Half Moon Bay: Waiting for Godot

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If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.

We arrived in Half Moon Bay last month, ostensibly just for a few days, in order to regroup, rest up, and clean up. The day after we arrived, Sunday, was beautiful: warm and sunny. We were half tempted just to motor the rest of the way home, but we were tired and wanted to invite everyone aboard for the final run home.

Half Moon Bay is a well protected harbor in a south facing bay that lies underneath the headlands that make up the bottom of Silicon Valley. It is only a few miles from San Francisco, and a great place to sail if you are looking for a quick weekend trip from inside the bay. The area has a large sea wall the encloses the main harbor, and then a second sea wall with a marina tucked inside it. It is a working marina, with numerous fishing vessels moored here, and crabbers selling their catch along the pier. The docks are old, and a bit ragged, many of the boats are in even worse condition, but I love the area, and the folks were friendly and helpful.

Our initial plan was to wait until the following weekend, organize everyone who had ever served as crew aboard Triton (without managing to get kicked off), then sail north the last twenty miles, with all on deck as we went under the Golden Gate Bridge and into San Francisco Harbor. Our good friend and long time crewmate Jeff H. (see "eggerator" in the index for a funny story about him) had made plans to leave the country (for an entire month) the Friday before our trip, but we'd convinced him that he really needed to be with us, so he changed his plans! It looked like most everyone was going to be able to make it.

But the Gods found out first. That week, a storm brewed up out of the Pacific. It was predicted to contain hurricane strength winds, seas of biblical proportions, and a rain of frogs. We watched the weather reports carefully all week, hoping the jet stream might change direction, but it continued to amplify the low pressure system headed our way. On top of that, a cold front was swinging up along the bottom of it, carrying along rain clouds, gusty wind and a thunderbolt or two. Very ominous.

In the meantime, we cleaned the boat. Very much like her crew, Triton's hygiene had been neglected for several months as we'd pushed our way north, and she needed a good bath and a wash behind her ears. In fact, there were parts of her (like Robinson's bathroom) that hadn't been properly cleaned the entire time he was aboard. It was disgusting and the smell emanating from the head could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. We took turns attacking it with various chemicals while holding our breath. We resolved never to let a future crew member aboard unless they left a cleaning deposit in advance.

Unfortunately, the weather in Half Moon Bay that week was horrible. Foggy, damp, with a cold, drizzling rain most days. We tore the boat apart and pressure washed every inch, scouring away sea grime from surfaces that hadn't seen the light of day since Panama, and battling bacterial that, if left undeterred, would soon discover fire, invent the wheel and elect their own form of government. We spent most of our time in rain slickers, on our hands and knees, deep inside bilges, cupboards, closets and cubby holes, pushing ourselves pretty hard after such a long sea voyage, but still hadn't finished as Friday approached.

In the midst of all this toiling, our good friends Ted, Suzanne and Blair stopped by to say hi. They were in the area, and we were thrilled to see them again, and delighted for any excuse to go out to dinner somewhere warm. We dined at a local fish restaurant called"Sam's Chowder House", located just a block south of the marina on Route 1. The food was fantastic and we highly recommend it. There are several other restuarants in the area, but they pale in comparison. We especially didn't like the Half Moon Bay Brewery just down the road from the marina.

What worried us most was that weather system off the coast was still picking up steam. A low pressure system in the upper atmosphere had linked up with the surface depression, reinforcing and strengthening it. The predictions were becoming quite dire, and many folks were shocked that we were still considering moving the boat under those conditions. We talked about it for a while and decided that only reason we were sailing was to meet a self-imposed schedule, and that although our boat could easily handle the conditions, there was no compelling reason to put our friends and crew in harm's way needlessly, so we decided to postpone the trip until the following weekend, although we felt really bad for the inconvenience we'd caused everyone.

In the meantime a really ominous storm brewed up along the coast and slammed into the marina. It was odd watching thousands of seagulls nestle into the sea wall and crowd in along the waterfront. I've never seen so many birds together in one place since "The Birds". They were even a bit quiet and still, like in the movie. Scary, in a Alfred Hitchcock kind of way.

