Departing San Francisco we were joined on the boat by Lucas Harrison-Shewell, a good buddy of our sons Simon and Gavin. With three people on the boat to stand duty watches become way easier — not to mention that Lucas is a chef, so with his help in the galley the eating also got better.
The northbound trip back to Canada is generally something of an upwind slog and there are two big capes you have to find a way past. Getting up to San Francisco involved slaying Cape Conception, so that one was already behind us, but Cape Mendocino blows as a northerly gale 80 days out of a hundred. Unless you want to pay a heavy windward toll all you can do is wait it out and when a weather window finally appears (either a lull in the wind or a passing low pressure system that produces a temporary southerly) you need to take it. With three hundred miles to get past the cape it means that the weather window has to last through at least two full days of sailing.
In two months of shore-based weather watching nary a hint of such a weather window had appeared. At long last the weather gods sent a series of low pressure systems towards the Oregon Coast. While we were happy about this opportunity we were also a little sad: low pressure systems also mean cold, rainy and episodically gusty conditions. The wind might be from a better direction, but windy is still windy.
First stop was a 140 mile overnighter in light following seas to a tiny little anchorage at Russian River Gulch. There we bumped and rolled through the night and awakened already tired before heading out for another day and night at sea. But we were happy because this brought us past the dreaded Mendocino cape and into Crescent City, where a nasty black squall welcomed us to the harbor.
The worst of the trip north was now behind us and the “celebrate arrival with a drink” ceremony was more heartfelt than usual. Along the way we also had a sighting of a pair of Blue Whales, the ultimate of the leviathans. Small pips we are, us humans.
Wanting to gain a little more separation from the cape winds, we proceeded the next day on a short 20 mile run to Brookings. Enjoying comfort food and beers at the Fat Irish Pub we again celebrated our cape-clearing accomplishment.
Port Orford (with only an anchorage and a sheet-pile wharf used for fish processing, calling it a “port” is a little rich) was feasible as a 60 mile day run and we did that next day. The winds in the night shifted from north to south, which made the anchorage lumpy and we were happy in the morning to make way for Coos Bay (50 miles). 25-35 knot winds appeared on that leg and a double-reefed main alone was enough to put the boat on the surf. Ahh, but for a racing crew on board to press the boat in those conditions and we would have been truly flying. Greg had to be satisfied with a measly 10knots steady and the odd surf to 13.
The Northwest Pacific small town harbour stops all have a working coastal feel. Fishing vessels outnumber fancy rec boats such as ours. Getting into the harbors (as they spell it in the USA) involves crossing shallow river-mouth bars where outward flowing rivers stack up against incoming ocean swells. This can result in tidal breaks that are dangerous to pass through. The West Coast river bars are monitored by the coast guard and are frequently subject to closure; it becomes a major planning pain to cause your departures and arrivals to also coincide with good weather and favourable tides.
To our ongoing surprise, the weather patterns continued to offer good opportunities for northbound sailing. The night after arrival at Coos Bay we headed on an 80 mile overnighter to make Newport, arriving at daybreak. Lively night sailing conditions again meant interrupted rest for Anduril’s crew. Once safely tied up to the dock the boat went suddenly quiet as its three crew members napped the day away.
With adverse winds forecast for the following day, we were finally able to take a full lay day ashore and explore the city offerings. After some day-time tourist samplings we hit the grocery store to re-stock our wine stores and lay up some easy-heat dinners for the next legs.
Our sleep tanks having been topped up, at 8amwe headed out for Grays Harbor (145 miles). Winds were on the beam and one rainy squall after another kept the boat heeled over hard on its ear. It was another cold, wet leg. We arrived at the river-bar entrance just after dawn. Then we had to douse the mainsail in 20+ knot winds and 8-foot swells. Sailing can be such fun. Screaming cold deck acrobatics are surely the Devil’s way to wake up a tired body. Immediately upon arrival at the dock we shook off his malign influence and headed shoreside for a warm breakfast.
When at sea we don’t sleep in the forepeak double-sized bunk because it is much too bumpy up there. At sea we sleep in mid-ships pipe-berths. Pipe-berths are basically little rectangular boxes providing security of body in bumpy seas but having a distinct coffin vibe. On Anduril the coffins generally stay dry in lusty conditions when the boat’s bow is being repeatedly stuffed into the water. Great blasts of salt spray on the decks have a way of finding small and hard to diagnose leaks. Our forepeak is prone to such leaks. They are particularly annoying because once a day of sailing has finished there is always the hope of a nice big bunk to fall softly into - so discovering that bunk is now sodden wet is definitely a piss off. Until the big bunk has been dried out, back to the coffin you must go. At Grays Harbor there was just enough sun peaking through the clouds to help with the drying. An electric heater inside was able to finish the drying and by nightfall all aboard our little boat capsule felt righted.
With the next days weather report in the fair, we decided to push straight on for Cape Flattery (the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and Anduril’s home waters). Though the air was chilly, the sea was glassy calm. With our engine thrumming we rounded the cape at 1am and turned our bow towards Georgia Strait, our journeys end in hand.
And so concludes the 6-year southern cruising voyage of Anduril, a boating story of there and back again. From Vancouver we travelled to California, all over Pacific Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and the Western Isles of Panama. We will miss our winters away sailing in warm waters. But we will also look forward to having our boat back in BC during summer. One thing we have learned for certain is that the coastal waters of BC offer cruising opportunities that are incontestably among the most beautiful in the world. Perhaps we will later write and post pictures of those future passages, but for now this is Anduril, saying over and out.
With a close study of the weather and charts, we seize the moment and depart Pillar Point on June 3rd, 2022.
After a foggy and cold overnighter, the rock strewn swell-prone anchorage at Russian Gulch was appreciated.
Lucas, our crew and friend.
The feared Cape Mendocino was calm for our crossing.
Celebration margaritas at Cape Mendocino.
Another sunset at sea.
The high water mark at 20.8 feet during the 1964 Tsunami. The Crescent City Marina docks were completed destroyed.
Brookings Harbor was one of many stops at fishing villages. Every spot had at least several crab shacks.
Several passages of brisk winds kept Alice and Lucas on their toes while Greg hunkered below maintaining his Wordle winning streak.
Every fishing town had a Memorial for the lives lost at sea.
Another comforting dinner of hot food underway at sea.
Scrabble and Stranger Things on the big screen pass the time in Harbor.
Sleeping arrangements while underway.
Lucas in the galley.
Crossing the Newport bar.
A welcome weather day in Newport - visiting the Aquarium.
Newport Rogue Brewery.
After 24 hours of a sporty beam reach in squalls, we were delighted to find an open breakfast spot at the top of our dock in Grays Harbor. We declined the special oyster breakfast in favour of the more traditional eggs.
At 1:00 AM, June 16th 2022, we round Cape Flattery and enjoy the glassy seas conditions of the Juan de Fuca.
It’s good to be in home waters.
