Well...It's a Start!

"She's yours!” I yelled as I pushed the bow of La Mouette from F float of the Everett Marina for the last time, and leaped to catch her before being left ashore.

Kyle nudged the throttle into forward, and La Mouette's sweet and ever-reliable Volvo Penta diesel engine sputtered to a stop. This was strange because: a) she was sweet and ever-reliable, and b) the engine had been running without problem for nearly an hour. Apparently we should have given it two.

Kyle ducked below to magic her back to life as I grabbed a large fender preparing to fend off against any of the multiple boats on F float that a stiff westerly wind was blowing us towards.
I heard the Penta rumble to wakefulness and Kyle reappeared to take the helm. La Mouette responded somewhat mutedly, but at least respond she did. Kyle steered her away from slip F 48, her home for many years, and I stood before the mast, on the lookout for traffic, debris, and seals. I saw none of the former two, and one of the latter. Look out little guy!

First stop: Fuel Dock. La Mouette needs a top-off. 4.9 gallons of diesel later, we're back into the stiff wind with a limp engine. She could clear the gate, though, and from there we would have a perfect wind to blow past Jetty Island, round-up to pass Hat Island, and blow on up the east side of Widby, bound for Deception Pass.

I doubted the Penta (engine) for a few minutes, but Kyle kept faith, and sure enough, it began to run smoothly, shaking off a recent disuse to resemble her old self. Despite having sails up and a favorable wind, we pushed along with the engine (I mostly slept, really) for a good while to get her warm for the trip. Nothing worse than not having her when you're expecting her services. Next time it will be two hours running after a layoff.

Shortly after nightfall, Kyle lowered the anchor in Holmes Harbor, off Widby Island, and we set in for the night.

...which actually turned into three nights. Playing with the new Kayak, fishing, and relaxing in a sun-draped harbor are, after all, exactly what this trip is all about.

On Friday, Sept. 4th(after having left Everett on the 1st), I pulled up the anchor (a process which will eventually kill me or turn me into a brute) at Holmes and we sailed north, settling down near dark in Penn Cove, a protected little spot not so far from Oak Harbor.

It may have been too protected. (dunDundooon!)

The following morning, the weather report told of a small craft advisory (very strong wind with large waves – for the record, La Mouette, all 27 beautiful French feet of her, falls into the “small craft” category, so when this kind of advisory is issued, they're talking to us), but we saw sun and had light wind in Penn Cove.

Should we put a reef in the sail (shorten the mainsail by tying a section off to reduce surface area)? If the winds are really as high as all that, we really should. But we didn't. Because they weren't as high as all that. In Penn Cove.

Out of Penn Cove... well a different wind was brewing. A high wind. A wet and wild, blow-you-ten-miles-faster-n-you-can-spit-out-the-seawater-from-the-first-wave-that-hit-you-ten-miles-back kind of wind.

So Kyle heaved up the anchor (I really cannot stress enough how arduous of a process that is) and I raised the full mainsail to blow us on out of Penn Cove, headed east and then north, around the top of Widby to Deception Pass.

The wind seemed light and swirling, meaning a long, slow trip ahead of us. As Kyle got the anchor aboard, he noticed that the anchor trip line (a long piece of rope with a floating buoy on it attached to the anchor) had wrapped around our keel (the part of a sailboat that reaches down into the water and is quite heavy, giving balance while sailing). It would be unwise to start the engine for fear of wrapping that line around the propeller, disabling our propulsion system and really fouling things up. Our problem wasn't that bad yet, and the boat was in motion, needing to be sailed off the shore, so the line would have to wait. I certainly didn't relish the idea of swimming under the boat in 58 degree water, fumbling around with a tangled rope. Hopefully we wouldn't need that engine right off.

This is when that aforementioned wind o' the ages blew in on us, sweeping up between Widby and Camano islands with a fierce temper and sending Kyle and I on a drenching two-hour thrill ride across the the head of the Saratoga Passage into Skagit Bay (where the landmass of Camano would protect us from the blow a bit, lessening the intensity of the ride).

The day before I had noticed a small tear in our biggest jib (foresail), so Kyle had notched on the smaller, more manageable storm jib before weighing anchor. If we'd noticed that tear one day later, it would have been because a 25 knot wind had just blown through it, splitting the sail open like a wet napkin. So good luck there.

What wasn't good luck was having our full mainsail up in such high winds. The boat was seriously overpowered, crashing into giant swells and sweeping the deck with brisk 58 degree water. Kyle was awash in it as he got the storm jib up. (Good thing we had our foul weather gear on... oh wait. We didn't!) Once that was done, I moved to take down the main so we could get the reef in.

