Notes while under sail

I’m writing at an angle, so if my stories seem a bit off, that’s why. We’re heeling over a bit, sailing along from Santa Rosa Island to Santa Cruz Island in light seas and moderate winds and (most importantly) warm weather! But I’m getting ahead of myself.
After our busy days in San Francisco we were happy to sail across the bay for a few quieter days. We sailed away from our anchor and out the tiny entrance of Aquatic Bay and headed across toward Alcatraz and Angel Island beyond. But after a few minutes, the winds eased and the ebb tide current picked up, kicking us west of our goal. We didn’t feel like heading back out to sea and didn’t feel like fighting the current with our engine, so we adjusted our plans and headed into Richardson Bay for the night. We found a spot to anchor in the busy mooring field and settled in for a peaceful evening.
The next morning, Bryan and I rowed to shore, found a spot for the dinghy, and headed off to run a couple of errands. He walked to the local West Marine store, I took a class at the local yoga studio, and we met up at a coffee shop afterward to relax.
Unfortunately, by the time we were back to the boat and ready to leave, the ebb current was running again, so we motored the few miles to a secluded anchorage on Angel Island and took the dinghy to shore for an evening stroll.

Climbing the wall from the beach to the trails

We walked up through an old Military fort to the Angel Island Immigration Station.

Hannah can walk through walls!

There's always a song or a game on our hikes

We miss having a local field guide, but guessing is fun too

Many immigrants were processed through this site, known as the “Ellis Island of the West,” but many hopeful Chinese were kept for weeks, months, or even years before being turned away due to some racist immigration laws in the 1800’s. The site was empty, except for some grazing deer, and we joined the silence, trying in our small way to honor the pain, perseverance, and dreams—fulfilled or not—of those who had come before us.

Our anchorage was open to the busy SF Bay traffic and, though the night was calm, the morning brought wake after rolly wake.

I rowed Bryan to shore for a solitary hike up the hill and spent most of the morning catching and stowing our household goods as they flew across the boat.
By the time Bryan was back from his hike, we were more than ready to be off. We caught the end of the ebb current and motored back out under the bridge and down the coast to Half-Moon Bay, just a few miles south. We came in just at sunset and it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the view and help navigate into the protected anchorage. I kept looking up from the charts to take “just one more photo” as the sky deepened from pink to orange to red and faded into night.

The next day, we hung out aboard, grateful for a down day to put our little home to rights after the busy days in the Bay. We had arranged to meet a new friend for groceries and laundry, and on Tuesday, he called to say he was waiting at the local yacht club. We rowed across and tied the dinghy up to their floating dock and our friend, Al, floated us over to shore on the yacht club’s little ferry.

Our independent spirits resist depending on others for our basic needs, but even this early in the trip we have been so blessed by the gifts of friends and relative strangers. As a fellow sailor, Al knew just how to help. Right away, we had laundry running in his washer, audio books downloading on his wireless, and hot water heater churning to keep up with our showers. He let us use his fax machine to take care of business and helped me load up the piles of groceries I bought in anticipation of some time away from civilization. And he shared stories, pictures, guidebooks, and enthusiastic suggestions for our time in Mexico. It’s often more difficult for us to be on the receiving end of this kind of generosity, but he made it clear he was happy to help. Still, we couldn’t thank him enough.

Happy sailors with a post-grocery-run meal

We spent another day getting everything put away and waiting out some miserable weather. The high swells were predicted to die down around midnight and, as we didn’t have enough daylight to make the trip to Monterey all in one day, we decided to leave just after midnight so we could arrive before dark the next day. Bryan and I went to bed just after dinner and dozed to the companionable sounds of the girls doing the dishes. Around midnight, Bryan got up and got us going. Meira helped him navigate out the entrance and past a couple of shallow reefs before heading off to bed. I got a few more hours of sleep and came on for a pre-dawn watch. It was a slow day motoring to Monterey, with some mild headwinds at times, but we made it in before dark, as planned, and snagged a great slip on the wharf.
Our parents had shipped some things ahead of us to a friend in the Monterey area. Stephanie was more than happy to deliver our packages and had generously offered to take us sightseeing as well. So the next morning, we rushed through showers and breakfast and tidied the boat a bit from our day at sea. (No matter how well prepared we are when we head out, there’s always a mess when we come in. Foulweather gear, wet socks and shoes, half-eaten watch snacks, tea bags and other flotsam litter the cockpit and cabin floor.)
Stephanie and her son, Addison, drove us to Carmel via the winding 17-mile drive, past Pebble Beach Golf Course and along the shore we would be sailing next.

