Catalina Island to San Diego - Entering Marina in Pitch Dark

Tuesday morning at sunrise I was ready to head for San Diego.  When I had decided to pick an isolated little cove at Santa Catalina to anchor I had thought about perhaps staying for a couple of days in ideal solitary splendor.  As you will see from my previous post this was far from an ideal anchorage.  No wonder there were no other boats anchored here.  Note to self:  if nobody else is in an anchorage there may be a reason. 

We weighed anchor with no problems and were underway by 5:50am heading to San Diego.  Again, as is typical for this trip, the morning was flat calm without a ripple on the water from any wind whatsoever.  Another day of motoring.
 

Fortunately about noon the wind picked up a bit to about ten knots, and fortunately for us it was from the South-East which meant that we were on a beam reach, Astraea's favorite wind position.  I bent on the main, full, no reefs, let out the jib, and with a little help from the engine we were flying all afternoon at 7 - 7.7 knots.  Now I had not planned this very well, and the trip from our anchorage to San Diego was actually about 80 miles, which meant that we needed the speed to get to our new marina before sunset at 8:00pm.  My computations had us in the marina just at sunset, which would work out well. 

Things do not always go as planned.  Although we did have great winds all afternoon a couple of complicating factors came up.  First, off the coast there was some huge oil tanker alongside an offshore oil rig and security boats were requiring all boats to stay at least two miles away.  Of course they were RIGHT in our planned course toward San Diego.  This meant that the security boats made us make a huge loop around the oil tanker, which added some delay.  Also, as we approached San Diego the wind DIED.  Time to douse the sails and motor.  Also, as we are a small boat, I had no intention of going all the way out to sea to the entrance buoy.  That was for BIG SHIPS like aircraft carriers and cruise ships.  We little fellas can cut the corners.  Then as we approached San Diego I read the sailing directions and it warned of heavy kelp that came out more than two miles from Point Loma, the entrance to San Diego.  Now kelp feeds the fish and has some good purposes for existing, however it also fouls props and engine water intakes.  This meant a large swing out to seaward to the entrance buoy, just like an aircraft carrier.  This added an hour to the trip which I had not anticipated.  Lesson being reinforced:  on a sailboat never depend on a trip going as planned.  Schedule in delays.
 

Note:  A major lesson was learned here.  In the future when sailing from Catalina to San Diego I will plan to leave Catalina after lunch, take advantage of the afternoon and evening winds, and sail through the night to arrive in San Diego in the morning.  I should have done it this way this time and would have if I were not actually getting a bit anxious to get to my new marina.  Lesson learned:  never be in a hurry;  take advantage of afternoon winds;  factor in unforeseen delays;  arrive in unfamiliar ports in daylight. 

Anyway, we entered the channel into San Diego at 6:30pm.  We were NOT going to make it to the marina by sunset at 8:00pm.  No way no how, but there was nowhere else to go.  San Diego is NOT anchoring friendly and there are no places to anchor without prior arrangement.  Well, I thought, another first, I will just have to enter the marina after dark.  

Point Loma.  

It might not be the South Pacific, but after 536 miles down the coast it looked beautiful to me! 

The trip through San Diego Harbor was exciting and fun and brought back fond memories of my years here as a naval officer.  Navy helicopters were overhead, boats of SEAL's (the Navy kind, not the barking kind) were zipping across the harbor, and we passed countless US Navy ships in Coronado and National City.  However the temperature was dropping, the sun was setting, and the clouds were coming in thick and dark.  It was going to be a very dark night.

  I spent a lot of time on one of these during my years in the Navy.  

Fond memories of the Navy flooded over me as I passed the many ships of the US Navy that were in San Diego and National City. 

Downtown San Diego at sunset.  

Had I been a bit smarter I would be seeing this at Sunrise rather than sunset. 

Arriving late was not a good idea.    

Joshua Slocum, my idol, was probably one of the greatest navigators of all times.  He circled the globe with nothing but a sextant.  He did not even have a chronometer to help him determine Longitude.  Thankfully I have Furuno in my life.  As we moved through San Diego Harbor I kept cranking down the range until we came to the end of the San Diego channel and entered the Chula Vista Channel.  Now the words Chula Vista Channel should be in small letters, no capitals, as it is a SMALL narrow poorly lit channel with SMALL buoys with weak lights.  To make it worse, in the distance is Tijuana, Mexico, which is brightly lit and obscures the small lights on the buoys.  Also the track into Chula Vista takes several hard turns.  It was pitch black.  It was cold.  Amazingly the Furuno GPS was accurate to within feet, as each time I passed a buoy it was right there on the GPS screen just where it should be.  When I purchased the Furuno system I thought about whether I should put a second repeater at the helm. It added a lot of extra costs.  In retrospect it was worth it.  Without the GPS I probably would have been aground outside Chula Vista somewhere. 

I slowed to five knots, then three knots, as we wound our way along the sinuous course through the chula vista channel.  We found the entrance lights to the marina.  Now we were in the marina.  Now, where was our assigned dock, C-36?  So close but yet so far.  Where was our little spot in this huge harbor of several hundred dock spaces?  I made several circles in the marina while using my spotlight to try to find some markers at the end of the many rows of docks to show me which was C dock!  Of course there we NO MARKERS of any kind.  Fortunately luck was with me and a police boat came in as I was circling.  I called to them asking them if they knew where C-36 was and they shined their spotlight on the dock and showed me where I was to go.  Thank you harbor police!!!!  

With my heart a bit in my throat I turned down the fairway, praying that this was in fact the right channel and that there would be an open slip where it was supposed to be.  It was dark.  Very dark.  Pitch black dark.  Note that boats do not have headlights.  The only headlights on a ship are the lights in the "head".  (Old Academy joke).  Now these fairways are MUCH narrower than what we had in San Francisco.  Much more narrow.  I was actually very concerned about making my turn tight enough in the dark to line up properly with the slip.  However once more luck was with me and we turned just right and were headed directly into the darkness of the slip when a voice yelled.  "STOP!  STOP!  My dinghy is in this slip."  The guy who had the next slip did not know I was arriving and had left his dinghy and motor in my new slip and was frantically waving his arms.  Now I was committed to entering the slip at this point.  There was no going back.  I stopped halfway into the slip and we quickly agreed that he would move his dinghy to the side as far forward as possible and I moor at an angle in the slip.  I was not about to leave the slip and go circle around again while he moved his dinghy.  Luck had allowed me a perfect approach under very difficult conditions and I was not going to press Lady Luck into doing it for me twice in a row.  

