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What I Saw
- Thread starter Philpott
- Start date
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
Drove over to Berkeley Marine Center today with a friend. Who was there on top of his new little boat with a very deep draft?
Ryan Nelson of Rogue Rigging. He’s going to come out single and doublehanding with the SSS next season, as soon as he addresses some minor details. Like a mast. And rigging. The tailor’s children have no clothes and all that.
Ryan Nelson of Rogue Rigging. He’s going to come out single and doublehanding with the SSS next season, as soon as he addresses some minor details. Like a mast. And rigging. The tailor’s children have no clothes and all that.
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
To the Delta Again
081719
This is Dura Mater's third trip to the Delta. Before leaving I spent an afternoon removing Ocean Requirements. Off came Carliane's EPIRB and maps, Tom's storm jib, Greg's 50 watt solar panel and the passive radar. Removed the down sleeping bag, the down clothing, the long underwear, wool hats and socks. Won't need that in the Delta. Nope.
There is alot of food left uneaten by my Belgian tactician. Lots of food. Organic fruit. Freeze dried meals from REI. Fourteen gallons of water. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Swiss Miss hot chocolate, too. But alas, no marshmallows.
Back on came the mosquito netting, a new chart plotter (broke a third one: Dropped it. Jeesh) tshirts and shorts, Skin-So-So Soft and my pretty drifter. Also my umbrella, which was very helpful as I sailed across the San Pablo Bay toward the Vallejo Yacht Club.
This Delta trip is a languid one. What's the hurry, anyway?
The same pelican dive bombed right next to Dura Mater all across San Pablo Bay. Got a fish every time. Showing off. Show-off pelican.
Testing this new reciprocity business, I called ahead and reached Debbie at VYC. Sure, she said, come on over. There will be Wednesday night races but there should be room at the guest dock. And there was. Right next to the Etchells. Ooh. Pretty Etchells boat. Looked brand new. Looked fast. I leaned over the deck rail.
"Hi! Are you racing tonight?"
"Yes."
"Do you need crew?"
He smiled. "Not really."
That's okay. His boat looked complicated. Thousands of tiny cleats with multi colored expensive looking lines. I wouldn't have known what to do with 'em, anyway. Plus, there was a harbor full of boats ahead of me. I realized that I had to refine my pitch. So I put on the dorkiest hat in my reportoire and carried my life jacket past all the big boats, down a far dock, over to a J-80. The only other boat in the harbor with a tiller. Seriously. The others all had wheels. Big boats.
I moseyed on down the dock toward Pearl, the J-80, where four people were sitting, talking through their strategy for the race.
They eyed me warily.
"Hi! Do you need one more crew?"
Three people looked at the fourth. Must be the skipper, so I smiled BIG.
He smiled back. "Not really. But there are a lot of boats that do. Why did you come all the way over here?"
I was ready for this.
"Because your boat is the only one with a tiller and it's more nimble. I know because I've sailed on a J-92. J Boats are fast. That's a nice sail, by the way."
The skipper, Jack Vetter, smiled back. He knew a good argument when he heard one.
"Sure, come aboard." Which was generous of him, since I learned that his crew of Michelle, Kimball and David has sailed with him for years. And I have to say that it showed. We almost beat that Etchells. Almost. Came in second, and when Jack was handed the second place bourbon glass he gave it to Kimball. Classy guy. That was a lot of fun.
Slept like a sailor and woke up late. Waited for the ebb to ebb, then raised DM's sail. Needed help shoving her bow out hard because it was windy already and she was being shoved up against the dock. Three people readily agreed to help, so then we were on our way again. At the end of Mare Island Strait we turned to port, and averaged 5.1 knots all the way to Pittsburgh Yacht Club, where we are staying the night.
Saw lots of interesting scenery on the way. No freighters, only a few sailboats. Saw this
Very friendly people here at the Pittsburgh Yacht Club, and it is beautifully maintained. Thank you to Sharky, a pretty blond woman who also gave me the Club WiFi code. A hot shower at the end of a sweaty day in the sun. What could be nicer? The slips here next to the yacht club are owned by the city of Pittsburgh and cost 50 cents/foot for the first night. I was told that the second night is free, even on your way back from the Delta, but don't quote me because I didn't see it in writing.
Tomorrow? I head to N 37 90000, W 121 609, the Cunningham Yacht Club in Discovery Bay. Mike and Jacqueline are visiting their children but plan to return on Saturday. So I have time to anchor out for a night on the way, somewhere in between here and there. Mike says there are lots of nice places along False River and that I only have to call on channel 9 for the Railroad Bridge to open sesame before I reach Indian Slough. Really? I can't wait.
081719
This is Dura Mater's third trip to the Delta. Before leaving I spent an afternoon removing Ocean Requirements. Off came Carliane's EPIRB and maps, Tom's storm jib, Greg's 50 watt solar panel and the passive radar. Removed the down sleeping bag, the down clothing, the long underwear, wool hats and socks. Won't need that in the Delta. Nope.
There is alot of food left uneaten by my Belgian tactician. Lots of food. Organic fruit. Freeze dried meals from REI. Fourteen gallons of water. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Swiss Miss hot chocolate, too. But alas, no marshmallows.
Back on came the mosquito netting, a new chart plotter (broke a third one: Dropped it. Jeesh) tshirts and shorts, Skin-So-So Soft and my pretty drifter. Also my umbrella, which was very helpful as I sailed across the San Pablo Bay toward the Vallejo Yacht Club.
