Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
September 24, 2015
After the race down from San Francisco, Dura Mater and I motored out of Half Moon Bay and sailed to Santa Cruz.
The trip down the coast was uneventful and arrival into the Santa Cruz harbor - on a hot Sunday afternoon at the end of September - was like entering a street festival. The fun factor was at full strength. No swell at the entrance meant that I was able to motor slowly in without sideswiping any of the many standup paddlers, none of the many kayakers or windsurfers. Whew! I radioed harbormaster Anna and was directed to an end tie on P Dock for $35/night. I didn’t even have to wait my turn for the only shower.
I had a splendid visit. Dinner and lunch with friends and family, I met new people and went sailing. Great fun, that was.
Along with several fishing boats, Dura Mater and I left Santa Cruz while it was still dark before 6 am Tuesday morning. I followed one boat out toward the one mile buoy as Skip had suggested, in order to avoid the kelp beds on the other side of the pier. I was still half asleep and so just watched as I passed the crab pot markers the fishing boat was dropping in its wake. Finally I woke up enough to turn to starboard a bit instead of following the pretty colors. Tangled crab pot lines in my propeller – just what I needed! There was a breeze already so I reefed. Remembering what people say about Ano Nuevo, I reefed again. DM and JP, double reefed.
There was a nice breeze and it was a beautiful blue sky. We motored on and on until the little red boat on my tablet began the approach to Ano Nuevo. It was windier now, and the waves were impressing me. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could sail faster than motor? Gosh I dislike the sound of that 11 horsepower engine! Whaddya say, DM? I unrolled the jib and hoped for the best. It’s so much more pleasant to sail than motor, isn’t it? Well, yes, but our progress dropped significantly. Sigh. Alright then, let’s roll it up again. And so I pulled and pulled the furling line and whaddya know? Nothing happened. The sail stayed right where it was. Aaaaaahhhhh, hell! The screws in the furler (known in Harken parlance as “torque tube screws”) chose that moment to leap to watery graves. There went the potential to, as several people had advised: “sheet your main in tight and motor like hell so you reach Ano Nuevo no later than Noon.”
That’s when I started to talk aloud to my boat. “Dura Mater, honey, it’s still early. We got a good start. Let’s try to sail upwind with the motor on full bore.” And then we tried to do just that. We tried. Really we did. Tack! Tack! Tack again! Until we were finally near Ano Nuevo @ 11:30 am. Well, it wasn’t noon yet, was it? I congratulated myself. I congratulated my boat. We kept tacking. Two hours later we had still not passed Ano Nuevo. Hmm. Perseverance had not paid off. I began to understand what others had tried to tell me.
“That’s quite a current we have here, DM. Gotta try something different.” With Dura Mater on starboard tack and headed straight for Japan, I put my extra “torque tube screws” into the pocket of my lifejacket and inched my way toward the bow. First my tether caught on the cabin top winch. Then my tether caught on the triple clutches. The lifelines are led down the middle of my boat, so of course I forgot to go inside the shrouds and the tether reminded me of that fact when I tried to go ‘round. Sigh.
Gosh those waves look even bigger from up here. I straddle the forestay and every other wave splashes into my face. Ah yes. The sailor’s life for me. We are getting closer to Japan but no further north of Ano Nuevo.
And here is where this little walk down memory lane gets metaphysical. The waves were big and the water? It was very salty. It was at this moment that my boat, my big tank Dura Mater, my Cal 2-27, shifted in the waves of her own accord. To keep me safe. To help me out. To make my situation a little easier. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
When I left the cockpit the tiller pilot was fixed so that we were on starboard tack. The jib was sheeted in and I can think of no explanation for what happened next: Dura Mater simply adjusted so that we hove to. Immediately the boat moved more gently and slowly. Heaving to! What a grand idea. I wish I’d thought of that! Thank you, DM! There I was, in a perfectly comfortable and safe position.
I managed to screw those very tiny “torque tube screws” into the appropriate holes, and tighten them with the nifty little appendage on my swiss army knife (always prepared!). That’s when I remembered that I also had to re-wind the furling line. I made my way back to the cockpit. Slowly. Painfully. Catching on everything. But we are hove to, are we not? Why, yes, we can take as long as we like, Jackie. Ignore the increase in the wind. It is only – let’s have a looksee – why, it’s only 2:30 pm. Aaaaaah, hell again! I retrieve the furling line, pull it through the three very small blocks on my way back to the bow. Again.
Back at the bow now, do I re-wind it counterclockwise or clockwise? Well, I don’t remember! I try one way, with a 50% chance of getting it right. Once I am back in the cockpit I realize that, after all this effort, I have wound it the wrong way. And that’s when I realize that I am meant to stop trying to roll that jib up again. So I do stop.
Instead Dura Mater and I inch our way north with both sails up. Jib sheeted in tightly, we tack tack tack and motorsail gratefully and finally past Pigeon Point Lighthouse. Finally, after dark, we arrive in Half Moon Bay, greeted by thousands of pelicans doing all sorts of weird things to each other in the water and on the seawall as we motor sail toward the entrance. And finally, at 8:15 pm I drop anchor.
What a wonderful thing is a safe harbor! And surely, surely they don’t get much more lovely than Half Moon Bay.
