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A Therapeutic Aphrodisiac For the Deprived Soul… |
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April – September, 2007
“Good times on a Good Lake with warm Friends”
Position: Perry Lake, Kansas
Captain: Arieyeh & Barbara Austin
Time on Water: Warm Saturday and Sunday afternoons
While the entry may be short, I would simply state that the warmest people we have ever met truly do live in Kansas. Rather it is for need of advice, care of equipment, or need of friends, we have not been for want here. This past year has been a wonderment of blessed company. To all who have assisted us, truly thanks. To all who have drank with us, may the grog never run dry. To those who have bled with us, may the wounds leave no scars. Attached here to tell our story from this past year we have attached a multitude of pictures for your enjoyment… I will leave you with this one thought. A sailboat at anchor has the right of way, irrelevant of the conditions. I would never suggest running into the sprit of a Friendship, particularly one as stout as Nesaru’s, when she know she is in the right… the results are sure to be catastrophic to the other vessel as she can give as well as she gets… We will see you all next year on the water, cannons ablaze with the scream of “Tally Ho!” from the foredeck, rapier in hand and the Jolly Roger as high as we can perch her! Long Live Nesaru!!!! Until then, we remain your faithful servants…. The Crew of the Infamous Nesrau!
  
  
  
  
  
 
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| Posted by Nesaru at | | | |
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March 18, 2007
"As if G-d himself reached down and pushed my sails into the water; the continued saga of Nesaru"
Position: Some place a friendship sloop should not be, Perry Lake, Kansas
Captain: Arieyeh & Barbara Austin
Time on Water: Far too long
If there was a way to ensure that lightning would hit in the same place twice, that one could ensure a disaster through simple negligence of mind and body, we seem to have an affirmation with the fates. My wife and I purchased “Nesaru,” which translates to “Wind Spirit,” in a sincere desire to illuminate our lives and rekindle a youthful vibrancy that seems to dwindle as life goes on. Barb, my wife and I, seemed to still be lacking the zeal of a life filled with memories created from adventures of our own coupled with quality family time. Our lives were not holistic, and we desperately wanted to fill a growing void. No different then that next log on a warm set of embers, Nesaru has sparked into that raging torrent of adventure upon adventure. We entitled our blog page, A Therapeutic Aphrodisiac For the Deprived Soul, and that she has been.
Nesaru was originally named “The Dolphin,” and was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, of E. Falmouth, MA. She was built in 1977 by Jarvis Newman and Chase, with a fiberglass molding hull number 13, which was created by Jarvis Newman. She was of the 25 foot Pemaquid II Group, Friendship Sloop Society Sale Number 178. Since Nesaru had graciously selected us to be her new skippers in 2002, as all respectable Friendships select their individual owners based on their own tastes, we had moved her from the East Coast to the Puget Sound in the Pacific North West. We had already sailed her from Olympia, WA, to North of the San Juan Islands and back again. Our adventures while there were of the highest caliber in both natural and educational indoctrination of maritime manners and risks. We had braved rough seas, felt the wind upon our faces and tasted the sweet embrace of the salt upon our lips. We had grown to love it, as well as the natural world it had provided as a ribbon rapped gift to us. Our children were learning of an environment that most can only imagine while reading a narrated tale of buccaneers and buried gold by Robert Louis Stevenson.
All good things must come to an end, however. In 2006 we received orders to report to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, in order to complete further educational requirements for secondary part of our lives, service to our Country. Nesaru was as much a member of our family as any other, and so arrangements were hastily made to transport her again. This time, however, we would be leaving the fair seas of the pacific for the brown waters of the next destination in our sorted lives, Perry Lake, Kansas! Her movement provided us an opportunity to conduct some much needed maintenance on our little lady. Before she slipped into the warm brown catfish infested waters of Perry Lake, she would have all of her spars and mast re-varnished, her topsides redone, the bottom sanded and painted, a new hailing board for her transom, replacement bronze scupper plates, wheel cover, and staysail stay connectors installed, new sails made by the infamous Carroll Hassey of Port Townsend Sails and the Wooden Boat Foundation, a Dutchman’s Topsail installed by Port Townsend Rigging, and last but not least new halyards and dock lines emplaced. As the 2006 winter in Kansas slowly melted away, we looked forward to the spring in raging anticipation.
We coordinated to launch Nesaru, the first Friendship Sloop I am aware of ever being in Kansas, in early March. We were the first boat to move from dry dock into the water that season. This would be our first time out on the water, and we were anxious to see what she could do. We elected to go down on a Saturday morning. Not wanting to subject my family to any possible disasters, and keenly aware that the possibility existed that something may not go as planned with the new sails, etc, I had decided to leave Barb behind with the children. In their place I had brought two “able bodied Seamen,” Kevin and Greg. Although both were virgin deckhands, they had worked with me throughout the winter, and seemed more then ready to see what sailing was all about. Upon reflection I regret my decision to bring novice, albeit physically fit and eager, cabin boys. I’m not sure what fever had engulfed my senses with that decision now. If something was to happen, how could two non boating companions be any more fitting then my wife, who had spent the majority of her time working feverishly on our 13 H.P. Westerbeak throughout our adventures in the North West?