This Delta trip is a languid one. What's the hurry, anyway?
The same pelican dive bombed right next to Dura Mater all across San Pablo Bay. Got a fish every time. Showing off. Show-off pelican.
Testing this new reciprocity business, I called ahead and reached Debbie at VYC. Sure, she said, come on over. There will be Wednesday night races but there should be room at the guest dock. And there was. Right next to the Etchells. Ooh. Pretty Etchells boat. Looked brand new. Looked fast. I leaned over the deck rail.
"Hi! Are you racing tonight?"
"Yes."
"Do you need crew?"
He smiled. "Not really."
That's okay. His boat looked complicated. Thousands of tiny cleats with multi colored expensive looking lines. I wouldn't have known what to do with 'em, anyway. Plus, there was a harbor full of boats ahead of me. I realized that I had to refine my pitch. So I put on the dorkiest hat in my reportoire and carried my life jacket past all the big boats, down a far dock, over to a J-80. The only other boat in the harbor with a tiller. Seriously. The others all had wheels. Big boats.
I moseyed on down the dock toward Pearl, the J-80, where four people were sitting, talking through their strategy for the race.
They eyed me warily.
"Hi! Do you need one more crew?"
Three people looked at the fourth. Must be the skipper, so I smiled BIG.
He smiled back. "Not really. But there are a lot of boats that do. Why did you come all the way over here?"
I was ready for this.
"Because your boat is the only one with a tiller and it's more nimble. I know because I've sailed on a J-92. J Boats are fast. That's a nice sail, by the way."
The skipper, Jack Vetter, smiled back. He knew a good argument when he heard one.
"Sure, come aboard." Which was generous of him, since I learned that his crew of Michelle, Kimball and David has sailed with him for years. And I have to say that it showed. We almost beat that Etchells. Almost. Came in second, and when Jack was handed the second place bourbon glass he gave it to Kimball. Classy guy. That was a lot of fun.
Slept like a sailor and woke up late. Waited for the ebb to ebb, then raised DM's sail. Needed help shoving her bow out hard because it was windy already and she was being shoved up against the dock. Three people readily agreed to help, so then we were on our way again. At the end of Mare Island Strait we turned to port, and averaged 5.1 knots all the way to Pittsburgh Yacht Club, where we are staying the night.
Saw lots of interesting scenery on the way. No freighters, only a few sailboats. Saw this
Very friendly people here at the Pittsburgh Yacht Club, and it is beautifully maintained. Thank you to Sharky, a pretty blond woman who also gave me the Club WiFi code. A hot shower at the end of a sweaty day in the sun. What could be nicer? The slips here next to the yacht club are owned by the city of Pittsburgh and cost 50 cents/foot for the first night. I was told that the second night is free, even on your way back from the Delta, but don't quote me because I didn't see it in writing.
Tomorrow? I head to N 37 90000, W 121 609, the Cunningham Yacht Club in Discovery Bay. Mike and Jacqueline are visiting their children but plan to return on Saturday. So I have time to anchor out for a night on the way, somewhere in between here and there. Mike says there are lots of nice places along False River and that I only have to call on channel 9 for the Railroad Bridge to open sesame before I reach Indian Slough. Really? I can't wait.
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That old Mini 6.5 has shown up on this forum before, in years past.
Daydreamer
SAILOR
Hey Jackie!
You could have left the panel on and kept your battery charged.
Use less diesel that way.
You could have left the panel on and kept your battery charged.
Use less diesel that way.
Jackie just sent a postcard from Rhode Island. Says her chartplotter battery died. Rhode Island? Oh, the postcard says zip code 94505..and she writes:
I’m anchored in a tule off Old River. Trying to sleep but it is Windy windy, DM is sideways. At about 5pm my chart plotter battery died so I decided that was a sign to stop. It was too windy for my beach umbrella and I was hot and sweaty anyway. My coordinates N 37 59524, W 121 34 675. Google tells me I’m at Rhode Island, Ca and that there is no public transportation. Which is fine by me ��I’m headed down to visit Mike and Jacqueline Cunningham in Discovery Bay. They have a dock outside their house! There are the loudest birds here. Why would they be making so much noise this late at night? It’s quieter in Oakland for crying out loud! Hey, you birds! Quiet down out there! If I drag anchor I’ll just leave this muddy spot for that muddy spot. Sure is pretty out here. Sublime.
I’m anchored in a tule off Old River. Trying to sleep but it is Windy windy, DM is sideways. At about 5pm my chart plotter battery died so I decided that was a sign to stop. It was too windy for my beach umbrella and I was hot and sweaty anyway. My coordinates N 37 59524, W 121 34 675. Google tells me I’m at Rhode Island, Ca and that there is no public transportation. Which is fine by me ��I’m headed down to visit Mike and Jacqueline Cunningham in Discovery Bay. They have a dock outside their house! There are the loudest birds here. Why would they be making so much noise this late at night? It’s quieter in Oakland for crying out loud! Hey, you birds! Quiet down out there! If I drag anchor I’ll just leave this muddy spot for that muddy spot. Sure is pretty out here. Sublime.
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
To Discovery Bay: Part Two
What is a tule"? According to Merriam-Webster: "either of two large New World bulrushes". They grow in marshy lowlands or swampy land. Here's Mt Diablo at the end of the river, tule grass on either side as far as your eye can see. Pretty calming, being out there
They are beautiful when they sway in the wind. I'll post a video some time. It'll make you sleepy.
