Safe Passage, Monterey to Santa Barbara

This is going to be a long one, so decide now if you want to read the whole thing or just check out the pictures.

After being stuck in Monterey for an entire week, just waiting out bad weather, we finally got a window where the swell was under 8 feet and the wind under 20kt, and we took it. Our goal was to make it all the way around Point Conception and into Santa Barbara—a long stretch of sailing, about 215 miles. We usually go at about 5-7 nautical miles per hour (one nautical mile is about 1.15 statute, or regular, miles), so in 12 hours we can cover about 60-80 knots a day. So, we were looking at being under way for at least 40 hours. That means that we have to take it in shifts and catch some rest in between shifts if you can. Once you’re exhausted enough, the wild pitching of the boat in strong seas stops keeping you up. When the seas are that rough, we usually sleep on the floor in the galley since you’d end up there anyway if you were on a bunk, and the V-berth has the most violent motion of any place on the boat. As we were getting ready to leave, we were being very cautious about checking the weather, and we were also in touch with our pirate friend the “Mike-a-holic” back in Moss Landing because he is very plugged in to the fishing culture and knows lots of folks who know lots about the weather. We were feeling pretty good about the conditions—swell under 6 feet, and winds 15kt or less. Still, we were a little apprehensive since our first passage was so hair raising. The sail out of the bay was beautiful, but as the night got on the swell and wind picked up, and things weren’t too comfortable. Knowing what the boat could handle, I felt much better about things, but it’s hard to feel safe when the boat is rocking wildly with the ocean swell. When the weather picked up a bit more, we decided to drop the sails and turn on the motor. The boat seems to handle the swell a lot better under motor power, and the wind was right at our back again which meant we had to jibe back and forth across the wind, and in a strong wind you really don’t want to jibe if you can avoid it. So, we motored up and took turns at the tiller. We can only carry so much fuel on board, and so since we motored through the night we needed to stop at Morro Bay to refuel. When we rounded the point into Estero Bay, which is where Morro Bay is, the wind direction changed to an east wind, and since we were sailing east, we were headed right into the wind chop and the wind was blowing the spray right into the cockpit. Luckily for me, it was my turn at the tiller, so I strapped on my warm weather clothes and my foul weather gear (“foulies”) and took it in the face for the slow, 3 hour trek across Estero Bay and into Morro Bay.

By the time we rounded the corner into Morro Bay and got out of the wind, my eyes were burning from the salt water, my fingers were numb from holding the tiller in the cold spray, and I was mildly hypothermic (slurred speech), but I was feeling like a true salty sailor. I hadn’t really been able to sleep much the night before, so I was pretty delirious and exhausted. We fueled up, covered the boat with our wet clothes to dry them out, went into town and got some breakfast, and then went back to the boat and got ready for the sail around Point Conception and into Santa Barbara.

This is Russell. The fuel dock guy named him, and said he'd been hanging out with him at the fuel dock for 12 years. They shared a bond deeper than the ocean.

Now, in all honesty, Brady and I had now spent 36 harrowing hours at sea, and we were both having thoughts of abandoning this trip for something a bit more enjoyable. One can only spend so many hours staring death in the face before one decides to do something else with their time. But, on the other side of the coin, we were also getting better and better at this whole seamanship thing. We got much more prepared for this leg of the journey. We made a pot of coffee and put it in a thermos, we made up a batch of pasta so we would have something quick and easy to eat in between shifts (it’s impossible to cook anything when you’re in big seas), and we made a table of all of the Ocean Data Acquisition buoys (ODAS buoys on charts) and the current conditions reported by the buoys. I tell ya, that is a great resource. You can call up 888-701-8992 and punch in the 5 digit number for any buoy and the computer will tell you wind speed and direction as well as swell height and period.

