Sitting in the commodore’s lounge on the Catalina Express (had to upgrade just to get a ticket). Just drank my complimentary mixed drink. Boat hasn’t left yet. People still piling on. Unbelievably obnoxious pirates in the commodore’s lounge, still drunk. But they are all laughing and laughing and laughing. I can’t help feeling a bit jealous. If only I could be like that.
Last night was a rough one. After our dive we entered the data and notes and the boys went back to the apartment, and I back to Siwash. She was bucking all over, as the waves from the gale got nastier and nastier. But the mooring is a good one. I didn’t sleep so well, but everything held. This morning, the wind hadn’t yet arrived so I took the whaler in to the lab and checked the weather. Down-graded from gale to small-craft warnings (20-30 kts, instead of 25-35). Still, it was starting to get nasty. I called John and Dan and we took the whaler out there. Started the engine, wind piping to 20 kts. Let go of the mooring, Siwash’s bow falling off the wind right toward the frothy shore. Big Fisherman’s cove has an ugly lee shore. It is well protected from all kinds of wind, but it is a perfect trap for a boat in a Northwesterly wind, the deep bay trapping any hapless sail boat trying to tack her way out. But we are under power. The propeller finally doing its work, Siwash moves forward and turns back upwind, and out. 10 minutes of slop and we come into the bay at Two Harbors. Get a nice mooring up against the west cliff.
John and Dan and I drive the whaler back to Fisherman’s and helped Gerry separate the two docks so they don’t bang themselves to death in the swell. Then we walk up the gangway. Gerry hauls the gangway off the inshore dock, leaving the dock safe, but unusable. We take a car to the ferry (without my dirty clothes).
The Catalina Express is finally pulling out. Wind howling offshore. Siwash is nicely tucked over in the west corner of the bay at Two Harbors. Siwash’s weepy side is exposed to the bay. Two rows back, by God is Jada. Jada was Grandad’s upgrade when he gave Siwash to Dad in 1960 or so. A beautiful, powerful, yawl. I think she is a charter boat in San Diego. But there she is, very close to Siwash at two harbors. That’s how it was for a couple of decades at Howland’s cove when I was growing up. Siwash one row closer to shore with my brothers and parents and me, and Jada next row out with Grandad and Gramma and guests. I used to love swimming out to Jada, begging a coke, and warming my belly on her teak decks.
Man the waves are BIG. The crowd is getting less jovial. Laughter turning to “oh my god.” and “better take a Xanex”. Big Fisherman’s looks like a washing machine as we go by. The docks are separated, the gangway lifted. Gerry’s world is under control. Looks to be blowing 25-30 knots out here. Isolated sailboats, most of them mainly out of control. They’re handing out sea-sick bags on this boat. People are taking them. Just took a big wave, spraying all over. The skipper is slowing the boat down a bit every time he comes to a wave. Cabin is deathly quiet. Boat gets on a quartering swell and does a semi-broach, leaning just a little too far down wind as she turns upwind. Woah, just did it again. Everyone else laughing.
Not me. It reminds me of a black night in 30 knots of wind, sailing on my older brother’s “pocket rocket” Presto (a “Moore 24”, 2000 lbs and 24 ft) back in the 80s. We were racing, against a bunch of other crazies, from San Francisco to San Diego. Wind had piped up 10 knots from what it was during my last watch in the daylight. I got the helm in the pitch dark before my eyes had accommodated. Flying along at 15-20 knots, a speed-boat with a sail. Tripped on a wave I couldn’t see, and sent Presto into a full broach. Sails flopping like flags. The boat completely laid out sideways with deck vertical. Hanging on to the “life rail”, cause if I let go, I’d fall straight down into the sea. Gives me butterflies just thinking about it. Here’s the idea. Now make the boat much tinier and the ocean much larger.
Wondering what I’d do if this skipper broached this big ole ferry boat. I don’t have any idea. The thought fills me with black. The pirates have no such baggage. They are still laughing. But here we are, after all, turning around Angel’s gate and into the harbor; cheated death again.
So, “to conclude”, the research of yesterday turned inexorably to a water day today. Strapping things down, adjusting to the storm. No diving for Dan and John today. Probably not tomorrow either. Have to let this angry sea settle down a little. I get my 2 days shore leave, and then back at it.
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