Back to Anacortes

On the last day of the trip we awoke with a noon check-in time on our brains. After enjoying morning tea and misty views bundled in our warmest gear up on deck, we prepared to depart our slip. We were at low tide and, unfortunately, did not have time for it to rise if we were going to make it back to Anacortes by noon so we formulated a plan for backing out of the slip. At this point we only had two feet of water under our keel and rock wall 60 feet behind us. Montana Sapphire is 43 feet long so it was feeling a little tight. Fortunately, the dock worker was out and offered his assistance. As he pulled on the stern line and pushed on our bow, Jason carefully backed us out of the slip and into the narrow channel and we were on our way. When we were clear of all obstacles in Rosario, we raised the sails and slowly started beating our way into the wind making, very, slow, progress. Luckily, I enjoy the workout from tacking, because we tacked, and tacked, and tacked and Isaac is an amazing deckhand when it comes to tailing rope for me. 

After sailing, and sailing, and sailing, through Obstruction Pass to Rosario Straight, the tide turned on us and the angle of our tacks decreased dramatically until we were just sailing back and forth, back and forth on the same line. Though were still having fun, after five solid hours of sailing, we decided to drop sail and turn on the engine before we started progressing backwards, allowing Isaac and I to finally rest. At this point we were already two hours late in returning the boat. Oh well. At least we called and warned them that we would be late. Now are sights were set on what we call the Channel of Doom. (It seems only appropriate that perhaps I should say DUN, DUN, DUNnnnn, here, but I am unsure if that is how you spell it.) The Channel of Doom can only be described at this stage of tide as a river, complete with rapids and whirlpools at the edges, that we were trying to motor against. The water swirled and boiled under us as we pushed through at half a knot and it was Jason's turn for a workout. As the currents pushed us around, Jason had to heave back and forth on the helm to keep us in a straight line while carefully watching the GPS to make sure that the line we were on was not going to park us on any rocks. It was fairly nerve-racking. At the same time it was really awe-inspiring to watch and feel the forces of the water. We watched as the tide literally climbed on top of the water in it's path. It was really wild. After an hour and a half we finally made it through to the other side, triumphant. 

We were greeted by a beaming smile when we arrived safely back at the slip as Mark directed us in. As we climbed off the boat, he said, "Wow, I have to tell you I'm impressed." To which Jason replied, "impressed by what? That we made it back in one piece?" With Mark laughing, "Glad you were the one who said it." 

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Day of Rain

There is something magical about the San Juans. Especially when it is raining. Luckily for us, we awoke this morning to rain. Low clouds engulfed the islands and muffled all sound, the morning was so quiet and peaceful, the water so calm and glassy. Upon checking the weather forecast, we learned that there was a small-craft advisory in effect for the afternoon, so after breakfast we donned our rain jackets and pants as we prepared the boat to head out to Rosario Resort where we knew we could spend the afternoon and night in the safety of slip. Without a hint of wind to be found, we fired up the engine and motored to our destination through the rain, soaking up the moody atmosphere in solitude with its mysterious, low-lying clouds and penetrating quietness with the boys logging a lot of bow-sprit time along the way. Arriving at Rosario, tensions were high as we surveyed the layout of the marina and the tightness of the slips. Jason, however, perfectly swung us around the corner of the marina and parked all 43 feet of us into a little slip.

Rosario Resort was built by Robert Moran, a wealthy shipbuilder from Seattle in the early 1920's. One thing that I have noticed from my experience in Acadia, the Virgin Islands, and here, is that wealthy folks from the 1920's really knew how to pick stunning locations for their private get-aways. After tying up to the dock, we headed up to the much drier historic mansion to wander and explore in warmth. (A side note here, as mentioned before, this is our first solo trip without a captain and there are many things that are firsts for us, like, dealing with the head, or what landlubbers call the bathroom. We were warned that we would probably need to have the head pumped out partway through the trip so we asked about pumping services at the dock. We were informed that they had a manual pump and we were free to use it. Gross. At this point I forbade anyone to use the head for the rest of the trip because we did not know what its capacity was and my imagination for overflow of sewage was running wild. I was thankful to be at a dock with bathrooms that we could use.) After exploring the mansion, we settled into the cabin with hot coffee and spent the afternoon reading while it continued to pour outside. Just before dinner, we suited up in our wet rain gear and went for hike up to Cascade Lake. It was picture-perfect, and I couldn't help but to imagine vacationers from the 20's sitting around on blankets with picnic baskets along the shore. I could almost hear their laughter in the mist. Funny how this muted, wet weather brightens the imagination. 

