New blog site, finally actually really going to Tahiti!

Saved some money, worked on the boat some, and now I'm coming back for take two, just about to depart for the Marquesas. In honor of the occasion I'm starting a new blog, one with a more easily remembered name, 'Cadenceofthesea.blogspot.com'. This will be the last post at this address, but please follow this link to the new site: http://cadenceofthesea.blogspot.com

Makin the most, up and down the coast

A lot's happened since my last entry, so here's a cursory overview: Most notably, Jessi (my girlfriend of many years) and I got back together toward the end of July, and in early September we took Cadence to Catalina for a week's vacation sunning and snorkeling, from Avalon to Cat Harbor. Unfortunately, it was coldish and overcast most of the trip, go figure, but we had some sun and a great time, nonetheless. She's an amazing co-pilot and I was quickly comfortable enough to go below and trust her to weave us safely through the chaos which is Newport Harbor on a summer saturday. Strangely enough though, she's not interested in sailing or cruising. I know, she must be crazy, right?

In other nautical news, I landed a short crew job on the 88' Ketch-rigged lux yacht, Sea Angel, from Newport Beach to Brisbane Marina, near San Francisco. We pounded headlong into 20-30kt. winds and 6-10' short seas under motor for 46 hours, so it's not actually 'sailing' news, but the boat was comfortable, the crew great, and the trip a good experience overall.

The Crew of Sea Angel: Linda, Captain Chris, Chuck and Glen

My brother went back to school for the semester, and I took up once again with Westar, the tugboat company where I used to work on S.F. Bay. Cadence remained in Newport Beach, where my good buddies Gloria, Adam and Chuck were wonderful and kept an eye on things her for me.

Newport life: When nature calls, Adam answers

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Between working on the S.F. Bay, visiting Jessi in Fresno, and hanging around the boat in Newport Beach, I've been playing quite the tumbleweed and put a lot of miles under my keel these last few months. As January wound to a close I had used up my mooring time in Newport, and I began preparations to sail Cadence back north to the San Francisco Bay, hopefully for some concentrated dough-earning. With some moola in the piggy-bank, I'll once again be in a position to ponder the 'to go or not to go' question.

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Tug work on S.F. Bay, moving the historic Balclutha

Newport Beach

Made it to Newport Beach on the heels of the best wind so far. Full sail, not too much chop, light swell and Cadence pushing a steady 7-7.5 knots the whole 45 miles. And, my old college friend Lawrence joined me, so we basically just hung out for 8 hours while the windvane auto-pilot did most of the work. Arrived in Newport just before sunset, picked up a mooring, and have been here since. My friend Chuck from Moss Landing moved down here two years ago, and has shown me the ropes regarding how to live here, as Newport is not a friendly place toward cruisers. I've been rowing ¾ mile each way to get to the public dock where I can park my dinghy. Sometimes I sail there if there's wind, but the dinghy doesn't sail well upwind, so it's a one-way ticket unless the breeze is just right or I've got lots of time to kill.

Boz is still down for the count, though feeling better every day, thankfully. He's going back to school for a semester, and I've decided to get a job and replenish the cruising kitty so we can be ready to go when the real time comes. School's out mid-December; in the meantime I've got an anchor roller to install, HAM radio antenna to string up, toilet to replace, bilge pump to hook up, handrail to fix, doors to build, zinc to put on, songs to write, blogs to catch up on, job to find... at least I don't have to worry about getting bored.

Sharing time. When Pete and I sailed from Santa Barbara to Santa Cruz Island, there was a pod of dolphins headed right in our direction so I killed the motor and parked right in their path. Check out the video:

From the anchorage at Redondo Beach:

My thanks to all ye faithful who check my blog regularly, I owe you an update at least, if not a full, proper short story. So much has happened, and I'm having major trouble keeping up. Here's a brief synopsis, however, with specific stories following in the next posts. I have indeed been writing in shorts and t-shirts, as hoped. I have a suntan, which is novel. I partied in Avila Beach and San Luis Obispo with an awesome croud I met at the yacht club, learned to surf, sailed around Point Conception to Santa Barbara by my lonesome, hung out there for five days or so. I have met many amazing people in the last few weeks, who have enriched my life in ways I can't begin to explain. I feel at home, for the first time in a long while.

