Day 8-9 of the 2nd Voyage: In which we learn that yes, there is one born every minute. In this case there were four.

Brookings to Bodega Bay: The plan was to make the ten-hour journey to Eureka, stay the night, tackle the tricky passage around Cape Mendocino the next morning, and do an overnight passage to Bodego Bay. Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda.

The “strong breeze” that drove us into Brookings the night before had indeed settled down and we headed back out into the Pacific hopeful (but not holding our breath) that the conditions would hold. And they did…for about two hours. Then came the waves. And the cross waves. And the chop. And the wind. And the gusts. And once again we found ourselves stuck in that sickening refrain of 10 degrees to starboard, 10 degrees to port, 10 degrees to starboard, 10 degrees to port, BIG WAVE and 40 degrees to starboard, 25 degrees to port, over and over and over. None of us were seasick (thank you, Canada, for over-the-counter seasick patches) but there was nothing to be done about the extreme movements of the boat. It was hard enough to stand at the helm, but at least you could see the big waves coming and brace yourself for the inevitable tilt. Down below? DC Richard described it best when he said it was like being in a rock tumbler. We were jostled, thrown, and bounced. Every movement required a strong grip on the handholds and knees bent to absorb whichever way the boat was going to go. Easy tasks—like getting water out of the refrigerator—took planning, perseverance, and good timing. Difficult tasks—like pretty much everything else—were abandoned. At one point, the Deck Boss seriously contemplated putting on her survival suit, jumping overboard, and taking her chances out in the open sea but when a big wave lurched the boat forward and threw her into her bunk, she just opted to stay there for the duration.

About an hour outside of Eureka, we had to make a decision. DC Richard and the Captain had been pulling the weather maps, reading the forecasts and listening to the NOAA broadcasts, and all indicators pointed to better conditions straight ahead. In other words, our best weather option for rounding Cape Mendocino was right now. If we ducked into Eureka, we risked getting ourselves into the same or worse weather tomorrow. So we opted to keep going…another 20 hours to Bodego Bay. Doable IF the weather did indeed calm down upon rounding the cape. Which it did not. NOAA is officially on my shit list.

Suckered in or not by a bad forecast, it was too late to turn around so onward we slogged through the rough seas. It took a toll on the animals—they weren’t sick, but they were frightened and I started to question my judgement in putting them through this ordeal. Edgrrr was allowed into the Deck Boss’ cabin and he spent the hours hiding behind her pillows. Otter—for the first time ever—was allowed into the “people” bed and he and I got a couple hours of restless sleep as I waited for my turn at watch. At 3:00 am, I went up on deck to relieve the Captain and was informed that the autopilot was not keeping on course and that I’d be doing a lot of manual adjusting. Luckily, by 4:00 am the seas had finally—FINALLY—calmed and the night sky opened up to thousands of stars. A little while later I could make out the lighthouse off Port Arena and fixed on its revolving light for the next hour. I remember thinking that I’d probably have a good view of it when we passed and I should’ve brought my camera. And then it wasn’t there. I looked ahead, to the back, to the right, to the left. Nothing. We were suddenly and completely engulfed in fog. And for a brief moment, I was wishing for that gale again because at least I could see what was coming to kill me.

For the next two hours, DC Richard watched the radar and periodically got on the VHF to let other boats in the vicinity know we were there while the Captain kept us on course. I went down below and either passed out, blacked out, or died (take your pick, it’s all the same) sandwiched between a dog and a cat that were most likely planning their getaway should we ever make it back to shore.

And then as bad as it was, it suddenly became 180 degrees better. The seas were calm, the fog had lifted, and the sun came out along with the shorts, flip flops, and sunscreen. For the past 27 hours we were wondering what the hell we had gotten ourselves into; but the last three reminded us why we were willing to endure it.

And then in that last hour—just nearing Bodega Bay—the diesel engine revved down and back up, revved down and back up, revved down and quit. The Captain did get it started again, and we navigated the narrow channel to the harbor and into a berth at Spud Point Marina. In time, we would come to know Bodega Bay intimately.

Editor’s Note: DC Richard confessed to the Captain that the nasty conditions we experienced between Cape Flattery and Bodega Bay were about the worst he’s ever encountered in the ten years he’s been delivering boats along this route. So there…we may be suckers but we’re not total wimps.

We were too busy hanging on to the boat to take photos. Please enjoy this picture of a kitten instead.