Our arrival at the marina greeted us with 15 knot winds. I immediately elected to reef the mainsail. My intent was to test the boat’s engine and lines, and not to push Nesaru to any extremes. My companions, however, immediately placed a vote of no confidence in my decision. Stating bluntly, “We did not come down here to only ½ sail, ya scallywag!” I was eventually swayed from my position (what in Davy Jones Locker was I thinking!?!) The engine hummed with pride as we began to cast off the lines. I noted that several cows, not having much of anything else to do and which graze around the marina, had begun to watch our little exploit. As I began to swing the bow out of the slip I yelled for Kevin, who had thrown the port bow line off and was still standing on the dock, to get on the boat. He stood, as rigid as a roman column, with a sudden expression of intense internal strife. As I continued to gage the momentum of Nesaru out of the slip, I yelled again for him to step onto the boat. Greg moved from the cockpit to the bow and extended his arm to grab him, but nothing in the state of Kansas was going to move him from that dock. It was as if, after all the speeches and rhetoric, he had suddenly realized that we were actually going to go sailing and he was not interested on being away from land! One final yell of “jump” still could not break his consternation. Finally, in a muffled and confused screech, he exclaimed, “But it is moving!”…. um, ya.
15 minutes later, with all safely on board, we were cruising at a comfortable 4 knots to the North end of Perry lake. As we slipped by the two buoys marking the marinas “channel” I began to relax. My companions immediately began to mix drinks, which they had brought with them. This was, of course, another decision I would grow to regret. By the time we reached the North end I was comfortable that the engine had survived the journey from Seattle to Kansas as well as the winter. Now slightly inebriated, we waved at the cows on the North end and brought her about into the wind, preparing to raise the mainsail and test her rigging. The wind was still out of the West at 15 knots. While I was comfortable with the thought of a broad reach back to the marina, 15 knot winds was still more then I had bargained for. For those of us, to include me at the time, who have not sailed in Kansas, I should take a brief moment now to explain the phenomenon we describe here as, “the hand of G-d.” Not being a meteorologist, I can not truly describe why the winds in Kansas act as they do. However, I can with sincere honesty tell you that, with almost no warning at all and in less then 10 minutes, 15 knots can become 50. There is generally no warning to these gusts. As no one here monitors their VHF radios, and channel 16 is a mute issue. Barb and I used to listen to the coast guard weather reports every time we took Nesaru out. Here, we have been limited to channel 5, cable, before we leave the house! Long live the cable weather channel.
The main went up without a hitch as the crew and I gasped in admiration of a friendship sloop slicing through the water. The Staysail and Jib shortly followed, and as we fell off of the wind and headed home, a sense of calm fell over me. The engine had worked, the sails seemed to be fine, and my inexperienced crew was trimming the sails nicely. I turned the wheel over to Kevin and began to instruct them on the proper procedures of tacking and jibing. It was not until my forth glass of bourbon that I noticed the breeze on my face has stiffened rather abruptly. We had easily increased to 20 knots of wind, and Kevin was having problems with the weather helm. I elected to lower the sails and bring her in the rest of the way under power. It was here, if I have to identify the exact moment, that all Harry Carry broke loose. As I took the wheel and began to instruct Kevin on what he was to do as we turned into irons in order to lower the sails, he listened with only a slightly glaze eyed interest. I eventually picked up on this, particularly as he continued to look over my left shoulder out into the water. I stopped for a moment, at which time he so politely decided to inform me, “I think Greg fall overboard!” Having never lost someone over the side of the boat, I didn’t believe him. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Greg’s flailing arms above the water line! It turns out that as I took the wheel, Greg’s Corona swelled bladder needed to be purged, and that the best place to do so in his mind was over the transom. While reflecting on his life and staring out over the water, he lost his balance, fell on the flag post, slipped, and took both it and himself over the side! We immediately heaved too and threw life vests for him. Once we were sure we had him, I went forward to lower the sails.