Pacifica Pete called me out of the blue right before I sailed from Santa Barbara, hopped on a last minute greyhound and joined me for a week-long booze cruise to Santa Cruz island and then Redondo Beach. We snorkeled, kayaked in caves, ate ginormous crabs. Now here I am, anchored for free on a 4-day permit in Redondo Beach. I'm supposed to leave tomorrow, but will figure out a way to stay another day and get some blogging done, and maybe some sailboat racing with Captain Woody and some of his friends. He writes a column in Latitudes and Attitudes magazine, by the way, and it's always great, so go out and buy your copy today (...Shameless plug...). Next stop probably is Newport Beach to meet my good friend Chuck Hypes from Moss Landing (who escaped to Newport Beach ~2 years ago) and Matt Coats, one of my best friends from college. Chuck and I may buddy-boat (two separate boats) to Catalina island, and hopefully my Brother Boz gets better and gets his tushy down here soon and joins the fun. Cadence misses you, boz! So do I. And, so does dinner:

Thankfully they don't fight back. Lord knows I would, if I were that tasty.

Southward to Avila Beach

The sailcover was off, headsail hanked onto the forestay, safety jacklines in place and the motor purring as Mark slipped the last line from the mooring. One of the best things about staying in a place long as I had is all the great people you meet. I was fortunate to have met Mark, a 26 year-old structural engineer/student and avid surfer, who volunteered to come along on the passage to Santa Barbara and see what sailing's all about. The forecast called for 7-11 foot seas and 20-30kts of wind – not quite ideal, but nothing the boat couldn't handle with ease. Eric my viking friend gave us a big wave from the beach adjacent to the harbor entrance and Dozer barked as I gunned 'Old Blue' to push us through the breakers rolling through the harbor mouth. A large swell darkened the water ahead and a 12' coamer, the kind surfers dream about, began to curl about 45 degrees off the bow. “We're going to get wet,” observed Mark, rather nonchalantly for a newbie. “Yup”, was all I could say as I spun the wheel to point the bow into the wave. Cadence banked steeply upward and we hung on tight as her nose cleanly sliced the top of the wave in two, sending an arc of chilly water cascading over us and down the collars of our foul weather gear. “Think we ought to put those shutterboards in?”, I asked rhetorically. “That would probably be a good idea.” Mark sounded remarkably stoic for a virgin sailor, but beneath his calm exterior he was probably starting to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into.

-Gotta get the hooker off your back-

Away from the shore, waves don't curl and break like they do at the beach so the open sea was much more comfortable, though the waves were still occasionally up to ~10'. We sailed fine for 20 minutes with the main and jib up and Mark at the wheel (a natural helmsman, by the way), then the wind grew fickle and died on us. We started the motor again. After a few minutes, Mark grew silent and began to stare hard and pensive at the horizon. “You want me to take the wheel?”, I asked. “Not quite yet, I'll let you know.... Okay, take the wheel.”

Poor man. There's nothing in the world that makes death seem more seductive than being in the throes of seasickness. And after seeing him leaning over the rail, I too found myself having a hard, long look at the mountains in the distance.



-Motoring around Pt. Buchon-

We motored on through the dusk and into the night, and I got lucky and pulled through, though Mark stayed sick the whole time. A true champ, he was so upbeat and enthusiastic, you'd hardly know anything was amiss until he resumed feeding the fishes.

Pulling into sheltered Port San Luis 5 hours later, we picked up a yacht club mooring at Avila Beach and turned in for the night, a gentle southern swell lulling us to sleep. After rowing to the pier the next morning, we savored a cup of coffee strong enough to wake the dead with Mark's friend Eric 'Alaska', and then Mark headed home to study for finals. As it happened, the forecast 20-30kts of wind turned out to be about 5kts for five days in a row, and I'm still here in Avila Beach, waiting for the wind to return. Sunday the 15th looks great in the forecast, and I've got my fingers crossed.

-Mark throws up the Morro Bay gang sign - that's right, three stacks and a rock, bro.-

One Dark Night in Morro Bay

It was 11pm on a cold, dark Morro Bay night and I was bundled in my bed reading when a knock came at the side of the boat. “Come aboard,” I said, and moments later the boat lurched as Eric the Red hauled his 230 pound frame over the gunnels and onto the deck. As he came down the steps, I saw he had in his hand a brand new bottle of Rumple-Minz peppermint schnapps, a drink which had been an accomplice in many of his stories of wilder, younger years. In short, when Eric drinks Rumple-Minz, crazy things happen. But tonight we were detoxing from a long weekend at the bars, so we each had one, and only one sip. Sailors are naturally a superstitious lot, so it would be a fateful decision.

