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.-