Cadence of the Sea (old blog)

New blog site, finally actually really going to Tahiti!

2010-04-21T01:08:00.001-07:00

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

2009-02-27T16:07:00.000-08:00

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

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.

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

Newport Beach

2008-07-14T13:52:00.000-07:00

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:

2008-06-28T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-13T17:08:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T14:13:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-06-03T14:16:00.000-07:00

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.

Boat People

2008-05-09T20:12:00.001-07:00

One of the things I have always enjoyed most about being involved with boats is that they have a wonderful tendancy to bring people together from all walks of life, people who you wouldn't expect to have become friends if they met under other circumstances. Boat people all have one common thread, which occupies inordinately large amounts of their free time, and the shared misfortune of owning a boat draws mariners together into what amounts to an extraordinarily widespread support group. For every first-time boat owner there is always a dockfull of available mentors, ready to share their hard-won expertise in whatever problem most closely mirrors past mechanical nightmares in their personal money pit in the water. Unlike life on land where concrete and open lawns create distance between you and your neighbors, literally and figuratively, on a dock you pass by your neighbors on an 8' floating wooden strip, and it's very hard not to get to know one another. It's natural therefore that I've found it so easy to make many great friends on the docks over the years, irrespective of age or background, ranging from being in their mid-twenties to eighty-somthings. Nautical life seems to diminish the apparent boundaries of age significantly, and it's interesting to note that a number people I regard as some of my fondest friends are old enough to be my parents, or even grandparents. It is said that God does not count against man's allotted time on earth every day spent sailing; I'm just holding out hope that applies the same to every day spent fixing one's boat. That way, hopefully, we'll all live a long, long time.

On the way to Morro Bay

2008-05-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

I hung out in the anchorage at San Simeon for a week before the forecast turned sour – a predicted 11-18 foot seas off the coast a few days out, and I knew it was time to go before the anchorage became a washing machine. The morning wind hadn't yet materialized when I raised anchor at 10am so I motored south for a bit before being able to raise sail around 11:30 or so. Rather strange considering the 20-30kt forecast for the day, but the wind gods ultimately delivered the promised breeze, and before I knew it I was running under jib alone amidst 6-8' whitecaps. Before I knew it, I had covered 20 of the 25 miles to Morro Bay and Morro Rock stood tall dead ahead. I raised the triple-reefed main and dropped the jib in order to keep sail up coming into the harbor entrance, and bore down on the channel.

Morro Rock

The swell began to steepen in the last mile to the shore and looking behind the boat I saw an abnormally large wave coming on. It lifted the stern and swung Cadence around, just enough to backwind the mainsail, and I watched with clenched teeth as the main swung across and stopped amidships with a clang. “Oh, phew,” I thought, “the preventer held, at least somewhat.” A preventer is a line rigged to keep the boom where you want it, to eliminate or at least minimize the danger of an accidental gybe, which can potentially be damaging enough to bring down the mast. Then I noticed the preventer line hanging limp and in tatters from the boom, obviously not doing its job. Looking up in horror I realized why the boom had stopped: when it came across, the wind filling the sail caused the boom to lift high enough that it actually hit the backstay and hung there, held in place 9' off the deck by the wind. No backstay generally = no mast, and it seems my guardian angel was watching over me that day. Obviously, the preventer system will be getting a thorough redesigning.
Cruising into the harbor, still thanking my lucky stars, I parked on the local yacht club dock for the night where they gave me a key to the facilities, no questions asked, and I enjoyed my first hot water shower in a week, oh sooooo sweet.

Morro Sunset

Choices and Sacrifice: A personal, Melancholy Note

2008-05-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

Everything in life is a compromise, a set of goods and bads weighed, and we make our choices accordingly and live by them. Or sometimes we feel like the choices are made for us, by rigid facts beyond our control. I've had a lot of time to think lately, and lots of those thoughts have revolved around what I've given up to be here, in my home, out a'vagabonding along the coast. For instance, I'd probably almost have a doctorate by now, or maybe be making a bundle of money in the rat-race. Maybe a house, wife, dog, and the whole lot. Or I could have taken all the money and time spent on the boat and traveled the world a few times over. In the words of my friend Robin Reines, “World traveler today, broken old man tomorrow.” Frankly, that sounds okay by me, but not so appealing if it's: 'lonely, broken old man.' So the biggest sacrifice I'm making weighs over this whole venture like a dark, sour cloud. Jessi, my girlfriend of six years, has seen this trip coming for at least five of those years as an inevitable wedge in our relationship, particularly because my ultimate destination is totally unknown. Not in the slightest interested in sailing herself, she has nevertheless been fully supportive of my aspirations all these years, despite knowing it would possibly, or probably, pull us apart in the end. Six years of confiding, supporting, loving, sharing and being the main feature in each other's lives, then to quit cold-turkey because phone calls only emphasize the distance between us... Awkward doesn't begin to describe it. But if you both want opposite things in life that are mutually exclusive, how can a happy compromise be found? I want more than anything for it to work between us, but the facts speak for themselves. I'd never be happy if I didn't get off the dock and have some adventures, and she wants a home, career, security – the typical male aversion to commitment vs. the female nesting instinct. And so it is that by embarking on this journey I have likely jeopardized the best thing that ever happened to me yet, though it would be futile and insincere to stay and try my hand at homemaking. And it would be insincere, and unfair to Jess, not to speak to how wonderful a part of my life she is, and always has been all these years. Only time will tell what will become of us, but I find comfort in knowing that one way or another it'll all work out in the end.