Look at your Delta map and find the Railroad Bridge
It is over Old River just south of Bacon Island. Is it not the coolest thing? It is called a bascule bridge. I called on channel 9, a real nice woman answered and I asked her if she would open the bridge for me.
She said, "Sure, but turn on your engine."
"Yes, Ma'a," I replied, and started my engine. Then I said, "Thank you."
Here's what is just the other side of the Bridge: another tiny little marina. They're everywhere. This one is called Cruise Haven
Just a bit past the Railroad Bridge, as I turned into Discovery Bay from Indian Slough
the wind was on our nose, so I furled the jib and dropped DM's mainsail.
There was a NoWake rule once we entered Discovery Bay. The Cunningham Yacht Club is 2.5 miles from the entrance to Discovery Bay because it is located in the furthest southwest corner.
Luckily DM and I enjoyed reverse rush hour. It was a Saturday morning and there were dozens and dozens and dozens of power boats leaving Discovery Bay with four times that many people aboard. It seemed like Discovery Bay was spawning see-doos and ski boats and all kinds of zippy water rides. They kept shooting out of the various DB exits into Indian Slough. The wakes were incredible. I felt like a junior dinghy sailor being passed by a long row of tugboats in Potrero Reach at full speed.
Although it took me 3.5 hours from my anchorage just below Rhode Island, the last hour was spent poking along against a stream of power boats full of women in bikinis. Yes. There are alot of bikinis in Discovery Bay. And women inside them. I just hope they wear gobs of sunblock or else they're going to get really sunburned because those bikinis are very small. I don't have any photos because this is not that kind of Forum. This is the Singlehanded Sailing Society forum. hehehe
Arrived midday Saturday at the Cunningham Yacht Club (CYC), also known as the home of Jacqueline and Mike Cunningham, in the Discovery Bay community of the Delta. Here is a photo of Discovery Bay from way up high:
The real Jacqueline is probably too small to see from this far away, but can you see Jacqueline the boat? There aren't many sailboats in Discovery Bay. I counted only five sailboats in the whole place, including Dura Mater. She and Jacqueline are the prettiest. There were thousands and thousands of powerboats. I did see a yacht that looks like a much longer Surprise!, but who cares? I don't know that skipper.
What is a tule"? According to Merriam-Webster: "either of two large New World bulrushes". They grow in marshy lowlands or swampy land. Here's Mt Diablo at the end of the river, tule grass on either side as far as your eye can see. Pretty calming, being out there
They are beautiful when they sway in the wind. I'll post a video some time. It'll make you sleepy.
Look at your Delta map and find the Railroad Bridge
It is over Old River just south of Bacon Island. Is it not the coolest thing? It is called a bascule bridge. I called on channel 9, a real nice woman answered and I asked her if she would open the bridge for me.
She said, "Sure, but turn on your engine."
"Yes, Ma'a," I replied, and started my engine. Then I said, "Thank you."
Here's what is just the other side of the Bridge: another tiny little marina. They're everywhere. This one is called Cruise Haven
Just a bit past the Railroad Bridge, as I turned into Discovery Bay from Indian Slough
the wind was on our nose, so I furled the jib and dropped DM's mainsail.
There was a NoWake rule once we entered Discovery Bay. The Cunningham Yacht Club is 2.5 miles from the entrance to Discovery Bay because it is located in the furthest southwest corner.
Luckily DM and I enjoyed reverse rush hour. It was a Saturday morning and there were dozens and dozens and dozens of power boats leaving Discovery Bay with four times that many people aboard. It seemed like Discovery Bay was spawning see-doos and ski boats and all kinds of zippy water rides. They kept shooting out of the various DB exits into Indian Slough. The wakes were incredible. I felt like a junior dinghy sailor being passed by a long row of tugboats in Potrero Reach at full speed.
Although it took me 3.5 hours from my anchorage just below Rhode Island, the last hour was spent poking along against a stream of power boats full of women in bikinis. Yes. There are alot of bikinis in Discovery Bay. And women inside them. I just hope they wear gobs of sunblock or else they're going to get really sunburned because those bikinis are very small. I don't have any photos because this is not that kind of Forum. This is the Singlehanded Sailing Society forum. hehehe
Arrived midday Saturday at the Cunningham Yacht Club (CYC), also known as the home of Jacqueline and Mike Cunningham, in the Discovery Bay community of the Delta. Here is a photo of Discovery Bay from way up high:
The real Jacqueline is probably too small to see from this far away, but can you see Jacqueline the boat? There aren't many sailboats in Discovery Bay. I counted only five sailboats in the whole place, including Dura Mater. She and Jacqueline are the prettiest. There were thousands and thousands of powerboats. I did see a yacht that looks like a much longer Surprise!, but who cares? I don't know that skipper.
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Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
To Discovery Bay: Part Three
Arriving by water is definitely the way to get to Discovery Bay. The impression is of Venice except that the villas are not crumbling into the water. Nothing looks decayed in DB.
BTW, this is not Mike's house.
Instead of vaporettos there are powerboats. Every house has a dock, almost every dock has at least one or two boats. Nice boats, too. These are not cheesy floaties. Well, there is a huge pink flamingo floatie the size of a house across the bay from the CYC, but it's only slightly cheesy and the shrieks of delight from all the little kids makes it adorable. The CYC is on Turtle Bay.
