Disclaimer: Nearly all of these photos are Harmony’s, which I’ve stolen with permission. I am a terrible photographer so she took pity. She tends to post more of her photos to a Facebook page she started for us (what does this say about our differing interfaces of choice?) when her data plan permits.
We’ve made it.
We have already said this more than a few times so far, but we mean it each time. Lately the occasions to say it have been as follows:
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One
Crossing the line that separates Oregon from California. This happened in the middle of the night, under passage, when a large orange moon rose above the hills to illuminate a village on the sea. It took a lot to get out of Oregon, and this entry into the golden lands was a beautiful moment. For me, at least. Harmony was asleep. She was happy to remark on the occasion, however, once we’d safely moored in Crescent City. Our arrival also marked the end of our longest passage ever so far – two nights. it’s a milestone I hope we’ll smile about later on. I think this is one reason why it’s one of her favorite ports so far.
The docks are known to attract a rough element. Walking past this corner was another “We made it” moment.
The city had many other things to like – a beautiful grassy park along the beach, adjoining the public library and public pool, a Parks Department information center staffed by two very helpful, if dry, ladies. A redwood forest was only five miles away, up a long hill into a dirt and gravel road through a thick canopy of massive trees and silence. It’s kind of funny, I have yet to be more glad than that day to have bicycles on this trip. The hill was brutal to the point we had to walk our bikes over a mile, but to glide downhill through that other world, the only sound the shifting dust under your tires, was irreplacable. The people driving slowly through had no idea what they were missing.
This looks just like a video game! (is most definitely NOT what I said and will never admit to thinking). I’m not a shill for them or anything, but I recommend the CitizenBike. It’s 30 lbs, about $230, and folds up to fit two in our not expansive quarterberth. Some random parts of it have started to rust, but nothing critical yet.
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Two
“We made it.” I said to Harmony once our dinghy bumped back into Serenity after driving through a jetty and a breaking shore in the dead dark. We found the jetty with the 6v lantern flashlight just in time to swerve to avoid it. The low crashing surf soaked us to our shins as the boat ground the rock boat ramp upon entry and sucked us out into the bay on our departure. There was also a small swell (but big in a little rubber dinghy) surprising us from the dark. We had parked in Shelter Cove for the night but hadn’t gotten in until 8. We both really wanted someone else to make our dinner, and we wanted a beer, so we decided an impromptu trip to shore. We found desolate motels, empty trailer parks, and a dirt road with a shoreside campground. The fancy restaurant in town was inside a motel (not hotel, motel) and was only open Thursday – Saturday. When we got back we ate leftover tacos. Adventure!
The reason for this photograph will soon become clear
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Three
Shelter Cove gets another honorable entry for later that night, shortly after being barefoot out on deck in our underwear. A southerly wind and swell had come on us in the night, which made our mooring ball yank on its chain like a giant rabid dog and kept pulling the tiller out of the rope snares we’d made to keep it from slamming side to side. When we (read: Harmony) got out to muzzle the tiller again, she discovered that the inflatable dinghy was half sunk behind us and the outboard was underwater. Together in the driving wind and blowing heavy fog (not quite rain), I clipped our tethers to the rings on the partially submerged boat, got a halyard on them, and Harmony stood on deck up front guiding it up as I cranked on a winch.
We shouted complaints and encouragement to each other, and Harmony might have bellowed a fierce “Raaughhh!” This was a new marriage first for me and I found it both interesting and frightening. The halyard (rope from the top of the mast) was caught on the lifelines, and Harmony was struggling to prevent the outboard motor from damaging her new paint work. It looked like it took mighty effort, and she succeeded. Hot, but also like I said somewhat frightening.
It wasn’t long after this when, lying in bed listening to the mooring ball tug itself to pieces on us that we figured, you know what? we’re not getting any sleep anyway so we might as well cut and run to Fort Bragg. So we put our many layers back on, went up on deck and navigated through a field of mooring balls, buoys, and rocks in the foggy black. When we finally cleared the last buoy and flipped off our handheld spotlight, we looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief that we’d made it.