So, at about 9:00PM I was moored in slip C-36 at CYM Chula Vista.  Astraea and I had completed 536 miles together.  There were many firsts for me in this trip, many of them you can read about in this journal.  I had made my first single handed trip under sail.  I had learned to dock Astraea single handed and had done so several times.  I had single handed moored to a buoy - twice.  I had anchored in windy conditions with rough seas.  I had rounded Point Conception, the "Cape Horn of the Pacific", at 8.5 knots in 25 knots of wind on a broad reach without an accidental jibe.  I had been skipper, deck hand, cook, navigator, mechanic.  I had stayed awake and alert as long as 36 hours, sailed through the night twice.  I had learned to raise and lower and reef and unreef the sails by myself.  I had entered a strange, crowded marina in pitch dark and safely docked in my assigned slip.  I must say that sailing my own boat 536 miles, single handed, down the California coast, and doing it safely and successfully is a real feeling of accomplishment.  

Astraea and I have come a long ways since that day in July, 2005, when Bob and I got underway for the first time with her and ran aground in Emery Cove within the first five minutes.  I kept thinking of all that I had learned from my sailing instructors, Suzette Smith and John Connolly of Modern Sailing Academy.  They gave me the skills and knowledge and courage to undertake this trip and to finish it safely.  Having this trip behind me I now realize that I not only learned a lot about sailing and about Astraea on this trip, but I realized that I still have a lot more to learn.  

Sailing a well found boat like Astraea is sheer joy.  The feeling of flying through the water on one's own boat with only the power of the wind is a a natural high.  As I rounded Point Conception at 8.5 knots in 25 knots of wind the feeling of accomplishment and joy litereally brought tears to my eyes and as unsophisticated as it sounds I found myself yelling into the wind, "Yee Haw!!!". 

To have faced the challenges of sailing the California coast alone, when there was nobody else around to whom to turn, is a true feeling of achievement.

A trip of 536 miles is an hour in an airplane, a full day in an automobile.  Along the coast of California in a small boat it is an adventure.  Doing it alone:  priceless.  

 

Channel Islands to Catalina Island - Sleeping on a Mechanical Bull

Channel Islands Harbor.  Not necessary a place to revisit.

Saturday the weather had been a bit overcast, but sunny in the afternoon.  Sunday morning at 5:30am as I started the engine to leave Channel Islands Harbor in Oxnard the sky looked ominous.  Dark clouds were on the horizon to the North and the wind was brisk inside the harbor, unusual for early morning.  We backed out of our dock at 5:50am and headed for the harbor master dock.  My favorite time of day, early morning, but Oxnard was not like some of the earlier ports where my companions of the morning were seals and ducks and egrets and pelicans.  Channel Islands Harbor is really an overcrowded harbor with a lot of poorly maintained boats that I think are really used for floating platforms to drink beer and watch TV.  Not really a place that appeals to me in the least. 

 The harbor master office, a very professional office here, had the red flag flying in the brisk wind, the flag that means "Small Craft Warning".  Fortunately the wind was blowing us onto the harbor master dock and there were no other boats there, therefore we were able to easily get alongside and get our lines over.  I was wearing my foul weather gear and anticipating some heavy weather sailing.  For a brief moment I actually had a thought of staying an extra day to wait for the winds to die down, but then I realized that most of my trip had been with very little wind and what I had wanted was enough wind to actually sail!  Now I had PLENTY of wind, so no time to be timid.  Time to sail and sail fast!  Also, I had already been in beautiful downtown Oxnard for three nights and that was more than enough.  I was rested and ready to go. 

At the Harbor Master office the officer on duty appeared surprised to see me so early in the morning.  "You sure you want to head out into this?" he said.  "Gonna be rough going out there".  I assured him that I was ready to go and that I felt up to handling the weather.  After all, I thought, it was really no worse than the weather that we were accustomed to in San Francisco.  It is said that if one can sail in San Francisco Bay, one can sail anywhere.  There is a measure of truth to that. 

The officer stood up and looked out at Astraea at the pier, her flag snapping in the brisk 15-20 knot wind.  "Yep," he said, "that's a perty fine rig ya got there".  I agreed that she was a "fine rig" and quite up to handling the local weather. 

As we headed out the breakwater at 6:20am I did have a few second thoughts as the waves were about six feet high and the frequency of just a few seconds.  The wind was about 20 knots.  To raise the sails one has to head into the wind, which of course normally means to head into the seas.  Because of the height of the waves I put on more speed than usual and set Eloise to head us directly into the wind and seas.  The waves were breaking over the bow and the wind was howling and the horizon was dark with ominous heavy clouds.  I had asked for winds, and here they were!  Having rounded Point Conception, however, I felt somewhat "seasoned" and confident in my ability to get the sails up and head toward Catalina.  Hopefully with some good wind! 

I left the cockpit with "Eloise" the auto pilot in charge of the helm.  I was wearing my foul weather gear, PFD, harness, and safety harness hooked to the "jack lines", which would keep me from falling off the boat if a wave were to hit me or I was to lose my footing on the pitching deck.  Due to the high waves that we were taking directly on the bow Astraea was definitely pitching.  The main went up quickly with no problem, double reefed, and I carefully made my way back to the cockpit, disengaged the autopilot (Eloise), cut the throttle and headed toward Catalina.  The wind was on our starboard quarter.  I let out the jib and we were off under green sail power.  As luck would have it, over the next couple of hours the sky brightened, the seas settled, and the wind died down to less than five knots.  We had a long run to make, about 64 miles, and were going to anchor in one of the secluded coves on Catalina, which I really did not want to do after dark, therefore once again I engaged the "iron jenny" and we motor sailed through most of the day at 5-5.5 knots.  I guess I used up my allotment of wind at Point Conception. 

It was a quiet sail and we did not encounter another boat for the entire trip except for one rusty derelict old metal fishing boat flying a Canadian flag that refused to observe the rules of the road and forced us to jibe to miss colliding with them.  They were the "give way' vessel but as they passed close ahead of us with me busy jibing to avoid hitting them the guy on the bridge came out and looked at me and shrugged.  I am beginning to think that Navy ships and Astraea are the only vessels that know and observe the rules of the road.  Otherwise it is just the "Law of Gross Tonnage", which means the bigger vessel has the right of way.   

It was 5:00pm as we approached the anchorage at Rippers Cove on the North-East shore of Catalina Island.  I had thought about continuing on South to the large recreational port of Avalon Cove.  Avalon has several hundred moorings, and is a very structured port.  One has to meet a harbor boat outside the harbor, be assigned a mooring, and then weave through the marine equivalent of a Wal-Mart parking lot to find one's mooring, and then use their special mooring system while people on power boats sit and sip their drinks and amuse themselves watching sailboats with their small engines and inability to back in a straight line attempt to maneuver bow and stern into position to moor properly.  Being by myself and having not been in the harbor before I was more than a bit hesitant to be the evening entertainment, therefore I had decided to moor in an isolated cove.  Also, I was not interested in going ashore for the facilities.  There was also a huge cruise ship anchored outside the harbor, so this was probably a good idea as the harbor was more than likely packed with tourists. 

