Sunday, 11 March 2018
Just before my next night watch I am awakened by the boat lurching in the waves. It’s difficult to sleep with the hull in front of my cabin being pounded so violently. After 15 minutes of this din, things turn calmer. I later learn that the wind and ocean swells had come directly from the south so the captain changed course, heading for shelter in the nearest coastal harbour. Needless to say I’m somewhat concerned about crab pot lines as we get closer to land. However, no more mishaps on my watch.
Thick sea fog envelops us as daylight breaks. After Bo takes over the helm at 6 a.m. the captain sticks his head out of the cabin and announces that the weather has changed and we’ll carry on south. We are a bit disappointed, for it would have been nice to stretch our limbs on terra firma for a day.
Soon the sun pierces the fog and we are suddenly under clear skies, leaving the grey bank behind us. Again we are motoring and nothing but motoring. It’s comfortable enough, though, with the swells pushing us along, and during Captain Dan’s mid-day watch, the crew soaks up some warm sun rays on the foredeck, doing much needed stretches and exercises. Such things are often neglected when the natural sleep pattern is disturbed and days and nights seem to blend one into another.
On my afternoon watch I encounter one crab pot float after another, even after I head further from shore to a water depth of 350 feet. Fortunately, the fisher laying their traps have done so in a fairly straight line, but one still has to be alert to avoid them, even in daylight. At night it’s hopeless, for the radar doesn’t pick them up unless the sea is calm. I would propose that fisher should outfit each float they set with a little red light. Problem solved.
The weather forecast calls for stronger winds in the next few days — again from the south. We would make little headway even under motor. So it is decided to find shelter in Coos Bay (southern Oregon) for a few days before continuing our journey.
We arrive in the dark, navigating with the help of our electronic GPS chart as well as the lighted buoys guiding us into the entrance of the harbour. We tuck into the fishing village of Charleston instead of going another ten plus miles on the waterway to the town of Coos Bay. We tie up to the transient dock next to dozens of fishing boats. This is a working harbour and we look a bit out of place in our pleasure craft, but it’s fun talking with folks who stop and admire SV Amante.
Monday, 12 March 2018
How relaxing it is not having to rise at 2 a.m. Everyone has a good night’s rest. A hearty omelet breakfast with all the trimmings, cooked by the captain, gives us energy for the day ahead. At noon I jump on one of the two bicycles we have onboard and head into town — the big town of Coos Bay that is. On the lookout for a bakery along the way I notice a sign, “Good stuff, cheap breads.” Oops, correction, it reads “beads”. I really ought to have my eyes checked!
I do some off-road cycling in John Topits Park which surrounds the Empire Lakes then head to downtown Coos Bay. From the boardwalk along the water’s edge I see some handsome sailboats and can’t resist walking down the ramp to the dock. I talk to Captain Rob, an old salt who lives on his 37-foot Islander ketch Summer Wind. He plans to take it to Alaska next year, not via the popular Inside Passage but out in the ocean west of Vancouver Island. Next door at the Fishermen’s Seafood Market I have a clam chowder before taking the long and mountainous inland road back to Charleston. In total I cover about 45 km (28 miles) on pedal power this day. I sleep well tonight.
Photos: 1.) Memorial for fishers from this area lost at sea; 2.) low tide at Charleston with SV Amante docked amongst the local fishing fleet; 3.) cat, bike and I; 4.) Captain Rod on his live-aboard in Coos Bay; 5.) cargo ship steaming up the channel to the Port of Coos Bay.