There are also a lot of palm trees in Discovery Bay. I counted thirty in one yard, where there were also four slips full of big power boats. Okay, I'll admit it: Discovery Bay is kind of swanky.
The CYC has room for three boats. In other words, it could accommodate Kynntana but she'd have to hold her breath. In addition to Jacqueline the 30' Freedom, there are two dinghies, a small sailboat sans its mast, at least three kayaks, a paddle board and ... oh, yeah, a paddleboat. Seriously comfortable.
The front door of this Yacht Club faces the sun, which means that the deck facing the water is shady. That's very important in this heat. There's a breeze, comfortable patio furniture with big fluffy cushions and a closet full of wine that you can order through the Wall Street Journal. This is my favorite yacht club in the whole neighborhood.
Arriving by water is definitely the way to get to Discovery Bay. The impression is of Venice except that the villas are not crumbling into the water. Nothing looks decayed in DB.
BTW, this is not Mike's house.
Instead of vaporettos there are powerboats. Every house has a dock, almost every dock has at least one or two boats. Nice boats, too. These are not cheesy floaties. Well, there is a huge pink flamingo floatie the size of a house across the bay from the CYC, but it's only slightly cheesy and the shrieks of delight from all the little kids makes it adorable. The CYC is on Turtle Bay.
There are also a lot of palm trees in Discovery Bay. I counted thirty in one yard, where there were also four slips full of big power boats. Okay, I'll admit it: Discovery Bay is kind of swanky.
The CYC has room for three boats. In other words, it could accommodate Kynntana but she'd have to hold her breath. In addition to Jacqueline the 30' Freedom, there are two dinghies, a small sailboat sans its mast, at least three kayaks, a paddle board and ... oh, yeah, a paddleboat. Seriously comfortable.
The front door of this Yacht Club faces the sun, which means that the deck facing the water is shady. That's very important in this heat. There's a breeze, comfortable patio furniture with big fluffy cushions and a closet full of wine that you can order through the Wall Street Journal. This is my favorite yacht club in the whole neighborhood.
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Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
Discovery Bay: Part One
072119
Dura Mater and I sailed down the Old River from my anchoring place below Rhode Island, which is not like any island I've ever seen. No roads, no land that I could see, and no coffee house. What kind of neighborhood doesn't have a coffee house?
It was an adventure getting to Discovery Bay, which is where William Cunningham II lives with Jacqueline. Here are Mike's directions:
As long as you follow his directions closely, keep an eye on your depth finder and your chart plotter battery doesn't die, you'll be fine. If your chart plotter battery dies you need to anchor in a mess of tules and reconnoiter. Of course, by then you'll be hot and sweaty and you will have used up all the bad language in your repertoire, so just give it up for the night and stay hydrated. Recharge the chart plotter and try again tomorrow. New day, new language.
072119
Dura Mater and I sailed down the Old River from my anchoring place below Rhode Island, which is not like any island I've ever seen. No roads, no land that I could see, and no coffee house. What kind of neighborhood doesn't have a coffee house?
It was an adventure getting to Discovery Bay, which is where William Cunningham II lives with Jacqueline. Here are Mike's directions:
As long as you follow his directions closely, keep an eye on your depth finder and your chart plotter battery doesn't die, you'll be fine. If your chart plotter battery dies you need to anchor in a mess of tules and reconnoiter. Of course, by then you'll be hot and sweaty and you will have used up all the bad language in your repertoire, so just give it up for the night and stay hydrated. Recharge the chart plotter and try again tomorrow. New day, new language.
Jackie, It's probably a hotter than . . . . at the CYC in Discovery Bay and even hotter in the elegant saloon aboard a Cal 2-27. But don't be tempted to follow the example of those bikini clad babes showing lots of bare skin - a situation they'll rue when they are old and wrinkled and visiting the skin Doc. (Although the thought is intriguing.) Here's a "little something" you might find on eBay that you could use to cool off with a dip in the Delta murk. Don't let a crawdaddy nip at your toes. - A friendly fellow sailor
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
Discovery Bay: Part Four
072119
Mike Cunningham loaned me a jerry can full of diesel, “just in case”, and at 7:56 am the next morning I untied from the dock at the Cunningham Yacht Club. I seemed to be the only person awake on Turtle Bay, and as I stepped aboard a huge grey heron flew across the water.
Motored around the Discovery Bay loop, turned to starboard just before the sea wall, headed all the way down to where there were two signs: One read BarryLand and the other read Barryland Farms. I motored slowly over to where a really tall, handsome man was hosing down the elaborate gardens around a swimming pool in front of a beautiful building that looked like it might be a hotel/restaurant/spa.
There were palm trees and lush gardens, several patio tables with umbrellas, a cabana and lounge chairs. A large American flag flew high on a tall flagpole. There was room for about a dozen boats at slips and what looked like a long guest dock along the water.
“Good morning!” I smiled big because, well, I was hungry. I called out, “Are you serving breakfast?”
The man laughed and didn’t miss a beat.
“Sure!” he said, “This is my home! Do I serve breakfast!” He thought that was funny and I decided that I did, too. So there we were, both laughing on this beautiful day with its blue sky in the Delta.
I circled around again and motored past slowly, closer this time.
“Oh! So, no breakfast then! Sorry! Your home is beautiful!”
He smiled BIG, put the hose in the crook of his arm and did that prayer thing with his hands. “Thank you!”