Instead Astraea and I headed into a picturesque cove called Ripper's Cove.  It was a small cove that offered a sand bottom (good holding) in 15-30 feet of water.  It is one of the more shallow harbors on Santa Catalina and an ideal depth for us.  Of course, as usual, after a day of no wind the wind began to pick up significantly about 4:00pm as we headed into the island to anchor. 

If you have read of my rather frantic anchoring adventure in Cojo anchorage just south of Point Conception you will recall that in that instance where I had heavy winds and was going close to shore to get to shallow water to anchor my anchor chain fouled in the anchor locker and I had to frantically dig out my secondary anchor and anchor rode (chain and rope), rig it all up, and use it as a backup anchoring system.  One of the purposes of this trip is to learn and become a better and safer sailor.  This time as Eloise the auto pilot steered us toward the cove under power I dug out the secondary anchor and rigged it into the anchor holder that is attached to the bow pulpit.  A very convenient place to rig the anchor.  I then pulled the chain and rope anchor rode from the lazareete and flaked it out on deck in such a way that it would properly pay out if I needed to use this anchor.  When I had used this anchor at the Cojo anchorage in an emergency situation (caused by my lack of proper preparation) I had discovered that I did not have a proper "swivel" on the secondary anchor.  A swivel allows the anchor to stay "set", or dug in, even as the boat moves around.  While in Channel Islands Harbor I had gone to West Marine (or as we sailors call it, Tiffany by the Sea) and purchased a very nice, heavy, proper swivel. 

Now, as we are approaching the anchorage I had the anchor in the anchor holder, which means it was attached to the bow pulpit and hanging over the side, ready to deploy.  My anchor line was properly laid out on deck.  Now I needed to run the anchor line out the bow anchor guide and bring it up and attach it to the anchor.  I felt a big smug in that I was going to be ready for anything this time.  Just as I was attaching the anchor rode shackle to the new swivel on the anchor Astraea took a sudden and pronounced pitch and roll, all at the same time, which is not unusual with following winds and seas.  You guessed it, I pitched forward against the anchor shank, which I had raised up vertically to attach the anchor line, I hit the anchor, the locking mechanism sprang open and the anchor went over the side and into the water - without the anchor line attached.  Now in retrospect it is probably a good thing that I had not yet attached the anchor line as when it fell the reaction would have been to grab the line and I could have either lost the entire line and rode, gotten it tangled in the prop, or even gone over the side myself.  (Not a good idea if one is holding onto an anchor).  I watched rather helplessly as my expensive anchor hit the water and, of course, immediately sank in several hundred feet of water. 

Plan B.  I went back to the lazarette and pulled out my new and very expensive Fortress anchor, which is kept aboard for storms or conditions where I need the very most holding power.  It is one of the largest of this type of anchor, Fortress, and would securely anchor a boat larger than Astraea in gale conditions.  I took this anchor to the bow and, leaving it on deck, bent it onto the anchor rode.  Of course my new swivel had left the boat with the anchor, so I bent on the Fortress with just a shackle, not the best way, but it works.  

At about 6:00pm we were close to the shore, about 100 yards out, and I let go the main anchor, my 45 pound CQR, which is Astraea's main anchor, which has 350 feet of heavy chain attached.  This time, since I had carefully prepared a second anchor, and lost my good secondary anchor and swivel over the side, the main anchor paid out perfectly and we were anchored securely in Ripper's Cove.

 

The cove was sheltering us somewhat from the afternoon winds; however the seas were still heavy swells from the North, most likely from a storm that was now hitting the areas up north of Point Conception.  This made for a very very rough anchorage.  The experience was somewhat like one of those mechanical bulls that are in the large bars like Gilley's down in Texas.  Now most people ride those bulls for just a few minutes, they don't try to cook dinner, use the bathroom, and sleep on the mechanical bull.  That, however, is just what I experienced this night.  Now I am one who loves a gently rolling boat in an anchorage, like we experience at the moorings in Sausalito back in SF Bay.  That makes me sleep well.  Also, in Sausalito we would be secured to a mooring buoy where one feels very secure.  A mooring buoy is securely connected to the bottom and is not normally going to drag and put one on the beach.  However, as I explained earlier, this was like being on a mechanical bull.  I cooked some pasta on my new Force 10 propane stove.  This stove is made for sailboats and has gimbals so the stove stays "somewhat" level even as the boat rocks and rolls.  I threw some sausage into the pasta and ate it in the cockpit from a bowl held securely between my legs while I watched the sun set.  This was not exactly what I had pictured as I had planned for my solitary anchorage in a picturesque cove in Santa Catalina.  My image had been one of quiet breezes, a gentle roll, a nice dinner and perhaps one small glass of wine, a warm breeze, and an evening watching the stars come out.  Here I was huddled in foul weather gear, the wind at 15 knots, the seas at least six to eight feet, the period of the waves very short, and Astraea bucking and rolling.  Add to this that my cell phone did not have a connection here.  The reality of cruising was stiking home. 

Ripper's Cove Santa Catalina Island.  Anchored 140 yards off the beach. 

My faithful Furuno watched through the night and kept track of our position off the beach as we anchored for the night.   The red marks show how Astraea moved in a semicircle offshore from the anchor through the rough and windy night. 

The anchor alarm was set and by 9:00pm I was confident that the anchor was holding well despite the wind and the heavy seas.  I slept for an hour at a time, getting up every hour until midnight to check the anchor and the GPS.  By midnight I felt secure and slept for two hours at a time, trusting my anchor was well set and my trusty anchor alarm would wake me if we moved outside our anchor circle.

Rest and Maintenance

Today was a day to recover physically after a rather grueling week of sailing, three 'all nighters" and two days that lasted 30 hours!  We are not as young as we used to be and need a little recovery time.  Also, Astraea needed a little maintenance.

Despite the rigors of the trip Astraea had done quite well thus far.  This has really been a "shake down" cruise as she has not had much sailing on her since her last yard work and except for two trips from San Francisco to Half Moon Bay really not done any significant sailing since November.

One annoying problem was that the fresh water system had sprung a major leak while in Monterey.  Upon leaving Monterey I discovered that the tank that was "on line" with the water pump was totally empty.  I had just filled it in Monterey.  Also, when I turned on the electric pressurized water system, I could hear water running somewhere but could not find where.  I therefore decided to just leave the pressurized water off and use the back-up, the foot pump at the galley sink.  Really more of a nuisance than a serious problem.  That is unless I ended up losing all my fresh water!  However I had three cases of bottled water onboard so I was not that worried. 