We ate a delicious Mediterranean lunch at a little café in downtown Carmel and poked through several shops before driving over to the Carmel Mission.

There was a wedding in the main chapel at the mission, so we wandered around quietly for a few minutes until the wedding party emerged to the clang of the bells ringing out from the towers above.

We stepped through the small museums, but the captions were hard to read and the history a bit confusing—such a mishmash of stories about the founder, the restoration, and the artwork. Finally we ran into a fabulous docent who told story after story and made the mission history come alive.

The founder had arrived by sea, just like we had, and it was easy to picture how much more difficult his journey had been than ours, with none of the modern technology or conveniences we appreciate.

We spent time walking through the courtyard, the prayer garden, and the chapel and then drove back to the boat (in rush hour traffic—we’d almost forgotten it existed!)

Meira's making a cracker box collage kindle cover

We woke the next morning to the sound of a marching band playing Yankee Doodle. Soon, a pianist on the wharf began playing old Italian standards. When we started hearing cannon fire too, we were completely bewildered. We spent most of the day doing boat chores while the music and chaos continued. Bryan took advantage of our time at the dock to do some maintenance on the dinghy. (When we’re at anchor, we need the dinghy to get to shore, so we can’t have it out of commission.) We picked up a few things at the nearby Trader Joe’s and walked down Fisherman’s Wharf only to discover that all the restaurants were hosting a clam chowder-tasting in honor of the Italian Festival (that’s one mystery solved.) We weren’t the only ones walking the wharf; several groups of Civil War reinactors joined the fun (that explained the marching band and the cannons.)
The next morning, the competing festivities wound up again (Yankee Doodle went to town, O Solo Mio, BoomBoomBoom), this time with the addition of a group of Zumba dancers whooping over their amplified music at an outdoor animal rescue benefit. The sea lions on the breakwater added to the din and we just shook our heads and got back to work.

Montery Harbor from 40 feet up

I spotted Bryan while he climbed the mast to work on our anchor light. Then, while we had easy access to water, we washed the salt spray off the dodger windows and filled the water tanks. I walked to Walgreens (the only one we’ve ever seen that wasn’t on a corner) and replaced our electric heater. We can only use it when we have shore power, but then—ahhh, what a treat! We picked up a bit more fresh produce from a nearby market, took advantage of the free showers, and stopped to laugh at the otters drifting by our slip.

We knew we had a long couple of days ahead, so when we finished, we all took a few minutes to relax before heading out to sea. The girls hung out soaking up every bit of available screen time and Bryan and I went out for a quick Starbucks date. It was nice to sit in such a familiar setting after all the novelty we’d been experiencing.
We fueled up at the nearby fuel dock and motored slowly past the breakwater covered with silly sea lions out into a setting sun and dying wind.
About 2 the next day, we pulled into Morro Bay for more fuel. The entrance was impressive, with a huge seastack and breaking waves on the jetties.