They are updated every hour, so you can track whether the weather is building up or dying off or whatever. It’s amazing. We were calling every hour and comparing the swell heights and wind speed, and we determined that the weather was dying off, so we went for it. Since I had gotten about 2 hours of restless sleep the previous night, Brady took the first shift and I got some rest. I got a few good hours of sleep before Brady needed to get some rest, so I got my foulies on and went up topsides and relieved him. The next 3 hours or so were some of the most enjoyable I’ve spent on a boat in all my life! To start, the starts were absolutely beautiful. They had been on other nights, but I had been too pre-occupied (terrified) to enjoy them. I could see Orion lighting up the whole sky, and both of the Dippers and the North Star at my stern, and the Pleiades, Draco the Dragon, the Corona Borealis—and I probably saw a shooting star every couple of minutes! I’ve never seen so many, not even in a meteor shower. I also had plenty of time to sit and ponder my existence, something I don’t really take the time to do too often. I tend to keep myself busy with working, or playing guitar, or reading books, or just tuning out and watching a movie or something. But I had a lot to think about. I had recently stared death in the face for hours on end, twice now, and that really does change you. I don’t think I’ve ever faced my own mortality so bluntly and for such a long time. Sure I’ve thrown my body at high speeds towards hard things a number of times: riding a bike down 6 flights of stairs, skiing top speed straight down hill, skateboarding donw ridiculous hills and wiping out, jumping off 60ft. cliffs...but that all happens in the blink of an eye, and you’re pumped full of adrenaline. I think it’s instinctual to look to some higher power and ask for some protection when you’re in a situation like that, and that forces you to examine what your own perception of a higher power is. For me, I don’t really like to think of the divine as “him,” or as an entity at all, really. It feels to me more like the entire universe is pulsing with divine intention, and that we have the ability to tap into that and benefit from that interaction as well as give back our own positive influence into the grand cosmic scene, and help evolve the whole shebang a bit closer to harmony. Honestly, it’s not really very clear to me how I perceive these things yet. But I do know that I don’t like to anthropomorphize them. Which, honestly, poses a very real problem when you want to beg for your life! I don’t think the universe as I perceive it would really listen to such a desperate, selfish request. If it’s “all one,” as some may say, what difference does it make if this little part stays in this form? So, where does that leave me? I guess I have to come to terms with my own mortality and learn not to fear death, but to accept it as an inevitability. I suppose death at sea wouldn’t be all bad. You’d certainly be connected with the forces of nature on your way out, which can’t be all bad. (I hope my mom’s not reading this part. I know she is. Sorry mom.) Honestly, I don’t think I’m at peace with my own mortality. I don’t want to die at sea. I want to live! I want to experience this amazing journey of life and squeeze every drop out of it that I can, until I’m a shriveled old man, when all I’ll need is a rocking chair and a banjo and a little wooden shack, and maybe a canoe. A good friend of mine, Jeff Almon, sent me a book to read when I asked him about his views on the forces of the universe. It’s called, “No Death, No Fear.” Seems like I’m ready to read it, eh?

While I was having all of these thoughts, a pod of dolphins decided to come and play with the boat! They were charging right at the bow of the boat and then, at the last second, they must have dove down or something—but I swear, every time I was afraid I’d hit one. It was really special to see them right then, and they were so beautiful to watch. Big grey forms zipping along just under the water. It was really neat to see them under the water by starlight.

Sometime later that night we rounded Point Conception, supposedly one of the most dangerous stretches of water along the entire coast of California. We must have timed it perfectly, because the seas and the wind were both very peaceful, and we passed around the point with no problems to speak of. Finally. A peaceful passage. Ahhhhhh.....

As the sun came up, we entered the Santa Barbara Channel, which has very little swell and very little wind, so we enjoyed a peaceful, beautiful sunrise.

And then, the celebratory pancakes! Mmmm, thanks again for the Apricot Jam, mom. Since there was absolutely no wind, we turned on the motor and finished off the rest of the journey to Santa Barbara.

Santa Barbara Channel and Mountains.

Then, we had the most crushing experience anyone could have imagined. Our whole trip flashed before our eyes, and we saw our dream of sailing to Mexico go up in a puff of smoke. Just 4 miles away from the entrance to the Santa Barbara Channel, our trusty Universal Atomic 4 motor started making a new noise. No one wants their engine to make any extra noises. She started making an awful rubbing noise. I went into the galley and opened up the hatch and saw the last thing I wanted to see. Billowing white smoke coming out of the front of the engine. Motor ran out of oil. Say goodbye to the dream. Dream dead. No more. After such a triumphant, beautiful, successful, well-executed passage, we saw our vision come to a smoky, mechanical end. No motor, no Mexico.

This is me, moments after all this happened. I think I took it rather well...

I let out a few wails and a few choice phrases as I felt my heart sink into my shoes, and radioed the harbor to ask about getting a tow. They said that if we could get to within 1 mile of the harbor they would tow us in for free. The beauty of a sail boat is that you can still go without a motor. In fact, that’s the whole point. There was hardly any wind to speak of, less than 1kt, but it was enough to move us along at about 1kt. At that rate, it would have taken us 4 hours to get in. So, we inflated our trusty dinghy and strapped on our reliable motor, and lo and behold, the crappiest craft you could imagine turned into our rescue boat! We tried pulling, but that didn’t work, so instead we pushed, and I’ll be damned if that little dinghy didn’t push the 6,600lbs. boat along at 5kt!

