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Subj: El Stucco in Ilwaco Dear Chubby Fans, Last time we talked, I was leaving Craig, Alaska on Aug. 24 via two ferries and two planes to find myself back in Oakland that evening, joyfully embracing Naomi and Yael. Chubby was headed south via Northland Services barge to Seattle, scheduled to arrive on Sept. 8. Since then, Naomi and I feverishly cleaned up the house and yard in preparation for Noa's and Carlos' west coast wedding reception. In the middle of the weeding, planting, scrubbing, I drove back up to Seattle on Sept. 7, took delivery of Chubby at the Northland dock on the Duwamish River, made a three-day voyage to Neah Bay, parked Chubby at the Neah Bay marina, took two buses back to Seattle to collect my truck and dashed back to Oakland in time to catch up with Naomi and fly to Providence. We arrived 3 days before Noa's wedding, worked furiously along side Naomi's sister and brother, Yael, and various friends to put the finishing touches on Noa's meticulous planning, then did the wedding on a bright, calm, sunny, cloudless day on a beautiful tree-shaded knoll overlooking sparkling Narangansett Bay. The sailboats were plying languidly back and forth as backdrop for the joyous celebration, a Monet painting sandwiched between the blustery rain squalls of Hurricane Isabel, which ended the day before, and next rainy weather front which arrived the following day. The wedding defined the meaning of "weather window", something that I am desparately in need of right now as I write this update, stuck in Ilwaco, Washington at the mouth of the Columbia River, as I will explain a bit later. After a day of cleanup and general collapse, Noa, Carlos, Naomi and I all boarded a flight to Oakland to "party-on, dudes". Upon arrival in Oakland, Noa and Carlos took off for a mini-honeymoon in Mendocino, spending the night at my sister, Rhoda's, bed and breakfast. Naomi and I meanwhile prepared for yet another wedding reception. After the reception and a day or so of cleanup, I found myself back on an airplane headed for Seattle. After one plane flight, one ferry ride and three busses, I found myself at the marina in Neah Bay, stepping aboard Chubby, bobbing at the dock in the dark cold drizzle of a typical northwest fall evening. I had left her with a 100W lightbulb lit and a small fan running which kept the cabin warm and dry in this sopping wet fall weather. Chubby seemed to murmur something as she tugged gently at the dock lines, like "where the hell have you been?" "Don't ask" I replied as I collapsed on the bunk and dozed off. Since this is sailing story rather than one about weddings and for the sake of completeness we should return to the Duwamish River where Chubby arrived on the afternoon of Sept. 8. The friendly dock hands at Northland Services were very careful in lifting Chubby out of her shipping cradle and setting her with me aboard, in the water using their massive forklift and slings. As we settled in the water, I released the slings and motored a few yards to a floating dock where I was allowed to tie Chubby up for the night. I immediately set about to putting Chubby back together and getting her ready for departure the following day. The mast went up, the rudder was reinstalled, boom and sails reattached and loads were organized and secured. Tides dictated a 5:30 am start the next morning to I was glad to curl up and get some sleep once everything was ready to go. The alarm went off at 4:30 am. There was no fog and the air was still. The heavy industrial facilities that line both banks of the Duwamish were awash in the eerie orange glare of mercury vapor lights. After performing the standard ritual of donning fleece layers and foul weather gear in an effort to preserve remnants of heat from the sleeping bag, I started the motor, cast off the lines and idled out into the building ebb stream. We motored north on the oily slick Duwamish, lined with cargo depots, cement plants, scrap metal yards and an assortment of moored barges carrying all manner of bulk goods and containers. We spilled out into Puget Sound just west of the main Seattle waterfront in time to start dodging the ferry traffic of the morning commute. The ebb served us well and we made good time heading north toward our first intermediate stop at Port Townsend. The only glitch occured when we entered the very narrow mile-long passage that connects Puget Sound directly with Port Townsend. By the time we arrived at the south entrance to the passage, the tide had turned and the current was starting to run south. At full throttle, Chubby was eeking out a knot and a half of net speed, but with patience and a lot of gas we eventually mushed through and broke from the grip of the current, entering Port Townsend at 1 pm. Port Townsend is a delightful, picturesque little town with a fine collection of Victorian homes perched on the cliff overlooking the harbor. The town had just finished hosting the annual Wooden Boat Festival the day prior to our arrival which was lucky for us because we had no problem securing a berth at the marina. The previous day there had been 150 vintage wooden sailing and motor vessels on display in the marina and a milling crowd of 20,000 admiring visitors. On the trip up from Seattle, I discovered that my generator didn't want to run so I spent the afternoon chasing down a solution. The local Honda dealer in Port Townsend was able to diagnose the problem over the phone and I proceeded to effect the solution. As I was puttering with the generator, a fellow walked over from his 25' sailboat and asked me if this was "the famous" Chubby to which I was compelled to reply in the affirmative. He invited me over to his boat for cocktails with him and his wife. They pulled out the charts and wanted to know details of my entire route which I dutifully showed them. After this pleasant chat, I wandered into town and up on the bluff to see the Victorians close-up. Looking out over Puget Sound from the gaps between houses, one could enjoy a view and neighborhood that have not changed substantially in 120 years. The next morning we were off again, into the Straits of Juan de Fuca, motoring in the glassy calm on a big ebb and making 7 knots. Incessant drizzle and fog gave the day a melancholy and miserable aspect, especially when leaving a snug harbor in the pitch dark. The commercial shipping in the Straits was obscurred by the fog, making this leg of the trip a bit tense and demanding constant vigilance. After a long, wet, cold day, having covered 67 miles, we pulled into the sport fishing harbor of Clallam Bay. If I stick to my principle of trying not to say negative things about my ports of call, then I would skip a description of Clallam Bay altogether. With great effort I will try to couch Clallam in most positive terms possible without actually lying. First of all, the stench of rotting fish in the marina did not prove to be fatal, belying first impressions, even after 12 hours of exposure. Secondly, the rotting, tottering docks, though demanding careful attention to foot placement, never once pitched me into the brew of coagulated fish slime that displaces the seawater in the marina. Thirdly, the terraced RV park, bursting with hundreds of RV's and rusting trailers, which extends from the water's edge to far up the hillside, gives a post-modernist deconstructive antidote to the cloying visage of the Victorian Age experienced at the previous port. Fourthly, as I anxiously started the motor the next morning to get the hell out, we found ourselves not-so-hard-aground that we weren't able to extricate ourselves with some violently rocking of the boat and throttle work. With thoughts of Chubby's keel buried in 50 years accumulation of fish slime on the bottom of Clallam Marina, I decided to skip breakfast as we motored through the dense fog, again riding the ebb for a quick two-hour, 12-mile trip to Neah Bay. In stark contrast to Clallam Bay, the Makah Marina is nearly brand new and very well maintained. It is owned by the Makah Tribe which also administers the town of Neah Bay. I paid for a monthly berth fee including electricity and battened down Chubby for her three week rest before setting off down the coast for the trip back to Berkeley. The marina is strategically located just 6 miles from Cape Flattery and the open ocean. So with lightbulb lit and the fan running in the cabin, I left Chubby and boarded the bus, headed for Providence to marry off our daughter and get back to sailing. Neah Bay to Ilwaco at the Columbia River mouth will have to wait until tomorrow. Just as preface, the gale force winds and waves from 12' to 20' are providing us with ample opportunity to stay in port for the forseable future and avail ourselves of this overpriced internet cafe so there's no compelling reason to finish this update today. Love..Bill |
