Days 5-6 of the 2nd Voyage: In which the sea gives us a respite and we are able to proclaim “Look! A whale!” and “Fish on!” but not necessarily in that order.

Westport to Coos Bay: We left Westport at 7:00 in the morning with a 30-hour journey ahead of us to Charleston Marina just outside of Coos Bay. It started out rough, but luckily the seasick patches had kicked in and we had done a better job of stowing, so unlike the previous days there was no fear of an errant coffee mug flinging itself towards you poltergeist-style while you’re holding a hand over your mouth contemplating which is closer…the head or the rail. In short, the overall mood was apprehensive but hopeful, and as conditions became more favorable we started feeling a lot more confident in this offshore thing.  A few hours in and about 40 miles offshore, the Captain brought out the rod and reel, set the lure, and placed the rod in position for trolling behind the stern. Twenty minutes later it was “Fish on!” and the Captain found himself going mano y mano with a monster albacore tuna—46 pounds at least! The big fish put up an heroic fight—at least five minutes—but when the Captain finally landed him on deck, it was obvious that the tuna had been doing a high-cardio workout because he had shrunk to a size 10 (or he may have been dry clean only—we couldn’t read the tag.) About 15 minutes later, DC Richard brought in another svelte 10 pounder. This one coughed up his lunch on the back deck…herring and kelp. No wonder they can’t keep the weight on—not enough carbs.

The rest of the day and night was fairly mellow, and the watches went like clockwork: The Captain had the 7s to 11s, I had the 11s to 3s, and DC Richard had the 3s to 7s. The day shifts are fairly easy, and I don’t mind the 11 pm to 3 am watch as I’m nocturnal in nature, but when cloud cover shrouds the moon and stars and all you see is black water with a few lights from fishing boats way off in the distance, it gets a little dull. Okay, it gets a lot dull. I wiled away the time watching the little triangle that was our boat ply the electronic waters of the GPS system, correcting the autopilot as needed to keep us on course, and trying to get the theme to Ghostbusters out of my head. Soon I was having philosophical discussions with nobody in particular. The topic? Utilizing the Socratic Method, explain how one cannot be “afraid of no ghosts” and how it influences “who you gonna call?”

When my watch was over at 3:00 in the morning, I crawled into bed and was awoken a few hours later to “Whale!” I scrambled up on deck and the Captain is pointing off into the distance, “There! 11:00 o’clock!” I see nothing. “You’re looking at 1:00 o’clock. 11:00 o’clock!” I still see nothing. I go back to bed. Twenty minutes later, “Whale!” Bolt up top. Scan the horizon furiously. See nothing. Back to bed. “Whale! Right by the boat!” I’m on deck within a minute and there I see it…a smooth disturbance on top of the water where a whale had come up, checked out the boat, and then promptly left. The Captain had just had a once in a lifetime encounter with a humpback whale. I got to see the boil of water where the whale was.  

But at last—after three months of cruising—I did finally see a humpback whale. Far out on the horizon, I saw a spray of water, an arching back, a dive back down, then the fluted tail rising up and out of the sea—that famous tail whose likeness as a charm would go on to class up pookah-shell necklaces all over the world. I must confess though, it was a little anticlimactic...probably due to the distance. I think the boil of water was more interesting—because sometimes the imagination creates a better whale.

 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words...here are two. Cliff's Notes are available.

Pictured: Washington

Pictured: Oregon