The Sand Simians

2008-05-05T20:20:00.000-07:00

The Anchorage at San Simeon is protected by a forested finger of land that juts southward from the mainland, creating a region of calm water ½ mile across, largely unaffected by the predominant northwest swell. When I awoke my first morning there, the sun was bright and strong, and the anchorage still as a mirror. I had but one neighbor, a bearded neo-pirate character named Skip on a ~40 foot ketch. He'd come zooming up in his zodiac the afternoon before, to let me know I could anchor closer to him if I wanted, and to fill my ear with stories. He told his tales and quickly established his credentials as a fine outlaw in keeping with the best traditions of the sea – tales of storms, rescues at sea, dragging anchors, ornery self-absorbed government officials, and shotguns barrels crammed in the ears of said officials. I liked him right away.

A few blissful days passed and I played guitar, sang, wrote, read, daydreamed, hiked onshore and generally just tried to adapt to the quiet and solitude, letting the trappings of mainland life slip away. The weekend brought beach goers and kayakers, and the laughter of kids playing in the surf echoed across the lagoon. Tuesday came and my friend Pete W. made the drive down the coast in search of a little peace and quiet. About this time, the swell was beginning to pick up a bit, and the beach surf with it, but getting off the beach in the dinghy went off without a hitch. The dinghy rows well with one person, but with two it's really slow, so timing the wave sets is critical. That night we barbecued, drank beer, and feasted like kings. In the morning breakfast burritos with bacon and eggs hit the spot, we tried our hand at fishing, went hiking among the cypress trees on the peninsula, and then went into town in search of a good burger. Coming out of the diner, we noticed these strange statues gaurding the door like stone lions, only with sheep heads. Not very intimidating sentinels, but a little disturbing, nonetheless. Perhaps they were 'Sand Simians', we wondered. In no way did they resemble apes, however, so we hypothesized for some time who the elusive 'Sand Simians' actually could be.

With our electronics and shoes stored in dry bags, we timed the sets and pushed off the beach in the dinghy, Pete rowing hard toward Cadence, and me in the back. An abnormally large swell darkened the water ahead of us, loomed up, and crested well above our heads. We took it square on the bow, and had only ankle deep water in the boat, but it turned us sideways to the next wave. Larger still, it nailed us broadside, and the dinghy was half full. Full of optimism, I said,”Point us into the wave, Pete,” as the next wave loomed up. “I've lost an oar!,” he observed. “Well, we're f-'d,” I concluded aloud. The next wave turned the dinghy into a 1000lb bathtub and we watched helplessly as our lifevests, oars, drybags, and groceries floated out. No use rowing any more - we hopped out into the waist-deep water and waded. Fortunately we saved it all, and the only damage done was to our prides. After a good laugh and a few minutes to regroup, we charged again and glided through the surf zone like pros. We were batting 3 for 4, not too bad, we told ourselves.

The next afternoon came, and it was time for Pete to go, so we packed up the dinghy again, with extra emphasis on dry bags this time. Too bad Pete's large backpack didn't fit in one. He had the oars again, and confidently rowed us to just outside the surf zone where we watched the waves like hawks, waiting for our window of opportunity. Perhaps we got impatient, but it looked clear, far as the eye could see and we went for it. Rowing hard, we watched the biggest wave yet loom from the deep and take aim. It crested well above our heads, and I leaned forward, hoping the lightened stern would rise to the wave. This was a very bad idea. Lighter stern = heavier bow, and as the bow dug in and I found myself hurtling through the air, I realized the error of my waves, er, ways. Then blackness and noise, swirling water and sand, and 'thump!', the dinghy landed on my head. Emerging from under the capsized dinghy, Pete standing next to me exclaimed “God Damnit!”. Always cool and composed, I'd never seen him even the slightest bit flustered, and I doubt if I ever will again.

I fished his floating backpack out from under the dinghy and we collected the rest of the debris scattered throughout the surf, then stumbling up the beach, sodden, downtrodden, and dejected, we began to laugh. With sand in our hair, pockets, ears, mouths, and other creative places, we were undoubtedly a sorry sight to behold. And then we realized who the mysterious 'Sand Simians' were. We were the Sand Simians.