The wind was continuing to increase at this point. I would tell you it was 50 knots, but I know it would be the bourbon speaking, which was just now beginning to hit the really wrong spots. Several years ago my wife had bestowed upon me a magical hat which had survived all of our adventures. It was so important to her that at one point, in a near panic, she had actually gone over the side intentionally in the Straits of Juan De Fuca to retrieve it after it had blown off of my head. Since that time it has held a special place of awe in our family legends. It was at this moment, with one man in the water and me on the bow that it again, in a rebellious zeal, blew away. Fear gripped my very soul as I made the only decision possible, to get Greg out of the water and forget about the hat. A few moments passed as we secured our lost baggage and secured the sails to the deck. The alcohol was beginning to wear off now, and we had all had more then enough of the wind. Kansas may get hot in the summers, but in March Greg was not comfortable in his wet cloths, embarrassed and wet or not. We cranked the engine on and headed home. 20 seconds later, the engine sputtered dead… umm, yaa….
Well, surveying the situation did not leave me with a warm feeling. There were no other boats on the water, and there is no harbor assists, etc, in Kansas. Also, the marina here only seldom monitors their phone or radio. I elected to secure Nesaru before I began to work on the engine. I retrieved the danforth anchor out of the stern lazerate and handed it to Kevin, instructing him to throw it in the water as I began to climb down into the engine compartment. Kevin and Greg looked very uncomfortable on the rocking lake as I checked the fuel lines, pump, and fuel filter, as well as bled the lines for air (a trick I had been taught from our last engine mishap). The engine seemed to be fine. The impeller, oil, and fuel were all in working order. I admit to being more then perplexed, and crawled out of the compartment to think about my situation. It was then that I noticed that we were only 100 yards away from the shore line! Hysterical, I turned to Kevin to ask if he had thrown the anchor in the water. He immediately replied that he had, to witch I turned to the bow to see if we were dragging. Unable to locate the anchor line, I was forced to turn back to Kevin and ask the obvious, “Kevin, when you threw the anchor in the water, was it tied to anything?” His silence, as well as the same look he had given to me at the dock, was the only answer I needed… ummm, yaaaa…
Have I already used the phrase, “Harry Carey,” in this story? Throughout a skippers life there are just certain events we all try to avoid, such as venereal diseases, poor rum, failed engines, and men overboard. To this point I had failed in at least two of these, and in less then 4 hours. Now, with no anchor and 20 knot winds pushing me into the lee shore of Lake Perry, I decided that it was time to repeat one of them. Despite his rather loud and obvious objections Kevin was sacrificed to Davy Jones Locker, serving in my mind as the next best thing to the anchor he had already lost. I can only try to remain vertical as I portray to you the scene the hapless fishermen that rescued us must have observed as he approached us that late afternoon. There we were, a Friendship sloop in all her prime prepared for the new season, precariously on the lee shore of this little lake in monstrous winds, being held in place by perhaps the second most unhappy and cold man in Kansas. There skipper, the first place winner of that dubious title, perched amidships screeching at the top of his lungs. There was a movie I watched a few weeks back entitled, “White Squall,” in which the skipper explained at his tribunal, “It was as if G-d himself reached down and pushed my sails into the water…” I suddenly found myself relating.
Several weeks later I found myself on Nesaru, safely in her slip, tending to several small tasks and repairs from our little exploit. I had my family with me this time, to include my wife Barb who knows far more about engines then I. She had managed to determine that the primary fuel pump had failed and would need to be replaced. I was beginning to close up the boat for the day when Barb tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face a most unpleasant expression. She pointed to the shore of the marina and asked me to explain why my hat, which she had spent so much effort and affection caring for, was adrift near the shore war torn, sun beaten, and eaten through with holes. Since I had to this time never had the fortitude to tell her of my little exploit out of humiliation, and she had not yet noticed that the hat was missing, I found myself in for a long day…
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| Posted by Nesaru at | | | |
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September 2006 – March 1, 2007 Warm Plain Winds; Perry Lake, KS
Position: Some place a friendship sloop should not be, Perry Lake, Kansas
Captain: Arieyeh J. Austin
Time on Water: Every warm Saturday for the last 250 days
The last time I was able to write in this log was May 6th, 2006. At that time, my family, Nasaru, and I were still located on the Puget Sound in Olympia, WA. We were returning from a long and much enjoyed vacation, as well as a desperately needed respite, from the San Juan Islands, North of Seattle but just shy of Vancouver, Canada. We had received orders to report to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, upon the completion of my duties as an Aide De Camp to the Deputy Commanding General of I Corps and Fort Lewis, WA. My new assignment was to serve in the Battle Command Training Program, Fort Leavenworth, KS, as an Exercise Controller, helping develop the War Fighting Exercises that Brigade, Division, and Corps Staffs would participate in prior to their deployments overseas in support of both Endearing and Iraqi Freedom (OE and OIFs). The assignment was a good one, as it postured my family and I to begin the next phase of my military education, the Completion of Command and General Staff College, as well as allowed me to begin my Masters work on Human Resource Management and Administration. It also stabilized my family, giving me some much needed bonding time with our two children that I had seen very little of over the course of the last three years while serving as a Commander in Iraq and as an Aide. However, the uncertainty in regards to Nesaru’s fate made me very uneasy.