“Do you know where I can get breakfast?”
He pointed down between two rows of covered docks, where a restaurant sat, way down at the other end.
“Thank you!” I waved.
“You’re welcome!” He waved, still laughing.
I motored slowly down past a long series of covered slips between Docks A and B.
From the Cunningham Yacht Club to the Boardwalk Restaurant = 3.47 nm. There is a fuel dock leading to the restaurant, with three pumps: two for gas and one diesel. There’s also a ramp for powerboats and sea doos and any kind of trailerable water toy.
Inside the covered slips were large double decker motor yachts stacked side by side, and at the end of the slips lay the Boardwalk Grill. There is a long guest dock for patrons, and it was indeed serving breakfast. But, wait! What was this to starboard? The Discovery Bay Yacht Club, and two slips for guests of the yacht club only. So, of course, I pulled in, tied up and raised my Richmond Yacht Club burgee. I walked around to the front door, which is very impressive
and tried to open it. But it was locked. Then it opened, like in the Wizard of Oz, and a fella asked me, “Can I help you?” It was Bill Murphy, a member of the DB yacht club for 38 years.
I pointed to my sailboat in the slip and asked if there was any breakfast to be had. No breakfast, but brunch at 10 am. Would I like to wait? He would make me a pot of coffee if I wanted to wait. Sure I would. So I did and Bill gave me the grand tour of the place. There were photographs of sailboats everywhere but he said they don’t see many sailboats in Discovery Bay. Bill and his wife sold their Bayliner motorboat last year and moved to the golf course across the street.
I asked if people like him call their boats motor boats and he said, no, they prefer the term “powerboat”. I asked him what power boat owners think of sailboats and he admitted that they believe “sailboats are always in the way”, something that I suspected all along. Bill said that, while he himself understands that sailboats need to tack back and forth in fairways, he does not think this is a common understanding. We talked about all the funny looks I had gotten from people the day before. Bill nodded in appreciation of my dilemma.
Wherever Bill and his wife, Fran, travel they seek reciprocity at yacht clubs. As an example he gave the West Palm Beach Yacht Club, where the drinks cost only $2.50 each while comparable drinks in nearby restaurants are $9 each. When he and his wife visited their daughter in Pittsburgh they sought reciprocity at the Pittsburgh Yacht Club in downtown. He noted that there was not a boat in sight.
Bill introduced me around the club as an exotic: “She came here on a SAILBOAT!” I sat at the bar, drank Bill’s coffee and watched golf on the big screen tv. Brunch was all you can eat and cost $13 plus a tip to the lovely Antonia, she of the big eyes and beautiful smile.
072119
Mike Cunningham loaned me a jerry can full of diesel, “just in case”, and at 7:56 am the next morning I untied from the dock at the Cunningham Yacht Club. I seemed to be the only person awake on Turtle Bay, and as I stepped aboard a huge grey heron flew across the water.
Motored around the Discovery Bay loop, turned to starboard just before the sea wall, headed all the way down to where there were two signs: One read BarryLand and the other read Barryland Farms. I motored slowly over to where a really tall, handsome man was hosing down the elaborate gardens around a swimming pool in front of a beautiful building that looked like it might be a hotel/restaurant/spa.
There were palm trees and lush gardens, several patio tables with umbrellas, a cabana and lounge chairs. A large American flag flew high on a tall flagpole. There was room for about a dozen boats at slips and what looked like a long guest dock along the water.
“Good morning!” I smiled big because, well, I was hungry. I called out, “Are you serving breakfast?”
The man laughed and didn’t miss a beat.
“Sure!” he said, “This is my home! Do I serve breakfast!” He thought that was funny and I decided that I did, too. So there we were, both laughing on this beautiful day with its blue sky in the Delta.
I circled around again and motored past slowly, closer this time.
“Oh! So, no breakfast then! Sorry! Your home is beautiful!”
He smiled BIG, put the hose in the crook of his arm and did that prayer thing with his hands. “Thank you!”
“Do you know where I can get breakfast?”
He pointed down between two rows of covered docks, where a restaurant sat, way down at the other end.
“Thank you!” I waved.
“You’re welcome!” He waved, still laughing.
I motored slowly down past a long series of covered slips between Docks A and B.
From the Cunningham Yacht Club to the Boardwalk Restaurant = 3.47 nm. There is a fuel dock leading to the restaurant, with three pumps: two for gas and one diesel. There’s also a ramp for powerboats and sea doos and any kind of trailerable water toy.
Inside the covered slips were large double decker motor yachts stacked side by side, and at the end of the slips lay the Boardwalk Grill. There is a long guest dock for patrons, and it was indeed serving breakfast. But, wait! What was this to starboard? The Discovery Bay Yacht Club, and two slips for guests of the yacht club only. So, of course, I pulled in, tied up and raised my Richmond Yacht Club burgee. I walked around to the front door, which is very impressive
and tried to open it. But it was locked. Then it opened, like in the Wizard of Oz, and a fella asked me, “Can I help you?” It was Bill Murphy, a member of the DB yacht club for 38 years.
I pointed to my sailboat in the slip and asked if there was any breakfast to be had. No breakfast, but brunch at 10 am. Would I like to wait? He would make me a pot of coffee if I wanted to wait. Sure I would. So I did and Bill gave me the grand tour of the place. There were photographs of sailboats everywhere but he said they don’t see many sailboats in Discovery Bay. Bill and his wife sold their Bayliner motorboat last year and moved to the golf course across the street.
