Living on Island Time

The Channel Islands lie about 20 miles off the coast from Santa Barbara. They are rugged, uninhabited, and visited by a lot of divers, hikers and kayakers from the mainland. Including us! We sailed out of Santa Barbara with two good friends, a lot of food, beer, margarita fixins and dive gear out the wazoo. It was sunny and warm. For the first time, we felt like we were on vacation. At least for me. Up until that point, it felt like adventure - fun, but striving for the next port, the next leg of the trip.

For five days, we had no agenda other than to dive, eat, repeat. Chris and Eric acted as the noble hunters leaving the boat daily to fish by gun and gather scallops. Chris G. and I acted as the grateful women and she bravely filleted the fish as I stood by with a slightly wrinkled nose. Eric almost lost a finger to a scallop, as it was fighting to stay closed. We stuffed ourselves with fish tacos and bacon-y, garlicky scallops. We played cards by lamplight and told at least two ghost stories. It was great.

The diving was excellent as well. For me, it was a trip of firsts. I saw my first seal underwater! My first nudibranch! My first garibaldi! And, the pinnacle of neat-o, my first wreck.

The Peacock is a WWII minesweeper that was sunk in the 1970s after a long and murky history (the most interesting thing about it is that it may have once served as a floating brothel, as there were many mirrors and scraps of red fabric found aboard after the wreck - hee). It lies about 50 yards off of Scorpion Rock, near where we were anchored. We all had tried to find it on our first dive, to no avail. Chris G and I went back the next day to try again after getting some additional advice from a helpful Park Ranger (go National Park Service!)

After struggling mightily to get into my SCUBA gear in the slightly choppy water (imagine putting on a floating backpack while wearing a giant rubber onesie and being pulled underwater sideways...actually this is a terrible analogy...for those of you who dive, you understand, and for those of you who don't, it suffices to say that it is awkward, and I am not graceful), Chris and I descended through the water and touched down at about 65 feet. We swam in the direction we thought it might be, but after a minute or two, still saw nothing but sand. Thinking we'd missed it again, we turned to go back. We kicked through the water, and suddenly something large began to take shape though the gloom. We looked at each other in excitement as we could start to make out that it was the hull of a ship. We had stumbled on it after all! Or, we had used our superior skills of underwater navigation to locate the find. Either way.

Duuuuuuudes, it was so cool. A wreck creates a kind of artificial reef, so there were tons of fish (big ones), hydrocorals, anemones, and two more curious seals to see. Plus there's the the bonus of seeing the architecture of the vessel itself. There looked to be parts of the rudder, a mast, and a big structure that was kind of a ring supported by several diagonal posts. Dunno what that was. I can see why divers geek out over wrecks. We explored the wreck for a while, swooping down and around all the various structures, and then surfaced with triumphant smiles.

All I can say is I feel lucky.

"In the Shit."

Steep, breaking waves behind us. Wind howling. Chris, looking positively gleeful, eyes glued to the land in front of us and the seas behind, ever watchful. My heart pounding, mouth dry. Yep. We were in the shit.

Point Conception had loomed large for me for a long time. It's the area where Northern meets Southern California for a custody exchange, taking a vessel from the turbulent northwesterlies to the balmy breezes of Santa Barbara. It's known to get a little hairy. It's described, in our cruising guide, as the "Cape Horn of the Pacific." Warnings follow, with words like formidable, caution, risky and notorious. It was time to see what we had in store for us.

We'd started off from Avila Beach in fog, and motored for a few hours in the calm of the morning. Then it cleared a bit and by early afternoon we were coasting along at a good clip. As we neared the Point, I shared my apprehension with Chris, and he said, "Oh, I think we're good. If it was going to get crazy, it would have already."

And so I put my fears aside and enjoyed the ride. And then the wind picked up. And the the seas kicked up. And my fears came back in a hurry!

