Part 1 (of a 2-part story):
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| Morning Star moored in San Diego |
Our plan was to sail to Dana Point, 65 miles up the coast that grey March day, to meet our cousin Heidi and husband Tim for dinner. We had planned to get an earlier start, but I dropped buddy Bill off at the airport, and the drive had taken a little longer than expected. Because neither Jim nor I had ever sailed into the Dana Point harbor, we wanted to arrive before dark that evening – and 65 miles is a pretty good poke for a sailboat, unless we had some very good sailing weather.
After readying the rigging, we fired up the engine, backed out of the mooring slip and motored out of the marina. After clearing the harbor, we hoisted the sails and began our south run to Point Loma which we needed to 'round' before we began our sail north to Dana Point. It was kind'a chilly, and a light drizzle began to spit at us as the northeast breeze continued to build.
"Hey Jimmy", I called out as we neared the point. "This early in the season I think we can cut pretty close to the point without having to worry about running into any thick kelp beds". Each summer at least one sailboat would be caught up in the thick, heavy strands of kelp and become disabled. Brother Jim agreed. "I'll stand watch-out on the bow and look for any early kelp beds. If I see it getting too thick, I'll let you know." If we cut close to the point without having to run 2 miles off shore to avoid kelp before 'rounding Point Loma, we would save at least an hour of sailing time.
The gamble paid off as Jim guided us past many kelp beds that may have fouled our rudder and propeller. However, by the time we were able to set course north for Dana Point it was after 9 o'clock. The good news was that it was blowing a pretty steady 20 knots from the NW, just enough off of our port bow to allow for good cruising.
After the sails were properly set, Jim and I reviewed our timetable. "We have 65 miles to go, and even at 6 - 7 knots, it will still take 10 hours to get to Dana Point", I said. "This is going to be close even if the wind holds." We were both squinting through the windborne drizzle at the steel grey Pacific Ocean. Although our visibility was less than 2 miles, our radar told me that there were no other small boats for at least 5 miles, and no ships within 20 miles. Jim reported the readings of both the anemometer (wind speed gauge) and the wind directional indicator with the comment that if things don't change, we should be able to make our rendezvous with cousin Heidi for dinner.
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| Morning Star under sail |
By 11 o'clock the wind was blowing a steady 25 knots, gusting to 28 or so. The seas had continued to build and were 6 -8 feet, with some cresting at well over 10 feet. Not too bad, and Morning Star was proving to be a tough little boat. Unfortunately, the wind began to climb more to the north, and with the tack we were on, we were being blown off course, closer to the coast. "Stand-by to come about Jim", I yelled through the now screaming wind. "We need to get more off shore."
After adjusting the mainsail a tad, Jim readied the foresail lines and reported that he was ready. "OK, coming about", I called as I spun the wheel to port. Morning Star responds well and we immediately began the swing to the new, more westerly tack. As the wind blew the foresail to port, Jimmy pulled 'er in with the windless winch. "Snug 'er up tight Jim. We need to sail as steep a course as possible so we don't lose any ground on this tack", I commented. "Yup, got 'er", Jim reported back as he ground the wench handle tighter and tighter. "How do you like that John?", he asked when he thought the foresail was properly set. "Looks about right, Jim. Let's try that for a bit and see what the wind does."
So, off we went - in the wrong direction. Tacking a sailboat can seem to be a contrarian exercise to an inexperienced sailor because, unless the wind is blowing in the correct direction, you find yourself never really steering in the direction of your destination; our current predicament. You need to 'tack' back and forth as you sail 'against the wind'.
"Jim, I'm going to call Heidi and tell her we may not make it tonight. Unless this wind changes soon, there is no way we're going to make it all the way up to Dana Point. Take the wheel.", I said. Jim took the helm as I hunched under the dodger to get some protection from the weather. I called Heidi on my cell and told her we may not make it that day, but if not, could they meet us tomorrow night? 'Sure', Heidi replied. "Either night is good for us."
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| Cousin Heidi |
So, we sailed on as the wind climbed even more toward the north - the direction of Dana Point. As the day wore on, the wind speed steadied at about 25 knots, but the seas were really building. To maintain our 'general course' direction toward Dana Point, we tacked back and forth every 20 minutes or so to keep from getting too close to the coast or too far out to sea.
Three years ago, Jim developed glioblastoma - brain cancer. They had to open up his skull and scoop it out, and then he underwent radiation and 18 months of chemotherapy. He beat the odds by 95% and made an amazing recovery. But he needs to protect his head bone; to that end he wore a Chinese military helmet he acquired when he and his fiancé hitchhiked across China in the 1980's. It looked kind of goofy on a sailboat, but it worked - protecting his head from numerous bumps from the boom when we came about during the trip. Every day is a blessing for Jim and he lives them with gusto.