The sail slapped me in the face a bit, sending my sunglasses (luckily not my favorite pair) tumbling to the depths, but it came down with only that bit of fuss and a great deal of water flowing through my shoes.

I made it back to the helm and Kyle rushed to get the reefing system in so we could get the mainsail back up, quite a bit shorter. La Mouette responded well to the new sail arrangement, and we blazed across the water as fast as our hull would allow. I'm sure we've never gone ten miles faster.

The sun toyed with us a bit, keeping the wet from being miserable, and once we'd gone ten or fifteen miles, we came to Skagit bay, settling down into a more manageable blow. The wind was still high, but nothing like in that first expanse.

The wind in the northern inland waters funnels between the islands and whips around with unpredictable patterns and force, and we'd just come through a taste of it (with a lot more in store in the coming weeks). I also got a good taste of stomach acid, as I felt seasick for about 10 minutes before getting it out with a few good dry heaves. Yum. At least there were plenty of delicious salt water face washes over the next two hours to help me with the taste, and after seasickness passes, it generally stays gone (but results may vary).

Once we tucked into Skagit bay and the wind lessened, it was time to take care of that pesky line wrapped around the keel. Kyle kept La Mouette sailing on a slow reach as I donned my wet suit and hopped into the kayak to get a better look.

Luckily, I didn't have to go for a swim. I was able to untangle the line enough from down at water level for Kyle to pull it free and get it aboard. Now we could make use of the engine, which we did in short order to cut through a narrow channel to arrive at a nice little anchorage, protected from all the blow and bluster of the land. Where I now sit, safe and mostly dry. Tomorrow, September 6this slated for bad weather, so we'll just be chilling where we're at. The kayak needs attention, after all, and so do all of the little nooks of all the islands around.

So, as the Beatles sang... Raiiaaaaaiiiiaaaaiiiin. I don't mind. (Then they hit the bass riff. You'll just have to imagine that part on your own.) -OUT-

But it wasn't meant to be. As I'm sure everyone in the Seattle area noticed, Sunday was craptastic. I wasn't foolhardy enough to venture out in the kayak, so I just spent the day scribbling away in a notebook.

Monday, we were able to raise the hook and motor off to Deception Pass, which is much cooler from beneath the bridge than above it. If you hit the pass at the right time, the current goes out like a toilet flushing and you shoot through the rocky narrows on into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, a short skip from the San Juan Islands.

After another night on the hook, a bit south of Blakely Island in the San Juans, we figured to be about a ten to fifteen mile sail from Friday Harbor on Tuesday morning. It was such a beautiful day, with good sun and not too much wind, that I'd rather have stayed in our little anchorage to go kayaking... so a bit of a compromise. I jumped in the kayak for a little race.

Who could get to Friday Harbor first, Kyle in La Mouette or myself in the Kayak? (To make it a bit more of a challenge, I dropped two full water bottles on my left foot while gearing up, the combo of the two bottles smashing my little and big toes and adding a fun new aspect to the whole trip. I won't go on about it, so just imagine me wincing in pain while I type this, and cursing the decision to buy the sturdy red metal water bottle from Fun and Games.) After about 20 minutes, it was obvious that with the light wind blowing from the direction we were headed, the kayak would make the trip faster, so I puttered around within sight of the boat for six hours or so, before climbing back aboard once the sun fled behind some clouds.

Cruising through waters hundreds of feet deep, even within sight of the islands, in such a small vessel made me feel a bit giddy. I'll say it was the highlight of the young trip so far. The water was glass calm, and I paddled after a porpoise who didn't have much interest in playing with me. I buzzed near towering cliffs and drifted in the middle of a large expanse of water, feeling right.
We spent one more uneventful night on the hook, stopping short of Friday Harbor by a couple of miles, and then motor-sailed the rest of the way there Wednesday morning, jumping onto dry land for the first time in over a week.

The obligatory bacon cheeseburger was delicious, for those who might be curious after such things.

We walked around the town, gathering pieces for the boat and even took in the new Tarantino film (which I liked).

I've also, obviously, pilfered a bit of Wi-Fi. Are you still reading this?

Hope all is well with everyone, and you should know all is well with me. We'll be in Friday Harbor the next couple of days, awaiting the arrival of my father.

The San Juan Islands are nice, but I sure won't mind kayaking around a jungle lagoon in the near future. Still a month of sometimes-brutal sailing ahead of me before I can even get to the warm water (much less the jungle), but SoCal, here we come.

P.S. A hot shower after a week afloat = aaaaaaaahhhhhh. ;D

こんな生活で日本語をすぐに忘れちゃうかなぁ。