Today I determined to find the source of the leak.  I removed all the deck boards in the cabin sole (the floor of the main cabin of the boat) to expose all the plumbing.  When I turned on the water pump I could hear water "gushing" and the bilge was filling with fresh water, but I could not find where it was coming from.  Finally I found the source of the leak and it was under the new hot water heater, which is in the bilge aft of the engine.  This was going to be a major undertaking.  For the next almost two hours I disconnected all the wiring and connections to the new hot water heater and lifted it out.  There was no piping below it.  Then I realized that the water supply line to the hot water heater had been missing before I took it out.  I fished around in the area under where the hot water heater had been located and found the disconnected fresh water hose.  The culprit!  However had I been a bit more observant I could have avoided the two hours of work to remove and reinstall the hot water heater.  I think my tired brain was not working up to speed or I would have noticed this.  The problem is now fixed and Astraea oce again has hot and cold running water!

Also climbed the mast and replaced the bulb in the 20 point light that had burned out.  Also did some cleaning and transferred fuel from tank #2 to tank #1.  

A long afternoon nap was followed by some titivating ship and organizing things again.  Had dinner at a local Thai restaurant and now ready to hit the rack early tonight.  Tomorrow is another day of rest and maintenance and then on Sunday it will be time to head for Catalina Island, last stop before San Diego.  

Channel Island Harbor, Oxnard, CA

One of the many offshore oil rigs in the Santa Barbara Channel. 

Today was a first for this cruise.  There was a sun!  And it was warm!  Rounding Point Conception is a dramatic change from the cold and damp of Northern California to the sun and warmer temperatures of SoCal.  Also, today, for the first time I put on shorts and a T-shirt.  The first day without foul weather gear!  In fact, in four years of sailing in San Francisco I don't remember ever sailing in shorts and a t-shirt!  Definitely a welcomed change. 

I had decided to bypass Santa Barbara and press on for the Channel Islands Harbor in Oxnard.  According to the sailing guide this is a nice, modern harbor with plenty of facilities.

It was a long day and the highlight was definitely two more whale sightings, this time I saw one close aboard blowing water out it's blow hole into the air!  Also lots of dolphins and sea birds.  Once again there was virtually no wind, so the iron jenny (the engine) helped the boat along to keep us at an average of knots in order to reach the harbor before night fall.  I feel badly using the engine so much this trip, but if I had not I would still not be to Monterey.  All the wind thus far this trip was within 20 miles of Point Conception! 

It was a long day, about 12 hours, of motor sailing.  Saw no other boats but passed a number of huge offshore oil rigs.  The wind picked up about five miles out of Channel Islands Harbor, but by that time I was rigging mooring lines and fenders and preparing to enter port. 

By dinner time I was safely moored and was able to crash and get some much needed sleep.  It had been a long week. 

Point Conception and Cojo Anchorage

Wednesday.  Point Conception is known as the "Cape Horn of the Pacific" and can be treacherous.  This is the point where the colder winds from the NW meet the warmer climate of Southern California, and where the southerly flow of the cold currents meet the northerly flow of the warmer currents from the south.  Rounding Point Conception has been a test of a sailor for hundreds of years, since the early days of the Spanish explorers.  Now it was my turn.

I slipped the buoy at sunrise in Morrow Bay.  It was of course overcast and chilly, the same as it had been every day except the one sunny day I was in port in Monterey.  This is one of the moments that I love, however, leaving a port early in the morning at sunrise.  There are very few people around, perhaps a few fishermen, and it is normally quiet and calm.  I was lucky in that the current was slack, so getting underway from the buoy was easy, and I was quietly gliding down the river toward the sea and Point Conception.  There were blue herons and white egrets in the early morning hunting for fish and once again nature was in all her glory. 

Once again there was very little wind.  I raised the sails, however as Point Conception was ahead I put two reefs in the main, but did raise the mizzen and let out the jib.  I was ready.  Or so I thought. 

At about 8:30 in the morning as I was clear of Morrow Bay and about eight miles off shore I had my first whale sighting!  Spectacular!  I was sailing along and suddenly this huge glack and white fin comes out of the water off my bow and this monstrous creature appears.  He or she was at least as big as Astraea, probably much larger, and it was a bit frightening but even more exciting.  I have always wondered how people could slaughter these beautiful creatures.  However as I watched the whale with total awe I could not help but think that once in a great while a large whale takes a dislike to a sailboat and will attack it, often sinking it.  Fortunately this whale seemed to be in a better mood than that and was just enjoying it's day. 

There was a GREAT BIG WHALE here just a moment ago.

The seas were on my beam with large swells and Astraea was rolling much more than usual.  I was glad that I had been spending a lot of time in stowing everything away securely, however there were still a few bangs and crashes coming from below.  Hopefully nothing important. 

It was cold.  Very cold.  Overcast.  However there is no rain today nor is any forecasted.  Hopefully this forecast would hold out and this would be my first day of this voyage without rain while underway.  I was so looking forward to Southern California! 

There was not much wind, so cranked the engine up to about 2200 rpm to give us enough speed to pass Point Arguello by 3pm.  The area between Arguello and Conception is where all hell normally breaks loose.

We passed Point Arguello and it was not so bad.  There was maybe five knots of wind and we were actually motor sailing.  However over a period of about half an hour all that changed and the wind started howling and in no time was at least 25 knots from the port quarter.  Now a broad reach, or having the wind on the rear quarter of the boat, provides good speed, but is dangerous as if one does not carefully control the course of the boat the stern can move through the wind and the wind is then on the opposite quarter and, bang, the main boom goes flying across the cockpit and can actually break the boom and the controls that handle the main boom.  This can be very very bad.  Of course, being a fully fitted out boat, I have the latest boom brake technology to slow the movement of the boom when doing an "accidental jibe", or even intentionally jibing, however I had forgotten to rig it.  Too late now.  We were flying along at over eight knots, the wind howling in the rigging, Astraea was heeling at least 30 degrees and the water was almost up to the toe rails (the uppermost sides of the boat).  The rule here is to let out some main sail to slow down the boat, but I was clutching the helm and it was taking all my concentration to keep Astraea on course and not jibe her in these heavy winds.  What was making matters even more difficult was that the waters had become like a washing machine, with huge waves breaking all around us, mostly from astern, which was throwing our stern from side to side and making it even more difficult to control Astraea and keep her on a safe course.  All hell had broken loose.  The adreneline was flowing, and I was calling on all of my sailing experience and instruction, but I could not help also thinking "what the hell have I gotten myself into?" 