There was a disabled motor boat just outside the channel and we drove closer and called them on the radio to offer help. They’d already contacted the harbor patrol, however, and a few minutes later, we saw a little runabout splashing out to tow them in. We motored up and back the narrow channel looking for a fuel dock. All we could see was a tall commercial fuel pier, so we found a public dock marked for a 3-hour tie up and…tied up. We walked our fuel cans down to the pier where the attendant was busy fixing the plumbing for the live crab tank at the neighboring fish market. We waited around for a few minutes, but the smells from the market overcame the hungry sailors and we ordered some fish and chips, guarding them closely from the attack seagulls in the area.
We finally got some gas and carried the jugs back to the boat. I was impressed with the way the girls pitched in and traded off carrying one of the heavy tanks without any complaint. We must have been quite the sight, Bryan carrying 2 tanks (“for balance” he always says), the girls trading off with one, and me, rolling the last one bungeed to the frame of our rolling shopping bag. Just after we got back to the dock, the harbor patrol boat stopped by. I expected him to remind us about the 3-hour limit or some other sort of bureaucracy, but he asked if we needed anything and offered to get us a ride to a place to get propane. A few minutes later, a harbor patrol truck pulled up in the parking lot and Bryan and I hopped in with our tank. He gladly drove us to the U-Haul and back saying in response to our profuse thanks, “No problem. It’s what we do.”
The afternoon winds had picked up just as we entered the harbor and, sure enough, by the time we were leaving, they had begun to fade into the evening calm. But we wanted to take advantage of the calm weather to round the infamous Point Conception, so we motored through the night, and by dawn, were south of the point, only a few hours away from our destination and reveling in the sudden summery warmth.

2 Days in the Bay

I don’t know how we could have packed more sightseeing fun into our 2 days in SF! We hadn’t made firm plans for our time there, in case we couldn’t make it in. But we found all sorts of fun. Wednesday morning, Bryan was up early, pestering the girls out of bed and we were off to shore by 9 or so—a record for this family of night owls!

We’d been traveling along California’s “Lost Coast” for several days, with no internet access or phone service and had missed the government shutdown countdown. But we’d heard we needed a permit to anchor in Aquatic Park, our intended destination, and when we called the anchorage on our way in, we got a wry recording, offering us the option to leave a message but implying that it might be a while before we heard back.

Aquatic Park is a unique anchorage, only open to sailboats, human-powered vessels, and swimmers. Yes, swimmers. We enjoyed chatting with the few brave souls splashing by our boat through the cold water each morning.
We spotted a uniformed Park Ranger on our way in and, wondering if the shutdown was over already, asked what we needed to do to be legal. He couldn’t officially say, as he wasn’t officially supposed to be working, but the anchorage was almost empty and no one was around to enforce whatever rules we might be breaking, so we decided it was probably OK to stay a few days. We spotted the ranger several more times that day, picking up garbage and making himself useful. All political opinions aside, we respected his generous and honorable actions.
We’d heard that we should lock up our dinghy in this public area, so the first stop was at a nearby chandlery for a length of stainless cable. They had just what we needed, let us all traipse back to the back to see the cool stuff, and even offered to crimp a couple of eyelets into the ends for us.
Next we were off to find bathrooms and a bakery. Many of the public bathrooms in the area were associated with a national park or monument and were closed due to the shutdown. Our whole time in SF, we stayed attentive for non-national-park, non-private bathrooms. They’re rarer than one might think!
Beth’s bakery radar led us to one bakery, but it was new and wouldn’t be open until Friday, and some helpful locals sent us to another, so full and loud we walked in and walked right back out again. The power of google won the day with directions to a tiny European bakery with delicious pastries and enormous sandwiches.

Properly fueled, we walked the 3+ miles up to the Golden Gate Bridge. We continued out on the bridge to the first arch (making the now-obligatory “I can see my house from here!” jokes along the way) and, after checking the bus schedules for the return trip, decided to walk the rest of the way across. It was strange to take in the bridge from this perspective and we spotted sailboats and a sea lion frolicking along where we’d sailed in the day before.

 We finally made it across to the Vista House on the north side of the bridge and then zoomed back to SF by bus. Now we’d crossed the bridge by boat, by foot, and by bus! The driver asked us—twice—if we knew where we were going (we must have looked really lost!) and we decided to make a quick detour the four blocks to see the curvy part of Lombard Street before heading back down to the wharf for dinner. We almost changed our minds when we saw how steep those 4 blocks were, but we persevered.

The fabulous fish and chips and the Ghirardelli Hot Fudge Sundaes made it all worth it.
After we got back to the boat, we measured our day’s walking route—9.5 miles!

We expected to wake up sore and moving slowly, but we still felt up to another adventure. We’d decided to splurge on a traditional cable-car ride and just as we joined the line, a passerby handed us 2 extra tickets they’d accidentally purchased.