After the race down from San Francisco, Dura Mater and I motored out of Half Moon Bay and sailed to Santa Cruz.
The trip down the coast was uneventful and arrival into the Santa Cruz harbor - on a hot Sunday afternoon at the end of September - was like entering a street festival. The fun factor was at full strength. No swell at the entrance meant that I was able to motor slowly in without sideswiping any of the many standup paddlers, none of the many kayakers or windsurfers. Whew! I radioed harbormaster Anna and was directed to an end tie on P Dock for $35/night. I didn’t even have to wait my turn for the only shower.
I had a splendid visit. Dinner and lunch with friends and family, I met new people and went sailing. Great fun, that was.
Along with several fishing boats, Dura Mater and I left Santa Cruz while it was still dark before 6 am Tuesday morning. I followed one boat out toward the one mile buoy as Skip had suggested, in order to avoid the kelp beds on the other side of the pier. I was still half asleep and so just watched as I passed the crab pot markers the fishing boat was dropping in its wake. Finally I woke up enough to turn to starboard a bit instead of following the pretty colors. Tangled crab pot lines in my propeller – just what I needed! There was a breeze already so I reefed. Remembering what people say about Ano Nuevo, I reefed again. DM and JP, double reefed.
There was a nice breeze and it was a beautiful blue sky. We motored on and on until the little red boat on my tablet began the approach to Ano Nuevo. It was windier now, and the waves were impressing me. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could sail faster than motor? Gosh I dislike the sound of that 11 horsepower engine! Whaddya say, DM? I unrolled the jib and hoped for the best. It’s so much more pleasant to sail than motor, isn’t it? Well, yes, but our progress dropped significantly. Sigh. Alright then, let’s roll it up again. And so I pulled and pulled the furling line and whaddya know? Nothing happened. The sail stayed right where it was. Aaaaaahhhhh, hell! The screws in the furler (known in Harken parlance as “torque tube screws”) chose that moment to leap to watery graves. There went the potential to, as several people had advised: “sheet your main in tight and motor like hell so you reach Ano Nuevo no later than Noon.”
That’s when I started to talk aloud to my boat. “Dura Mater, honey, it’s still early. We got a good start. Let’s try to sail upwind with the motor on full bore.” And then we tried to do just that. We tried. Really we did. Tack! Tack! Tack again! Until we were finally near Ano Nuevo @ 11:30 am. Well, it wasn’t noon yet, was it? I congratulated myself. I congratulated my boat. We kept tacking. Two hours later we had still not passed Ano Nuevo. Hmm. Perseverance had not paid off. I began to understand what others had tried to tell me.
“That’s quite a current we have here, DM. Gotta try something different.” With Dura Mater on starboard tack and headed straight for Japan, I put my extra “torque tube screws” into the pocket of my lifejacket and inched my way toward the bow. First my tether caught on the cabin top winch. Then my tether caught on the triple clutches. The lifelines are led down the middle of my boat, so of course I forgot to go inside the shrouds and the tether reminded me of that fact when I tried to go ‘round. Sigh.
Gosh those waves look even bigger from up here. I straddle the forestay and every other wave splashes into my face. Ah yes. The sailor’s life for me. We are getting closer to Japan but no further north of Ano Nuevo.
And here is where this little walk down memory lane gets metaphysical. The waves were big and the water? It was very salty. It was at this moment that my boat, my big tank Dura Mater, my Cal 2-27, shifted in the waves of her own accord. To keep me safe. To help me out. To make my situation a little easier. Yup. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
When I left the cockpit the tiller pilot was fixed so that we were on starboard tack. The jib was sheeted in and I can think of no explanation for what happened next: Dura Mater simply adjusted so that we hove to. Immediately the boat moved more gently and slowly. Heaving to! What a grand idea. I wish I’d thought of that! Thank you, DM! There I was, in a perfectly comfortable and safe position.
I managed to screw those very tiny “torque tube screws” into the appropriate holes, and tighten them with the nifty little appendage on my swiss army knife (always prepared!). That’s when I remembered that I also had to re-wind the furling line. I made my way back to the cockpit. Slowly. Painfully. Catching on everything. But we are hove to, are we not? Why, yes, we can take as long as we like, Jackie. Ignore the increase in the wind. It is only – let’s have a looksee – why, it’s only 2:30 pm. Aaaaaah, hell again! I retrieve the furling line, pull it through the three very small blocks on my way back to the bow. Again.
Back at the bow now, do I re-wind it counterclockwise or clockwise? Well, I don’t remember! I try one way, with a 50% chance of getting it right. Once I am back in the cockpit I realize that, after all this effort, I have wound it the wrong way. And that’s when I realize that I am meant to stop trying to roll that jib up again. So I do stop.
Instead Dura Mater and I inch our way north with both sails up. Jib sheeted in tightly, we tack tack tack and motorsail gratefully and finally past Pigeon Point Lighthouse. Finally, after dark, we arrive in Half Moon Bay, greeted by thousands of pelicans doing all sorts of weird things to each other in the water and on the seawall as we motor sail toward the entrance. And finally, at 8:15 pm I drop anchor.
What a wonderful thing is a safe harbor! And surely, surely they don’t get much more lovely than Half Moon Bay.
Wish I could have been there to welcome you to HMB though the pelicans are interesting substitutes for the real characters here....