So, given that the storm was going to dump on us, and we couldn't get much else done, we packed up the car and drove home to spend some time on our houseboat "Hurrikane" in Emeryville, mostly to sit quietly in front of a space heater without having to do anything. We drove home in the rain, took off our clothes and flopped into bed. And got sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where you welcome the grave. I'm not sure what kind of bug it was, but it was virulent. Perhaps the Spanish Flu, the one that killed 18 million people last century, was trying to make a come back? Maybe it was something we came in contact with when we cleaned Robinson's head. Whatever it was, both AnnMarie and I were death-warmed-over for almost ten days. We were laid out in bed next to each other barely able to move, unconscious most of the time; coughing, sneezing and hacking up various internal organs whenever we were awake. It was not fun.

We are only now beginning to feel better, and still aren't fully recovered yet. Last night we went for a ride back down to the boat to check on her and stopped for a lovely meal at the restaurant next to the harbor. We've rescheduled with the crew for this weekend, although not everyone can make it this time. We're disappointed it didn't work out better, but, in keeping with the traditions of the sea, you pay for every inch you sail against the wind.

In the meantime, we will be moving the boat on Saturday, March 8th, and will be crossing under the Golden Gate some time around 4pm. We'll post our position on www.winlink.org (look for KD6TAJ) as we approach the gate. If you have a spare minute, please wave as we go by. We are also planning a boat warming party on the following Sunday, March 9th, between 10am and 2pm. If you are in the area, please drop by and say hi.

Cheers for now,

Robb


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Point Conception: What A Drag!

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Hello Northern California!

AnnMarie arrived the other day and we quickly headed north. The weather gods decided to punish us for moving the boat so quickly by throwing wind and waves at our bows. We bumped and bashed along, making less than four knots over much of it. The temps rarely got above sixty five, and the wind chill made it feel much worse. We wear our foulies most of the time now, and hats that can also be used as birth control, cause no one is gonna sleep with you if you're wearing it.

We motored continuously, with swells and chop coming from several different directions at once. Every so often a few waves would combine to leap up and smack our boat, jarring everyone aboard and making a booming noise that reverberated through the entire boat and slowing our progress.

The next morning I came on deck to discover that the port side trampoline, recently restrung with line we'd bought in Mexico, had parted. The constant bashing had snapped the line in several places. Two sides of it were still tied to the boat, but the other two dragged through the water with each wave that slammed into us. We reduced speed as I put on all my foulies, PFD, harness and clipped in to the jack lines, then went up on the bow to cut the tramp away from the boat. After hanging on the end of a cold, slippery bow while it bounced along through the waves, I managed to wrestle it back aboard and stow it in the cockpit. Then I went inside, and warmed up over a tin can of seafood. This is definitely not the glamorous cruising life you see on the magazine covers.

We reached Cojo Cove, just beneath Point Conception, at sunset and dropped the hook. There were a few large Coast Guard mooring balls just outside the anchorage, but these were reserved for the various oil rigs tenders, rescue ships and other such corporate and government boats that frequent the area. The winds were from the northeast, around fifteen knots but gusting to twenty five every so often, so we were nervous about making sure we had a good grip on the bottom. I added a smaller 20lb Danforth (something I've done many times before) to the end of the big CQR, but I had little faith in our primary anchor. We'd had nothing but problems with it in the past; it never set well, tended to drag, and didn't handle wind changes very well.

We dropped the hook in twenty-six feet of water over what was described as hard sand, taking pains to lower the anchor slowly, allowing the small anchor to touch, then slowly drifting back as we laid down the larger CQR and chain. We paid out all of our rode as we drifted back (leaving us a 6 to 1 scope) and then backed down on it with the engines, feeling the big anchor dig in. We sat there for a while, watching the land around us, as well as our GPS positions, to see if we going anywhere. We weren't, but I still wasn't comfortable about it, so I left the radar & GPS on, setting the electronic alarms to warn us if we moved.

Then we had dinner and rechecked our position: all was well. Naturally, the wind had died completely and we were being slowly rocked by a gentle swell from the west. Perfect conditions for rounding the point. I wondered if we should just pull stakes and head out now, but we were all tired from the bash, so we decided to get some much needed rest. We'd stay here a day, wait until tomorrow's sunset and then attempt to round the point. We all went to sleep.

About four hours later the alarms went off. The wind had come up, there was still some fog and we were dragging through the anchorage, headed out to sea. By the time I'd got up on deck we were sliding past one of the mooring balls, not five feet away from us. I started the engines and pushed them slowly forward, trying to at least keep us in place while the rest of the crew came up and we figured out what to do next. The wind was freshening, and it would only get worse when the sun rose. We decided to weight anchor and head north now.

