Friday, 16 March 2018
Another roller coaster ride — this one over the bar at the mouth of the Rogue River. Waves’ peaks and valleys are the same in height and depth. But when they hit a shallow area, such as a sandbar, the wave makes up in height what it loses in depth. So you can imagine the surf we have to traverse… yippee!
It’s again the same story — motoring into the wind. On my request we do set sails as the wind shifts enough to go on a close reach. But it also means heading off shore a little more. Half an hour later the wind slackens. We’re doing about four knots (7 km/hour), not enough for the captain’s taste. So down with the sails and on with the iron jenny. Blah.
In the late afternoon the automatic steering gives out. We’re now hand-steering during our four-hour watches. Lucky this yacht with its state-of-the-art electronics still has such a thing as a good old-fashioned magnetic compass.
Saturday, 17 March 2018
It was hailing and cold in Oregon but now it’s sunny and short-sleeve weather as we pass into northern California waters. In the afternoon we see whales passing us on their way north, though we can’t identify the breed. The captain rigs one of his fishing rods hoping for a small tuna to bite. Alas, no luck. Instead, for supper he opens a can from the pantry to serve us tuna salad.
Sunday-Monday, 18-19 March 2018
We are within striking distance of San Francisco. If we carry on at our current speed we’d arrive in the middle of the night and against the tide ebbing out of the bay until 7:30 a.m. We really want the sensation of passing under the Golden Gate Bridge by daylight. The decision is made to wait in a sheltered cove a few hours out and get some rest before continuing on to our destination. Two attempts at anchoring fail as the electric windlass won’t release the anchor chain. So, instead, we very slowly motor toward the city lights.
At first daylight we see the iconic bridge in the distance. It still takes us a couple of hours before we glide underneath its spans into San Francisco Bay. As we do so we utter a holler for such is the experience which many sailors before us a have had when they “arrived”.
Calling ahead to various marinas, the captain can only find one who has space for a 42-foot catamaran — in far off San Leandro. It so happens to be Dan’s old stomping grounds, for he once belonged to the local sailing club here before moving to Washington.
The south end of San Francisco Bay is rather shallow and silty. This marina can only be reached via a two-mile long dredged channel… at high tide. The passage is well marked with red and green day beacons but if a boat were to veer off this path it would immediately get stuck in the mud.
After we dock, my immediate personal projects are to have a shower and shave, then load my laundry onto one of the bicycles and pedal off to the nearest laundromat. Ah, being clean does feel refreshing.
