This is the story of two voyages. Together they comprised a round trip and could be seen as two parts of a whole. But, when compared with each other these voyages differed as much as any two days of sailing I have ever experienced.

The waters of the Pacific Northwest are my favorite place to sail. The summer winds can be fluky and the occasional rain inconvenient, but the anchorages are uncrowded, the waters clear, the shorelines heavily wooded and the nearby peaks scenes of great beauty.

My boat, the Jean Alden, is a gaff rigged catboat with a broad beam, oversized rudder, and small enclosed cabin. One feature missing from the Jean Alden is an auxiliary means of propulsion other than the oversized rudder that can be sculled. She fits nicely on a trailer that tows easily behind my family's old Volvo station wagon. For the past several years I have used this mobility to travel north from my home in California to the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival, held the first weekend after Labor Day.

This story describes a round trip between Port Townsend and Watmough Bay following the 2006 Festival. Watmough Bay, located on the southeast corner of Lopez Island, is reachable by a 25 mile sail across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. This narrow fjord provides the nearest protected anchorage north of Port Townsend. Twenty-five miles is not far to sail in one day if the wind holds. The challenge is that during fair weather the wind seldom blows all day.

Sailing North

The story begins on the morning of September 11. The evening before I had sailed south across Port Townsend Bay and spent the night moored off Fort Flagler State Park. I awoke before dawn and rowed ashore for an early morning stroll. From a high bluff I could see sails leaving Port Townsend and heading north across the Strait. NOAA forecasted ten to fifteen-knot winds and the early morning ebbing tide was favorable for heading north. Therefore, I rowed back to my boat and made preparations for a long day of sailing.

The four-mile sail north to Point Wilson provided a perfect start to the day. A steady ten-knot morning breeze rippled the sun glazed waters of the bay as I rushed along making at least five knots over the bottom. The Port Townsend Bay ferry traffic does require some attention. However, the visibility was unlimited that morning so this was carefree sailing at its best.

By ten I had cleared Point Wilson and entered Admiralty InletÑmore serious sailing waters for a small craft. Several shipping lanes connecting the Puget Sound with the Pacific trade routes and the Inland Passage to Alaska converge in Admiralty Inlet. An ebbing tide adds to the complexity of sailing north of Point Wilson. These currents collide with the wind and ocean swell to create two to three-foot pyramid shaped waves. On that first morning these turbulent seas buffeted my boat and the small skiff I was towing as I anxiously scanned the horizon for commercial traffic.

But the wind and tide were in my favor so I soon crossed the shipping lanes and escaped into smoother waters. Part of what I like about the Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival is the community it attracts. I overtook one of my friends from the festival as I left the shipping lane. We exchanged greetings and photographed each other as we passed.

By now the strong breeze that had carried me out into the Strait had all but disappeared. The distant peaks of the Cascades and Olympics showed distinctly on the horizon as I glided through remarkably clear waters. Over the Partridge Banks I could see long strands of kelp disappearing into crystal blue waters. A small leopard shark swam just behind my rudder and seabirds were everywhere. Eventually the wind died completely so the steady current was the only force driving me forward. Like most sailors, I become anxious when becalmed and for a while I became tangled in the dense kelp. Still, this was a beautiful place to eat lunch and listen to the radio as I drifted northward.

The wind finally returned at around 3 p.m. as I passed east of Smith Island. This small, lonely island offers some protection from winds blowing in from the Pacific. My backup plan was to anchor in its shelter if the wind had not returned. However, by now I was sailing again with the GPS showing a steady three knots.

Minor Island, a long, narrow sand spit carved by the strong currents of the strait, lies north and east of Smith Island. The shallow passage separating these two islands offered a shortcut for my shoal draft boat. However, the occasional breakers seen in the distance encouraged me to stick to deeper water and take the longer route around the eastern end. As I coasted the length of Minor Island, the offshore breeze carried a pungent odor that made me glad not to be spending the night in the lee of the large bird and seal colonies living on this wildlife sanctuary.