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Spencer Spit

After successfully surviving our first night on a sailboat commanded solely by us, we awoke after our modest two hours of sleep a little less than refreshed. A couple of cups of tea later and we were ready to go. First order of business, a trip to land to hike up to the top of the mountain to the swing of doom, as it affectionately became known to us from Captain Robert. Sounds like an easy enough plan, but as Jason descended down into the less-than-stable-wobbly dinghy, we thought twice about it. It seemed so unstable that I couldn't fathom putting the boys into it, and it seemed impossible to get us all in. We considered all of our options as Jason sat in the stern next to the questionable motor with Aaron pointing out, "Daddy, it looks like your going to sink it all by yourself." Inexperience strikes again. What to do? Jason climbed out and we almost gave up, our landlubberly nerves fried from the previous night. In despair, we looked at the shore. One of the reasons we wanted to try sailing alone was so that we were free to go ashore whenever we wanted, without having to bother someone to take us there, and here we were staring at the shore again, not knowing if we would make it. Sigh. A very woeful tale indeed. Below deck, Jason and I regrouped, took a deep-breath, and decided we would try again, this time using oars. With Jason centered in the middle of the boat we successfully climbed in and he gallantly rowed us to shore. Success. On shore, Aaron blazed the trail to the top of the mountain where each boy took turns on the swing of doom. The swing of doom is perfectly situated in a meadow on the crest of the mountain so that you feel like you are swinging over the edge of an abyss. Needless to say, the boys loved it, emitting squeals of joy and maniacal laughter with each push. As we headed back through flower-filled meadows, the chihuahua displayed amazing chihuahua speed, bursting with chihuahua joy, bounding over chihuahua-sized cliffs with her ears flat and her tail curled for maximum chihuahua aerodynamics as she ran circles as fast as her little chihuahua legs would take her. Quite an amusing sight. 

Back on the boat, we ate lunch and set our sights on the next destination, Spencer Spit. After Jason plotted a course, he, with his Herculean strength and bulging eyes, I mean muscles, sorry I had chihuahua on the brain, raised the panic-inducing anchor by hand. Meanwhile I whipped up some chocolate chip cookie dough, in hopes of baking while we were under sail, and secured things below deck. Hoisting sails, we headed to Rosario Strait where the boys emitted a constant stream of speed information 5.6! 6.0! 6.8! crescendo-ing when we hit our top speed of 8.7 knots! As our speed increased, we heeled over hard producing much clattering from below as various things and stuff flew across the cabin, including, but not limited to, the cookie dough. Aaron to the rescue. He quickly headed below deck to secure everything that had been dislodged. I instructed him to put the cookie dough into the sink, forgetting that there were dishes filled with water in there. On subsequent tacks, much to everyone's dismay, the cookie dough bowl took on water. Navigating the channel between Lopez Island and Bird Rocks, we lost our wind in an area of tidal turbulance forcing us to motor through Thatcher Pass, allowing me time to scrape off and throw out the water-logged bits of the cookie dough and put a batch into the oven, thus, successfully completing my first cookie-baking endeavor on a sailboat. With warm cookies in our tummies, we entered Lopez Sound, where we raised sails again and tacked our way to Spencer Spit. Here we executed a much smoother anchorage, leaving us both feeling more confident than the previous night. Safely secured to the bottom of the ocean, we hopped into the dinghy and rowed to shore to explore the drizzle. After a short walk, and an epic sword battle, we headed back to the boat for another delicious dinner. Snuggled into our bunks, we all slept soundly that night. I think we are starting to get the hang of this.

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Night of Terror

Mom, if you are reading this, stop now.

