A sailboat has been defined as a hole in the water into which one pours money. Fortunately, it's a bunch of other things as well, such as --
Peace and quiet. Now days, unless I generate some noise myself I get more peace and quiet than I can handle. But there was a time when a weekend in the boat with wife, daughter and German Shepherd was a much-needed escape from week-day chaos.
Adventure. During the Viet-Nam war, when Bob Hope was asked whether he was a hawk or a dove, he said he was a chicken hawk. That's me, when it comes to adventure. I like excitement and the appearance of danger, without the real thing. With the boat I had, and the place I sailed, it would take hours to get into real trouble -- plenty of time to avoid it.
Family bonding. When three people and a large dog are imprisoned on a 21-foot sailboat for several days at a time, it's bond or die. We bonded.
Spirituality. There are lots of ways to get in touch with your Creator - if you work at it. But there are some situations in which our Creator gets in touch with us. Like ghosting along in a star-studded night. The water is glass-smooth, but there's enough breeze above the water to keep us moving at 2 or 3 knots. The only sound is the gurgle of water at our stern, and the stars seem so close we could touch them. You know you're being smiled upon.
Longevity. Like fishing, the time spent cruising is not deducted from your life.
Now I'm getting mushy. Time to tell you about some things that happened ...
We had been married 10 years before my wife and I each discovered that the other had always wanted a sailboat. So we bought one - a Northwest 21, built in Bremerton, Washington. It was built to order. That means they only build them when they have an order in hand, not that they build anything special into them.
The boat was short and fat, and slept 4 -- if they were very good friends and had no luggage. Janet Kay (my wife) called it the Blue Banana. Officially, it was called "Harvey Go," named after what the skipper of a Norwegian trawler would say when getting under way.
I had only sailed dinghies, and that was 15 years before, in college. I was nervous motoring out of the moorage beyond the breakwater at DesMoines (Washington) Yacht Club. There were 50 or so onlookers, and I wanted to make a good impression. I had attached the sails earlier, and had the lines laid out to raise them smartly. When I thought I was ready I gave the order, and my wife and daughter raised the main and jib quickly. It was beautiful. The crowd on shore thought so too, when they saw I had the jib on upside-down. I can still hear their cat-calls as I lowered the sails and motored out of sight where I could set them properly.
After sailing Puget Sound for a few weeks, we decided it was time to take our first cruise. We trailed the boat to Anacortes and put in for a week's cruise in the San Juan Islands. Our first destination was Sucia Island, about 20 miles northwest of Anacortes.
I spent more time plotting our course to Sucia than an experienced skipper would take for a round-the-world cruise. We left in the early morning, and arrived in mid-afternoon. Everything was fine, except the island didn't look quite like what we expected. Turned out we had the right island, but the wrong side. From then on, I was known as "The Navigator." (among other things)
We dropped anchor at Hidden Harbor. (Not the harbor we had intended, but a nice one. How about that. We anchored at Hidden Harbor because I couldn't find the one that wasn't hidden!) After dinner, we were sitting around glorying in our first day of cruising, when a call came out on the emergency channel of our marine radio. A sailboat was on fire in the harbor we hadn't found. Somehow some Coleman fuel had gotten into the bilges, was floating in the water there, and ignited.
The fire traveled the full length of the boat in the bilges. They couldn't get to it so they couldn't put it out.
Hind-sight is 20-20. They said later they could have scuttled the boat with an ax to the hull, and had it raised after the fire was quenched. But there were only a few seconds in which they could have done that. Soon the boat was aflame stem to stern, and they had to abandon it. Their brand-new 27' Catalina was lost, together with cameras, clothes and who knows what else they had on board. But they were ok, and their boat was insured.
We went to bed about 10, and soon after that heard what we thought was cannon-fire. "The Canadian Navy is at it again," we thought, as it sounded as if it were coming from the north. We were told the next day that this is a common occurence on Sucia. There are caves under the island that open to the sea, and killer whales sometimes go into them. The sound we heard was killer whales blowing in the caves. Don't know if that's true, but it makes a good story. I'd prefer to believe that than having the Canadian Navy mad at us!