We scored primo standing spots and rode up (and down and back up again) to the cable car museum. The museum itself was interesting enough, but soon we noticed that one of the cables was stopped. There must have been an emergency issue with the cable because a team of skilled cable-workers were working as fast as they could to splice a new cable (while a khakis-clad boss looked on intently). We have done some splicing on the boat and recognized the moves, but it was amazing to see it done on such a large scale. It takes a team several hours to finish the 90-foot splice, so we didn’t stay to see it completed.

Hannah was the first to spot the Love Bug in its natural habitat

We walked on up the street to Chinatown. Before we could see it, we could smell it—all the fabulous tea shops and eateries enticing us to come in. We found our way to a dim sum restaurant and sat out on their balcony taking in the novelty with all our senses.

After our late lunch/early dinner, I dragged the family up Nob Hill to Grace Cathedral. They were doing construction on the magnificent front steps, so we headed in a back door and found our way up a back staircase to the sanctuary.

As we started up the stairs, we heard voices singing. Initially, I thought they must be piping in recorded music, but as we came out into the nave, we realized we’d walked in on Evensong. We discovered later that, though the cathedral holds an evening prayer service every day, we’d happened along on the one day of the week they include their organ and the boys’ and mens’ choir. We quietly slipped past the labyrinth, under the soaring arches, into a pew and into the presence of the holy.

We didn’t take very many pictures in this sacred space, but please look here for some views of the cathedral with the art installation by artist-in-residence, Anne Patterson. It was just as stunningly breathtaking as it looks.
After the service was over, we walked down Nob Hill and up Telegraph Hill, past all sorts of interesting homes and unimaginable parking spaces, to Coit Tower (by this point, Hannah was calling it “Quit Tower.”)

 We got there just in time to enjoy the sunset view over the Bay Bridge and out past Golden Gate.

We searched all over for a bathroom and finally found an automated, self-cleaning restroom—like something right out of the future. It was cool and a little bit strange and collected quite a crowd of tourists all awkwardly waiting for a chance to use the toilet.

We walked back down Lombard Street toward the wharf, this time under a row of trees we’d seen the day before from the curvy hill.

Yesterday's view of Coit tower from Lombard Street

We’ve been experiencing so many views from multiple perspectives on this trip, it’s not hard to imagine the same perspective shift is happening in our minds as well. I’m curious to see how those changes will emerge.

Bryan went to San Francisco for business a few years back and he was pleased to be able to take us some of the places he’d been on his own. (He was even more pleased by the sparkling-clear weather, as opposed to the grim, foggy days he’d spent here.) So we summoned all our remaining energy and walked down to Pier 39, saw the lights, rode the carousel, drooled over the food shops, and walked back to the boat, quite satisfied with our 2 full days in San Francisco.

A day (and a half) in the life…

We left at sunrise (the most sailor-y time to leave) and headed out across the Humboldt Bay Bar. The swell had died down considerably from the few days before, but it was still rough going for the first couple of hours. If you were taking bets on who was going to lose her cookies first, I hope you were betting on me. Serves me right for not eating breakfast before we left. The silverware drawer must have felt similar; it took a dive and spilled all over the floor.
Before we even rounded notorious Cape Mendocino, the seas had moderated and we were enjoying another sunny day in the ocean.

We motored through high seas and low winds, but toward afternoon the wind started to pick up and we put up first the headsail and then our reefed main. We were hoping to make it to Bodega Bay for fuel, but it was just a little farther away than we could motor. So we wanted to sail as much as possible to avoid having to stop in Fort Bragg, with its tiny, shallow entrance. Not too long later, the wind increased and we took the headsail back down and sailed under just our double-reefed main. By evening, even the double-reefed main was overpowered, but the wind, for once, was headed directly where we wanted to go. So we took down the rest of our sail and ran under bare poles for several hours. I bundled up well against the wind chill and sat in the cockpit, steering by the feel of my hair on my cheek. As long as my flyaways were blowing forward into my face, I knew I was steering in the right direction.
We made the mistake of filling our fuel tanks in the dark and spilled a little in the cockpit. We carry fuel-absorbing rags for this purpose though and I’m pretty sure the smell of gasoline on my shoes was an improvement over their previous odors.
The wind died after midnight, so we motored the rest of the night and all the next day toward Bodega Bay. But the little sailing we’d gotten in had done the trick; we had more than enough fuel to make it in!