San Simeon or Bust!

2008-05-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

It was one of those classic days from everyone's childhood memories, warm and sunny, baby blue sky with a scattering of cotton balls as far as the eye could see. Except also with a dash of wind, to make it a true sailor's delight of a day. The forecast had said it would be too light, but it was just right. As I inched my way up the mast in my climbing harness for a final check of the rigging, I chided myself for not having taken care of all these last minute tasks sooner. The boat wouldn't be ready until tomorrow, and I was missing the start of the good weather window.

At the top of the mast, I finished checking the fittings and looked down. Hmm, I thought. Maybe I should have rigged that safety line after all. Jean-Michelle, the French representative in Moss Landing, was standing on the dock next to Cadence, looking up, shouting something and gesturing with his arms, but I couldn't quite make it out over the wind. He looked quite tiny down there. Somehow, we agreed to postpone our conversation to a more, er, convenient time.

Dressed up in my foul-weather gear and all by my lonesome, I finally left the dock at four o'clock the next afternoon, April 26th, and set off into a cool 15 knot headwind, beating southwest toward Monterey. Just before rounding Pacific Grove around seven o'clock, the wind was upwards of 20kts, 25 apparent (from sailing into the wind at ~5½ knots), and I put the third reef in the mainsail. Just as I got back to the cockpit, an adult humpback breached full out of the water not even 100 yards dead ahead and plunged beneath the waves, fluke held high. A thrilling sight to behold, but alarming as well. How many more were with him, concealed by the 6 foot whitecaps all around? Another two water spouts told me he was not alone, and 'boat meets whale' is never a good scenario for either of the parties involved, so I immediately altered course. Thankfully that was the last I saw of whales for the night.

Four miles south of Carmel I was becalmed in a tossing sea, despite a consistent 20kts of wind all along the coast, according the the buoy reports. Tossing sea quickly led to a tossing tummy and the temptation of the Stillwater Cove anchorage in Carmel was hard to resist, but I hardened my resolve, started the motor and swung the bow southward. 20 minutes later the wind returned, in spades.

Seasickness has a way of sapping one's desire to live, turning a casual day sail into an ordeal to be survived, and a prudent sailor into a careless slob. I managed to get down a couple of tins of fruit, but my appetite was fickle at best. Nonetheless, there's always work to be done on a boat, especially during a shakedown sail and, sick or not, you've gotta man-up and do it. Cruising at 6½ knots with bursts to 9 down waves, it was a sleigh ride under jib alone, until the wind lightened around daybreak. I put up the light wind genoa for a few hours and bagged a golden hour of sleep until the wind returned for the finale, a good 18 knots of wind which took me right around Point Piedras Blancas and into the anchorage at San Simeon. Dropping the hook in the sheltered sandy cove around 3pm, my hunger came on with a vengeance, and mac and cheese never tasted so good as it did that afternoon.

Point Piedras Blancas, a.k.a. Dodoo Rock

(Not quite as grand as I'd imagined)

Rubbing the sleepers from my eyes, I awoke from my nap to see the evening stars twinkling bright through the open hatch. Outside, the steam from my tea rising to the heavens, I looked up at the soft white arc of the milky way splashed across the sky with no orange city glow to drown it out. Silhouetted against all that stellar splendor, Cadence's mast looked very small by comparison, very small indeed.

Oh lord, stuck in Moss-World again...

2008-04-23T22:33:00.000-07:00

After a beautifully sunny and warm, albeit fumey ride down the coast mostly under motor, we arrived in Santa Cruz just after sundown. Even a town one knows well holds a new fascination when approached by sea, as if seeing it through new eyes. After a rough beach landing in the dinghy in which Boz kindly took the proverbial bullet for me by blocking a wave with his backside, we hung out under the wharf, drinking beer in the shadows with Halachee Steve and his friend Dave, and guarding the dinghy like true scofflaws. A couple of college girls came laughing and prancing along the shoreline towards the wharf but stopped dead in their tracks upon spying us lurking amidst the pilings, and slowly backed away cautiously. It's good to see common sense is still en vogue - after all, what kind of person comes all the way to Santa Cruz just to hang out under the wharf, seriously?

Halachee Steve off the Santa Cruz Wharf

A couple of sunny days at anchor off SC and we set out to Moss Landing on a fresh 15 knot NW breeze. Moss is Cadence's home port, and when family issues threatened to deprive us of our shipmate Steve, we opted to keep the sailing local so that he might stay on for a bit. 9 days later, we've partied in Big Sur, on the dock, partied with a racing boat crew in Santa Cruz, and have been inducted as honorary crew members of the pirate schooner Moonstone.

