Days 1-2 of the 2nd Voyage: In which Mother Nature sends us off with a bitch slap, then tries to take it back (sort of).

First off, we’d like to welcome Delivery Captain Richard Bard to S/V Raven! As this is my and the Deck Boss’ first foray into the “big water” (i.e. well off the coast), we decided that it would be prudent to have someone on board besides the Captain who knew what they were doing as well as someone with thorough knowledge of the coastal route between Everett and San Diego as there are tricky waters to navigate. After a full career in commercial fishing as an owner/operator, Delivery Captain (DC) Richard then spent the last 15 years delivering boats—both sail and power—all over the world. If anyone can get us to San Diego, he can (although after he sees what skills the Deck Boss and I don’t possess, he may opt to just put us on a bus and meet us down there with the boat).

Everett to Port Ludlow: We had delayed the trip by two days on account of Hurricane Ignacio. Even though it was heading towards Hawaii, it was whipping up a weather frenzy all along the west coast culminating in incredibly high winds in the Pacific Northwest. Forecasters had said the winds would abate by August 31st, so first thing Monday morning we eased out of our slip one last time and headed over to the fuel dock—where DC Richard would get his first glimpse into what he had just gotten himself into. Now when we dock, my job is to hang off of a step about half way down the hull mid-boat and let the Captain know where we are in relation to the dock, then jump down on the dock with two lines, secure the spring line, run like a rabbit to the stern and tie that off, then sprint like a springer spaniel to the bow to catch a line from the Deck Boss and get that tied off. So basically my job is to stop the boat before it either a) hits something, b) floats too far off the dock, or c) both. The Captain came at the fuel dock in a perfect trajectory but somehow it went down like this…

FM: Okay, you’re three feet to dock at mid-beam. You’re two feet. You’re one foot. I’m on the dock. I’m…OH SHIT!

Captain: Did we hit?

FM: Hmm? What?

Captain: Did we hit?

FM: Hit? Nah. Glancing blow at most. Just “kissed” the dock really, from here to here. Okay, so we smeared some lipstick. It’ll buff out. (I say as I’m furiously buffing.)

Captain: Is the stern secure?

FM: It’s secure. (I say as I run back and furiously secure it.) Unless you’re not done coming to a stop in which case it will probably need to be secured again.

Deck Boss: Hey! Do you want this bow line or not?

FM: I didn’t tie that off already? Ha! Guess I need the line to tie it off, huh? Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and toss that line.

Captain (in his head): Good Lord, she’s a one woman three stooges.

 

Finally the tanks were filled and off we went! And immediately realized that NOAA used a poor choice of words when they said that “winds will be diminishing” because we actually thought the winds would be (let me get my thesaurus) “lessoning”, “weakening”, or “waning”. The more accurate phrase should have been, “Hey, boaters! Remember when the winds were gusting to 50 day before yesterday and we advised you not to go out? They’ll only be gusting to 45 today so get out there and have fun!”

Thankfully, it was a short trip to Port Ludlow so we only had to endure four hours of 30-35 knot winds, gusts up to 45, waves knocking the boat all around, and water coming up over the bow and straight into the face. I felt like a human salt lick. Oh, and it rained. Did I mention the rain? Even after we made it to Port Ludlow, the winds didn’t diminish (see what I did there, NOAA?) till early the next day so all night we got to listen to the not-so-soothing “Slap! Slap! Slap!” of the waves hitting the underside of the stern (i.e. right under our bed) and the “Drip! Drip! Drip!” of water from hatches that suddenly decided they needed new seals. In short, we got no sleep and had to make constant trips to the head.

Port Ludlow to Port Angeles: If Mother Nature was telling us to “not let the door hit our butts on the way out” the day before, then today she was saying, “Admit it. You’re going to miss this place just a little bit after you’re gone.” And she’d be a little right. Calm seas, light winds, and enough sun peeking through the clouds to keep the day on the warm side of chilly made for a gorgeous September day. Had there been any wind to actually sail, it would have bordered on almost perfect. But the fact of the matter is that after 25 years of living in the Pacific Northwest, it was time to move on to sunnier, more consistent climes—to places where “intermittent drizzle for the next ten months” is rarely part of the forecast and where flip-flops can be worn year-round. In other words, it was time to retire the perpetually damp hoodie.

So go sell crazy elsewhere, Mother Nature. Much like geese and the elusive orca, we’re heading south for the winter—only we’re not planning on coming back. Not to be so easily dismissed, Mother Nature was about to punch us full in the face.

Pictured: Two Gumbies, Dammit!
(Deck Boss and First Mate practice getting into their survival suits in case Mother Nature punches the boat out from under them.)