This is one of those situations where the new solo sailor looks around and says, "I am on my own".  There was nobody to help me.  Nobody but Astraea.  She is a great boat, and I knew that she could easily handle this if I could.  I was determined to get us through this safely. 

We rounded Point Conception at 8.5 knots under sail, two reefs, mizzen (which was not a good idea, but too late to take it down), and full jib.  From the sailing guide I knew that there was a sheltered beach area just a few miles past Point Conception where I could anchor for the night and get out of the fierce NW winds.  This anchorage, called Cojo anchorage, has been known since whaling days and is used for people to wait for the weather to be acceptable to go North, or for people to rest after coming South.  I needed a place to rest.  I was beat, and I did not want to sail another six hours to Santa Barbara, the nearest port, and enter there at night.  I decided to turn into the shore and find this obscure anchorage. 

Now this is totally against common sense, to turn toward the shore, now with 25+ knots of wind on the beam, and head at full speed toward sheer cliffs and crashing surf.  It did not make sense, however logically I knew this was what I had to do.  The sheltered anchorage was in there.  Somewhere.  The cruising guide said to look for a railroad embankment and the center of the anchorage was directly in line with a large culvert that ran under the railroad embankment.  Well, what the guide does not tell one is that one has to be VERY close to the shore to FIND the damn railroad embankment.  Fortunately as I was moving toward shore at full speed a large silver train passed down the coast.  The gods were with me!  I was able to see where it passed across the embankment and then disappeared into a tunnel.  I headed for the shore with my heart pounding and my mouth as dry as cotton.  If I screwed up I would find my boat and myself on the pounding surf under a huge cliff. 

As I approached the shore there were no other sail boats there.  This of course made me wonder, "is this the right railroad embankment"?  After all the damn train runs all the way down the coast.  However there was one large commercial ship at a mooring buy near the shore.  I turned into the wind, turned on the auto pilot, and wrestled down the three sails that were luffing (flapping) noisily.  With the engine on I headed toward the shore and what was, hopefully, the Cojo anchorage. 

I had prepared my anchor for letting go, and as I was about 200 yards from the shore I put the boat into neutral and ran forward to drop the anchor.  Now 200 yards sounds like a long ways.  If one is running down two football fields it is a long ways.  If one is heading toward a crashing surf at the base of 200 foot cliffs it is not very far at all.  I let go the anchor brake and the anchor started to fall and then - CLUNK.  It stopped.  With about 20 feet of anchor chain and my large CQR anchor out it just stopped.  The water was 30 feet deep, so this was going to do me NO good.  I was just dangling a lot of chain and anchor into the water.  I tried to pull up on the anchor chain to pull it up the hawse pipe and out of the chain locker, but it would not budge.  Something was wrong down below in the chain locker.  I ran frantically to the cockpit, then down into the boat, and forward to the anchor locker, which is forward of the v-berth inside the boat.  The anchor chain was in a huge knot inside the anchor locker.  Now when one has a bunch of line, or "rope", in a knot, it is usually a matter of working with it.  This is not as easy with heavy (3/8" inch) steel chain.  I dragged a huge ball of fouled chain out of the chain locker and onto the deck of the v-berth and stared at it.  What the hell to do now?  How am I going to untangle this mess! 

I realized I had better run topside and see what was happening.  Forunately the wind was blowing me away from the shore, but it was also blowing me directly toward the anchored commercial vessel.  I engaged the engine and gave her full throttle to move away from the commercial ship and toward the pounding surf, with my anchor and 25 feet of chain hanging off the bow.  Also, this is an area of lots of kelp.  Kelp is huge thick globs of sea grass that grows from the ocean floor and is good stuff in that fish eat it.  Kelp is bad stuff in that it can wrap around propellers and get sucked up into the cooling water system for the engine and cause the engine to stop.  This was NOT a time to loose the engine.  There was some lee due to the protection of Point Conception, but there was still a good 20 knots, even in the sheltered anchorage.  (Sheltered is a relative term). 

Lesson learned.  When going into a dangerous anchorage have a second anchor on deck and ready to let go.  After getting Astrea back closer to shore and away from the anchored commercial ship I frantically dug into the starboard locker in the cockpit and dragged out a smaller anchor and 200 feet of chain and rode (thick nylon rope) that is used as a second anchor or as a stern anchor (I have aboard a total of four anchors).  I dragged the anchor to the bow, bent on the anchor chain and rode, and threw it over the bow.  Of course the rode then jammed in a knot and was tangled on the bow as I had not laid out the line properly for it to feed over the side.  With tremendous exertion and some luck I was able to get the anchor rode untangled, and the second anchor grabbed and the anchor line tightened and we were holding.  Yeah!!!!  Now it was time to try to get the primary anchor out.  I ran below and dragged about 50 feet of anchor chain into the main salon of the boat and was able to get it untangled.  I then ran topside and was able to feed out the main anchor and 150 feet of heavy anchor chain.  We were now anchored with two anchors and we did not appear to be dragging.  About 200 yards ahead the surf was pounding, almost as hard as my heart was pounding!  The sun was setting.  The wind was blowing.  It was cold.  I sat there on the bow, my chest heaving, my mouth as dry as cotton, my legs weak, and I thought of my cardiac surgeon who did my bypass about eight years ago.  I think we just tested out her work, big time, and I felt that it was holding.  I could not remember the last time that I had put such a physical demand on my body.  I vowed that I was going to learn how to do things better and try to not get myself into a dangerous situation like this again. 

It was a long night.  I put the GPS on anchor watch, which would alert me if the boat dragged anchor, ie moved from her anchored position.  The wind was still howling and the current was strong, but I had two anchors down.  I set my alarm clock for an hour and slept. I checked the anchor, the weather, the GPS, reset the alarm, and slept another hour.  I woke up every hour through the night to ensure that Astraea was safe.  It was a VERY long night. 

In the early morning at first light we weighed both anchors and headed for our next port.  Point Conception was astern as we headed toward the Santa Barbara channel.

Looking toward Cojo anchorage.  Not an easy place to find. 

Morrow Bay

Approach to Morrow Bay.  

This is one harbor entrance that is hard to miss!  Just look for the rock. 

I can remember from my days in the Navy that one of the great excitements of sailing is entering a new port for the first time.  One reads the cruising guides, port guides, and studies the charts, however there are always little surprises on a first visit.  Also, it is just fun to know that here is a new place to "discover" and "explore". 

Morrow Point is the most popular jumping off point for boats heading South to Point Conception.  It is a small town with a great little yacht club.  One cannot miss the harbor as it entrance is at a breakwater just behind this massive rock that rises 576 feet over the ocean and the town just behind it. 