 
We had purchased her out of complete affection and love. I have sworn to take care of her to my ending days, but the prospect of bringing her to Kansas weighed heavily upon us. We coordinated to have a custom made trailer produced for her, and then purchased a vehicle with a tow package that could haul her from Seattle to Kansas. We then had her shrink rapped in order to protect her top and gel coats. I was particular about her move, wanting to make sure she was not damaged in any way. We contacted a marina, Rock Creek Marina on Perry Lake, prior to our departure to ensure we would be able to berth and store her. You can not imagine our hesitation when they asked us her length, to which I replied 36 feet with the sprit, to which they replied, “What’s a sprit?” Her out haul, loading, and trip along Americas highways was surreal. Its an odd thing to walk out of a Holiday Inn and see a Friendship Sloop on a trailer outside the front door. Nesaru took it in stride, and luckily complained very little along the way. She seemed to sense that she was coming with us, one way or another, and did not want to put up to much of a fuss... yet.
When we arrived in Rock Creek Marina at Perry Lake, we were greeted by a group of spectators who wanted to see a Friendship Sloop. We had called the marina earlier to make sure they would be able to meet us. We were not expecting the group that was there when we pulled in. As Nesaru swooned in pride the owner, DJ, directed us to where we could drop her off. The lake was smaller then I had expected, but was "sailable". The marina seemed secure, and the people of the Midwest were more then hospitable. It was not until we reached the dry dock yard that Nesaru let out her first sigh of grief. It was as if, seeing the lake for the first time with me, she simply asked, “Where is the salt water, the seagulls and the seals? Where am I? Where have you taken me and how did you get me into this mess?” I had no answers for her. We both looked out over the lake, perplexed as to its size, the cows that seemed to be grazing all around it, and the crane that was supposed to get her into the water… Just what had I gotten us into?
 
We decided to spend the winter upgrading her. She may not have been happy in regards to her location, but she would at least be content after we finished primping her. In October 2006 we moved her into dry storage and began work. Barb and I stripped all of her rub and gunny rail teak, her sprit, club boom, boom, and mast. We even stripped her Dory Box’s and hatches. We then re-varnished all of them using two coats Thompsons Sealer, 8 coats Captains Spar Varnish, and two coats Spar Varnish Gloss. We also stripped all of the blocks and standing rigging and used Cetal Light and Gloss on those. We then paid the marina to strip her topsides and Gel Coat and refinish them pine green (I told them I wanted to see me face from 30 feet away – and they made it happen). While they were working on her they became so ecstatic that they even shined the bronze chain plates and eagle head under the sprit for free. When I saw here again, the bottom had been sanded, painted, all topsides refinished, and all of the bronze glistened gold! It was an unbelievable transformation. We also had a new Hailing Board made for her and posted on her transom out of Teak, as well as coordinated to have a machinist make a replacement bronze caul vent to replace the plastic one on her cabin, as well as some new scupper plates and a cap for the wheel, also out of bronze. Then, when Barb and I brought the spars down from the house in Leavenworth (we refinished them in the evenings in our garage) and had the mast stepped… well, you can not imagine how she looked. I just do not have words for how beautiful she was. Not a scratch or chip on her anywhere… it was surreal. Simply sublime. Nesaru glistened with joy.
 
We were the first boat to launch that Spring on the entire lake, March 1st 2007. It was raining when she slipped into the water and cruised over to her slip. It reminded me, and her I think, of Washington. Only the cows on the North side of the state park were there to watch her go in. I was not aware at the time of the adventures I would have that Spring-Fall, but I did note that it seemed windy to me that morning… Little did I realize that sailing in Kansas is not as slight an ordeal as one would expect. My underestimation would cost me dearly in the next few months, for, while waves, tide and current may no longer be a factor, 30-40 miles per hour winds with jet skies and ski boats would be. It would prove to be a long season for us… that however, is another story. For now, I leave you with the thought of a Friendship Sloop, Nesaru, in strange waters, patiently waiting for her chance to show Kansas what she could do. She had new sails, new canvas, new cushions, new bottom paint, new varnish, new topsides, new gelcoat, and a new dutchmans topsail… what could go wrong? Murphy, that’s what…
  
“If one does not know to which port one is sailing, no wind is favorable.”
