Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
It's good to see that Rick is trying to revive the time-honored tradition of competing for the oldest SSS hat. Now, how about a story about your first Fiasco? Here's mine.
At the end of January in 2011 I was signed up to participate in the Three Bridge Fiasco. The Fiasco is an anarchic circus of a race sponsored by the Single Handed Sailing Society. Except that a funny thing happened on my way from the start to Blackhaller. My plan was to circle Blackhaller first. How deluded I was. I watched John Foster, who was just ahead of us on his Nonesuch 22. Slowly but steadily he made his way across the mouth of the Bay. I reconsidered Blackhaller, decided to come back later and circle it at the end of the day.
As I headed north across the mouth of the Bay my boat behaved like a magnet, headed sideways toward the dreaded south tower. How many times had I been warned, first by windsurfers and then by sailors, to stay away from the south tower? LOTS of times. In an effort to take back some control, I headed west instead of north and the ebb flushed us out very very fast. There we were, my boat and I, unexpectedly outside the Bay for the first time.
I gathered myself and considered how I felt about the situation.
“Jackie, how do you feel about this situation?”
“Well, Jackie, it’s not raining yet. It’s not snowing. The waves aren’t big. Seems do-able. Calm down.”
I decided to make the best of an unexpected experience.
I had about 3 gallons of gas left, and my 2.5 hp Suzuki outboard had reliably started right up that morning. These facts boded well for my future. I had a half dozen bottles of water and lots of granola bars. I had recharged my handheld VHF radio the night before. I had my garmin gps handheld, and a ziplock baggy full of batteries. Most importantly I was sailing my great little Cal 20. Even though she had been shoved around like balsa wood by the strong ebb current of the day, she was floating along just fine.
And, then, whoa! That movement of water outside the bridge felt really different. Immediately! It was like being on top of a big wide field that is slowly breathing in. Then breathing out. Thank goodness there weren’t any real waves. After all, I didn’t have those jacklines set up. As I came within sight of the Cliff House I looked behind me and saw fog leaking through the bridge toward me. Uh oh. Although I had programmed the Olympic Circle racing marks into my gps, and the end of Treasure Island and the entrance to Berkeley Marina, I didn’t have the Bridge towers programmed. What if it got really foggy?
I wondered whether I should call in to retire from the race. I listened as the race committee continued to check in racers, most of whom hadn’t even started. Starts would continue until 11:30 am. I was out the gate at 10:15. No, I decided. Better not to bother them for a while yet. They didn’t want to have to worry about me. More importantly, I didn’t want them to worry about me. My boat and me? We were fine. Besides, although I had my harness, flares, fog horn, etc etc onboard, I hadn’t set up jacklines before going “offshore”. Who knew I would be offshore? I had planned for a race around the bay.
I stepped into my cabin and retrieved my waterproof chartbook of the San Francisco Bay and Delta. I guessed at the bridge tower coordinates and programmed them into my garmin. By the time I was done I was out even further and slightly nauseous. Then I looked and realized I could see up the coast. I think I saw Drake’s Bay. I’m pretty sure I saw Oregon. Then I started to worry about great white sharks. I decided I was ready to start up my engine and head back. So I did.
It took me a long time to get back into the bay. A LONG time. That little engine puttered away, but the ebb was still strong. But the fog didn’t set in hard, and on the way back in a pair of porpoises graced me with their presence, leaping together out of the water off my port stern over and over again. They were accompanying me.
As I motored back under the bridge I decided that it could have been worse. The fog hadn’t set in hard after all, and I hadn’t needed those gps coordinates. At the beginning of the day I had looked forward to a slow frustrating race against the current around three marks in the bay. Instead I experienced my first trip alone outside the Gate in my little boat. That called for a celebration. I sailed into Horseshoe Cove and disembarked for lunch at the Presidio Yacht Club bar. I enjoyed Bob’s Pepper Burger special, grilled by Bob himself and served with potato chips. Outside it rained all over Dura Mater. But she didn’t mind a bit.