The changing of the watch...

We saw a breaching whale jump and crash back into the ocean, a first for this crew, and several times found ourselves surrounded by porpoises. They love to play in the wake the boat cuts through the water and we love to watch their joyful energy.

Finally (and momentarily) shorts weather!

We had hoped to make it into Bodega Bay before dark, but didn't get there until 9:00pm. The charts showed a well-marked and well-lit entrance, so we decided to head in anyway. The moon had not yet risen, but the night was clear and bright with stars and light pollution. Meira and I watched our progress on 2 different charts while Bryan picked out navigation markers from among the myriad lights on shore and we made it in just fine.
When we'd called ahead for a slip assignment, we hadn’t been able to reach anyone in the marina. So we eased our way into the inner harbor, tied up to the fuel dock, and walked over to the marina docks for clarity. It was only 10:30 or so, but the docks were quiet. We finally found a fisherman who encouraged us to pull into the slip next to him. It was obviously a private slip, with permanent fenders tied to the dock, but we figured it was unlikely anyone would kick us off in the next few hours, so we pulled in and went to bed.
In the morning, the fisherman left for the ocean. We planned to follow him soon, but before we could get over to the fuel dock, he was back. He got partway out and his engine broke down. A friend gave him a tow back, and Bryan offered him a spare part that might help. He and his friend, now stuck in port until they could make repairs, generously passed over sodas, apples, and buckets of ice they no longer needed. We said our thank-yous, filled our icebox, and headed over to the fuel dock. The attendant claimed to be a regular on “Real Housewives of Orange County” and if true, I can see why. He was quite a character!

The harbor entrance was much easier to run in the daylight, though the seals sunning themselves in just inches of water on the sandbar outside the channel made apparent how vital it had been to stay mid-channel!

A few hours later, we pulled into Drakes Bay (yes, named for Sir Francis Drake, who may have anchored there in 1579). We found a nice spot with shelter from the south winds, not too far from another sailboat, not too far from shore. When we woke up in the morning, we could see neither sailboat or shore. The fog was so thick, we didn’t risk a row in. We wouldn’t have been able to find our way up the trail if we had!
About noon, the fog lifted enough we could see the other sailor row in. He stopped by to say “Hi” and we invited him over for dinner. He brought good wine, wasabi peas, goldfish crackers, and local knowledge about navigating the area—winning over every member of our family in one short visit. We made plans to meet up again at his place in Half-Moon Bay.
Before he left, the wind picked up out of the north, so we both re-anchored a little bit north, in the lee of some cliffs. It was still a bouncy night and by mid-morning Tuesday, we had given up on going to shore and decided to take off for San Francisco Bay instead. There were small craft advisories for high seas and rough bar, but we figured we could always come back to Drakes Bay if needed. The wind and seas would be at our back and the bar conditions seemed manageable, so we headed on down. We ended up with a fabulous few hours of sailing, some of the best of the trip.

You can see the our reefed mainsail rolled around the boom

Peeking around the corner at the bridge

The visibility—always a concern heading into foggy San Francisco—was amazing, and we spotted the Golden Gate Bridge from miles away. We both agreed that if the fog rolled in or conditions weren’t right, we’d just skip the bay and find our way to the sights of San Francisco by bus. We didn’t have to sail under the bridge to have a great trip. But as we neared the historic landmark, such a big part of so many sea-farers’ journeys, we couldn’t help but get excited.

Before we turned into the Bay entrance, the girls came out into the cockpit. We wanted to experience this momentous event together.

The wind calmed down a bit so we shook out a reef in the main and then took our time, everyone taking a turn at the helm, sailing in under the beautiful bridge to a surprisingly quiet downtown anchorage, just at the base of Ghirardelli Square.

Meira captured this shot of one of the many kite-boarders

We have a long way to go yet, but there’s something about arriving in San Francisco that feels like a big accomplishment. A quick sunset row to shore, a wide-eyed walk through the bright city streets, a celebration pasta dinner—our rewards for the end of the first long leg of our journey.