onto the jagged rocks below. Could our trip possibly get any more exciting?
We really asked that question and really should not have. Now entering Juan de Fuca strait, we grimaced as the full force of the predicted westerly gales hit us head on. There were some 4-5' waves but nothing that was too bad yet. Once in a while Pelican's bow would dive into one of them and send spray showering all the way to the cockpit where we would duck behind the dodger. Or a wave would come at us from the side and break alongside the boat sending us lurching to one side. We decided to just power through the slop as we were in no mood to tack back and forth through it.
 |
|
Hiking across Stuart Island |
The hours went by and the winds did not let up. As we came to the shallow area at the south end of San Juan Island the waves grew to about 6-8 feet and were nearly vertical. Pelican's bow went down into every wave and we would rock from side to side as other huge chop hit us. Her bow would slam down into the wave ahead of us, sending an impressive amount of spray into the air. Clinging onto our bucking boat, both of us were soaked now, despite our foulies and we were making barely 3.5 knots. The main had to go up, at least to steady us so we could reach Haro Strait without throwing up, at the very least. I donned the harness and clipped myself next to the mast and held on so I could get the main raised to the second reef. It probably took 20 minutes for me to get the halyard untangled and the main halyard clipped to the head of the sail. If I let go with even one hand, I would nearly get bucked off the deck into the water. What a ride! Over and over the boat bucked up and down, side to side with only a split second in between to free my hand and get the shackle clipped. Finally, muscles aching from clinging to the mast and boom, I sat down and cranked up the main to handkerchief size, hooked the clew and cleated the sheet. Exhausted, I crawled back to the cockpit where I sat really dripping wet now. We had visions of calm anchorages, walks on hard dirt, and warm meals and pressed on.
Several hours later we made it out of Juan de Fuca and up Haro Strait where the wind calmed and the water was nice and flat. We dropped our hook into the green water of Reid Harbor on Stuart Island, then draped our bodies in the sunny cockpit to dry out. The next day was spent on shore where we walked out to Turn Point Light, a hike we had made two and a half years ago on our first trip with Jenny P. Little had changed in that time on Stuart Island, right down to the Treasure Chest outside of the island's schoolhouse where we took two souvenir t-shirts that we were told to mail our payments in for later.
The next day we traveled only an hour, but that was all it took for us to jump across the Canadian-U.S. border into Canada and check in at the Bedwell Harbour Customs dock. We only had to turn in our two remaining apple cores, and were free to roam the islands and channels of Southwest Canada.