As we used the engine to keep slack on the chain and power the windlass to raise it, the chain began to rattle aboard, but suddenly pulled to the left and towards the mooring ball. We realized then that the hook was tangled around the mooring ball's chain, somewhere beneath forty feet of cold, dark, murky water. We thought about several possible strategies, but the reality was that without a dry suit, regulator and underwater flashlights, it didn't make any difference. We were stuck.

It was still dark, we were exhausted, and this time definitely not worried about dragging, so we went back to sleep. Our plan was to wait until morning, then deal with it then. We woke up just towards sunrise when the mooring ball began banging against the side of our hull. It was dead still outside. We got up, made several attempts to figure out what to do, but diving into freezing cold water without the proper equipment, alone, using only a "Spare Air" as a regulator was a recipe for disaster. In the end decided that the forty feet of chain and an anchor we'd never liked was worth losing. We dragged out the bolt cutters, snapped our way to freedom and set out around the point.

We took advantage of the early morning wind and dashed around Point Conception, bucking fifteen knot head winds and five foot high swells and chop. The sun rose and so did the wind. Soon we found ourselves bashing into waves that crashed over the deck and sprayed green water onto the salon's cabin top. As the day wore on, so did we. We took turns at the helm, wrapped up in our foulies and watching the wind and waves do their best to stop our progress north. The only one who seemed to enjoy any of this was John, who thrives on bad weather, high seas and long stints at the helm. We sidled in along the coast line, hoping to avoid the brunt of the weather as we motored north.

We continued on and arrived at San Luis Obispo the next evening. It is a beautiful little harbor with a few mooring balls for transient boats. We motored in after dark, and tied up to a ball, but couldn't raise the harbor authorities on the radio. We've been having problems with our VHF radios, I believe the main radio's transmitter has failed entirely, and the VHF handhelds, even on the highest setting, were limited in their abilities to reach anything more than a few hundred yards away. We crashed for the night, listening to the seals barking on the breakwater just yards away.

The next morning I took the dinghy into to shore and paid for our night's stay, then checked out the fuel dock. Sadly, it is under temporary construction and not something I'd recommend for anything but a steel sided fishing vessel. The pumps are on top of a long pier, twenty feet above the water, and the hoses are lowered down to you. The only tie-up is to a long "camel" (a log surrounded by old car tires) that is lashed to the piers. Anyone wanting to preserve their gelcoat would be well advised to consider this arrangement before counting on getting fuel here. We left shortly after that and headed north again.

The ride up was more of the same. Long swells from the west, mixing with short chop from the north and a "reflection" swell bouncing off the shore from the east. It made the ride rough and bouncy, with a lot of slapping and banging as we went. We arrived in Santa Cruz that morning, and tied up to the local fuel dock. The folks at the dock were great, bending over backwards to make our stay there pleasant. We grabbed a spot just around the side and tied up Triton. Not less than ten minutes later we were met by John's sweetie Diana. John needed to get back due to a death in his family, so we had time only for a brief drink and snacks before they headed home together. SLO is a lovely bay and the harbor was quite nice, with many nice restaurants and a great beach as well. We refueled, spent the night at the dock, got a good night's sleep. AnnMarie and I left the next morning, only to be greeted by increasing winds and waves as we headed on.

Eventually we approached Half Moon Bay, and our next destination at Pigeon Point Harbor. It was already sunset as we entered the bay, so we needed to rely on the navigation lights atop the buoys that mark the entrance. You need to be careful when coming in from the south. There is a large reef that runs just south of the entrance, and you need to work your way past it before turning east. The harbor is very windy, but quite well protected, with a long, high sea wall around it. There is a second breakwater around the marina itself. We motored along, found a berth to tie up at, and cheered. We'd made it!

We had decided to leave the boat here for a bit while. We wanted to invite everyone who has ever been crew on Triton (and their spouses) to join us for the last twenty miles home. Our plan is to sail under the Golden Gate with the entire crew on deck, then pull up to the dock and invite all our friends aboard for a home coming celebration. So far, most everyone we've contacted can make it and we are excited to be so close to home.

Keep an eye on this website for the final leg's description and photos of the event. It has been a long, strange trip, but well worth the effort. We have been blessed by great friends, fantastic crew, a great boat and a survivable amount of government interference. No doubt the last twenty miles will take the longest, but it is good to be this close to home.

Cheers for now,

Robb


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