We took down almost all of our sails. First a reef in the main, then two. We dropped the jib. With just a little tiny main sail, we were still getting over eight knots. For Liberte, that is fast. We were almost dead downwind, which is great for speed, but with the waves coming steep off our stern, it took some pretty heads-up steering to keep us from rolling off to one side or the other. Luckily, the captain has some experience driving boats. That meant it was me running around taking down sail. With the boat rocking like a Southern juke joint on a Saturday night. I was swift! I was efficient! I was freaked out. Not so much about the conditions, but the future. In sailing, I feel like it can go from, "Oooh fun!" to "Oh shit!" with a quickness. I wanted to keep it the former way. Chris's favorite moment, in contrast, was when we turned into the wind a little so he could pull in one of the reefing lines and took a wave to our side, with spray going all over the boat, which would have drenched him, had he not been waterproof head to boot. He thrives in those situations of stress, with wind howling and waves breaking and the sails straining.

So we made it. We went fast around the Point, and she gave us a good ride. And as we coasted into the next anchorage, the evening sun came out from the fog, we could feel the heat radiating from the land and the gentle waves lapped against the hull. Welcome to Southern California.

Wind, Finally.

Today we had good sailing. The effect on both of our attitudes cannot be overstated. We’re giddy with the giddy-up. Before today, we had been motoring at least a third of the time, and the rest has been just with very light wind, which results in a bumpy, go-nowhere kind of ride. But today, at long last (have we really only been out here a week?) we had wind. Glorious wind. We sailed downwind at 4to5to6 knots for much of the day which felt like we were at light speed, practically. I mean, on a sailing scale.
In other news, the wildlife viewing has been outstanding. So far, we’ve seen about a million whales. Seriously. I had one stalk me for at least an hour last night. It was rather unnerving, as the night was the darkest, maybe ever. Really, really dark. Except for the fact that every so often, we would go through a patch in the ocean that was teeming with bioluminescence. It felt like driving a spaceship. There were no stars in the sky, but boy were there ever some in the sea. I honestly have never felt so apart from the human world. So I was out there, on watch, alone, with a whale sort of stalking me. And out of nowhere, there come huge long undulating streaks of glowing water, straight at the boat. It wasn’t until they’d popped up on the other side and took breaths that I realized that it was a few dolphins, swerving and flying though the water. I yelled for Chris to come out, which he did, armed with our giant spotlight. He immediately caught one mid-leap, in the air. Like at SeaWorld, only sort of glowing in the dark, in the middle of the ocean. Wow.
And, although it doesn’t seem quite as otherworldly, we had another amazing spotting when we saw a sea turtle, I think a leatherback. He was just chillin’, partially submerged. When we came by, he lifted his big old head out of the water for a look-see. I think we got too close on our second turn around, because he dove to the depths and out of sight. I looooovvve sea turtles. They are just so hulking but somehow incredibly graceful. My one demand of this trip was to see a sea turtle, so missions accomplished, now I just get to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Tonight we are anchored out in San Simeon in a very picturesque little cove, with two other ketches. It’s a ketch party. Woo hoo.

Cruising, Days 1-5

Me: Brrrrrr

Chris: Oh, it's not that cold

Me: Brrrrr

Chris: Damn, it's cold!

Me: Brrrrrr

So, sailing in August does not guarantee sunny skies and warmth. Nor does it guarantee those steady NW winds the folks talk about. So far, the sailing itself has been iffy. But the experience is just about all we could ask for. Except for the better sailing part.

Day 1! We left San Francisco on the morning after our send off soiree (it was fabulous - thanks to all who came out) and headed for Half Moon Bay. The seas were pretty calm but the wind was coming from the southwest, so we had a motor-sail combo going on to speed us on our way. A porpoise or two crossed our bow as we were headed out the Golden Gate, which I will take as a fortuitous sign. Once we tucked into Pillar Point Harbor, we ate and slept like the dead. I had been up most of the night before with a cross between Christmas Eve excitement and final exam trepidation whirling around in my belly and brain.