Seneca, Roman philosopher |
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| Posted by Nesaru at | | | |
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May 27, 2006
Motorless, Filucy Bay, Key Peninsula Position:
Filucy Bay, key Peninsula
Captain: Christopher M. Baker
Time on Water: 6.5 hours
The day started at the crack of dawn… (0900) After a well deserved rest in our cramped but well managed berth, we started the morning by cleaning up and rechecking our plan to catch the tide just right through the Narrows. The engine trouble we had the night prior was checked and with a few turns of a wrench we hoped the air that was believed to be causing the problem in the fuel line was removed. The engine started up fine and after a few minutes of idling we moved out into the great wide open. The sky was cloudy but no rain was falling. As we motored out toward the passage we had entered from, we determined to raise sail and see what we could get from the Southerly wind that was supposed to have had a change the night prior.
After a few good knots we were on our way out to the narrows. After our first good port tack the engine died. Hmmm… With little change in speed our confidance grew and I made my first command decision as the skipper. No motor, no problem. In fact I was determined to make it the entire way to Filucy bay by using the superior sailing skills that Arie taught me…
Our first concern was getting to the Narrows where the tides would help us through the passage with a little speed. Tacks went smoothly and we were making great time. The boat was soon heading directly toward the bridge with the speed climbing faster and faster. Top speed was 9.5 Knots. The tides definitely helped and the Southerly wind was helping more than hurting progress.
We thought we had a race for a few tacks when a newer sail boat started tacking against us. Before the bridge was overhead, the competition finally caved in and the would be losers dropped sail and turned on their motor.
The next destination was McNeil island. The “Rock” of the Northwest. Staying our distance was difficult because the slight breeze that existed near the prison island pushed toward the shoreline. The only prison escapee was a very large sea lion that almost ate us. Honestly it was pretty big. The thing seemed to come out of nowhere and what we did see was the beast surfacing at about seven feet off our stern. Still, we sailed on, and after a few tacks to keep momentum, the wind finally gave out. Though grudgingly, I accepted defeat and I gave in to Arie’s frequent requests to turn on the engine.
Now with the motor on and rain starting to sprinkle Arie and Barb started to tear down the sails and we slowly pulled into what was supposed to be a secluded inlet that we hoped would be relaxing. THAT DIDN’T WORK OUT TO WELL. Only about 50 ships were docked or anchored in our “secluded inlet.” Some boats were tied together in bunches of ten. It was like a floating trailer park. Motor boats seemed to make up the mass of the bulk occupying “our” nice relaxing spot.
Within about an hour we finally found an area that we could anchor in. Although within the next hour the nearest boat next to us decided we were much to close to his fat boat. He moved, we stayed. Arie felt bad, but not bad enough to move. I agreed. A nice supper of fish and potatoes held us over long enough for us to climb inside the spacious cabin and settle down for a night of “Did we just move? Is that a boat about to hit us?” Day over, but never to be forgotten. Oh, I did the dishes. |
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May 26, 2006
40 Days & 40 Nights, Dockton County Park, Quartermaster Harbor
Position: Kingston to Quartermaster Harbor
Captain: Christopher M. Baker
Time on Water: 8.05 Hours
Today I started my four day weekend. After waking up early (0730) I called Arie and Barbara Austin. We agreed to meet in Kingston Marina as soon as I could get there. After finally leaving after 0830, my entire family made our way to Heathers Mothers to pick up two of my nephews. We received a couple of calls from Arie on his cell phone while we were on the ay there. The last call came once we arrived in Kingston, where we saw a scruffy looking guy standing on the corner with a cell phone. After jamming Arie into the Van, we traveled to Thrift Way in order to pick up a few items – for me mostly junk food. Heather then dropped Arie and my self off at the marina, and I said my good byes to Heather and the children. My son Elias really wanted to go, but there was no room and no prior planning on the idea.
We left under the sun, but traveled into the clouds and the rain. We put on Rain gear and Barb and Arie raised all of the sails. I skippered the ship the entire way, which meant little more then I was steering the ship. The trip to Vashon Island (Dockton Park) was a long and arduous journey. We ended our eight hour plus trek cold and wet, but on the way did see a few cool things. Firstly, lots of water. Second, some heavy set seals and sea lions. Thirdly, a pod of Dals Dolphins, which I originally thought were Orca Whales. To my own defense, they are colored similarly. And although they were not killer dolphins, they did seem to be in a bad mood. We also saw some ducks and a few birds – no sea monster or giant squid today. Perhaps tomorrow…. |
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May 23-25, 2006
Homeward Bound. End of an adventure.
Position: North Puget Sound, Between Roche Harbor & Straights of San Juan Fuca and Kingston, WA.
Captain: Arieyeh J. Austin
Time on Water: 13.2 Hours “
I find that the great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving. To reach the port of heavon, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.”
