I Always Did Love a Good Party

"We're being boarded by the Coast Guard!" I yelled to all aboard La Mouette (Kyle and my father). It was a quarter to eight in the morning, and I was just about to get some sleep after pulling a 1:00 am to 7:30 am watch as we sailed west through the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

After moving backwards with the current on a cold, mostly windless night, a warm southern wind had blown a kiss on my face at about 5:00 am and sped us the remaining 12 nautical miles to Neah Bay, the last stop in the Strait before rounding Cape Flattery and hitting it south with everything we've got.

I roused Kyle a bit after 7:00, as we made our final approach to the protected little bay, and he took the helm from me so I could get some needed rest. I went below, flopping fully clothed onto the settee (imagine a couch) with the intention of resting a bit-just a bit-before taking my foul weather gear off and crawling into my blankets. In reality, I probably would have fallen asleep with that gear on had Kyle not called down for me to turn on the VHF radio.

Technically, regulations state that the radio should always be on, monitoring channel 16, but we often use it only when we see other boats about. The early morning traffic rush of super-freighters into the Puget Sound was just beginning, so perhaps Kyle just wanted the radio on in case he had to communicate with one of them...

...or perhaps the Coast Guard cutter that had just turned its .50-caliber-laden bow towards us had something to do with it.

I flicked on the radio, but we had apparently already missed a hailing call from them, because they decided to go straight for our ears with the cutter's megaphone system.

"If you can hear me, raise one arm." Kyle and I each raised an arm.

"If you have a radio, go channel 81." I flicked the radio over to 81 and identified our rig as the sailing vessel La Mouette, proceeding to have a little one-sided Q&A with their radio operator about our previous port of call (Friday Harbor), our intentions (sailing into Neah Bay), etc.

Then came the magic words. "When was the last time you were boarded by the Coast Guard? Over."

Uhhh... do you use the same tactics on the U.S.C.G. as you do on Gozer the Gozerian?

"We've never been boarded by the Coast Guard. Over."

Dramatic pause. Am I going to have to cross the streams?

"Proceed on your present course. We're sending over a boarding party. Have all of your documents ready. Over."

"Copy. Over." I guess bedtime just got pushed back a bit.

After yelling my warning of the impending party, I scrambled topside to help get the sails down and we began to motor into Neah Bay, a jet boat full of coasties charging towards us through the current. Keeping my priorities straight, I grabbed a mini chocolate bar to gobble, found my passport, and flopped back down on the settee to await their arrival.

The (admittedly awesome) orange and black jet boat Zodiac bumped against us and two armed representatives of homeland security hopped into La Mouette's Safari cockpit. They requested that all crew get topside, so I once again gave up my cushioned repose and went up to greet them.

I was immediately envious of their foul weather gear, even telling them so. My father suggested that all I had to do to receive a set was sign my name on a dotted line. I think I'll keep my own set, actually.

After securing La Mouette's armory (a Marlin 30-30), the two fellows were pretty good natured and they found no reason for concern as they ensured that La Mouette and her crew met U.S.C.G. regulations, checkbox by bureaucratic checkbox.

The morning warmth that had so kindly warmed me up a short time before turned out to be fleeting and a heavy rain began to beat down, forcing the paperwork-toting coasties below decks. You might think that the Coast Guard would have figured out some way of writing in the wetness, but I guess our tax dollars can't make every miracle happen.

I stayed at the helm as the rain beat down, and after one of the coasties had finished his bit of paperwork, he returned to the cockpit to chat with me a bit. He had just gotten off nightwatch and was asleep himself when the cutter spotted us, forcing him from bed and into a rubber Zodiac with a gun strapped on his belt. Heckuva morning!

We commiserated on lost sleep and chatted on a fatigue-inspired variety of topics, including but not limited to: drug smuggling, journalism, and cheese (he made the wild assertion that Tilamook cheese was superior to Wisconsin cheese, but the man was obviously mad with sleep deprivation, so I let him off with a slight chastising).

When the other one was finished giving La Mouette the checklist review, he transmitted the all clear (minus one violation-not fine worthy-for a missing 'A' on the bow registration stickers) and the jet boat zoomed back over to us. I bade my sleepy conversation partner farewell, and they jumped away.

By this time, I had motored us near the gate of Makah Marina in Neah Bay. Kyle got the dock lines ready and I piloted us into a slip a bit before 9 am. Lines secure. All hands accounted for. A good day.

Neah Bay is a beautiful little town surrounded by mountain and ocean. I can't get cell reception, but there is wi-fi to be pilfered.

The last day has been spent prepping the boat for the big run down the coast. My bacon cheeseburger was passable (nothing compared with Friday Harbor's fare), and we bought $25 worth of chocolate minis at the store. California, here we come.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Anyone who wishes to obsessively track our progress via GPS can do so via this redirect.

Photographic evidence of our passage can be found here.