After being set free to sail the San Juan Islands as we saw fit, we immediately set sail and successfully navigated to Watmough Bay, one of our favorite anchorages when we were onboard the Martha under the command and safety of Captain Robert. Watmough is a magically beautiful, secluded bay flanked on our starboard side by steep rocky cliffs, jagged rocks on our port side, a shallow sand bar between our bow and the shore, and a shipping lane in the distance to our stern, and we had her all to ourselves. Montana Sapphire's keel reaches 6 1/2 feet below us and we decided to anchor at a depth of about 20 feet. The anchoring system was new to us and Jason was yelling instructions to me from the helm at the stern of the boat on how to drop the anchor according to what he remembered Mark saying. Unfortunately, things were not progressing smoothly on my end and Jason kept having to run to the bow to help me with stuck chains and the like, which allowed the boat to drift more than he wanted. After a stressful, not-so-great process, the anchor was holding and we headed below deck. I may not be good at dropping an anchor with an unfamiliar system for the first time, but  I have to say that I excelled at cooking in a sailboat galley for the first time, though I think that it probably has something to with the amazingly fresh, local salmon (did I say amazingly fresh?) and veggies that I slathered in butter, cream and parmesan over the decidant Pike-Street-made-basil-garlic pasta. I love fresh food. Anyway. With happy, full tummies we settled into our bunks after Jason, again, checked the anchor and made sure that we hadn't moved anywhere. All was well. The boys snuggled into their cabin and fell asleep almost instantly. As Jason and I waited for sleep to come we talked about the craziness of the day and how we were in disbelief that they had actually let us take the boat. Sleep was eluding me as I still had some anxiety about the insanity of what we were doing and I laid there listening to the fish swim around our boat. Very peaceful. After what seemed like hours, I was getting close to sleep, when, the boat started rocking. A lot. Way more than she had all night. What on earth could be happening? Had the anchor broken loose? Jason and I nervously jumped out of bed, with doors and anything not secured banging, and went on deck to check things out. We were, in fact, in the same spot, and the anchor was still holding. The boys groggly asked what was happening as Jason set the anchor watch on the GPS and we headed back to bed where sleep was even more elusive as I lay there in terror. What if the anchor breaks loose? What if we smash into the cliff? How do we get onto the dinghy then? I don't even know how to get onto the dinghy! We are here all alone. Will we freeze to death before we can swim to shore? We are anchored in only 16 feet of water what if Jason was wrong about the low tide? What if we bottom out while we are sleeping? Jason had similar thoughts of panic circulating through his brain like what if we drift into the shipping lane and get run over by a cargo ship? Suddenly, the anchor watch alarm started beeping! Oh sweet mother of all that is holy.... We hopped out of bed to check out where we were. The GPS had our location at the top of the mountain next to the bay. Stupid technology. Jason again checked the anchor and it was still secure. Again, we headed below to see if we could get some sleep. As I lay there, still scared, still not sleeping, I could hear the blub, blub, blub, of the air bubbles released by a seal or a sea otter swimming around us. Just think of all the wonderful noises I would have missed out on if I had actually been sleeping! Finally, around 4am, we had just fallen asleep, when the anchor watch alarm went off again. This time I stayed in bed while Jason went to check things out. Just another GPS error. Sleep finally came to us just before dawn. I think we may have gotten about two hours in all. Isaac was the first to rise in the morning and sat out in the saloon quietly so as to not wake us because he knew we were on anchor watch until 4am. He was so sweet to be so thoughtful. Though we were never in any physical danger, it is truly amazing the terror that your brain can whip up, especially with your children along, when you are in an unfamiliar situation. 

The moment of truth

Anacortes is an hour and half north of Seattle and directly across the water from the San Juan Islands. Packing the three large bags of food into the already tightly-packed car took more time and skill than anticipated, resulting in a much later arrival in Anacortes than we had hoped and raising my anxiety level a little, knowing that the check-out process would be at least two hours and we wanted to hit the water as soon as possible so that we could plenty of buffer time to anchor before it was too late. Breathe. We arrived around 10:30 and I was in a rush to get started. The nice woman at the office, to my silent dismay, took her time explaining the paperwork and the check-out process. Inside, I was bouncing up and down with impatience. What I didn't realize at this point was that the engine of Montana Sapphire was currently being worked on as we leisurely spoke. Should we be worried about this? The owner of the charter company, Mark, then showed up and announced to us that he was going to the parts store and would be back in a while. So much for a timely departure, I guess I could relax. Part of our job during checkout was to locate all the items on a list provided and check them off. If we couldn't find something, let them know and they would show us where it was. Easy enough. Jason, carefully picked his way past the open engine compartment and the mechanic, going through the boat, checking items off as he went. When Mark returned, Jason asked him about the items he couldn't find. Most of the time Mark did not know where they were either, as this was the first time that Montana Sapphire had been chartered, gulp, and they would have to search for it together. I, meanwhile, over-packed the boat with way too many clothes, as I pictured us soaked to the bone and frozen every day and thought it would be nice to have dry clothes each day, and delicious food that I had carefully picked out at Pike Street Market, which, by the way, was something I had always wanted to do. At the same time, the boys unpacked their stuffies and made themselves at home, displaying an inordinate amount of patience as we prepared the boat for our sailing adventure. Thank you. After a very lengthy scavenger hunt, with Mark occasionally calling the owner of the boat in Polson to ask him questions, it was finally time for Mark to check out our boating prowess. Yikes. This was the moment of truth. Was he going to let us take out the boat or make the land-lubbery yahoos from Montana unpack the boat and head home to the mountains? Luckily, he backed us out of the slip, as our previous captain, Captain Bob, had told us that we didn't really need to know how to dock the boat or put it into a slip because any charter company would do it for us which was a big relief to us because we didn't know how to do either at this stage of the game. Jason then drove the boat out of the marina and into the mostly windless bay where we raised sails and I fumbled my way through one measly tack, at which point, to my surprise, he said we could lower the sails. I cannot say that this performance should inspire confidence in anyone about our sailing abilities. He instructed Jason to head back into the marina where he had him perform several tight turning exercises followed by a white knuckle backwards drive down a narrow passageway flanked by expensive boats. Oink! I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Jason, to everyone's amazement, drove the boat backwards around a corner and about 60 feet down this corridor, something Mark said he wasn't sure the boat was actually capable of doing. The final test was putting the boat back into the slip. A terror-stricken Jason, with much whitening of hair and knuckles, followed Mark's yellings of starboard! starboard! starboard! and successfully parked the boat into the slip. After his second try. Though I am very proud of Jason for accomplishing what I thought was impossible given our skills, neither one of else felt like we had put on a very awe-inspiring, knowledgable-sailor show. At around 4:00, Mark exited the boat, saying, "see you in a few days, have fun." Really? He's going to let us take the boat? Alone?

