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Published: June 23rd 2007
Well, holy cow. Twelve hours ago, we were towed into Bodega Bay by the United States Coast Guard. Right now, it’s a little after four in the afternoon on Friday, June 22. We’ve slept a few hours, had something to eat and begun drying out our gear - everything above- and below-decks is soaked with sea water.
When we left Pillar Point around 11am yesterday, we were enjoying the sun and the light wind. NOAA was predicting moderate winds, 15 - 20 knots, through the weekend. As the day wore on, the winds grew, the seas swelled and by 6pm, we were rounding Point Reyes in 30 knot winds and 10-12 foot swells. Still, NOAA’s forecast hadn’t changed, and we trusted the strength of this heavy boat and powered on, slamming through the waves and doing our best to keep the bow of the boat pointed at the wind. We were getting beat up pretty hard.
By 8:15 or so, the sun was setting, I was on watch and Harry had gone below to change out of his soaked clothes. Even though he’d been wearing his foul-weather gear, the top of his jacket had been open just a
Sailing through San Francisco Bay
We happened to be moving through the Bay during the Sailstice, and the place was full of sailboats getting their butts kicked by the wind.little and spray after spray had been hitting him and going right down inside. (When I gathered up the laundry this morning, I was shocked that every bit of his clothes was as wet as if I’d just pulled it from the washer.)
By this time, winds were gusting to 40 knots or so, and the sea height had risen to 12-15 feet (later, the Coast Guard guys told us their buoys were reading the swells at 18 feet). I was trying not to freak out. I kept telling myself “This can’t go on forever” and “This is what we’ve got. Keep moving forward.” But really I just wanted to go have a nice dinner somewhere with my handsome husband.
Then, KA-THUMP. And the engine started making sorry sounds. Sorry as in, “I wish I didn’t have to let you down.” Sorry as in, “I know the weather is larger than your capacity to absorb it, and the sound of my powerful engine is the only thing getting you through this, and I’m sorry.” I looked behind us (waaaaaaay down the swell we’d just ridden over) and saw a pair of tattered crab pot buoys being dragged along
United States Coast Guard
It's 4am. This is where your Coast Guard is. behind us. We’d snagged a crab pot line, most likely on the propeller. I powered the engine way down (“I know you’re sorry but that doesn’t make it ok.”), which put us in a seriously compromised position with the seas and the wind. With no power, we have very little steering ability. Without steering, we can’t keep the boat at a safe angle. And then the sun set and we started into darkness.
Captain Harry assessed the scene and concluded that we needed to call the Coast Guard for assistance. So he got them on the radio and they readied Lifeboat 305 to come give us a tow in. Harry’s conversations with them on the radio went on forever, while I tried to keep the boat under control. Finally, I stopped trying to keep the bow into the wind with no power and limited steering, and let the bow swing around so we faced down wind; this was much more comfortable, as we were lifted by each swell and carried grandly toward…Point Reyes. Point Reyes is a large piece of California with a lighthouse on its tip. We were getting enough momentum from the wind at our back and
United States Coast Guard
Sistered to our boat here, pulling us into Bodega Bay. the swell pushing us that I could steer, so I concentrated on not crashing into Point Reyes, which started out a good 4 miles away and marched toward us in the dark at a very unkind pace.
(Harry chimes in: Although we brought a wet suit, mask and fins, the pounding of the boat was such that diving under the keel to cut away the pot wrap would have been extraordinarily dangerous, not to mention practically impossible. Calling the Coast Guard is standard procedure in instances like this. We were not in imminent danger, no one was injured, but the Coasties were extremely interested. Part of the endless conversation, at the beginning, was the necessity to continually feed them information about our position and the conditions of the sea. Plus, as we were drifting back toward San Francisco, we were being blown out of the Bodega Bay’s Coast Guard Station’s area and into the jurisdiction of San Francisco. But the Bodega boys really wanted to keep us, so after some arguing with SF, Bodega Bay launched a boat to come tow us in. These guys are really into what they do. They were clearly having fun. As for us, not so much.)