Leaving Minor Island in my wake I set a final course for Boulder Island and the entrance to Watmough Bay. A steady sea breeze blew out of the west. Over seven miles had to be covered and the sun was nearing the horizon. Still, it was an invigorating sail across the dusk darkened waters of the strait.
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ust after sunset I cleared Boulder Island and turned into Watmough Bay. A strong breeze was blowing down the bay so several tacks were needed to reach my anchorage at the far end. The shore to the south is covered with trees, and a 400 foot high rocky cliff overshadows this beautiful bay on the north. Three or four boats were anchored along its length, and we exchanged greetings as I worked my way to windward. Just as the last light faded I dropped my hook and furled the sail near the shingle beach at the end of the bay. Dinner was prepared and consumed in the cockpit under a lantern hung from the boom. It had been a long day so I headed to bed as soon as the dishes and stove were cleaned and stowed. As I pulled the hatch closed I gazed into the deep darkness of the clear sky overhead. It looked as though every star in creation could be seen. This had been a great day of sailing.

The wind was blowing off the nearby beach. As I drifted to sleep the only sounds I could hear were the wind in my rigging and waves against my hull. Around 2 a.m. I was awakened by new sounds. The wind could no longer be heard, and the waves against my hull were replaced by small breakers sloshing on the beach. When I reached the deck I found calm airs and a flooding tide that was filling the bay and pushing me uncomfortably close to the beach. I pulled up the anchor, sculled into deeper water, and reset the hook.

A dense fog now completely filled the bay. The moon's light reflecting off the particles of water hanging in the air wrapped my boat in a ghostly white glow. Nothing was visible beyond the outline of the deck. The sense of solitude was complete.

The Return Trip

The next day fog still filled the calm morning air so I rowed ashore and walked up a tree lined deserted road leading away from the bay. After an hour I returned to my skiff only to find even denser fog than before. I could barely see my boat at anchor as I pushed off the beach. Once back aboard I used the condensation on the bright work to wipe away the salt and then listened to the radio. Five to ten-knot winds were forecast for the afternoon.

Around nine a light breeze swirled the fog and hinted at the same wind pattern I had seen the day before. I was eager to begin the return trip because the evening tide would begin flushing the Puget Sound through Admiralty Inlet by 7:30 that evening. So, even though visibility was still around 100 yards I decided to start the second half of this story.

Unfortunately it wasn't to be an easy departure. My second anchor set the night before had fouled on the bottom. I tried the usual tricks but nothing worked. Somewhere between tenacity and stubbornness I solved this problem with a knife and headed out into the fog leaving behind one of my two anchors.

The GPS track from the previous day provided a guide that would keep me clear of the rocky shore. Not wanting to depend entirely on this useful gadget I kept the shoreline just in sight through the fog until I had cleared the southern tip of Lopez. Once out into the strait I maintained a dead reckoning log on my chart as a backup.

After an hour the fog still hid the horizon so I shifted my route closer to Whidby Island. This would take me inshore from the shipping lane. I also hoped to avoid the kelp beds south of Smith Island. The fog horns told me that I was not alone that morning. I contributed to the cacophony of mournful tones as best I could with my mouth-blown brass horn.

The morning and early afternoon were spent in complete isolation. Except for music from the radio, the rest of the world had disappeared. Every fifteen minutes I would mark my progress on the chart as I crept southward at one or two knots. The oppressive fog and slate grayness of everything made me long for the bright clarity of the day before. Other than an occasional seabird and a few curious seals, I could have been on the far side of the moon.

The seas were light except for the long-period rollers coming in from the Pacific. These gentle giants rocked my boat as I sat on the leeward side of the cockpit, holding the boom in position and trying to catch the occasional gust of wind. The wakes from commercial vessels passing unseen in the fog added to the motion.

This all changed around four in the afternoon. My drift south had carried me to just west of Point Partridge. While still a good mile from the beach I had entered the shallow waters off Whidbey Island. Those gentle rollers now began to break. Fortunately about this time the wind also returned so I scrambled over to the weather side of the cockpit and began to sail in earnest. The sight of a lee shore and breaking seas added some excitement to what had so far been a dull day of drifting. The freshening wind gave me the maneuverability needed to work my way off shore. Beating into the five to six-foot seas was exhilarating. Deep in the troughs I was almost becalmed. On the crests I was driven forward by the first good winds of the day.

Eventually I turned south again and began to make good progress towards the end of this long sail. The visibility was still very limited, so I worried about the shipping lanes that lay before me. The deep fog horns in the grayness warned that I would share these waters with some very large ships. I was about to announce my intentions on the traffic control VHF channel when I noticed a line of clear sky to windward.