At about 1 o'clock, Jim was below deck changing into to some warmer clothes as I watched a pretty good sized 'rouge wave' racing toward us. I yelled down to Jim that it was coming, but he was way forward in his stateroom and didn't hear me. As it approached, I changed course and headed right into it so it didn't hit us across our beam. A big sea like this reminds me of a giant, taking a deep breath, and I felt the tremendous energy of the sea as we climbed to the top of the large ground swell. When we reached the top of this large sea, the bow section of Morning Star came out of the water, then came crashing down the back side of the swell. "Yee-Haw", I yelled out as we raced downhill to the fast approaching trough. We’re having fun now!
Shortly after that, Jim crawled back up the latter-way to deck and commented on the increasingly rough ride. He had made a cup of tea for himself and gave me a nice hot cup of coffee. "This will warm us up a little bit", he said with a smile as we balanced our hot broths to keep them from spilling onto the deck. "Thanks Jimmy. This tastes great; just the right amount of sugar", I said.
Brother Jim is a really good guy who is always in tune with others. Of all us kids, he was definitely the best one to become a physician. He is a great listener and one that rarely forgets anything, and he was honored to be chosen as one of the 'Top Docs' in the Twin Cities a few years back. His specialty is as a Pulmonologist, and unfortunately, many of his patients are very ill. It is very cool when I meet a new person who asks if I know Dr. James Mickman." I always reply, "Jimmy? You bet. He's our middle brother", I say. Then, more often than not, the new acquaintance will say something like, "Well your brother saved my wife's (brother, husband, mother, father...) life last year." Pretty heavy. It's nice having a brother like my brother Jim.
Sometimes I wish I had more of Jim's empathy. I chose to start a small business with brother Chris many years ago, and I'm afraid the rigors and constant stress of our company have taken their toll on me. I think I'm a little too focused and goal oriented to be a good, empathetic listener – although I try. If I make a mistake, someone's tree may die; if Jim makes a mistake, a person could die. Jim deals with this pretty well and is very good at comforting people. On the other hand, I'm pretty good in an emergency situation.
As I took deep gulp of my coffee, I checked the deck navigation system to verify our current position; to my dismay, it was dead! "Jim, something happened when that big sea hit us; we don't have any GPS or Radar!", I called out. Jim came around the helms station and looked at the now black screen and said, "That's not good. I wonder what happened?"
I looked over the starboard rail toward the coast and said, "My guess is that there was a bad electrical connection somewhere that just got knocked loose. I don't think we'll be able to find the problem in this weather. We can't see shore, but I know where we are - at least for awhile". I knew there were no ships anywhere within 20 miles, and we still had visibility of about 2 miles; we were about 4 miles off shore at the time.
In addition to being a good doctor, brother Jim is also an excellent sailor and he wasn't too concerned - but we both knew this could work into a pretty good problem if conditions deteriorated. "So, do we have a new plan John?” Jim asked as we continued racing in a WNW course - heading offshore.
We've been in heavy weather sailing a couple of times together, the last time being offshore near the Virgin Islands. That time the winds were blowing the same, at about 25 knots, and the warm rain was coming down in virtual sheets. With this limited visibility, we had run over a crab pot buoy which became tangled with our rudder and propeller, turning this crab pot into an anchor. To get clear of this the crab pot, Jim volunteered to dive overboard in the maelstrom to clear the line from our sailboat. He was successful and everything turned out OK. Things can happen fast in a storm at sea, and we were both pretty tuned in to the conditions at hand on this 'salty' day.
With a smile, I asked Jim to take the helm as I went below decks to get my iPad. My backup was a navigation app on the iPad on which I had loaded the southern California coastal charts. This is a great tool, as is also has a GPS locator loaded into it. As I worked the iPad, the virtual chart jumped to life on the screen, showing our current location, course, navigational hazards and available moorages and harbors.
Still smiling, I returned to deck and showed Jim the iPad screen and explained that as long as we don't venture too far offshore, we have a navigational GPS almost as handy as our now inoperable onboard 'nav station'. Jim was pleased. "Good deal John. This is great. How far offshore do you think it will work?", he asked me. "Well, I know that south of Point Loma it is good for about 10 miles, but it may be different up here. But, I'm sure it will work for a couple of miles off shore before we lose the signal which will keep us safe even if it fogs up into a pea-soup. There are no offshore reefs anywhere around here. We're good to go", I said as we sailed on.
By 2:30 it was clear there was no way we were going to make it to Dana Point by nightfall, and I called Heidi to tell her. "So where are you going to moor tonight?", she asked.
"There is a great harbor at Oceanside and we're headed there right now", I told her. "We should be there by about 5 o'clock - an hour or so before dark." We talked for a few more minutes and then I called the Oceanside Harbormaster on the VHS to confirm that there were some open slips at the transient dock; there were. The Harbormaster then informed me that they were dredging the mouth of the harbor and to be careful. Good advice!
After conferring with Jim, we came about with a new, more easterly course toward Oceanside. Just before 5 o'clock we dropped our sails outside the mouth of the Oceanside Harbor and fired up our engine. There were a half dozen other sailboats kind of milling around outside the entrance, seemingly confused about which way to enter the harbor because the huge dredging machine was blocking nearly the entire harbor entrance.