Cadence at the fuel dock, Steve Modeling

Micah Big Sur and Brother Boz

If you're ever in Moss Landing, just ask for Boston and tell'im Dane sent ya. It's been a crazy week, I'm all partied-out, and it's time to move along south. Boz will be sitting this one out because his back is bugging him, so I'll be going it alone while he recouperates, and he'll join me later in Southern California.

Micah's Big Sur Backyard (Click for larger panorama)

By the time you read this, I'll be on my way south to warmer waters. A couple of 24 hour passages should drop me on Santa Cruz Island, renown for it's perforation with seacaves, some big enough to sail a tallship into. More on that next time.

At long last, we shake the cobwebs off the docklines

2008-04-10T12:15:00.000-07:00

As I sit here in the creaky brown leather reading chair in my parent's living room, I contemplate the new concept that we are actually leaving, after many false starts, unwelcome setbacks and lots of good old-fashioned lagging. After more than 10 years of dreaming and scheming, the last 3 of that spent rebuilding and outfitting the boat, tomorrow marks the beginning of a new chapter for me, and hence, a blog. Early in the morning my brother Boz and I will awake, shower, shave and catch a ride with our dad to Pillar Point Harbor where Cadence II, my 37' sailboat awaits, packed and ready to go. With a forecast of sunny skies and 10-20kts. of wind (12-23mph), it should be a beautiful downwind sail all the way to Santa Cruz, where we'll anchor near the pier, cook up that frozen freschetta pizza I've been saving and wash it down with a bottle of celebratory wine. From there we sail to Southern California, and presuming all goes well, we'll be off to the South Pacific Islands sometime in the next couple of weeks, first stop the Marquesas islands in French Polynesia. After that, for as long as the money lasts, we'll go wherever the wind blows us (that hopefully means west, say, to New Zealand). In my experience, very little ever goes as planned with boats, but hopefully the powers that be will make an exception this time and we'll get off the mainland before May. Waiting much longer would mean facing northern hemisphere hurricane season as we make our way south. However, there's still a couple of projects that should be done before the big 'puddle-jump', and I look forward to knocking those out while at anchor under a warmer southern-california sky.

How I got us into this mess:

In my first year in college I got it into my big head that some of the greatest, most fascinating places to me were out on the open ocean where huge expanses of water rendered them largely inaccessible to most people, except those with boats or money to fly out and charter them. This intrigued me so, and having neither boat nor money, I fell sucker to the romantic notion that sailing the ocean blue to all of these exotic locales sounded grand indeed. It would of been much cheaper to have chosen the latter option, and I'd probably have a great tan by now. However far out of reach the notion of world cruising seemed, I decided I might as well learn to sail, because failing calculus due to incessant daydreaming and guitar playing was starting to bore me, and besides, UCSC offered free sailing lessons to students.

Some years later I found a cheap boat and in my scheming, realized that living on a small boat during college would save me enough in rent over two years to pay for the cost of the boat. It was a no-brainer, and besides, I like camping. That first boat was an Ericson 29, a fine coastal cruiser of a boat that would have taken me to Mexico for the winter and back about three times by now, or even across the Pacific, but I had the boat bug and fell in love with an old beautiful fixer-upper with beautiful lines and stout construction, ready to cross oceans. Or almost. I got a wonderful deal on her sold the Ericson to my now dear friend 'Halachee' Steve, and stepped aboard my new boat on the first hour of the new year, 2005. Cadence had been closed up for a while so she got a thorough bleaching sanding, scrubbing and pressure-washing, then a new interior paint-job. About then, my younger brother came into the project. He made Cadence look good. All that wood on the outside, he got her 'pimped out', per say. The engine wasn't installed so I rebuilt the engine beds and put it in, rebuilt the water system, redid the wiring, blah blah... We hauled out and he and I spent a month and a half in the boatyard grinding, epoxying, sanding and painting until her bottom was almost better than new. We added a battery charger, wind gen and solar panels. Three years later, and countless thousands of dollars later, I've been long out of college and we're long overdue for a change of latitude. Having to do it all over again, I may have just stuck with the Ericson, but on the other hand, we've got a bitchin' boat to go cruising in now, and it's my home, and our home for the next while. They say that a simple boat out cruising is better than a fancy boat tied to the bank. Cadence turned out to be a great balance between the two, both fancy-ish and relatively cheap by boat standards, and I probably learned as much rebuilding the boat as I did in 5+ years of college. I think a boat rebuild is something everybody should do. Once. (More than that would border on pathological.)

Now that we're finally off, I can get back to that guitar I've been neglecting for so long, and I've got lots and lots of reading to do. With the amount of books we've got onboard, Cadence is like the bookmobile of the sea. I'll be keeping a semi-regular blog of our progress so if you're interested, you can click on the subscribe link below and stay in touch, or just check in every now and then. Comments and questions are always welcome, and although I'll only be having sporadic internet access, I'll keep in touch as best as I can.