Finally, the Coast Guard was on their way. But it’s not like they’re down the street; it took them about two hours to reach us. In that time, Harry had them on the radio constantly and they were instructing him on how to ready the boat for their tow. They told us to drop the anchor (I snickered; we were in 230 feet of water! The swell! The wind! No little anchor was going to hold our 38 ton boat in these conditions!) so we did and after drifting for about half a mil, it caught and held us fast. Unbelievable. I was stunned, but relieved to sit back in the cockpit and let someone else (Mr. Anchor) control the boat for a while.
(Harry: We let out 260 feet of ¼ inch chain attached to a 45 pound CQR. It dug in at about 160 feet of depth.)
While I collected my wits (I had only two left at this point), Harry had to scamper around on deck securing the sails, which had begun to come loose in the intense winds, the ties coming undone and flapping around. He had his life jacket on and was harnessed to the boat, but none of this means it’s easy to move from the stern to the bow in 15-foot swells and 30-knot winds. He got showered by a rude wave more than once, and I’m still surprised his glasses didn’t fly off . I’m surprised I didn’t have a heart attack just watching him.
(Harry: I’m not sure I would call it scampering. More like hanging on with one hand and working with the other. Working the foredeck, prepping the anchor and windlass was the most . . . exciting. With each swell, the bow would rise 15 to 18 feet and then drop into a trough. The swells were running at 6-8 second intervals, and each drop would leave me hanging in the air a foot or two about the deck, strangling the forestay and hugging the bow pulpit. Twice I took blue water right over my head. Lowering the anchor from the bow was one of the most challenging parts. And when it came time to raise the anchor, we had to rely on the windlass to pull the boat forward to free the chain - something that piece of equipment is not designed to do. So the going was very slow, it took me almost a half hour to raise the hook. )
When the Coast Guard boat approached, I relaxed my shoulders for the first time in about 8 hours. This didn’t last long, however, as I saw right away that having the Coast Guard assist you just means there are more people in a big boat in big waves and high winds. Yes, they are trained well and know what they’re doing, but the fact is we’re still in big waves and high winds. Anything can happen and they’re just people, like us. It took about an hour for them to get us set up for the tow: first they threw us a line with a sea drogue (storm anchor, which you stream from the bow of the boat in severe conditions to keep the boat’s bow to the wind) on it, and Harry pulled this through the water from their totally kick-ass massive boat to ours, lifting the 40-pound anchor into our cockpit like it was made of styrofoam. Then they instructed us to pull up the anchor, and they’d throw us a line to tie off on the windlass (the motor that pulls up the anchor). I wanted to argue the point about pulling up the anchor, because Point Reyes was starting to beckon and the only thing keeping our bow to the wind was that anchor. But the boat pilot, who we were in constant contact with on the VHF, said, “Not a problem, ma’am. I’ll have the line over to you in just a few minutes.” And they did, and the great tow began. It took over 5 hours for them to pull us into Bodega Bay, all the time going across the seas, so we were rolling and tossing from side to side constantly.
During that 5-hour tow, Harry and I took turns at the helm, trying to keep the boat directly behind the Coast Guard vessel. It was not unlike our earlier experience, at 8pm or so, pounding and bashing through the waves and getting soaked the whole time. When Harry took over the helm from me, I sat under the dodger for a good thirty minutes before I was able to move at all. It was so cold. We were so wet. And we hadn’t eaten nearly enough for the last twelve hours. I made it down below, which was a total wreck from all the sea water coming in through the leaky hatches, and various articles flung everywhere, including the tea kettle, books, limes, clothes and my stair stepper, which seems like a ridiculous piece of equipment to have on the boat when your body is working as hard as mine was. I quickly realized that being down below was a dangerous place to be, after I crashed and banged into this or that with tremendous force as the waves hit us. I managed to change into dry, warm clothes, put my wet foulies back on and grabbed a Clif bar to eat in the cockpit. And on we slogged.
