Day 9 of the 1st Voyage: In which I hope you like jammin’, too.

Since the odyssey began, we have found ourselves having to motor from port to port. In an amazing series of bad luck and/or maybe somewhere along the way we pissed off Mother Nature, it seemed that no matter which way we were heading, the wind (if any) was always right on our nose. In order for sailboats to work, you have to catch the wind—something that can’t be done easily when it’s coming right at you. And so when we left Anacortes for the 19 mile trek to Friday Harbor we decided that, dammit, we were going to sail! And as the Captain navigated out of the harbor and through Guemes Channel and I pulled in fenders and secured lines in a brisk 10 knot wind, optimism was high. So we put up the jib and killed the motor. And apparently killed the wind at the same time. Because the wind died. It not only died, it was buried, dug up, cremated, interred, disinterred, buried again, and became but a faint memory. But did this deter us? No! We had resolved to sail and sailing we were…at a blistering 1.5 knots (which in lubber speed is a bit less than 2 mph). The Captain remarked that we were lucky there was a current or we’d really be slogging. I admired him for his enthusiasm while wistfully watching seagulls paddle past us in the waves, pointing their feathered fingers, and laughing. Followed by the kelp.

Not one of our better dockings. Having learned my lesson from the Port Townsend fiasco, I had called the Friday Harbor Marina the day before and, using a carefully worded script, reserved a spot on the Breakwater C (as in Charlie) dock. Once we got into the harbor, I radioed the marina to find out where they wanted us on the dock. Easy peasy. Until the dock came into view and the Captain announced, “You do notice there are no cleats, right?” What the cuss?! Who builds a dock without cleats? Commercial docks apparently and/or docks that want to retain their rustic “dockness”. “Just pull the line through the gap between the dock and the ledge and tie it back on itself,” instructed the Captain. Okaaaay. Inner dialog during the docking procedure goes like this, “Smooth hop from boat to dock…nice! Scramble down the dock with stern line, jam it into hole…so far so good. Line won’t jam into hole. Hole obstructed by water pipe. Water pipe? Who the cuss puts a water pipe where the line goes through the thingy! Screw it – improvise! Jam everything through the thingy. Tie it to itself. How? What? What does that even mean? Captain looks cheesed but loopy tennis shoe tie will have to do. Run down to the bow…nice hustle. Grab tossed line from Deck Boss, jam through hole. Haha, Water Pipe! You thought you could fool me twice, but I’m on to you! Jam the line though the hole. ..I’m jammin’, jammin’, and I hope you like jammin’, too. Bob Marley! Why is the front of the boat pulling away from the dock? Should I run and secure the spring line? Hey, where’s the boat going? Uh oh, Captain has jumped onto the dock and is ordering me back toward the stern. Loopy tennis shoe tie has turned into unholy mess. Captain magically appears back on boat. How did Captain do that? Is Captain a wizard? If he’s a wizard, why didn’t he conjure up some cleats? I’m jammin’, jammin’ . . . “

Once the boat is finally secured to the dock and I have a chance to look around, I am grateful that the only people who witnessed this debacle were the crew of the megayacht tied across from us, a few people in the marina, the marina office staff, the fuel dock attendants, the tourists waiting to board a whale watching boat, the tourists already on the whale watching boat, the passengers on the state ferry, the people seated outside the restaurant at the top of the marina, and a very perplexed harbor seal. Because if it had been any more than that, I would have really been embarrassed.

The rest of the day was spent walking. And walking. And walking. True to its name, Breakwater C (as in Charlie) dock forms the outward perimeter of the marina and keeps it protected by breaking up the waves and the currents (such as those generated by the large ferries going in and out of the harbor). Raven was docked at the very end necessitating a near-mile long journey through too-large-for-the-regular-marina transient moorage, past the seaplane docks and the whale watching boat landing, through the marina itself, up a ramp, and up two flights of stairs to the marina office to check in. Walking briskly, it took us a full 10 minutes. Deck Boss clocked it at 25. Then it was back to Raven to finish buttoning her up, then back out and into town, then back to Raven for dinner, then back out to give Otter some alone-time with a shrub. But I bring this up only because it’s a testament to how truly special a boat Raven is in that many people made the trek all the way out to the end just to see her.

 

Pictured: Friday Harbor Marina. Photo taken at the top of the pier. Raven is to the far left two counties over.