We talked of girls, sailing and life for an hour or so, then I followed him on deck to see him off. The tidal current was ripping at 3kts, flowing directly from his boat to mine, so he would have to paddle upstream, and paddle hard, if he hoped to make it. His dinghy, which came with his boat, is an inflatable rubber ducky of a boat not more than 6 feet long that rows about as well as a stuck pig in mud. Nevertheless, he decided to give it a go - he could always return to my boat if it wasn't going well. Pushing off the side of Cadence he grabbed the diminutive toy paddles and began splashing at the Morro River in a valiant struggle to get home, while I looked on, just in case. He was half way back to his boat when the port-side oarlock (a cheap plastic pivot point for the oar) abruptly gave way with a "SNAP!". The paddle went swinging in the air, and Eric was thrown off balance and leaned back toward the bow of the dinghy. The dinghy couldn't support the forward shift in weight and began to tip. 'Splash!' His feet went up in the air and the whole dinghy flipped end over end.

“Arrrrgh!” thundered Eric's best pirate roar as his head broke the surface and he shook the sea from his hair like rain from a lion's mane. “Dane!” he hollered, clutching the dinghy as the current grabbed him and hurtled him back toward my boat.
“I got'cha,” I assured him.
Locked in the current, he tore by the mooring Cadence was tied to and grasped at the mooring line with his one free hand.
“Let it go!", I said as I stooped and put my hand out over the side of the boat. Within seconds the current brought our outstretched arms together. Now firmly holding onto Cadence's toe rail, he handed me the tether to his inverted, one-oared dinghy and I quickly lifted it on board.
“It's f-#k'in cold. Do you have a ladder?”
“Yeah, hang in there a sec.” I got a flimsy plastic ladder clipped in place and with my arm under his shoulder he hauled himself aboard and stood, sopping wet and shivering in the cockpit.

“Strip down, I'll get you some dry clothes.” Fortunately, my brother Boz wears larger clothes than I, and they're still on the boat in his absence. Nonetheless, Eric the Red barely squeezed into them. Thawing out under some blankets in his tight new fleece pants and flannel he said pensively,
“Man, I could've been sucked out to sea.”
“That's a fact.”
“You saved my ass.”
“Ah, you'd have grabbed something or swam to shore, you'd just be a hell of a lot colder right now," I assured him.
A long pause...
“My keys were in the dinghy.”
“We'll get a diver to look for them tomorrow.”
“They were on a floating key chain.”

28 Days Later...

I've been here nearly a month now, and Cadence is growing a beard of seagrass on her waterline. There's something magnetic about these sleepy little towns on the coast that sucks you in day by day and every time you think you're ready to leave, something or someone happens and gives you a reason to stay. Morro Bay has been great to me, but at long last, I think it's time to move along. The weather was perfect for sailing the last few days and I'd hoped to leave, but it took too long to get the boat ready and now Point Conception doesn't look too fun, with 25-35kts and seas building. But if I don't move along soon, at this rate, I'll probably never leave. In fact, many of the people I've met here were originally passing through just like me, and are still here many years or decades later. Coming back from the coffee shop one night weeks ago, I met Eric the Red incarnate, viking extraordinaire, and his 140lb St. Bernard “Dozer”.

Conversation led to beer, which led to whiskey and more whiskey, which in turn led to debauchery, and 1 month later my wallet's much lighter but I've got stories and scars aplenty to show for it. Originally from Detroit, Eric moved out here and bought a boat after his girlfriend at the time showed no interest in either starting a family or going sailing. He cut ties, took that California trip, got himself a beautiful, sturdy bluewater sailboat in Channel Islands Harbor and set about making preparations to go to Alaska. Unfortunately, Dozer wouldn't go potty on the boat, and after ~30 hours at sea, Eric pulled into Morro Bay and landed a good job, and has been here two months now. I keep telling him he ought to shave that dog and head south to warmer waters, but that big ol' dog would probably expire in the heat regardless. Check out this clip of Kujo, cooling off in his customary fashion:

Everything is stowed away now, and the boat's ready to go. Santa Barbara is ~125 miles away (~24hours) but I have a few other ports I can duck into along the way. Hopefully, I'll be writing the next post in shorts and a T-shirt.