It was a nice morning, albeit a bit overcast and cold.  Still foul weather gear sailing.  Entrance was straight forward and Astraea quietly motored into the winding channel.  Morrow Bay is not a large wide bay.  It is really like a long and winding river with strong currents and twice daily tide shifts.  There are lots of boats here,  both commercial and pleasure, but all of them were either in one of the few docks along the one side, or moored to mooring balls outside the channel.  Fortunately the Morrow Bay Yacht Club has several mooring balls that they provide for a fee to visiting yacht club members.  As I entered the harbor, about 9:30am, I tried to call the Yacht Club harbor master and go voice mail.  However I found the yacht club and saw a series of several morring balls marked MBYC.  I decided to take mooring ball number three and hope that this would be acceptable to the Yacht Club. 

Another first.  Mooring to a mooring ball.  In a heavy current.  Now Bob and I had done this several times in Sausalito, but it had taken two of us.  One to drive, the other to snag the buoy and attach a mooring line to it.  This time, however, I was alone.  However remembering my lessons from Suzette on how to do this, I approaced the mooring ball upstream and maneuvered to put the ball at the cockpit.  I moved quickly from the helm to the side of the boat, grabbed my mooring line, and was able to get it through the shackle on the mooring buoy the first try.  Jubiliation!  I had done it!  In my mind the act of mooring to a buoy, alone, was a major challenge and I had done it!  I had been up now for about 25 hours, sailed all night, and moored to a buoy.  I was feeling great!!! 

I did reach the Yacht Club harbor master and he said to come to the club dock and register and pay the mooring fee.  This meant launching the dinghy, which was not a big deal.  This time I decided to use the oars and leave the outboard behind as it was just a short 100 feet or so from Astraea to the Yacht Club dock. 

At the club dock I met this lovely lady, a beautiful and friendly, purely delightful lady who was working on ther wooden boat.  She was sawing away with her circular saw and obviously had a major project going on.  We chatted and it turns out that she had the boat built many years ago in Guatemala when her husband was at the embassy there for ten years.   (I did not ask how many years ago the boat was built although I was curious.  It looked to be from the 60's or 70's).  This lady was obviously a sailor and a craftswoman, as she was definitely working hard on her boat.  I would guess that she was in her 70's.

She warned me that the buoy that I had moorred to was not for a boat as large and heavy as Astraea, and that when the current shifted from ebb to flood that Astraea would swing her stern into a channel marker and probably damage the boat and certainly the new Monitor wind vane.  I thanked her for her advice, dinghyed out to Astraea, and shifted to a different mooring that she suggested.  Once again, I was able to snatch the buoy the first try!  Sweet!!!!  

I ran to the store, got some provisions and water, and returned to my dinghy at the yacht club to row my water and food to the boat.  The wind was picking up and was quite brisk now, probably 15 knots in the harbor, and the current a good 3 knots.  It was quite a task to row the short distance to the boat.  Just as I was securely on my boat I saw my new friend on her large wooden boat, solo, driving it deftly out to her mooring buoy and mooring it like the pro that she was.  Wow, what a sailor!  I want to be like her some day.  

A quiet evening in Morrow Bay.  

Time to get some rest for the rounding of Point Conception tomorrow. 

All Night Sail to Morrow Bay

The sea lions on the sea wall at Monterey Harbor. 

At about 8:30am we were underway from Beautiful Monterey.  It was a magical morning.  For one thing, I was now embarking upon new waters. I had never had Astraea South of Monterey before.  Also, it was just a beautiful morning.  Yes, of course the beautiful weather of the day before was gone and it was overcast and drizzling and cold, however Monterey is just a beautiful place.  The hundreds of sea lions were barking and making their usual cacophony and as I motored into the harbor there were at least 100 dolphins swimming on the surface and jumping out of the water all around me, with some playing in my bow wake.  It was like they were all bidding me farewell and good luck.  Birds of all kinds were also in the air and on the water.  It was a veritable nature fest!  One of the most beautiful things about the ocean is the vast array of sea life in, over, and around it. 

Once again there was NO WIND.  This is getting tiresome.  So I raised all the sails but also set the engine for about 1800rpm and we sailed toward Morrow Bay at about 5 knots. 

Table for one with an ocean view.   

Dinner aboard Astraea underway from Monterey to Morrow Bay.  I eat topside where I can watch for traffic.  Notice the glass of water.  No wine or other alcohol while underway!!!!

It was going to be another all night sail, however this time I was much better prepared as I had gotten a good nights sleep, about eight hours, and not gotten up until about 6:30am.  I felt rested and ready to take it on. 

The Big Sur coastline as the sun began to set. 

It was another long night.  I sat in the cockpit and Eloise steered.  Oh, yes, the Auto Pilot is now named Eloise.  Eloise was one of the dearest friends I have had in my life, and she passed away a couple of years ago at 85.  Her name was Eloise von Otto.  Auto.  Get it?  Eloise von Auto Pilot?  Well, sorry, but I thought it fun and also Eloise was an important part of my life, and I was finding the auto pilot to also be a major source of joy.  It would be incredibly difficult to have to steer all the time.  However I just set Eloise ona course and sit back with my book, scan the horizon every few minutes, check the radar, the GPS, the engine, the sails.  Eloise keeps us on course.  Could not do this without her.  Also, it is nice to know that Eloise is with me in spirit on this adventure.  She would like that.

Sunset at sea is always stunning, but it does make one think about being totally alone in a tiny boat on a huge ocean. 

Beautiful Day in Monterey

A perfect day in Monterey.  For the first time in two weeks there was a blue sky and the sun!  I even put on a pair of shorts.  The day was spent doing laundry at the marina office, more cleaning and inventorying and stowing things aboard the boat, and making preparations for the 130 mile trip to Morrow Bay. 

I took a long walk through the town, walked along Cannery Row, and just enjoyed the day.  It brought back fond memories of last October when I was here on Astraea with Bob and my fiends Julie and Scott.  I wish they were here now!

 

In the first two legs from San Francisco to Half Moon Bay, and then to Monterey, we had covered barely 90 miles.  This next leg is 130.  This time the planning is a bit more careful.  I will sleep in a bit, get underway about 10am on Monday, and hopefully be in Morrow Bay early morning on Tuesday.  Morrow Bay gets a lot of fog, so here’s hoping that Monday is an exception.  I really don’t want to make another landing into another strange port in the fog! 

So here it is Sunday night.  Astraea is fueled, the water tanks full, the boat stowed, provisioned, the charts studied, and we are ready for leg three!  

Arrival in Monterey And Sheer Exhaustion

Approaching Monterey Bay.  Note the weather.  Have not seen the sun yet. 

