A rare overcast day here in the 805 with winds out of the NW
at less than 7 knots, 69 degrees in the cockpit.
The weather was not as settled in Neah Bay as I was
contemplating an overnight single-handed passage to Astoria, Oregon. Passage Weather was showing a gale on the
outside with waves to 20 feet, not a pleasant situation to be in on an
unfriendly coast. I say unfriendly for
the reason that there are few to no places to go to get out the nasty weather. The only safe harbors between Neah or more
accurately Cape Flattery and Astoria are Grey’s Harbor and Willapa Bay, neither
of which are particularly easy to enter in heavy weather, nor very close. My projected track line to Astoria was a
little over 160 nautical miles with an estimated travel time of almost 35
hours. The aforementioned harbors would
have only cut a few hours off the travel time, not worth it.
I would be remiss in failing to mention that Astoria isn’t
all that easy to enter either. It lies
several miles up the Columbia River requiring a crossing of the notorious
Columbia bar. The bar has claimed many a
mariner. The US Coast Guard has boats
that are specifically designed for rescue work on the bar. Youtube is replete with dramatic videos of
boats attempting the crossing in huge breaking waves humped up by the shallow
water at the mouth of the river. It can
be a very scary place.
When we were in Shearwater, BC, I met the crew of a luxury
motor-yacht, home ported in Portland, Oregon.
Figuring the skipper was familiar with the bar crossing I began plying him
with drinks in the Marina Bar. After a
couple of hours and more than a few beers, I staggered out with several cocktail
napkins covered in diagrams showing poorly-marked shoals, strange currents and
optimum track lines under various states of the tide.
I was thinking acutely of the conditions under which I
obtained the information as well the condition I was in when I transcribed it
into the nav computer as I contemplated the arrival and crossing. Throughout that evening the one thing that
was mentioned more than any other was how critical the arrival time was. The interaction of the tide and the seas on
the bar can either make or break a crossing.
An hour before slack high water was optimum.
I spent the time waiting for favorable weather working on
boat projects. My one foray into the
village was to replenish the beer supply.
I was surprised to discover that Neah Bay is a dry village. The reaction to my inquiry about the nearest
liquor store and my apprehension concerning the coming passage served to
discourage any further exploration.
My noisy Neah neighbors
It was five days before the wind, waves and tide looked
favorable to cross the bar. We left the
harbor an hour before sunup. A four foot
sea on the nose met us north of Waadah Is., the only wind that of our
passage. Exiting the channel between
Tatoosh Is. and the Cape, the seas were a steady eight feet out of the
northwest. Our track took us to a point 30
miles offshore and roughly 50 miles south.
I looked forward to the 40 degree turn to the SE moving the waves from
the rear quarter to almost dead astern.
Fortunately, an afternoon breeze kicked up enough to raise the main and
steady the ride.
After sundown, I went on the 20 minute watch schedule. This consists of going topside and scanning
the horizon, looking for traffic and checking the rig, then going below to
check the radar and plotter, setting the timer for 20 minutes and attempting to
get some sleep. When the timer goes off
the routine repeats. Now it may be that
if one were to get into this schedule for a day or two it might be a viable
system for safely single-handing in a sea lane but I found that prior to my
normal bedtime it was impossible to get any sleep and after, almost impossible
to be alert and make rational decisions.
Needless to say, this only made the anticipation of our arrival at the
Columbia River more acutely stressful.
At some point in the early morning I was awakened by an
insistent beeping. It took me a few
moments to surface from a deep sleep to find the autopilot had lost track and
the boat was wandering. The adrenaline
shot brought me fully alert and I rushed upstairs to find the wind had shifted
from the starboard aft quarter to dead on the port beam. We had been motor-sailing with a full main and
Miss Mercedes. Almost at a gybe I
disengaged Otto to bring us back to our track.
The wind, now out of the east had freshened to 20 knots. I pulled the throttle back to an idle and set
the jib. The boat quickly accelerated to
almost 8 knots and I killed the engine, enjoying the sound of the wind in the
rigging and the burble of our wake.
After a while I went below to check the plotter. We were almost three hours ahead of schedule. By this time it was a little after 4 AM and
more sleep being out of the question, I fixed coffee and went back topside to
enjoy the sail. An hour later the wind
began to abate. By 5:30, I started the
engine and took in the jib. As I was
updating the log I saw it was time to switch fuel tanks. With the sun rising over mountains the wind
continued to drop and by 8, was blowing 10 knots. Still a couple of hours ahead of our arrival
time, I throttled back until we were making a little over 4 knots.
Ten o’clock came and with Cape Disappointment (what an apt
name) fully in view, I could see 10-12 foot waves breaking on the bar
immediately to the north of the entrance.
A Coast Guard vessel was maneuvering in the area as we cleared the north
jetty and Buoy 9 hove into view.
Remembering Captain John’s advice, I made for a point just to the south
of the can and desiring to get across the bar quickly I throttled up to 2700
rpms. Big mistake! About 200 yards past the buoy, the engine
died and we were adrift in the channel.
To make matters worse a vessel showing dredge daymarks was slowly
heading straight for us. Furthermore, we
were right below the USCG Traffic Control Center. The last thing I wanted was to declare an
emergency, triggering an expensive assist followed by a thorough Coast Guard
inspection, probably incurring fines.
I leapt below to begin the process of getting the engine
running again. My hope was that the
pickup tube at the bottom of the tank was clogged which would mean all I had to
do was change tanks and bleed the system, a 5-10 minute task. My fear was that the fuel filters were
clogged which would necessitate the filter elements be changed, something that
takes an hour if all the elements are bad.
As I was switching the manifold we were hailed on the VHF by the
dredge. I indicated I was working a fuel
issue and he offered to avoid us.
Thanks, captain for the favor.
Ten minutes passed and we were still adrift. By this time I was really sweating. Still no coughs out of the engine and the
scare box was indicating we were now north of the channel. Glancing at the plotter I could see we were
getting close to a bar. I decided to
lower the anchor to a bit off the bottom hoping it would hold us off the bar if
I couldn’t get the engine going.
Immediately upon gaining the cockpit the TCC hailed, inquiring if we
needed assistance and letting me know we couldn’t anchor in the channel. I told them I wasn’t anchoring but had
lowered it as a safety precaution while I worked on the fuel system. They seemed mollified and I continued with
the engine.
A few minutes passed and I was beginning to think I might
have to declare an emergency when the engine coughed a couple of times, ran for
10 seconds and quit. A glimmer of
hope! Another minute and Miss Mercedes
was happy. I almost collapsed with
relief. After the anchor was back in its
chock I turned towards the TCC, bowed, put the boat in gear, set Otto on course
and motored towards Astoria. An hour
later we were tied to the dock in the West Basin. What a passage!
-ap
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