Pre-storm photo op.
Log Book
- Departure time: 7:30 am on Thursday, December 13, 2012
- Arrival time: 6:30 pm on Thursday, December 13, 2012
- Total travel time: 11 hours
- Nautical miles traveled: 40.5
- Engine hours start – end – logged: 904 – 910 – 6
- Gallons of diesel start – end – used: 22 – 19.6 – 2.4
- Weather: The forecast predicted winds from the W at 13-18 knots with 5-6 foot swell from the W/NW.
We got our backsides handed to us on this leg. We survived our first squall, but not without a casualty.
By this point we had been traveling for 4 days, 252 miles and we only had about 40 miles to our next destination, Bahia Tortuga (Turtle Bay). It was going to be a short little day hop in comparison to the previous leg.
Our now five day old grib sheet (which shows us the weather) had predicted that a high pressure system was moving in from the west and bringing some wind with it. The clouds on the horizon confirmed that something was coming. According to the five day old predictions the wind was supposed to range between 13-16 knots and top out at around 18 knots, which is perfect for sailing. We didn’t have a quick and easy means to get an update on the weather (though in hindsight we could have just asked some of the fishermen).
We got an early start on the day, we wanted to arrive in Turtle Bay with ample time to get settled. During the first hour or so there was some wind, not too much, but it was directly on our nose so we did some motoring. Jeff put out our fishing line for the first time (adding new activities to our repertoire). We figured that when we got past Isla Cedros, which was blocking weather from the West, the wind would increase and we would raise the sails. We were right about the wind increasing, but the wind was blowing from the Southwest, not the West as had been predicted. The wind direction was still good for sailing, though we would have to do some tacking to keep a good angle to shore.
We started out with our full main and working jib (smaller than our Genny), and were speeding along at about 6.5 knots in 15 knots of wind. There were no waves at this point and we were kind of enjoying being heeled over 20-30 degrees. It reminded us of sailing on Lake Washington. We loved sailing upwind when Serenity was just our boat. But since she became our home we became progressively less excited about sailing her in strong upwind conditions (things tend to fall all over the place).
The wind increased to 20 knots and we decided to reef the main sail, just in case. We weren’t expecting the wind to get stronger, but we followed the old adage of “reef early.” We were still making epic speed and both of us were proud of how high we were able to point her with her reefed main.
The waves had also picked up considerably and since the wind was blowing from the W/SW and we were headed South, it meant that we were taking most of them on our side, which is never fun. We were getting buckets of ocean tossed in our faces, down our collars and up our sleeves. Fortunately the ocean was a heck of a lot warmer than up north. In fact, the ocean water was warmer than the wind that was blowing (which was also quite warm). It made us both laugh the first time, but by the fifth or sixth time the waves came crashing into our sides, spilling into the cockpit we’d had quite enough. We were downright mad when we discovered that the waves sweeping over our bow had poured in through our not quite weathertight hatch and gotten our bedding wet.
The wind continued to increase. In sustained 25 knots with gusts to 30 we decided to reef the jib. This is a maneuver that we hadn’t practiced in a long time and the wave action made it significantly more challenging. We strategized from the cockpit and I crawled up on deck to execute our strategy.
While the jib was full of wind on starboard side Jeff let the jib halyard (the rope that holds the jib up) drop. The jib slouched onto our deck and I pulled it down further so that I could a) put the reef point on the leech side of the sail (the flat side that goes into the headfoil – sorry for all the vocab) into the piggy tail (it holds the sail taught when we raise it, and b) reach the reef point on the luff side of the sail (the diagonal side), where I would need to attach the port-side jib sheet (rope). In order to execute this plan, Jeff needed to point Serenity up wind just enough so that the jib would flap, I could then pull it towards me enough to feed the port line through the reefing point and tie a bowline to secure it. The jib was either full of wind and totally resistant to my efforts to pull it nearer to me, or it was whipping around violently, smacking me in the face. Add in 6-8 foot wind waves from the West and you’ve got a hell of a rodeo. After two failed attempts I was finally able to secure the second reef point. I crawled back to the cockpit and we tacked with our new reef point.
During all of the time we spent tacking and turning up wind to reef sails the fishing line that we had promptly forgot about when s*** hit the fan had worked its way around our rudder and prop shaft. Oops. Maybe we ought to master the sailing thing before we go adding more complications. Fortunately Jeff was able to unravel the line without incident.
Even with a triple reefed main and a reefed jib we were going 6.5 knots, we thought we would be to Turtle Bay in no time at all. But something strange happened, something I can’t quite explain. It’s almost like we stopped making forward progress. Every time I looked at the charts to see how far we had to go, we still had 12 nautical miles. Even though we were moving fast, we weren’t significantly closer to our destination.
The wind continued to increase. We took down the main and decided to sail by jib alone. At one point it was howling at 30 knots sustained with gusts to 35. Jeff would catch as many waves as possible, but inevitably one would crash into our side. Birds were trying to fly into the wind, without much success. Dolphins were jumping out of the cresting waves and diving beneath our boat. Whales were breaching off in the distance, with what appeared to be full belly flops. It was perfect, beautiful, terrifying, chaos.
Then the rain started and the wind got colder. We were both already drenched, but we did our best to keep what was dry dry. The waves were growing, but the wind started to diminish. We put the reefed main back up. Over time the wind continued to die down to the point where we were only making 3.5 knots. Rather than do the whole dance again we decided to drop our sails and motor. We were still about two hours away and the sun would be setting in just about that time. So much for making it into port with time to spare.
During the next two hours of motoring the wind increased again and the waves kept coming. The contents of our cabin spilled onto the floor, books and electronics and cushions everywhere. Our dinghy kept flipping over in the waves, which wasn’t a problem except for the fact that we left the chain attached to the dinghy and now we were trailing chain. We didn’t want this to get wrapped around our boat, so I had to fish it in with our boat hook. I bet you’re probably compiling a list in your head of all the things we did wrong…we were too.
Despite the many complications, Jeff did a masterful job on the stick. We were relieved when we finally made the left hand turn into Turtle Bay. Given the direction of the wind and waves we opted to stay in the South anchorage (which offered more protection than the North anchorage). There were at least three other boats at the anchorage when we arrived, so we were confident in our decision. It was getting dark and somehow we managed to not run into the lobster traps that littered our path, or the oyster farm that flanked us on two sides (we didn’t notice these until morning, but they were close).
Just as we finished setting our anchor (17 feet, sand), the clouds beyond the little town of Turtle Bay ignited with lightening. We admired the natural pyrotechnics, fired up our diesel stove (which is working again!), drank some Jack and Cokes (or in our case Chubby Sodas and Pendleton), warmed up some soup and helped another boat navigate in the dark (they came in shortly behind us). Both of us were feeling a bit under the weather. It probably didn’t help that I had been sailing barefoot all day.
The storm kept raging through the night. With a congested head and anxiety about dragging the anchor, I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up most of the night trying not to think about disaster scenarios. Unfortunately, disaster struck.
At 2am I poked my head outside and gazed at the void where our dinghy once was. We lost our beloved little dinghy. We searched the bay at sunrise and even motored around the perimeter, but couldn’t find her. It was a huge loss, one I have yet to forgive myself for (I am, after all, the one who tied the knot that failed). So long little friend. May you find new friendly faces to love and care for you.