As we came into Bodega Bay, the Coast Guard took some speed off and tied us up alongside them so they could deliver us to the dock. This was the first time we got to see who these men were, and they were so nonchalant and jovial about everything that it was hard to imagine they’d been out in the same ocean we had. Apparently, the night before they’d gotten a call from a sailboat that was actually on the rocks at Point Reyes. They managed to rescue the people on it, but they said the boat was still there.
Tying up at the dock was a religious experience. The four Coast Guard boys (none looked a day over twenty-two) came over after they’d tied up their boat, and I wanted to kiss every one of them. I shook their hands instead. And then, the funniest thing: they needed us to fill out some papers, and all four of them crowded down into our wrecked cabin to see what the boat looks like! They were very impressed. Must be one of the perks of the job, checking out different kinds of boats. I regret not taking their photo while they were in the cabin, nicely lit. I did not have much luck with the night-time photography last night.
Then they shook our hands and said goodbye. I saw capes and tights beneath their foul-weather gear, I’m sure of it.
(Harry: The skipper of Coast Guard Rescue Station 305, which is what they call their life boats, was one skilled boat driver. The crew could not reach us with their heaving lines because of the rough seas and high winds. He was able to bring his stern within about 15 of me at our bow and the crew was able to finally get the line to me -- remembering, of course, that at this time we’re no longer anchored and are drifting free at about 5 knots toward the rocks of Point Reyes. After we got to the dock, he and I commiserated about the navigation hazards that crab pots represent. Especially in heavy going, where you can’t see past the swell you’re in at the moment. He told me that he snags pots regularly, and that with his big twin diesels, when the shaft freezes it puts his crew on their butts. He also mentioned that he was grateful to have twin props, so when he loses one to the crabbers he can still make way.)
Harry and I fell into bed and slept this morning from 5-8 or so. The wind is still whipping through here this morning, registering 25 knots on the windmeter. We’re drying things out and trying to eat and talking about our next move. We’re way off schedule at this point, which primarily impacts our location of pick-up for Shayla. We’re probably going to have to stay here to let this weather pass, then move on as far as we can in the time we have. We hired a diver to cut the crab pot line from the propeller, and it took him all of about thirty seconds. Not a bad pay rate, at $50 a pop. We napped this afternoon and did some laundry and had a good time talking with another sailing couple while they folded clothes. They’ve come the same way we have but will stay here for a few weeks before they sail off to Hawaii.
We’re both feeling pretty worn out and pushed to our limits, emotionally. We’re sore all over, and bruised and battered. I need a good grilled steak and some deep sleep. We’ll turn in early tonight and see what tomorrow offers. Maybe we’ll get lucky and have an overcast day, perfect for heading back out there. Or maybe we’ll get lucky and have beautiful, sunny weather, perfect for hunkering down and staying here in the Bay for another day. I’m too tired to recognize which would be better.
(Harry: After cleaning up our far flung gear and securing the deck, it was clear that our little ship had taken the gale in stride. Absolutely no damage. The cutlass bearing was in perfect shape, the prop shaft unaffected by the crab pot wrap. I did, however, reinforce the sail ties from the ones that were being used when we bought the boat. The light webbing was just incapable of holding under the loads we experienced.
What we did wrong: We were overly trusting of NOAA weather reports. The night before we left Pillar Point, all reports called for calm winds and seas for the next four days. I should have checked the buoy reports by cell phone and gotten actual conditions. We insufficiently secured gear below-decks. We were too trusting of the light, awkward sail ties that came on the boat (On Oh Joy I, our sail ties are fastened with heavy-duty clips that we made with strong climbing gear from REI).
What we did right: We had secured jack lines on both side decks before we left Pillar Point. We were both wearing our sailing harnesses and inflatable PFDs. We stayed calm and focused. Called the Coast Guard immediately upon snagging the pot. Both of us changed into dry clothes repeatedly to keep ourselves as warm and dry as possible.
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Daddio
non-member comment
Oh my gosh, holy cow
I am so glad that you guys are safe. I think it must have been a lot scarrier than you are letting on. Good on you for not hesitating to call the Coast Guard, and waiting for them must have been excrutiating. Take it easy. We are send the taxi down and it should be there soon. Love you so much. And I just betcha He was wearing His foulies.