Day 2! Chris headed for a surf at the jetty, a convenient 2 minute dinghy ride from our anchored Liberte, while I watched and read a bit from Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything, which is making me smarter by the paragraph. We went to a produce stand and fish market for a sole-ful dinner. We checked the weather forecasts, watched Men Who Stare At Goats (funny!) and headed to bed as we planned for an early start.

Day 3! Woke to drizzle and fog. Refused to be deterred. Made our way slowly down the coast, once again with wind from the wrong direction. Saw a whale spout, and possibly a fin. I learned that I need to inform Chris what I'm yelling about when I scream his name while I'm at the helm (he came up quickly and looked rather frightened but after learning it was just a SWEET WILDLIFE SIGHTING calmed down and we both spotted the whale spout). Motored a little, got drizzled upon. Decided, in a fit of backwards logic to go on to Monterey because we were going so slowly we weren't going to make it to Santa Cruz until the middle of the night so might as well go further and get to Monterey in the morning. Our first overnight - wheee! Saw some amazing bioluminescence coming off our bow, got freaked out by a bird or two that squawked loudly as we came by, marveled at the stars for the brief time they were visible, then marveled at the nearly impenetrable darkness. And we finally got some light winds behind us, so managed to sail much of the night. Arrived in Monterey just after sunrise. Slept.

Day 4! Showered. Ahhhh, best $1.25 I've ever spent. Walked to Trader Joe's. Scooted around in the dinghy. Feared that the sea lions that dominate the marina would claim our dinghy as their own. How do you convince them to get off once they are laying in your boat?

Day 5! Today! We're planning a dive and a propane tank fill - woo hoo!

The Long Goodbye

Technically, our journey has begun. Though we have not yet left the Bay, Chris and I puttered out of our "home" for the last three years, the Loch Lomond Marina on Sunday. So far, we've just sort of criss crossed the SF and San Pablo Bays, up to Benicia for a birthday party (Hi Tom!), to Sausalito for an evening, over to the City and back over to Fort Baker to our yacht club where we will have our official going-away soiree tomorrow evening.

So far, I've just been underwhelmed by the weather, which is reminiscent of the August four years ago when Chris and I settled down in San Francisco and I could be heard regularly griping, "What the *$*%)#, isn't this supposed to be SUMMER?!?" while watching the temperature drop as the fog rolled steadily down the street in front of our Richmond district apartment. So, it's cold. Boo.

We did get in a great day of activities yesterday - went for a visit to the spectacular California Academy of Sciences Museum, which houses an indoor rainforest, aquarium and exhibits on such subjects as the evolution of tortoises in the Galapagos islands and an amusing video of lemurs. A few in our party actually watched a live scientist as she was stuffing a bird, ostensibly as part of a future attraction. Not dinner.

Speaking of dinner, the second excellent activity was dinner at the restaurant Burma Superstar on Clement. Back when that area of the city was our stomping grounds, Chris and I made a few futile and admittedly half-hearted attempts to dine at the always-packed little place, but were always deterred by the long wait, our rumbling stomachs, or a combination of both. I am now rather sad that we didn't go there before last night, because it was fantastic. Especially the samusa soup, which is a local secret. Actually, it's been featured on the Food Network, apparently, which means we were probably the last to know what we were missing. Even people in Idaho knew what we were missing.

So in the case of the Museum, we knocked something off our list (of things TO DO BEFORE WE GO), and in the case of Burma Superstar we hadn't had it on the list, but should have. Now it will just go on the list of FOOD ITEMS THAT AMANDA WILL CRAVE SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN AND MOAN INCESSANTLY ABOUT NOT HAVING THEM. It will be in the company of Sol Food, Double Rainbow Ice Cream, and Teresa and Johnny's french toast. Tasty company, indeed.