At the end of January in 2011 I was signed up to participate in the Three Bridge Fiasco. The Fiasco is an anarchic circus of a race sponsored by the Single Handed Sailing Society. Except that a funny thing happened on my way from the start to Blackhaller. My plan was to circle Blackhaller first. How deluded I was. I watched John Foster, who was just ahead of us on his Nonesuch 22. Slowly but steadily he made his way across the mouth of the Bay. I reconsidered Blackhaller, decided to come back later and circle it at the end of the day.
As I headed north across the mouth of the Bay my boat behaved like a magnet, headed sideways toward the dreaded south tower. How many times had I been warned, first by windsurfers and then by sailors, to stay away from the south tower? LOTS of times. In an effort to take back some control, I headed west instead of north and the ebb flushed us out very very fast. There we were, my boat and I, unexpectedly outside the Bay for the first time.
I gathered myself and considered how I felt about the situation.
“Jackie, how do you feel about this situation?”
“Well, Jackie, it’s not raining yet. It’s not snowing. The waves aren’t big. Seems do-able. Calm down.”
I decided to make the best of an unexpected experience.
I had about 3 gallons of gas left, and my 2.5 hp Suzuki outboard had reliably started right up that morning. These facts boded well for my future. I had a half dozen bottles of water and lots of granola bars. I had recharged my handheld VHF radio the night before. I had my garmin gps handheld, and a ziplock baggy full of batteries. Most importantly I was sailing my great little Cal 20. Even though she had been shoved around like balsa wood by the strong ebb current of the day, she was floating along just fine.
And, then, whoa! That movement of water outside the bridge felt really different. Immediately! It was like being on top of a big wide field that is slowly breathing in. Then breathing out. Thank goodness there weren’t any real waves. After all, I didn’t have those jacklines set up. As I came within sight of the Cliff House I looked behind me and saw fog leaking through the bridge toward me. Uh oh. Although I had programmed the Olympic Circle racing marks into my gps, and the end of Treasure Island and the entrance to Berkeley Marina, I didn’t have the Bridge towers programmed. What if it got really foggy?
I wondered whether I should call in to retire from the race. I listened as the race committee continued to check in racers, most of whom hadn’t even started. Starts would continue until 11:30 am. I was out the gate at 10:15. No, I decided. Better not to bother them for a while yet. They didn’t want to have to worry about me. More importantly, I didn’t want them to worry about me. My boat and me? We were fine. Besides, although I had my harness, flares, fog horn, etc etc onboard, I hadn’t set up jacklines before going “offshore”. Who knew I would be offshore? I had planned for a race around the bay.
I stepped into my cabin and retrieved my waterproof chartbook of the San Francisco Bay and Delta. I guessed at the bridge tower coordinates and programmed them into my garmin. By the time I was done I was out even further and slightly nauseous. Then I looked and realized I could see up the coast. I think I saw Drake’s Bay. I’m pretty sure I saw Oregon. Then I started to worry about great white sharks. I decided I was ready to start up my engine and head back. So I did.
It took me a long time to get back into the bay. A LONG time. That little engine puttered away, but the ebb was still strong. But the fog didn’t set in hard, and on the way back in a pair of porpoises graced me with their presence, leaping together out of the water off my port stern over and over again. They were accompanying me.
As I motored back under the bridge I decided that it could have been worse. The fog hadn’t set in hard after all, and I hadn’t needed those gps coordinates. At the beginning of the day I had looked forward to a slow frustrating race against the current around three marks in the bay. Instead I experienced my first trip alone outside the Gate in my little boat. That called for a celebration. I sailed into Horseshoe Cove and disembarked for lunch at the Presidio Yacht Club bar. I enjoyed Bob’s Pepper Burger special, grilled by Bob himself and served with potato chips. Outside it rained all over Dura Mater. But she didn’t mind a bit.