Enough of this nonsense! I want to go home!
About midnight I was awakened by the wind and the boat tossing around. I went out to the cockpit and saw sailboats all around us dragging their anchors, with people firing up their outboards to get control of their boats while they tried to re-anchor. Our boat was secure, and I felt pretty smug about it.
After a while I went back to bed, only to be awakened by a voice on a bullhorn, yelling, "The blue sailboat! You're adrift! You'll be aground soon!" I came out to the cockpit in my skivvies and Janet Kay came out the forward hatch in whatever she wears in her sleeping bag. We must have been a sight to behold. I started the motor while she hauled up the anchor. Gretchen (my daughter) handed up clothes and we somehow got them on while working the boat. We spent the next 2 hours trying to anchor again. Finally a 75-foot trawler took pity on us and signaled us to tie up on her lee side.
The next day we sailed for Stuart Island, about 10 miles and 3 hours away. The wind was just right, across our beam for a fast run. We sailed very fast, but got nowhere for 4 hours. In fact, we'd lost about a mile. Then the tide turned, and we moved like a scalded cat. That's when I learned to check the tide tables before going anywhere! With the tide against us, the current pushed us back about a half-knot faster than the wind pushed us forward. When the tide changed, the current speed was added to our sailing speed, and our actual speed doubled. I had read about that, but I guess I have to experience things before I can take them seriously.
Even with all those attacks on my ego, that first cruise was almost more fun than I could handle. We cruised the San Juans several times after that, and had a lot of fun with no problems. But that is the cruise I'll always remember!
What, there's more? Take me home!
Blake Island is a small island, just off Elliot Bay and about 2 miles due west of downtown Seattle. It's a beautiful place, a state park, and about a 4-hour cruise from the DesMoines Yacht Club, where we kept our boat. There's an Indian "longhouse" there, where smoked salmon dinners with traditional Indian dances are offered daily. A cruise ship (boat), The Good Times II, takes people out there for the ride and the dinner. I don't remember the place's name. ("Tillicum Village" comes to mind, but I'm not sure.) Sure, it's a tourist trap, but that salmon dinner is so good that the locals take the cruise regularly.
Except us (and a bunch of other people). We'd take our own cruise when we had a weekend in the middle of the week. We'd sail up there on a Wednesday or Thursday, stake out our moorage, and sail home on Sunday night.
The first night we'd eat on board. Usually, a great meal prepared at home and stored in thermal containers. The second night, when we could afford it (it's a tourist trap, remember?) we'd have the smoked salmon dinner. Then it would be back to eating on board, usually with meals that had already been prepared at home.
Blake Island was a lot of fun, especially in the middle of the week. There were trails all through it that gave the impression that you were in a well-manicured wilderness. You'd meet deer on the trails, and they'd sort of amble away in disgust that a human being was in their midst. They'd keep their distance, but not panic.
Weekends was another matter. The few times we sailed up there on a summer Friday night or Saturday, the moorage looked like a toothpick factory, with the masts of sailboats everywhere, and just as many power boats. No room at the inn, so we'd have to anchor out. Mostly we went mid-week. (I worked at home, so often we could decide what 2 or more days would be our weekend.)
Some of my best times were sailing home from Blake Island, a 4-hour trip starting about 10:00 at night. After about an hour, Janet Kay and Gretchen would crash, and I'd have the boat and the summer night to myself. The stars would be brilliant, the water calm and the boat ghosting silently at 2-3 knots.
Usually, I'd drop sail at the breakwater and motor in to my slip. But sometimes, when the wind was right, I'd sail in past the breakwater, past the boats at moorage, to within about 30 feet of my slip, then drop the sails and coast in to the slip. So satisfying.
This would be about 2:00 a.m.. After securing the boat for the night, I'd go to bed. We'd get up about 6:00, put the boat on its trailer, and head for home, ready for another week. Unless you've done it, you can't imagine how wonderful those "weekends" were.
