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| Looking pretty haggard in Two Harbors, Catalina Island, SoCal. |
For the most part, California represented a dangerous, expensive and LONG obstacle between us and the adventure-filled freedom we hoped to find South of the Border. We'd seen the weather turn foul as winter drew near and felt our cash wads shrinking. Wiser minds told us of safer seas awaiting past Point Conception, still about 600 miles (at least 100 hours) South of our position. We'd both been to SoCal before and agreed it pretty much sucks. As such, the plan was GOGOGO-- weather permitting-- until we hit Mexico.
Even though Gale Force Winds were still howling, we left Crescent City only a few days after our exhausting and terrifying arrival. After a few hours of white-knuckle sailing we wizened up and pulled into quaint little Trinidad. Though there were plenty of moorings, we were the only boat in the bay.There we encountered world-class kitesurfing and friendly folks. One morning we even caught a ride to the beach with a local who showed us a nasty scar left by a Great White. Google sez this about the attack:
October 21, 2005: Chad Reiker was surfing at the mouth of the No Name River in Northern California... He was ~100 yards from shore over water 12 – 15 feet deep when the shark came from behind, striking him on the right side. He was thrown from his board, and the shark pulled it below the surface. He was not wearing a leg leash and began swimming to the beach immediately. He retrieved his board and drove himself to Mad River Hospital where ER physicians dressed and sutured the cut to his right thigh. Reiker described the White Shark as between 12 – 14 feet in length with a large girth. It is noteworthy that two weeks prior to the attack he observed a White Shark of similar size at the same location. (Italics mine.)
If you didn't catch all that, our friendly chauffeur, at a spot where he'd recently encountered a Great White, was surfing leashless in 6 to 8 foot swell when he got attacked. Trailing blood (he needed lotsa stitches) Reiker swam ~100 yards to shore, collected his board, and drove himself to the ER. Regularly experiencing life a few pegs down on the food chain? I proclaim that gritty. Adding to the ridiculousness, the very morning we bummed a ride with Reiker, he was heading home from surfing the same break where he'd gotten chomped. Call him crazy, but look at the wave:
The Gale subsided so we hauled anchor that night with our sights set on San Francisco. Ten minutes out of Trinidad, the autopilot died. We spent the next 54 hours trading off three hour stretches at the tiller. Utterly exhausted, we slid beneath the Golden Gate Bridge an hour before dawn on a full moon night. Surreal.
We sniped a free slip at the ultra-swank Golden Gate Yacht Club and passed out. After the much needed nap, we dropped a painful $450 on a new autopilot, were treated to dinner by local friends (THANKS!), tied one on, slept hard, and sailed South the following day. We wanted to stay longer, but playing around in that amazing city would have broken the bank.
We sniped a free slip at the ultra-swank Golden Gate Yacht Club and passed out. After the much needed nap, we dropped a painful $450 on a new autopilot, were treated to dinner by local friends (THANKS!), tied one on, slept hard, and sailed South the following day. We wanted to stay longer, but playing around in that amazing city would have broken the bank.
We dubbed the new autopilot "Baby Jesus", and it proved our savior many times. Never sail anywhere without a functioning autopilot! The name also took the edge off when warning people to be careful around the autopilot. "Don't set your beer on the Baby Jesus... be careful not to step on the Baby Jesus... if you don't understand the Baby Jesus, don't push the Baby Jesus's buttons". Etcetera ad nausea... but hilarious. I highly recommend the name.
We got busted for sniping a slip in Santa Cruz and were issued a $102 fine. Instead of paying it, we took off in the middle of the night. The next afternoon, 75 miles South, we got busted again in Morro Bay by an exceptionally grumpy husband and wife fishing team. We'd stopped there to check the weather and grab gasoline. The gas dock attendant (granted, not the brightest fellow) gave us the OK to tie up where we did, so Mack and I walked off in search of pizza and beer. The forecast looked iffy, and we were approaching the notorious Point Conception, so we were unsure whether we'd continue that evening or hole up for the next few nights where we were.
We returned from dinner happy to await a more favorable forecast, but found the boat being moved by these irate fisherfolk. Apparently we were in one of their unused "spots".
When they realized we were with the boat, they laid into us and got the Port Captain on the radio. Rather than risk having a few minor infractions snowball on us, we bid them "fuck you" and cast off. The nastiest night of sailing thus far ensued.
The whole experience resembled a bad movie. We raced past the jetty in the glorious early evening, cockily defiant and confident the weather would hold. It didn't. The closer we got to Point Conception, the worse it got, and soon I was puking again. As darkness descended, it got downright scary and stayed that way until well after dawn when under storm jib alone, we pulled into a remote anchorage in the Channel Islands.
Another forecasted Gale developed and we were trapped in the Channel Islands for three days of gloriously terrifying kitesurfing. The water was frigid, the wind gustily intense, the waves well-overhead, and the heavy concentration of Great Whites in the area, indisputable. We were only 25 miles from the mainland, but the wildness of the island and sea made us feel completely on our own. This is a feeling we finally got comfortable with about halfway down Baja.
When this Gale subsided we bee-lined towards Catalina Island for a few days rest in Two Harbors. This is about the perfect spot for a jaded SoCal boat bum to drink himself to death... just so you know. We couldn't afford much drink, so we celebrated by splitting a half gallon of ice cream. Dank.
From there the light winds of SoCal forced us to motor much of the way to San Diego. There we made friends with some amazingly accommodating yachties and prepared the boat for Mexico. Two busy days later, we had dolphins off the bow as we sailed across the border...
We got busted for sniping a slip in Santa Cruz and were issued a $102 fine. Instead of paying it, we took off in the middle of the night. The next afternoon, 75 miles South, we got busted again in Morro Bay by an exceptionally grumpy husband and wife fishing team. We'd stopped there to check the weather and grab gasoline. The gas dock attendant (granted, not the brightest fellow) gave us the OK to tie up where we did, so Mack and I walked off in search of pizza and beer. The forecast looked iffy, and we were approaching the notorious Point Conception, so we were unsure whether we'd continue that evening or hole up for the next few nights where we were.
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| Morro Bay is named after this bad ass rock formation. |
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| Sadly the view from the "Morro" is substantially less inspiring. HUGE smokestacks. |
When they realized we were with the boat, they laid into us and got the Port Captain on the radio. Rather than risk having a few minor infractions snowball on us, we bid them "fuck you" and cast off. The nastiest night of sailing thus far ensued.
The whole experience resembled a bad movie. We raced past the jetty in the glorious early evening, cockily defiant and confident the weather would hold. It didn't. The closer we got to Point Conception, the worse it got, and soon I was puking again. As darkness descended, it got downright scary and stayed that way until well after dawn when under storm jib alone, we pulled into a remote anchorage in the Channel Islands.
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| Isla San Miguel, Channel Islands |
When this Gale subsided we bee-lined towards Catalina Island for a few days rest in Two Harbors. This is about the perfect spot for a jaded SoCal boat bum to drink himself to death... just so you know. We couldn't afford much drink, so we celebrated by splitting a half gallon of ice cream. Dank.
From there the light winds of SoCal forced us to motor much of the way to San Diego. There we made friends with some amazingly accommodating yachties and prepared the boat for Mexico. Two busy days later, we had dolphins off the bow as we sailed across the border...