The all-night passage was downright wonderful by comparison. Another expectation of comfort dispelled: peaceful anchorages.
Entering Fort Bragg. As we were about to pass through the narrow rock cliffs that comprise the entrance, the radio crackled to life with a hail to Serenity. To our left was a rowboat with a man in a red Team Zissou hat who looked like the geologist from Moonrise Kingdom (who himself looked like David the Gnome). He just wanted to welcome us to town and let us know the entry was good for gettin’. The boating universe has a separate karma system. Remind us to tell you about it sometime. 
Aquatic Park in downtown San Francisco. A marching band was playing Journey songs here earlier.
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Four
That all brings us here, to San Francisco. A gateway for us like it has been for so many others. Beyond this lies the warmer waters of warmer places. Within this is a rich bay full of beauty and history, not to mention friendly faces we know and like.
Yes, here we are. The day is sunny and beautiful, Harmony is inside the cabin in a shawl transcribing interviews from New Zealand natural resource such-and-so’s, and I’ve been reorganizing the quarterberth around trying to make the cat’s shitbox stink less and fixing the autopilot.
While the Doctor helms, Harmony has vowed to write a haiku for every batch of fresh produce that we have to toss overboard after going bad. She’s already done six so far. Here’s one for posterity’s sake (i.e., without her permission): Moldy to the core infiltrated by a spore through the navel, orange.
The Doctor began behaving erratically during the night on our passage down from Fort Bragg. The ocean was acting a bit like a washing machine, with low waves and little wind from every direction agitating Serenity while she motored down the longer swells south. Gradually during my night shift I started to notice that we were swinging and swaying a lot more than seemed necessary. Serenity was weaving from side to side cutting a wiggling worm path, and she swerved her butt away from the waves on our backside like they were spankings.
I looked at the Doctor and tried to decide whether he was drunk or what. Had we put too much burden on him for too long? Had he cracked up? Was he going on strike, throwing his shoes in the machine?
“Doctor,” I said to him privately, “If you keep acting like this you’ll lose your license. What if you get hit with malpractice, what will they think at the club?” We like to treat the Doctor with medical puns.
I think we all know that it would be no good to be steered by a drunken sailor, so Harmony and I were forced to take our actual full shifts at the tiller and here I am reinstalling the wiring in the cockpit that were the likely trigger for the Doctor’s little ‘break’.
It’s weird, somehow this was our most tiring passage (go figure), and we had little patience for the majesty of San Francisco Bay. We burrowed our way through a thick bank of fog under the cloaked and barely visible Golden Gate bridge, into a bustling and almost manic dance of water traffic. There were dozens of sailboats, two or three large speedy sightseeing boats, windsurfers, fishing boats, and one gigantic freighter that cut through it all.
This was our first glimpse of the majestic Golden Gate. 
Representative Example: Dog Tired.
If we hadn’t been bingo fuel, dog tired, and fighting a 3 knot current, it would have been amazing. As it was, we were balls of stress so we got gas and plopped down in Aquatic Park downtown as fast as we could. According to the guide books and the helpful fuel dock ladies, we will need a permit here, and the limit is five days that we can stay here. It’s a neat little round man-made basin under the gaze of half the city, with swimmers in rubber caps joining the seals who bob around the cove. We are joined by a boat that looks like it may have come from Fremantle, Australia, and we can tell it has other cruisers aboard because there are clothes clipped to all the lifelines.
We’ve been here almost a day now already, but we’ve yet to inflate the dinghy and get to shore. What will our first stop be, once we finally get to land? If you guessed visit a nearby public pool to use their showers, then you are as lame as we are. We’ve made it.
Now you kids be real careful getting through northern California. Tragedies have a tendency to . . happen.