I asked if people like him call their boats motor boats and he said, no, they prefer the term “powerboat”. I asked him what power boat owners think of sailboats and he admitted that they believe “sailboats are always in the way”, something that I suspected all along. Bill said that, while he himself understands that sailboats need to tack back and forth in fairways, he does not think this is a common understanding. We talked about all the funny looks I had gotten from people the day before. Bill nodded in appreciation of my dilemma.
Wherever Bill and his wife, Fran, travel they seek reciprocity at yacht clubs. As an example he gave the West Palm Beach Yacht Club, where the drinks cost only $2.50 each while comparable drinks in nearby restaurants are $9 each. When he and his wife visited their daughter in Pittsburgh they sought reciprocity at the Pittsburgh Yacht Club in downtown. He noted that there was not a boat in sight.
Bill introduced me around the club as an exotic: “She came here on a SAILBOAT!” I sat at the bar, drank Bill’s coffee and watched golf on the big screen tv. Brunch was all you can eat and cost $13 plus a tip to the lovely Antonia, she of the big eyes and beautiful smile.
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No worries for her silence, Jackie is alive and well anchored bow and stern at Steamboat Slough. Her computer is discharged with no recharging capability, she is running low on food, and the local drawbridges are stuck down. But she reports having a great time, and is interviewing women bridge tenders, Cambodian refugees, and Delta farmers at the local bars...
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
Stuck in the Mud
Once Dura Mater and I had talked our way through the Little Potato Slough bridge opening we turned to port and tacked out of Lodi down the South Mokelumne River. Due west and the wind was on the nose, but the River is wide and I love sailing. However, after 45 minutes I got too hot and tired to keep doing that. So on the motor came, but the sail, she stayed up.
It’s a perfectly nice trip, but there aren’t many trees along the way. This is one of the long stretches where the Army Corps of Engineers tore down all the trees, so it’s a little boring. If it’s not too windy you just put up the beach umbrella and watch Mount Diablo, which is in sight the whole way.
After awhile the Mokelumne curves round to port and by then it’s almost time for breakfast. To starboard is Moore’s Riverboat. Someone was moving chairs around on the patio, and I remembered that Carliane, her son Shawn and I ate lunch at Moore’s two summers ago. We got stuck in the mud near here (but briefly, very briefly). That was the time Carliane admitted that she would rather be aboard a zoom zoom boat instead of Dura Mater. Sad to say, but it’s that Florida blood in her that would cause such bad judgement.
This morning, showing equally bad judgement, I sailed into the slip, jumped off to tie up and looked around to see if anyone was impressed by my docking prowess. That was when it became apparent that no one was around. Not even that waiter, who wasn’t coming back out into the heat. The sign on the door informed the ignorant that no breakfast would be served, and lunch was hours away. But I was hungry and we were here, so I made a pot of coffee, ate my granola and waited.
It got hotter, though, and I had already eaten, so I decided to head back to Owl Harbor.
The mainsail was still up, so I shoved off the dock and headed back out through the cut in the tule grass toward the deeper channel which would have seemed reasonable except that the depth right there is 4’ at low tide. Dura Mater’s draft is a modest 4.5’ so that was where we stopped short, stuck in the mud in 4’ of water. I checked the chart: Four feet of water. I checked the tides on my handy app: below mean water level today. Well, it was certainly a relief to learn that both the chart and the tidal forecast were accurate. Yes sirree. A real damned relief for the next time, but not for Dura Mater and not for me today.
I tried to rock us out of the mud but that didn’t work. I sat on the cabin top in the shade of the main and watched as all the powerboats began to arrive for lunch. It seemed that every powerboat owner in the Delta came for lunch while we were stuck there in front of the restaurant. They avoided making eye contact, stopped laughing as they motored slowly by on their way to lunch. They acted like they were entering church, that’s how embarrassed they were for us. I patted my boat. “Sorry, honey.”
Oh well. These things happen. I finally gave in and called Vessel Assist. Good thing we have the “unlimited towing package” for Boat US, thanks to Christine Weaver hustling up free stuff for the Delta Doo Dah raffle. Thank you, Phil Delano of Vessel Assist for the donation. And thank you to Tommy and Michael for arriving within ten minutes.
Once Dura Mater and I had talked our way through the Little Potato Slough bridge opening we turned to port and tacked out of Lodi down the South Mokelumne River. Due west and the wind was on the nose, but the River is wide and I love sailing. However, after 45 minutes I got too hot and tired to keep doing that. So on the motor came, but the sail, she stayed up.
It’s a perfectly nice trip, but there aren’t many trees along the way. This is one of the long stretches where the Army Corps of Engineers tore down all the trees, so it’s a little boring. If it’s not too windy you just put up the beach umbrella and watch Mount Diablo, which is in sight the whole way.
After awhile the Mokelumne curves round to port and by then it’s almost time for breakfast. To starboard is Moore’s Riverboat. Someone was moving chairs around on the patio, and I remembered that Carliane, her son Shawn and I ate lunch at Moore’s two summers ago. We got stuck in the mud near here (but briefly, very briefly). That was the time Carliane admitted that she would rather be aboard a zoom zoom boat instead of Dura Mater. Sad to say, but it’s that Florida blood in her that would cause such bad judgement.