- Oliver Wendell Holmes |
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May 21-22, 2006
R & R, laceName w:st="on">RochelaceName> laceType w:st="on">HarborlaceType> on laceName w:st="on">San JuanlaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType>
Position: laceName w:st="on">RochelaceName> laceType w:st="on">HarborlaceType> on laceName w:st="on">San JuanlaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType>
Captain: Barbara J. Austin
Time on Water: 0
Hot Showers, Bath, Bed
Hotel De Haro 100 years old, Teddy Rosevelt
History of Hotel
History of laceName w:st="on">RochelaceName> laceType w:st="on">HarborlaceType>
Ranger Roy Matsumoto, laceName w:st="on">FridaylaceName> laceType w:st="on">HarborlaceType>, Marrils Mauradoers
Susi, Cab Driver, San Juan Taxi
San Juan Vineyards, Colleen Conver and Evan Swanberg (owner); sjvineyards@rockisland.com & www.sanjuanvineyards.com, 360-378-WINE
Retreat Ceremony with Cannan
British Camp
Camel
Krystal Acres Alpaca farm and store, www.krystalacres.com
“Floating Condominiums”
Yacht clubs
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May 20, 2006
A Whale of a Story…. No, really!; Stuart Island West of San Juan Island.
Position: 48’41.32’ N, 123’11.78’ W
Captain: Arieyeh J. Austin
Time on Water: 10 hours, 45 minutes.
There comes a time in every persons life, at least so they say, that one has to look into the dark, cold concrete of reality and realize that they are not an eternal creature. That, despite their greatest efforts, they are not omnipotent beings capable of controlling the world around them. Rather, that we are all simply riding a great roller coaster of events, in series, and that as one day falls like a set of dominos, it will effect the one after it until we all come to an inevitable end. I think that sailors come to this conclusion sooner then the rest of society. There is a direct correlation between the sea and a persons understanding of nature. Granted, it may take some of us longer to reach this state then others dependant on not only how much time we spend on the water, but also on how thick headed we are. Now I, for one, happen to be rather thick headed… at least my wife keeps telling me so. Hence, you can see why I, of all people, thought that I was above mother nature on the 20th of May, 2006. So, as all great stories go, I will begin this one with the phrase, “So there I was…”
So there I was. I am not sure even to this moment how I got there, surrounded in 5 foot seas and 30 knots of wind. Upon reflection I think I would use the word ignorance, or perhaps even a diluted sense of reality. Use what ever phrase you wish, I knew we were in way over our heads. We had departed from Matia Island south of the Straights of Georgia, North of the San Juan Islands earlier that morning on our way to Stuart Island. We had been traveling North through the islands from Olympia, WA, for the past three weeks. Having now reached Matia Island, it was now time to return home. Our boat, Friendship Sloop Society number 178, was a Jarvis Newman 25 footer, based on the pemequin 2 lines. We had purchased her several years before from Mrs. Robbinson, who had kept her in Maine. Having re-christned her, “Nesaru,” which means “Sky Spirit,” we had brought her from one coast to the other and was enjoying exploring the Puget Sound and all of its spectacular and hidden secrets.
We had departed at 8:30 that morning. The seas rolled and tumbled with the force of 15-20 knots of wind from the South / South West. Nesaru was holding a steady 7 knots, with all sails set at a close reach. We had no real difficulty reaching Stuart Island, benefiting greatly from the tide. It was upon reaching the view of protected and sheltered waters that all hell broke loose. As we began to lower the sails, drained from the high winds and rolling seas, Barb (my wife) yelled forward to me that she was having difficulty starting our inboard 13 HP Westerbeak engine. Now, a brief note should be made here as to the distribution of responsibility aboard our little vessel. I had been taught to sail on the Great Lakes of Michigan by my parents, most likely before I even knew how to walk. I understood the rigging of our boat and how to trim her sails properly, as well as how to navigate and chart a course. I also have gained a rude understanding of electrical issues, having installed AC power on Nesaru upon her purchase and refitting her with a new DC system. In contrast, my knowledge of diesel engines is comparable to our 2 year old daughters understanding of astrophysics. Barb, on the other hand, used to build and repair engines with her father when she was a child. Hence, as a dumbfounded look of, “Duhhh,” crossed my face at her comment, it would quickly be replaced by a look of utter fear as I began to evaluate our situation. Even as another wave broke over our railing and drenched me to the bone, I knew I could offer her no assistance. I was as impotent to my wife on this matter as the mussels growing on our uncleaned fenders were.
Given the prospect of drifting away from the island in these seas or doing something, we hastily heaved too and lowered the Jib and Main, leaving the Staysail up to counter the tide and keep us steady. The wind had increased from 15 to 20 knots, and I was having a difficult time keeping her steady. Barb, in the mean time, had hastily tore the engine cover off and was beginning to attack the engine with a ferocity that I can only describe as, “intense.” Other words do come to mind, but Barb gets to proof our log entries, and so I will leave it at that. As motor oil and fuel filters began to fly over my shoulder, and the bay and other vessels safe at moorage there began to fade from view, a gazed uselessly over the rub rail of our little boat into the foam of the ocean. I could think of nothing else to do expect prepare flares, and I began to subconsciously sing, “… does anyone know where the love of G-d goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours” Imagine my surprise when I realized I was singing the words to Gordon Lightfoots, “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”… how fitting.