After a cold, wet, dark, damp windless night the wind picked up to about 15 knots as I approached the entrance to Monterey.  Of course while out in the sea I had no wind at all, just fog, but I get close to the entrance to the harbor and the wind picks up.  Also, it was still raining, as the NOAA forecast of a “slight chance of showers” had turned into a full night of cold rain. 

The approach to Monterey was done in very limited visibility and the money that we had spent for all the fancy new Furuno GPS and radar (which was now actually showing the local area and not Tokyo Bay) were incredibly valuable tools for entering an unfamiliar harbor in the rain and fog.  Thank you Furuno!  We made it into the harbor, dodged the tourist boats who were outbound to visit the sea lions and sea otters, found our assigned berth and made a perfect landing.  Nobody was watching, hence the perfect landing.  If other sailors or tourists are watching the chances of a perfect landing is slight.  If nobody is watching the chances of success are much greater. 

A long hike across the harbor to the harbor master office to check in, only to discover I had forgotten my wallet, and therefore back to the boat, back to the marina office, and back to the boat again.  It was not about 10am and I had been up since 4:30am the morning before, or some 30 hours, most of this cold and wet.  (This is what results when one gets underway on a Friday). 

I kept thinking “Are we having fun yet?”  Upon arriving back to the boat it all hit me at once and I was the most tired that I can ever remember being in my life.  I was exhausted.  My legs were so weak that I had to crawl up on the deck of the boat from the pier.  Thank gawd Astraea has a low freeboard and is not like one of the newer boats like a Hunter with their high sides.  After ignobly crawling aboard my faithful boat and peeling off my soaking wet foul weather gear I collapsed into my rack and slept the sleep of the near dead for about three hours.  In the past 30 hours I had weighed anchor in Half Moon Bay, anchored in Half Moon Bay, climbed to the top of the 53 foot mast, climbed down the mast, inflated and launched the dinghy, mounted the heavy outboard onto the dinghy, gone ashore, returned to Astraea, removed the outboard, hoisted the dinghy aboard, deflated and stowed it,  gotten underway, sailed 87 miles in the cold and the rain, entered a strange harbor in the fog and rain, and docked the boat.  Take this with the fact that I have barely 3 months left before I turn 60, and one could say that it was a very full 30 hour day for an old guy.  I need to start doing better planning.  

However after a three hour nap I woke up ready to get back to work.  The boat had mud all over her foredeck from the anchoring in Half Moon Bay and was dirty from bow to stern.  As I stood on the dock looking at the anchor, which was encased in about 20 pounds of sticky gooey mud, an old salt from the Marina walked by and said, “Looks like ya done been ta Half Moon Bay.  We call that place the mud hole”. 

It took about two hours to get the boat washed down and looking good again.  On my work list of the day was also to rearrange a lot of the tools and spare parts on board, and most of the afternoon was done inventorying items, rearranging them, and making a detailed list of everything aboard and where it was stowed.  Not a lot of fun, but it needed to be done.  By early evening the “to do” list for the day was completed and it was time to fix some dinner.   By 8:30pm, I was dead asleep.  It had been quite a day. 

Never Leave Port on a Friday

I had decided the previous night that the weather looked good for Friday morning so it was time to head for Monterey.  This would be a long full day trip, and I wanted to arrive in Monterey during daylight, so I arose at 4:30am, just like two days previously in San Francisco.   By 5:45am, just as the sun was rising, we were departing Half Moon Bay with the fishing fleet. 

Half Moon Bay As Seen From the Mast Head of Astraea

Leaving port on Friday is bad luck in the mind of most experienced sailors.  This superstition is thought to spring from the crucifixion of Christ on Good Friday. Doubters would believe the career mariner would like an extra day in port.  Legend says the British navy fought this superstition to the point that they laid the keel of a warship on a Friday, launched the vessel on another Friday, named the craft MHS Friday, and sailed it out of port for the first time on Friday.  As one would suspect, it never made it back to harbor again.

Well, here it was Friday and I was leaving port.  The wind was from the North West, and as with previous trips out of Half Moon Bay, I found it best to clear the channel and get well away from the shoals and rocks before raising the sails.  This was particularly important as I was alone.  With the AutoHelm steering I went forward to raise the main, grabbed the main halyard, and began to hoist the main sail.  The main would not budge.  Now this made no sense, as I had spray lubed the slides on the sail the evening before.  I stepped back and studied the line from the head of the main sail up to the top of the mast and then I saw the problem… the main halyard (the “rope” used to hoist the main) was fouled – wrapped around one of the new radar reflectors that Svendsens had installed at the top of the mast on each of the two top shrouds.  There is a spare halyard on the main mast, however I did not think it prudent to go to sea with one of the two main halyards totally fouled, so I made the decision to return to Half Moon Bay and fix the problem in the safety of the harbor. 

Another first was in store.  I had to climb the mast to the very top, some 56 feet up, to unfoul the line.  Some time ago I had bought this neat little contraption called a “Top Climber” that is similar to a mountain climber’s gear and allows one to climb the mast alone by alternately standing on foot straps, moving up a slider above one’s head that is connected to a seating platform, then sliding up the foot straps, standing, moving the upper slide, etc.  Think of one of those cartoons of an inch worm crawling along with the back pushing up and then the front pulling forward.  This is remarkably like the “Top Climber”.

 

Looking Down from the Mast Head

I began the 50 foot climb at about six inches at a time, alternately standing on the foot straps, pushing up the main straps, and repeating the process about 100 times as I climbed the mast.  Taking it slowly and easily I was able to get to the top in about 20 minutes.

  

The trip down was like the trip up, only in reverse.  Six inches at a time coming down a 50 foot mast.  However I did take advantage of the opportunity to lubricate the entire main sail slide from the top of the mast down to the boom.  I also was able to inspect all the rigging.  All in all it was a worthwhile effort, and also I now had the primary main halyard running free. 

 

Now I had been up since 4:30am, prepared Astraea to go to sea, raised the anchor, gotten underway, returned to port, reanchored, and climbed the mast.  It was not yet 10am.  I decided on another first, a trip in the new dinghy and an operational test of the new 12V electric pump for inflating the dinghy.  Soon the dinghy was inflated, in the water, and my vintage Johnson Seahorse 6hp outboard mounted.  Now this engine was manufactured in 1973 and definitely falls into the “vintage” category.  Also, I had not used the engine for about eight months.  We were anchored at least a half mile from the marina.  In the best tradition of a true naval officer, which means have a Plan B, I mounted the oars to the dinghy along with the engine and we headed ashore.  