Gig Harbor is about 10 miles south of the DesMoines Yacht Club, on the west side of the sound. It got its name from the fact that its entrance is so narrow that the explorers (Captain Cook, I think) had to use the ship's gig to explore the harbor. The harbor itself is less than a mile long and maybe 1/4-mile wide, with a ring of private homes broken by the town of Gig Harbor on it's south side. Most of the town's businesses cater to the tourist trade, but a lot of its population work in Tacoma and Bremerton.
More often than not, we'd choose Gig Harbor when we were off on a "traditional" weekend -- "traditional" meaning Saturday and Sunday. We'd leave on a Friday night about 7, and get in about 11. Janet Kay and Gretchen (and Gretchen's guest, usually) would stay up for the whole trip, because (1) it was the beginning of the weekend and they were looking forward to it, and (2) there were really interesting things to see on the way. For instance, we'd cruise south to Tacoma and then hang a right (west) to Gig Harbor. At that point it would be dark and the Friday-night-fireworks would start. We always told our guests that it was a personal welcome for us, but I don't think they bought it. It was a half-hour show, and beautiful from the water.
And sometimes, if the night was calm and the time was right, a pod of killer whales would appear. The young ones would swim alongside, surface and blow, and dive again. I think they thought the boat was Mother. Drove our German Shepherd nuts. She'd be sleeping in the cockpit, hear them blow, and get up to see what was out there. They'd always be underwater when she looked, so she'd curl up again. And they'd blow again. And she'd look again. And there'd be nothing there again. Finally she'd give up in disgust.
Sometimes those exquisite animals would surface close enough to touch. But we never tried.
Gig Harbor was a joy to visit. There were few places to tie up, but there was plenty of space to anchor. And the harbor was so protected that usually it was calm even when the wind was strong in the Sound. We'd anchor and go ashore in the ship's gig (the "ship's gig" being an 8-foot dinghy with a 1/4 hp air-cooled outboard -- we took no shortcuts in extravagence!)
Sometimes we'd find friends anchored there, and we'd raft to them for the night. Six or eight boats tied side-by-side, with a party going on over the whole bunch. What times!
There was a pizza restaurant at the east end of town, with a small dock. Sometimes, if the dock was available, we'd tie up there and have some of the best pizza made. Then we'd have to stay the night, for there'd be 2 or 3 boats rafted to ours! We could have moved them and gotten out, but what the heck? That was a nice place to stay the night.
I've talked a lot about how wonderful the food was wherever we stopped. I'd better explain.
Harvey-Go was a hungry boat. We could get aboard right after dinner, and have the snacks out 5 minutes later. It was a strange thing. You'd step aboard and your stomach would say "Feed me! Now!" So we'd munch and drink pop from the time we set sail to the time we dropped anchor.
But at the end of the trip we'd be ravenous. When you're really hungry, any meal tastes great. And yet we didn't gain weight. I think the restaurants I mentioned, however, didn't need our hunger; they were good in their own right.
People grow up and move away; people pass on; things change. One summer I found myself with a sailboat and no passengers. Things had changed, and the sailboat had outlived its usefulness. I'd set sail for somewhere and in a half hour I'd want to be there. This is no good in a sailboat, because wherever you're going it's going to be hours (days, even) before you're there. You have to enjoy the going more than the getting there. So I sold the boat. I hope someone's having as much fun with it as we did.
Maybe someday I'll get a power boat (what, a stink pot?). Then maybe I'll enjoy the going again as much as the getting there. Then again, maybe I'll get a super-gobfloptious computer instead, and take my adventures in the virtual world.
June 27, 2003 (Nearly 20 years later)
I received an e-mail from a terrific couple a week or so ago. They had recently purchased a used Northwest 21, and in their search for specifications on the boat had come across this page of my web site. They wanted to know its displacement, the weight of the keel, and so forth. In the course of a few e-mails back and forth, we discovered that they had Harvey-Go. Positive proof. (Our name plate is still on the bulkhead.) It's now the Serendipity, with home waters off the Oregon Coast. What's really weird about this is the fact that Serendipity was our first choice of a name for the boat, but we nixed it when we found another boat in the Puget Sound area had that name. So now she has a new home, with people who love sailing her as much as we did, and with the name she should have had in the first place. And I have some new friends.
September 25, 2004 -- Cruising Under Power