During this emotionally charged time, Brady and I had some really good conversation. Interestingly enough, we both felt like there were certain things helping us along on this last passage, things that we had both been neglecting and that, when we finally paid attention to them, helped us have a safe passage. For me, it was a little painting that Krystal gave me. On our last night together in Oakland she gave me a water color painting that she had painted this past summer when we were in Seattle. It’s a nice little painting of some sailboats in Puget Sound, and we had taken some time to write down my intentions for this journey on the back, and in the middle of it all Krystal wrote “Safe Passage.” In the hustle to get out of the bay, I had stuffed the painting in with some other things I wanted to put up in the boat, but had neglected to put it up yet. When I found it I thought, “huh. That was stupid of me. Here I have this little charm to help us have “Safe Passage,” and I’m not even using it.” So I put it up before we left Morro Bay. And then we had a safe passage. Life is funny, isn’t it? Brady shared a similar experience, too, and we both laughed at how neglectful we can be sometimes.

So, we arrived in Santa Barbara Harbor, and talked things over. Okay, so, maybe the motor is dead. If it’s dead, we’re done. That sucks. If it’s dead, it’s probably a sign that we’re supposed to stop. It happened at too poetic of a moment not to be meaningful in some way, in my opinion. However, eternal optimists that we both are, we figured that maybe the motor wasn’t dead and that all we needed to do was to put oil in and go on our merry way. The next morning I contacted a local mobile mechanic and he came out to the boat the morning after that at 9am. Steve Vukas. Great guy. If you’re ever broke down in Santa Barbara, get Steve Vukas’ number from the harbor office. He’s extremely knowledgeable, especially about the Atomic 4, and very easy to work with. He told us that it was pretty likely that the engine was toast, but that we could put oil in it and fire it up and listen to it and see what happened. So, with the expert on hand, we put oil in the engine and fired it up. The first few sounds were discouraging, kind of clunky and rough, but after a few seconds she was running just exactly like always. Hallelujah! Alhumdulilaay! Yee haw! He told us that he hadn’t heard such a good sounding Atomic 4 for a very long time, and that we had just dodged a bullet and we should be happy to go on our way to Mexico. Beautiful. Sweet relief. Dream not dead. Dream alive and well. Sigh. He also didn’t charge us anything, and he gave us the phone number of a guy in Mexico who can help us out in any way possible if we get into any trouble. Thanks Steve Vukas. So many people have helped us, it’s really beautiful.

I should say a few words about the idiocy of letting your motor run out of oil. It’s idiotic. Don’t ever do it. I used to consider myself an expert mechanic. I’ve fixed just about everything there is to fix on most cars I’ve ever owned, including rebuilding an engine. I overhauled this engine, too, including acid flushing the cooling system, running a compression test, replacing the plugs, cap and rotor, points and condensor, and retiming the motor, taking off all the rust and repainting it, and replacing a few other parts. But this is the all time classic screw up. Funny, I never let any other motor run out of oil-I’m usually very good at checking on those things. And then I blew it with a 30 year old boat motor—the one motor that is virtually impossible to fix if you do happen to break it. Oops. Let’s never speak of this again. Thanks. Whew.

So, we’ve been in Santa Barbara for a few days now, and the weather looks like it’s on our side for the next leg of the journey, which will take us past LA and San Diego, and then......Vamos a Mexico! We’re so close....only about 250 miles away....that’s just 48 hours of sailing! If you’re reading this, put on some Marley for us and send us some positive vibrations. In particular, visualize the guts of our motor sparkling like new in their cool, refreshing oil bath. She likes it when you do that.

One last note...it’s time for this weeks Paulo Coelho quote! If you haven’t already, go read the Alchemist. I should be reading it right now, it’s so perfectly applicable to our adventure, but I’ve got this No Death No Fear book I need to read...

In The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho says that when you’re pursuing your dreams, at first things

go really well for you, kind of like beginner’s luck. Then, the universe challenges you in every way possible and tests you as rigorously as possible before you can realize your dreams. I feel you, Paulo.

This is a beautiful osprey that we saw perched on a masthead next to our boat. He's eating a piece of fish. This is for you, Jeremy.


I don't know what these Sea Lions are doing, but it's pretty cool.