This was another first for me, riding my dinghy from an anchorage into a marina.  The only reason I was doing this was to test out the dinghy and the outboard, but I had also decided to have lunch ashore.  After a great Fish and Chips lunch it was back to Astraea via the dinghy.  After about an hour of squaring away the boat, I decided to attempt to take a short nap and head for Monterey in the late afternoon, sail all night, and arrive in Monterey the next morning.  I had still not realized it was Friday. 

Now, in theory, this was a totally logical plan.  However add to this that I had been up since 4:30 that morning and it would be a long, 89 mile sail down the coast, at night.  However in the true gung ho tradition of the Navy we were off as the sun was setting. 

 

It was a very, very, very long night.  It was cold.  Very cold.  It rained.  It rained all night.  (NOAA had forecast a slight chance of showers – so much for NOAA).  There was no wind.  It was totally overcast, foggy, and there was no moon and no stars.  Just dark.  And cold.  And rain.  Also, I had been up since 4:30am.  It was a very, very long night.  A Friday night.  There may be something to these ancient superstitions! 

First Solo Docking

Astraea at anchor in Half Moon Bay.  She never fails to take my breath away when I see her. 

In Joshua Slocum’s book, “Sailing Alone Around the World”, Slocum tells about his first time as a solor sailor docking his new sloop.  He described how his “heart was in his stomach” as he approached the pier.  Granted that Slocum was landing a sailboat, without an engine, alongside a pier.   

I will admit that 114 years after Slocum the addition of a powerful new Westerbeke engine makes Astraea much easier to handle than a boat like Slocum’s.  However despite the advantage of diesel power I was, like Slocum, nervous taking Astraea alongside an unfamiliar pier and docking her alone.  I made a slow approach, came close alongside the fuel dock, backed the engine slightly to slow her forward movement, and leaped ashore.  Now this was an unnatural feeling, to jump from my boat onto the pier with nobody left aboard her.  However as soon as I landed on the dock I grabbed her amidships spring line and made it fast  to a cleat on the dock, then moved forward quickly to secure the bow line.  The stern was too far out to reach the stern line, so I jumped back aboard, grabbed the stern line, and then leaped ashore again, line in hand.  Of course I had run the line incorrectly so had to jump back aboard, rerun the stern line and then jump back ashore.  Within a total of about two minutes or less I had gotten my morning exercise and Astraea was fast to the fuel dock. 

We topped off both fuel tanks and headed back out to our anchorage for another night in Half Moon Bay. 

I must admit that I left San Francisco pretty fast, and just threw my provisions (food) on board.  The rest of the afternoon was spent properly preparing Astraea ready for sea, securing everything loose, and stowing all the provisions and other loose items in their proper places. 

The Adventure Begins - Out the Golden Gate and Into the Pacific

Today was the day I sailed out the Golden Gate and entered upon a new adventure.  As I passed under the majestic Golden Gate Bridge the Pacific Ocean was spread before me.  Looking out over that vast expanse I could not help but wonder what sailing adventures the future would hold for Astraea and me.  

Heading for the Gate, The Golden Gate

I learned as a plebe (freshman) at the US Naval Academy that time and tide wait for no man.  The Tide and Current tables showed that the max ebb at the Golden Gate would be at 06:19 with a current of 4.8 knots.   At 5:30am, just before sunrise, I started Astraea’s new engine and in the quiet of the early morning just before sunrise we backed out of our slip in Emeryville for the last time.  Finally, we were on our way. 

As we exited the channel from the marina into the Bay the wind, as expected, was coming straight in through the Golden Gate.  I am not enough of a sailing purist to endlessly tack back and forth into this wind, and if I did I would soon be fighting a flood current, so I raised the main and mizzen, left the jib furled, and motor sailed across San Francisco Bay.  In the quiet of an overcast early morning the San Francisco Bay was deserted except for one container ship, a tug, and Astraea and me.  We sailed alongside Alcatraz Island, adjusted course, and  headed for the Golden Gate.  Although we were fighting about 15 knots of wind directly on our bow the strong ebb tide carried us along and with the engine at a moderate RPM we went flying out the gate at 8.5 knots.   Astern of us “The City” itself was covered in low clouds, the weather gloomy, but fortunately no morning fog.  It was cold, and I was glad to be wearing my heavy foulies, standard garb for San Francisco for most of the year.    

Yes, the weather was gloomy and overcast, but I didn’t care.  I was sailing out the Gate, alone, on board my beautiful sailboat.  The moment had finally arrived.  I know my boat, and I have spent a good part of my life at sea, however this was the first time I had headed out onto the Ocean alone.  I found myself almost overcome with emotion and tears flowed down my face as I felt the freedom and sheer joy and exhilearation of heading out to sea, alone aboard Astraea.  This was the moment I had dreamed about for years, had daydreamed of in the windowless confines of my office.  The moment was here.

I had the autopilot and Monitor wind vane connected and tested.  I had rigged my jack lines and was wearing my PFD and safety harness.  Also, it was just a short hop down the coast to Half Moon  Bay.

The morning wind faded to nothing about half way to Half Moon Bay, so with all canvas up we motor sailed slowly, at about 4 knots, down the coast.  I had to keep reminding myself that “this is not a race” and that the voyage was what was important, not just the destination.  This is part of my mental shift from the fast paced professional life that I had lived for the past 37 years both in the Navy and the corporate world.  It was time to SLOW DOWN and enjoy living.  This is something that is not yet coming easily to me.  I have to work on it.   

Astraea anchored in the outer harbor at Half Moon Bay at about 1:30pm.  Another first for me was anchoring solo.  It turned out to be rather easy, although it did require several fast trips from the bow to the helm.   I was careful not to feel too cocky in this accomplishment, however, as it was a very large and empty anchorage and very little wind or current.  Actually, as far as anchoring goes, it was about as easy as it gets.

In testing out my new Furuno GPS (Global Positioning system) and radar systems as I sailed down the coast the GPS was working perfectly, but the radar was totally out of whack.  I had never really used the new radar, as we had done very little sailing other than day sails since it had been installed by Svendsens Boat Works.  Now that I was testing it out, however, the radar returns of the coast were nothing like I was seeing.  Having spent 14 years at sea on US Navy ships, I know well how to read a radar screen and this screen was making no sense.  After anchoring I made a call to Furuno and with the assistance of a friendly and competent tech rep we discovered that the technicians at Svendsens who had installed the system had left the radar in “demo” mode and what I was seeing was not the coast of California where I was sailing,  but a demo radar presentation of Tokyo Harbor.  A few quick adjustments and the radar was now showing Half Moon Bay and not Tokyo. 

Half Moon Bay, like San Francisco, was cold, damp and overcast.  The evening was spent inside the boat having a nice dinner and starting to make plans for the trip down the coast to San Diego.  

Tomorrow will be another first as I have to take Astraea to the fuel dock and dock her – solo.