This morning, showing equally bad judgement, I sailed into the slip, jumped off to tie up and looked around to see if anyone was impressed by my docking prowess. That was when it became apparent that no one was around. Not even that waiter, who wasn’t coming back out into the heat. The sign on the door informed the ignorant that no breakfast would be served, and lunch was hours away. But I was hungry and we were here, so I made a pot of coffee, ate my granola and waited.
It got hotter, though, and I had already eaten, so I decided to head back to Owl Harbor.
The mainsail was still up, so I shoved off the dock and headed back out through the cut in the tule grass toward the deeper channel which would have seemed reasonable except that the depth right there is 4’ at low tide. Dura Mater’s draft is a modest 4.5’ so that was where we stopped short, stuck in the mud in 4’ of water. I checked the chart: Four feet of water. I checked the tides on my handy app: below mean water level today. Well, it was certainly a relief to learn that both the chart and the tidal forecast were accurate. Yes sirree. A real damned relief for the next time, but not for Dura Mater and not for me today.
I tried to rock us out of the mud but that didn’t work. I sat on the cabin top in the shade of the main and watched as all the powerboats began to arrive for lunch. It seemed that every powerboat owner in the Delta came for lunch while we were stuck there in front of the restaurant. They avoided making eye contact, stopped laughing as they motored slowly by on their way to lunch. They acted like they were entering church, that’s how embarrassed they were for us. I patted my boat. “Sorry, honey.”
Oh well. These things happen. I finally gave in and called Vessel Assist. Good thing we have the “unlimited towing package” for Boat US, thanks to Christine Weaver hustling up free stuff for the Delta Doo Dah raffle. Thank you, Phil Delano of Vessel Assist for the donation. And thank you to Tommy and Michael for arriving within ten minutes.
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I have had the Boat US unlimited towing coverage since I bought my first keel boat in 2005. It would take some study of the logs of Sea-Curity to determine exactly how many times we invoked the coverage in ten years of sailing that boat. We have had only one occasion to call for help in 4 years on Morning Star, but I don’t think Boat US has broken even on me yet.
Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
On the Water outside Oxford Mississippi
Got on a plane and flew down to Oxford Mississippi for the weekend. Sat in the skybox of the University of Mississippi for the Ole Miss v Cal football game. Those Rebels are football fans! It was a real cultural treat. I mean, all that free liquor and food, and the cheerleaders and pom pom girls. Miss Mississippi sang the Star Spangled Banner. Someone gave me a Confederate flag, to my host's chagrin. And then, just when I thought all was lost, my friend, Kees, a former sailor, mentioned his boat. A boat?
"You have a boat?"
"Well, yeah!" And here it is:
So we got into his big white Ford F 150, drove to Sardis Lake outside town, and zoomed around all day. Jumped into the water. Zoomed around again. It was very nice. But it wasn't sailing, was it? There were plenty of sailboats at Sardis Lake, just not any we could board.
So we drove home via the cotton fields
Tomorrow I get to sail on DM in the last Wednesday night beer can race out of RYC. If you'd like to join me, call or post here. 510.681.5440
Got on a plane and flew down to Oxford Mississippi for the weekend. Sat in the skybox of the University of Mississippi for the Ole Miss v Cal football game. Those Rebels are football fans! It was a real cultural treat. I mean, all that free liquor and food, and the cheerleaders and pom pom girls. Miss Mississippi sang the Star Spangled Banner. Someone gave me a Confederate flag, to my host's chagrin. And then, just when I thought all was lost, my friend, Kees, a former sailor, mentioned his boat. A boat?
"You have a boat?"
"Well, yeah!" And here it is:
So we got into his big white Ford F 150, drove to Sardis Lake outside town, and zoomed around all day. Jumped into the water. Zoomed around again. It was very nice. But it wasn't sailing, was it? There were plenty of sailboats at Sardis Lake, just not any we could board.
So we drove home via the cotton fields
Tomorrow I get to sail on DM in the last Wednesday night beer can race out of RYC. If you'd like to join me, call or post here. 510.681.5440
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Philpott
Cal 2-27 Dura Mater
Yesterday was a windy day on the bay. DM and I left the RYC marina at about noon, when the wind was a perfect 15 knots. A brand new Seascape 18 was practicing exiting at the same time, and the fella was practicing over and over: meaning, the wind was on the nose and he had to try and try again. In 15 knots I’m thinking that boat was a handful. Looked like a lot of fun, though, as long as seawalls are not in the equation.
Hmmm. Where to go? Where to go? It was still flooding, and a big one. 3.4 knots, but since there was wind it didn’t matter as much, so I turned left. Or “to port” as a sailor might say.
Pier 1 ½ was our destination, for a latte at Peet’s in the Fairy Building. By the time we reached the slot the wind ratcheted up to 20 knots with gusts higher. I reefed down to where my Belgian tactician had noted that it made the bottom of the sail taut at the bottom. Thank you, that IS much better. And so we sailed over toward the City Front.
We reached the entrance to Pier 1 ½ , and I furled in DM's big jib, before it became apparent that several other sailors had had the same destination in mind, and gotten there first. Their masts were waving back and forth like Peet’s-infused metronomes. Lots of surge in there yesterday, plus there was no room for DM. Bad language ensued. Big sigh, then we turned around. When I unfurled the jib I failed to notice that the furling line had caught on DM’s forward, outside track on the starboard side. The jib worked, though, and I didn’t pay much attention. Sometime when the furling line is too short the jib luff looks like that. I would address it back at the dock.