About the same time I was about to commit Harry Carey, I noticed something I the water moving rapidly toward us. At first I was puzzled. Thousands of small bubbles were making a be line toward our starboard stern, approximately 100 meters out. I began to watch them intensely until they disappeared 30 meters from the boat. I do remember thinking how odd it was, but made nothing more out of it then that. Barb continued to work on the engine, and the waves were rolling all around us. One or two more minutes passed by, and I noticed the same set of bubbles approaching our boat again at a more then rapid rate of speed. This time they started out at 100 meters again, but unlike before they came to within 20 meters. They were about 6 meters wide, and moved at about 6 knots toward us, decapitating the further away they were from the boat. I yelled for Barb to come up and see this oddity over the wind. As the response was less then motivating, and clearly signaled that her level of frustration over the engine was increasing, I turned back to the sea. Again, the bubbles began to race toward us on the starboard stern. This time they reached to within 10 feet before vanishing alongside Nesaru. On this last pass, however, something new entered this strange rhythm. The depth sounder alarm suddenly began to scream, and I noted it said we were in 7 feet of water!
OK… 20 knots of wind, no engine, strange bubbles and 7 feet of water… I’ve had enough. As Barb sticks her head oil covered head out of the engine compartment and inquires as to why the depth sounder alarm is buzzing, I calmly (ya, right) scramble down the companion way and rip out every chart we have on the area. Convinced we are about to hit a shoal or uncharted reef, I can find nothing that would cause us to be in 7 feet of water. Confused, I return to the deck. Barb is sitting in the cockpit looking intensely at the water, the oil stick still in her hand. The look on her face says it all as she turns to me and says, “What’s with all the bubbles?” We both find ourselves drawn to the edge of the boat now like a jelly fish to a spring break swimmer. The bubbles continue to swarm around the boat, but every time they pass by us the depth sounder screams a foot or two less! What were we to do? I did not know what calamity was about to occur, but did know I had no interest in being part of it.
The last pass was our breaking point. As the bubbles moved toward our stern, I noted that the water beneath them was much darker then the surrounding area. The shape that was under that cluster of impending doom was at least twice as large as Nesaru. As it passed under our hull, the depth sounder screamed in at 1 foot. At that moment the entire hull jolted. We braced ourselves in complete control (in other words panic) as Nesaru spun 30 degrees to port. Jumping to the other side of the boat, we could see the dark shape racing away from us on our opposite side, bubbles in pursuit. We called harbor assist.
Several hours later, one mechanic, and $150.00 poorer, we found ourselves in Roch Harbor, San Juan Island. We were told that there had been air in our fuel lines, which had caused the engine to seize on us. This phased us little, however, in contrast to what else we learned. The harbor master told us upon registering that there had been several sightings of a Grey Whale in the area throughout the day…. No, really.
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May 19, 2006
Kiakers on the Loose!; Matia Island South of the Straights of Georgia.
Position: 48’45.03’ N, 122’50.99’ W
Captain: Barbara J. Austin
Time on Water: 2 hours, 5 minutes.
- Paul (kiack)
- Sky Bird (John, Stephania, Somantha, Cat)
- Orca Spirit II
- Cannans x 2
- Star Fish
- Sea Slugs (green and black)
- Rock Crab
- Butter Clams
- Rock formations
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| Posted by Nesaru at | | | |
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May 18, 2006
There Be No Whales!; laceName w:st="on">SucialaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType> South of the Straights of Georgia.
Position: 48’ 44.68’ North, 122’ 53.65’ West
Captain: Arieyeh J. Austin
Time on Water: 9 hours, 10 minutes.