After trying to reach the dredger on the VHS radio to no avail, I chose a course to pass the dredger on our starboard side, around the churning monster vessel, and entered the harbor - using the iPad nav app. I knew there had to be at least one large flex-pipe leading to shore to dump all the sludge and mud the dredger was dredging up, but from our position we couldn't see it. As we passed slowly by this dredger, which looked like something from a Sci-Fi film, Jim and I both spotted the big pipe that brings the dredged material to shore. To our delight, we had correctly chosen the correct course (a 50/50 gamble).The other boats followed our lead into the safety of the calm water within the harbor.
Once inside the harbor area, we found the transient dock, chose a slip and tied up to the well appointed dock. After plugging into shore power, we walked up to the Harbormasters Shack - which doubled as the Harbor Police Station, to pay the moorage fee. By that time, just after 6 o'clock, the Harbormaster had gone home for the day, and a burly policeman unlocked the door and grudgingly let us into the building.
"What can I do for you guys?", he asked in a markedly unfriendly tone, like we were bothering him. "Well, we just got into town and we're tied up in Slip #3 down there", I replied, pointing over to Morning Star. "We want to pay the moorage fee. Can you make that happen?" "Yea", he grumbled back to us and pointed to an inside door within the small building entryway. I went through the door, as the cop went through the next door down, putting him on the opposite side of a large counter in a good sized office area. The door I had entered through closed, and I heard a loud 'CLICK' as an automatic lock slammed into place. Brother Jim hadn't come through the door.
With a markedly alarmed tone, the cop called out, "What happened to that other guy?". I quickly replied that I didn't know, at which point the cop ran back through his door and I heard him yell out, "What the hell do you think you're doing wandering around here?". I heard Jim reply in a much subdued tone, "Well, I'm just trying to find a restroom. Do you know where I can find one?"
"Yeah, I know where you can find one, but you can't just wander around the Police Station like this. I'm the only one on duty and I'm already doing you guys a favor letting you in after hours. Come through this door", the cop directed Jim, with a tone that was getting more gruff with each sentence. I watched as Jim, then the cop, returned through the door on the opposite side of the counter from me. The cop grumbled something to Jim and pointed to a door marked as a unisex restroom.
After watching Jim enter the restroom, the cop turned his attention to me and asked to see my license and insurance certificate. I passed these documents over to him for examination, but noticed that he was nervously looking over his shoulder every few seconds to watch for Jim when he came out of the restroom. I also noticed that he kept his right hand on his pistol holster; I didn't know if it was a habit of his or if he was expecting to use his firearm on one of us dangerous looking, pleasure sailors. In an effort to put him more at ease, I made small talk with him as I filled out a couple of forms for him, commenting on the weather, asking about local restaurants...
Jim was in there quite awhile, but the cop was feeling a little more comfortable; he took his hand off of his pistol. "There is a small craft advisory out for tomorrow", the cop said to me. "Here is a copy of it", he said as he pushed a computer printout across the counter to me. At just about that time, Jim came out of the restroom and began to meander through the office area. The cop looked annoyed and said to Jim, "you know this isn't really a public area of the building. I'd sure appreciate it if you would get over to the other side of the counter with your brother", he said as Jim perked up and walked directly over to the door, went through it and then through the door to ‘our’ side of the counter. The lock ‘clacked’ back in position, trapping us on our side of the counter. Spooky. After paying the cop $25 for the moorage fee, Jim and I left and returned to the boat.
Once there, we popped open a couple of beers and read the Small Craft Advisory. It predicted sustaining winds before noon the next day up to 25 knots, increasing to 30 knots sometime after 12 o'clock noon. "Well", I started, "25 knots is about what we had all day today Jim. We only have about 18 miles to Dana Point, so if we get an early start, we should be there well before noon. I don't think this is going to be a problem. I think we should throw the lines off at about 6 o’clock which should put is at Dana Point well before noon." Jim agreed, "Yea that sounds good to me. And I really don't want to spend all day tomorrow in Oceanside. Let's plan on leaving early like you say before the wind picks up mid-day."
The inside of Morning Star's cabin is all dark, teak paneling and with our kerosene lamp on, it is nice and cozy. We discussed the events of the day over our beers and agreed that the boat was doing well except for the navigation system. I had taken a quick look at the wiring harnesses and they looked just fine. However, the iPad chart was really all we needed and we both felt comfortable with this back-up system. Jim and I were a little beat up and wind-burned from being on deck all day, but we felt good.
I took a last long pull off my beer as I thought about the plan, "OK Jim, let's be ready to leave the harbor at 6 tomorrow, but we'll take a look at it to and get an updated forecast. If the weather looks any tougher than we like it, we'll make the final decision at that time. Let's find a place to get dinner in town", and we left the boat to get something to eat.
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Next week find out how Jim and I made out the next day when the winds and seas picked up considerably. Did we make it to Dana Point to see Heidi – or not?
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