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Let the Freezing-Cold-Icy-Water Sailing Adventure Begin. Gulp.

We like variety. As a newly-certified skipper, Jason immediately started researching charter companies around the much-travelled-to-city-of-Seattle with hopes of chartering a boat through the San Juan Islands. He came across a company that has a Hans Christian boat in its fleet. When we were in the BVI's, everyone sails your standard, white, fiberglass boats, which makes sense because maintanance is a lot lower, but they lack the soul of wooden boats. So when we came across the path of a Hans Christian there, our hearts soared to see a wooden boat among the monotony of faceless fiberglass boats, reaffirming our love of the classic style of sailboat. Upon further research, we learned that the Hans Christian is really a fiberglass boat in disguise as a classical wooden boat. Could it be the perfect boat? I digress. As work schedule would have it, we needed to head out to Seattle two weeks after we got home from the Virgin Islands and the Hans Christian, coincidentally named the Montana Sapphire, was, of course, available, as most people aren't crazy enough to be sailing this time of year. After much delaying and checking of weather, we finally decided on Wednesday that we would book the boat for Friday through Monday, even though the weather looked quite rainy (if we waited for nice weather in the Pacific Northwest, it would never happen). We really wanted to solidify our newly-learned skills before they faded into the murky depths of our foggy brains so we figured it was now or never, even though secretly, or maybe not-so-secretly, I was terrified. So after spending a fun-filled week in Seattle (a hike up Little Si mountain, zoo, aquarium, Pike Street, dinners with friends and co-workers, a visit to Tacoma to meet my three-week old nephew, and, of course, yummy food), we headed up to Anacortes to meet Montana Sapphire.

Virgin Islands National Park

Let the hiking begin. Last fall we decided that it would be fun to see as many national parks as we can. The Virgin Islands, being the furthest away, seemed, at the time, very unlikely to be checked off of our list, so in the morning we eagerly headed to the national park headquarters, got our passport book stamped, and picked up a map and junior ranger programs. After grabbing a quick bite for lunch, we followed the trail out of Cruz Bay, enjoying the lusher, more tropical, less deserty vegetation of St. John's Island, to the tops of Margaret and Caneel Hills for gorgeous views across the islands all the way to Puerto Rico.  We then worked our way downhill on a trail that took us through the Caneel Bay Resort and its beautifully manicured grounds dotted with old ruins of sugar mills blooming with flowers both inside and out. We knew Pika was not welcome here so we had stuffed her into my pack. The resort authorities immediately noticed her and came to make sure that the crusty, chihuahua-toting family was just passing through. We informed them that, indeed, we were heading to the trail that would take us to Honeymoon Beach. When we reached the beach, the boys all hopped into the water to swim and wash off the loads of sweat that we had accumulated on our hike. With illegal chihuahua in arm, I waded in the warm water and suffered from an inability to control my photo-taking-trigger finger, shooting way too many photos of all of my smiling, wet boys playing in beautiful, clear water. Satisfied with our play time at the beach, we drippily headed back to the trail that would take us back to Cruz Bay. The trail wound up the west side of Caneel Hill and was noticeably drier, with crazy cactus vines carpeting the ground as well anything else they could climb up along the edge of the trail. As we walked back into Cruz Bay we were almost dry and in need of a cool treat. After sampling smoothies from a couple of different smoothie shacks, the boys finished their junior ranger books and it was a mad dash to turn them in before closing time. Out of breath upon arrival, we caught the last ranger just as she was locking up and she kindly agreed to let us in so the boys could get their badges. Whew! After a long day of hike and play we settled down for dinner at a down-home, outdoor BBQ shack, where we all, especially chihuahua, who was noticeably heavier when we left, consumed too much protein and fat. On the way back to the hotel, we bought cold treats to enjoy on the lawn as we watched the sun set and, in disbelief, talked over our new, crazy, unbelievable adventures. We heart freedom.

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