Below Angel Island, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but this gorgeous apparition? It isn’t obvious from my photograph, but the afternoon sun made this all-silver sailboat shimmer.
Silver boat. Silver sails. Very fast, with about 5 sailors aboard. Wow. New to the Bay, for sure. What. Is. It? I’d like to know.
And then this: looks like a lighthouse from far away, looks the same close up.
It was about 3:30 pm now, and upon reaching Potrero Reach I furled the jib. Huh. That’s weird. It kind of bunched up instead of rolling tightly. Oh well. In five minutes we’ll be back in the slip. Right? I put on my Pelagic and went forward to take the mainsail down. Wow. That’s a gusty wind. And here’s the jib, come undone, with the sheets wrapped around the middle. That is always messy. And in big wind, ugly.
Other boats were starting to return home through Potrero Reach, and they had to motor around me as I struggled, first at the bow, then back in the cockpit, lurching back and forth in the reach, dealing with the wind, the narrow width of the water space and the power of the wind on my relatively large jib. All this while monitoring the possibility of long lines in the water, potentially wrapping around the propeller. My jib certainly seemed large to me yesterday. Those jib sheets can really smack a person hard. They really smacked me hard yesterday. I have welt marks on my arms.
Went forward and tried to pull down the jib but the furling line was stuck, the sail was rolled around the forestay just enough so that it was not free to fall. Back and forth, back and forth. What the hell?
Ah, that’s when I finally realized that the sail wouldn’t come down because the furling line was trapped on the track. I yanked it loose, the sail rattled a moment and down it came. Finally I was able, after a lot of sturm und drang, to contain it within the lifelines.
So that was the afternoon’s entertainment for all those people who live along Potrero Reach. An hour and a half during which they could sit in their living rooms on a Sunday afternoon, drinking an early whisky over ice, commenting upon the idiot on the water:
“Hi, honey, I’m back from the grocery. Oh, my! Is that sailboat still out there?”
“Yes, can you get me another drink, please, dear?" Sigh of contentment. "And this is why WE own a power boat.”
Well, I disagree with that way of thinking, but I AM grateful for my Engine by Dave, that’s for sure. I needed it yesterday.
Hmmm. Where to go? Where to go? It was still flooding, and a big one. 3.4 knots, but since there was wind it didn’t matter as much, so I turned left. Or “to port” as a sailor might say.
Pier 1 ½ was our destination, for a latte at Peet’s in the Fairy Building. By the time we reached the slot the wind ratcheted up to 20 knots with gusts higher. I reefed down to where my Belgian tactician had noted that it made the bottom of the sail taut at the bottom. Thank you, that IS much better. And so we sailed over toward the City Front.
We reached the entrance to Pier 1 ½ , and I furled in DM's big jib, before it became apparent that several other sailors had had the same destination in mind, and gotten there first. Their masts were waving back and forth like Peet’s-infused metronomes. Lots of surge in there yesterday, plus there was no room for DM. Bad language ensued. Big sigh, then we turned around. When I unfurled the jib I failed to notice that the furling line had caught on DM’s forward, outside track on the starboard side. The jib worked, though, and I didn’t pay much attention. Sometime when the furling line is too short the jib luff looks like that. I would address it back at the dock.
Below Angel Island, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but this gorgeous apparition? It isn’t obvious from my photograph, but the afternoon sun made this all-silver sailboat shimmer.
Silver boat. Silver sails. Very fast, with about 5 sailors aboard. Wow. New to the Bay, for sure. What. Is. It? I’d like to know.
And then this: looks like a lighthouse from far away, looks the same close up.
It was about 3:30 pm now, and upon reaching Potrero Reach I furled the jib. Huh. That’s weird. It kind of bunched up instead of rolling tightly. Oh well. In five minutes we’ll be back in the slip. Right? I put on my Pelagic and went forward to take the mainsail down. Wow. That’s a gusty wind. And here’s the jib, come undone, with the sheets wrapped around the middle. That is always messy. And in big wind, ugly.
Other boats were starting to return home through Potrero Reach, and they had to motor around me as I struggled, first at the bow, then back in the cockpit, lurching back and forth in the reach, dealing with the wind, the narrow width of the water space and the power of the wind on my relatively large jib. All this while monitoring the possibility of long lines in the water, potentially wrapping around the propeller. My jib certainly seemed large to me yesterday. Those jib sheets can really smack a person hard. They really smacked me hard yesterday. I have welt marks on my arms.
Went forward and tried to pull down the jib but the furling line was stuck, the sail was rolled around the forestay just enough so that it was not free to fall. Back and forth, back and forth. What the hell?
Ah, that’s when I finally realized that the sail wouldn’t come down because the furling line was trapped on the track. I yanked it loose, the sail rattled a moment and down it came. Finally I was able, after a lot of sturm und drang, to contain it within the lifelines.
So that was the afternoon’s entertainment for all those people who live along Potrero Reach. An hour and a half during which they could sit in their living rooms on a Sunday afternoon, drinking an early whisky over ice, commenting upon the idiot on the water:
“Hi, honey, I’m back from the grocery. Oh, my! Is that sailboat still out there?”
“Yes, can you get me another drink, please, dear?" Sigh of contentment. "And this is why WE own a power boat.”
Well, I disagree with that way of thinking, but I AM grateful for my Engine by Dave, that’s for sure. I needed it yesterday.
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