From Neah Bay to Bainbridge Island

After a peaceful night at anchor, we woke for an early start. We pulled up the anchor and I drove us out of the bay. We sighted a lovely Ketch coming toward us from the west, and I felt a sense of kinship imagining her recent travels off the coast.

We pulled out into the channel, turned right and headed east. The forecast was for a bit more wind today, so we looked forward to some sailing. We raised the main, which helped our progress, and the crew settled into the watch schedule. Deb took advantage of the warmth to read on the foredeck; Peter even napped a bit in the sails on the bow. August in the northwest.

As the day warmed, we removed coats and sweaters to feel the sun on our skin. We played with the auto-helm given the calm conditions. Look, no hands!

As the day passed, we realized that we would not make Port Townsend until after dark, so decided to anchor in Port Angeles. This was a good decision, as we had time to have a delicious meal and an early night.

On Wednesday morning, we woke to heavy fog in the Strait. But such a difference in our view of this challenge. Our last boat had no radar, so heavy fog meant you go back to port and wait. Now, although we were very cautious, we could keep going. Visibility varied through the day from less than a mile to an estimated 3 miles, so it was reasonable to travel. We moved just ouside of the shipping channel, and watched the chart plotter and radar. We had a crew member on the bow and blew our air horn periodically as required.

We passed several sailboats going the other way. It seemed magical to first see them on the radar, then staring intently to see them emerge ghost-like from the fog.

We rounded the point and headed south. The trip from Port Townsend to Bainbridge Island is one we have done so many times on our prior boat, Zenobia, so it was very relaxing to navigate these waters. We raised all of the sails - the main, genoa and staysail.

The quiet was lovely, and we soon found ourselves reading, knitting and chatting in the cockpit. We hadn't expected this kind of slow, cruising relaxation on this leg of the trip, so everyone was very happy.

By late afternoon we sighted Shilshoe Marina, followed by the Seattle skyline. Down around the red buoy and we pulled into our new home in Harbor Marina. Simon, Becky, Charley and Deb treated Peter and me to a celebration dinner at the Harbor Pub - smiles all around!

Up the Coast of Washington

Once across the bar, we made a right turn to head north.  Our running rate on the engine is 2400 RPMs, so we can average about 5.5 knots in favorable ocean conditions (faster in flat water in-land).  Our estimate to reach the Strait of Juan de Fuca was 36 hours.

As we moved further out into the ocean, the swells became larger, growing to 6 feet.  These waves are so different from wind waves.  They are larger, more or less regular but can change frequency and direction with no warning.  These were mild conditions - I can only imagine what harsh conditions must be like!  These waves gave us a slow carnival ride that increased sea sickness in the crew.  Deb and I were the lucky exceptions.  Everyone was using some form of sea sickness prevention - either a patch or Bonine - but with varying success.  Poor Peter seemed to be suffering the most, and spent his off watch time reclining in the stern.

We settled into our agreed upon watch schedule; couples at two hour intervals.  These were short watches, but we planned to continue the same schedule throughout the night and two hours seemed right for our first overnight experience in the ocean.

We watched the coastline recede as we moved farther off shore, until we lost sight of it all together.  Our weather was gray and overcast, but not foggy.  Watch followed watch as we worked our way north through the afternoon.  Eventually we lost sight of land completely.

The crew was bundled up against the cold, but in great spirits, with a hot meal that helped to keep us warm.  Thank goodness for a gimbaled stove.  We were using our off - shift time to nap, in anticipation of a long night.

At one point Becky woke me to tell me they sighted whales off the stern!  I quickly grabbed my camera and dashed up to snap as many shots as I could - these were not the Orcas I am used to seeing in Pudget Sound, but likely greys.

And Then it was night... what an experience!  As I sat at the helm on my watch I found I could not see a thing - no sense of the horizon, little sense of up or down.  It was very disorienting and unless I kept my eye on the compass, the boat was as likely to go in circles as it was to go straight.  Peter and I shared our watches, passing the tiller back and forth at 10 minutes intervals as our eyes grew tired on our late shift.  The crew was mostly silent, sitting at the helm on watch, then falling into the nearest available berth and asleep instantly.

Morning broke and we gathered as folks off shift woke and sought out breakfast.  We exchanged stories from our watches - all had found it as disorienting as Peter and I did.  But we had calm weather all night, with only fishing boats for occasional company, no large ships.






We gradually worked our way closer to shore as we neared the northern edge of our course.  Late in the afternoon we spied land - Tatoosh Island off the Olympic Peninsula.    We carefully rounded to the right to enter the Strait of Juan de Fuca - we have been in the Strait many times, but never the far western entrance, so this was yet another momentous occasion.







We decided to tuck into Neah Bay for the night so that all could get much needed rest.  We dropped anchor and enjoyed a beautiful sunset and a celebratory toast to our successful voyage.  We beat our estimate, clocking 34 hours from the Astoria dock.

Crossing the Columbia River Bar

What an adventure! The crew came aboard on Sunday morning about 8:30 after a night at local motels. All gear was safely stored and we carefully monitored weather and water conditions. A final check of oil and fluids and a call to the coast guard to double check conditions, which had been reported favorable on line. 

We were told the Bar was actually closed to pleasure vessels under 22 feet. We waited another 30 minutes and the vessel size prohibited was reduced to 18 feet. We were at a point of departure that would have us on the Bar in slack going into a flood tide - ideal - so we decided to go.

We followed the channel carefully and kept our eyes on the horizon (fore and aft) and the radar for large ships. All went so smoothly - the water was full of swells (4 - 5 feet) so we had consistent motion, but as different as this was from our usual river waves, I didn't find it frightening. We did see breaking waves on either side of the channel, as we had read about.  These were the conditions that can capsize a boat if you are swept outside of the channel.  

We watched for ship traffic but did not see anything really large in the channel.  We did see a yellow pilot boat deliver a pilot to a tug pulling a barge.  The pilot boat drove along side the tug and the pilot simply stepped across, despite the rolling water.

Peter and Charley were starting to feel the effects of the motion - a bit of queasiness.  But we were past  Buoy #7, with just three buoys to go before the end of the channel, so we were almost through the first stage.  At this point, the engine started to sputter and then died.  Yikes!  We had read that this is a frequent problem and often leads to problems as boats are swept out of the channel into dangerous waters. The usual cause is junk in the diesel which gets stirred up with the rough conditions. We were prepared - we have second fuel filter that we can switch to, we had additional filters and tools ready, and of course we are a sailboat, so we had our sails ready.

Step one was to raise a sail and get the boat under control. Unfortunately we found that one of the slides on the main sail had been put in upside down - the twist prevented the sail from rising. (Important lesson learned; always test the sails after you have removed them for any reason!)  The crew was remarkably calm despite this setback.

I was concerned to note that we were now outside of the channel to the north, drifting toward Peacock Spit. Conditions were rough, so working on the foredeck was challenging, however Peter was on a tether and quickly raised the staysail, followed by the Genoa. Simon was at the helm and with the light wind was able to get the boat under control.

We were moving in the right direction, back in the channel! Charley checked the fuel filters but found that they were not clogged - instead it appeared that we had air in the fuel line, so he went below and bled the air from the line. Although we know how to do this, it was fantastic having Charley on board: as a mechanic, he was able to diagnose the problem and execute a fix much more quickly.

Everyone held their breath as we turned the key - but the engine roared to life and we cheered! The rest of the crossing was uneventful. Upon reflection, we were fortunate in that we stayed calm; we first worked to get the boat under control with sails; and we did not have issues with ship traffic.

Total time to cross was 3.5 hours from the time leaving the dock to passing the final buoy.