Name That Sound

Plans are made to change, I'm pretty sure of that. Mostly because it seems our plans never work out the way we planned them. Since we have no place we need to be, it doesn't bother me in the slightest.

We pulled into Newport, Oregon yesterday afternoon, and of course we had no plan on coming here. When we left Neah Bay on Sunday, we had our sights set on the middle of California. We planned on spending roughly 7 days at sea and ending up somewhere around San Francisco or Santa Cruz (we were going to decide on the way). Of course, our plans have changed.

We left Neah Bay with a solid weather window that would put us off the coast of northern California right as a gale was dying down and give us about 48 hours to get through the area before the next gale started forming. We timed our departure, made the big left turn, and pointed the boat offshore.

Since I have been planning on making the big left turn for about 20 years, you might guess that I was pretty excited. I'm not going to lie, I was. But at the same time, we were both pretty nervous. The big band of weather off of Cape Blanco and Cape Mendocino had us spinning. We ran into 2 other sailboats in Neah Bay that were all headed the same way as us and had the same mixed feelings about the weather as we did. We all huddled around computers, poured over weather data, and decided when the perfect time to head south would be, in hopes of missing the nasty weather.

We decided Sunday afternoon was our time, and as we left Neah Bay, we were greeted by a thick blanket of fog that decided to stick with us for about 36 hours. It was so thick that we could barely see past the bow of the boat. We had just enough visibility to see the next big rolling wave just as were about to pierce through the side of it. It was so thick that we almost ran over 2 gray whales as we were rounding Cape Flattery. We could smell the whales for about 20 minutes before we saw them, and when we did finally see them, they were right next to the boat. They were so close that I could have jumped off the boat and went for a little ride on the back of one of those smelly beasts (they smell TERRIBLE!!!). And then they disappeared into the fog.

The big left turn was supposed to be a dramatic and possibly emotional event. But it wasn't. It was unfortunately a lackluster moment (other than almost running over a couple of whales...that part was pretty cool!). It was so foggy that we couldn't see the Cape as we rounded, we couldn't see land get smaller and smaller as we sailed off towards the horizon, and we couldn't see the vast eternity of open ocean in front of us. It was overly undramatic. Kind of disappointing to be honest. It could be because there was so much buildup to get here, 20 years of buildup to be exact. 20 years of planning, scheming, and working to get to the big left turn and all we could do was stare at the radar screen.

But at the same time, even with the lackluster and undramatic nature of it all, it was the beginning of our adventure. At least if feels like it. When we rounded the Cape with a good stiff breeze on our faces and a rolling 6 foot swell on our nose, it seemed as though everything was falling into place and we were really off. We weren't screwing around anymore. We were playing hardball.

I'm not going to lie and say that our first 36 hours away from land was great, or thrilling, or peaceful, or whatever, because it really wasn't. It was on the verge of miserable. It started out great, even with the pea soup thick fog, but within about 4 hours, it all became very uncomfortable.

The weather was exactly what we had hoped for when we left (other than the fog). We had 12-15 knots of breeze blowing in the direction we needed, the 6 foot rolling swell was gentle, and it wasn't even too cold out. But shortly after we left what would have been the sight of land if we could have seen it with all of the fog, things started to change. The swell got a little steeper and started coming at us from 3 different directions, and after about 12 hours, the wind completely died. With no wind to fill the sails and help stabilize the boat, that's when things became miserable.

A 6 foot swell is not a bad thing. It can be a pretty nice ride. But when the swell comes from 3 different directions, it feels like you are in a washing machine. Sometimes those waves from different directions combine to make a bigger and steeper wave that knocks you around like a rag doll. And if the washing machine wasn't enough, all of the fog made everything extremely wet. Everything was dripping...even inside the boat. When the sun came up, we were still in the dark from the fog. And then it would get dark again because I'm assuming the sun went down. I couldn't tell for sure, because we couldn't see past the front of the boat with all of the fog.

After about 36 hours, the fog started to burn off, the sun started to peak out, and the swell became a gentle rolling motion from only one direction. It actually became an enjoyable ride. It became such an enjoyable time that we even through out our fishing gear in hopes of catching a tuna for dinner. And what do you know, we actually had a tuna on the line for about 5 minutes. Unfortunately we lost the tuna before we could get it in the boat, but it was pretty exciting to hear the fishing reel scream as a huge tuna was stripping line like crazy.

A funny noise when you are bobbing around in the ocean turns out to not be funny at all. At somewhere around 24 hours out, far from land, a “clunk” was heard. It wasn't a familiar clunk. And really, any clunk isn't a sound you want to hear on a boat when you are a long way from land. At first, the clunk was intermittent. Every so often we could hear it and it made no sense where it was coming from. It didn't matter where I was standing on the boat, it always sounded like it was coming from right under my feet.

I thought it might have been a lone can of food rolling around in the bilge, being knocked around by the sea. I though it could have been some random spare part that was being tossed back and forth in some unknown locker. I thought there might have been a rod knocking in the engine or even that the propeller shaft might have been bent. I checked out the steering. I went through every cupboard, locker, and cubbyhole in search of the offending clunk all to no avail.

The clunk became more persistent as time went on. Pretty soon, every time a large following wave hit the boat, the clunk would rear it's ugly head. Back I went through every possible scenario, digging through lockers, foraging in the bilge, checking out the engine, and finally tearing into the steering. This time, when I was face down in the locker that houses the access to the rudder post, I could see where the offending clunk was coming from.

The rudder post bushing had worn out, so every time we were hit with a large wave, the rudder would seize for a brief moment before letting go with a loud and forceful “clunk”. Ugh. Far from land is not where you want your steering to go out. And if I think about it for a moment, the two most important things our boat needs to do is float and steer. If you notice, steering is right near the top of the list of most important things that our boat has to do, so having one of those 2 most important things start to fail is really not a good feeling when you are about 24 hours out of the nearest port.

Once we figured out what was going on with the clunk, we poured over our charts and guide books and decided that Newport, Oregon was the best place for us to land and take care of the problem. So here we are in Newport, working on the boat...again.

The good news is that our steering lasted long enough for us to make it to shore and we found a machine shop that is more than happy to make us a new bushing to help get us back on the high seas. The bad news is that because we pulled into Newport, we have missed our weather window for heading farther south. The next break between gales off of Northern California is about a week away. So for now, we are residents of Newport. And what do you know, Newport is not a bad place to be for a week or so.   

You guessed it, more working on the boat in tiny spaces.  This time it's the rudder.

Brenda is really enjoying the view...of the fog.

Our view from our home for the next week.  Not too shabby.