I have to start this log entry with a brief comment on what it is that I particularly enjoy about sailing. I do not really know why I am writing this, as it has nothing to do at all with our trip, and even less to do with anything I care for a stranger to read. It does, however, have relevance for my children, I suppose, as I have dragged both them and my wife with me for the better part of two-three weeks on this little boat purely for my own selfish reasons. Sailing to me is more then just the adventure of traveling to places in distance locations that few people, if any, have been to. I’ll admit that I do fantasize from time to time about the occasional pirate or Indian, whom I am sure is watching us from the darkened recesses of the islands we pass by. This does keep me going on the periodic moments of frustration that Nesaru has given me. I read somewhere that the sea is the true equalizer of all men. That once a person goes to sea, he truly can find himself and determine just who he is, and what he is capable of. While some would sneer at this, or think it a bit extreme, I personally happen to believe in its validity. I like the challenge of picking a place on a chart and saying, “I can get us there.” I know how to sail the boat, how to trim the sails… if the wood splinters, I can repair that, or if a sail rips, I can fix that too. Every day that goes by I become more self sufficient not only as a sailor, but also as a human being. My greatest down fall has been my lack of knowledge on diesel engines, which has already been a particular sticky point for us on this trip and may prove to be so again. My complete failure of being able to care for our diesel engine has already cost us time, resources, and money on this trip, not to mention our own safety. Hence, I have found my fault, my hurdle, on the sea. It can and will be fixed with time, and I will become a better person for it. I have already learned DC power and marine plumbing 101, now diesel mechanical repair will have to be added to the list… I also like how the sea and water challenge you physically. It is both mentally and physically draining to steer a vessel in 30 knot winds for 8-12 hours bobbing up and down in 5 foot surf. If you can do that, and still care for your boat long enough to get your family and you to your destination, wherever it may be, then you have completed the mark, so to speak. The reward, you ask, for all of this toil and sweat? The reward is arriving at a location and being closer to nature and your surroundings then anyone else, and appreciating it because you alone posses the knowledge and capability to get you there, and you and your family alone persevered the challenges required to achieve that pinnacle. When we see dolphins or seals, or the bald eagle floating overhead, we see them because we deserve to see them, because we fought to see them… the average yachtsman on his 50 foot 300 HP diesel engine boat has no idea what I am talking about, and I would just assume keep it that way.
We left laceName w:st="on">DeerlaceName> laceType w:st="on">HarborlaceType> and headed for the laceName w:st="on">SucialaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandslaceType>, the furthest set of Islands on the San Juan islands to the North, which look into the laceName w:st="on">GeorgianlaceName> laceType w:st="on">SealaceType>. They were supposed to be remote, and we were looking forward to the fight to get us there. We wanted to be alone, and to BBQ clams and oysters on the grill over an open fire. There was NO wind to speak of, and so we would have to rely on our 13 HP diesel engine to get us there. We traveled through the North Pass North of Yellow Island and around the west side of laceName w:st="on">JoneslaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType> into the San Juan Channel, South of Flattop Island to laceName w:st="on">SpiedenlaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType>. My brother and I, Adon, used to play a game at our grandfathers called “Survive”. In it, the island was slowly sinking into a volcano, and you had pieces that you had to get to other islands. The more pieces (people) you saved, the more points you would receive. Some of the island turned into whirlpools as it sunk, killing your pieces. I had never seen a whirlpool until today. As we passed to the east of laceName w:st="on">SpiedenlaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType>, we were caught in a terrible current. The boat began to drift toward the island, and we noticed that we were not making any forward movement. We tried for several minutes to get out of the current and tidal drift around the island, but eventually caught on that not only were we still being pulled toward the shore of the island, but that we were also moving backwards. Amazed, we decided to tuck tail and run around the long way of the island to get to the Sucias. It added another two hours onto the trip, but we could see no other choice. I had run right into our very own whirl pool! I can see now how people have died when caught in these. A kayaker or swimmer would never be able to get out without help. We traveled south of Spieden Island through Spieden Channel north of Sna Juan Island, and then South of Stuart Island past Johns Island before cutting back toward Waldron Island. We spent most of the trip desperately looking for whales, as this was area was reported to be the best place to look for them, but we never in the entire time we were out saw a single one. Finding them would be more of a challenge then we had thought, it would seem.
Once we reached laceName w:st="on">SucialaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType>, we were more then slightly disappointed with what we found. Although at one time laceName w:st="on">SucialaceName> laceType w:st="on">IslandlaceType> may have been distant and remote, or a paradise for cruising sailors, it was now so thick with large motor boats that it reminded me of misquotes on a slab of beef sirloin. They were truly everywhere. I noticed in short order that we were the only sail boat in the bay, and that no one seemed even remotely interested in assisting us as we tied our boat up, or for that matter in even talking to us! I do not know if it was because they were as disappointed as we were at there surroundings or it is was simply because of a, “inner city on the open water attitude,” that prevailed here. Barb and I tried to meet several different people as we passed them on the shore, but no one was interested. Frustrated at the “laceName w:st="on">DisneylaceName> laceType w:st="on">LandlaceType> paradise for Motor Boaters” the Sucias had become, as well as the rude, overpopulated, nature of the island, we did not enjoy our stay. I will add, however, that on a long walk the next morning Barb and I walked over to laceName w:st="on">FossillaceName> laceType w:st="on">BaylaceType>, on the South East side of the island. No one was there, and the bay had some wonderful rock formations. Additionally, the beach was littered with clam holes and hundreds of oysters. Regretting our decision of mooring locations, we returned to the boat and prepared to depart.
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