As I entered Admiralty Inlet the fog vanishedÑblown away by a strong breeze coming in off the Pacific. Actually it was more than a strong breeze. The building winds that first appeared off Point Partridge now included near gale force gusts. The wind direction swung around to my starboard beam as I rushed into the turbulent waters north of Point Wilson.

That wild ride across Admiralty Inlet was unforgettable. By now the day's light was gone and the gusting wind drove my boat through the rising seas with a speed I had not experienced before. The trailing skiff tugged hard at her tether as she lunged through the waves. The spray from the bow wave reflected the red and green navigation lights adding color to the crisp black and whiteness of the wind whipped night. It was a thrilling experience.

I had expected the conditions to abate under the protection of Point Wilson. However, that was not the case. If anything the wind picked up strength. It was fortunate that it did because I was now sailing against the powerful tidal currents that were emptying Port Townsend Bay. It took over an hour to sail the two miles from Point Wilson to the Port Townsend waterfront.

Boat Haven, the main Port Townsend marina, is reached through a narrow channel protected by a breakwater running parallel to the waterfront. This was my destination. Speed is great when you are trying to cover ground. It is another story when maneuvering in a narrow channel. The wind was blowing more or less parallel to the waterfront and straight down this channel. Therefore, I would have to make a series of short tacks into strong gusting winds.

While still well off the beach I tried a few tacks to make certain that I could bring the bow across the wind in these conditions. I also needed to move closer to the shore in order to line up with the channel into Boat Haven. My route toward the shore would wind through numerous unlit boats bobbing at anchor off the waterfront. After assuring that my boat would respond appropriately I made one last tack toward the shore.

Unfortunately, this tack headed me towards a jumble of half-submerged pilings hidden in the darkness. Just as I lined up with the channel and was preparing to come about I reached these obstacles. The first bump tore the rudder off the pintles. The second bump was quickly followed by the sickening sound of sloshing water in the cabin. After that it was clear I was headed for the beach. It was just a question of where. Once the centerboard was up I used the sheet to avoid an ugly pile of rocks coming to rest on a less hostile stretch of cobblestones.

I was very lucky that night. My final desperate maneuver had carried me ashore just as the high tide crested. The surly water splashed a few times against the transom and then left my boat high and dry, not to return until eleven the next morning. A useless conversation with the Coast Guard on channel 16 convinced me that they had no interest in my predicament. Therefore, after securing my broken boat to the nearby pile of rocks I grabbed my shore bag, closed up the cabin and walked into town. It was just before midnight.

Epilogue

The next day Jean Alden looked most forlorn in the gray drizzle of the early morning as she lay on that rocky beach. However, closer inspection found only a small fist-sized hole in the bottom. This was temporarily patched with a sheet of brass and silicone adhesive from a nearby hardware store. I reached my brother in Seattle and he promised to catch the next ferry. A friend living nearby arrived to help and a Good Samaritan passing in a dinghy towed us into Boat Haven once the tide floated my damaged hull free of the rocks. By noon she was resting safely on her trailer.

So how had I ended up on those rocks? The obvious culprit was the lack of auxiliary power that could have sped me southward during the light winds that had dominated the previous day. However, if I had an auxiliary I probably would have waited longer for the fog to lift in Watmough Bay. This would have placed me in the dark windswept waters off Port Townsend at about the same time. I doubt that an outboard would have provided better control in those heavy conditions.

And my boat could handle the conditions. Thirty-five-knot winds are not weather I would choose for sailing. However, the basic catboat design with its broad beam provides a margin of safety. Therefore, I cannot blame the outcome on my boat or her design. She sailed beautifully until I knocked her rudder off on the pilings.

In the end, I believe that my mistake was in not anchoring off the waterfront and waiting for the storm to blow through. I had forgotten to transfer my backup anchor to the remaining line when I cut the rode back in Watmough Bay. The prospect of retrieving the second anchor from deep in the hull and reattaching the line in darkness under those heavy conditions made this an unattractive option. In short, the return trip probably would have ended differently if I had not put off completing a very simple task when it was easy to do.

It would be a while before Jean Alden would sail again. Replacement gudgeons and pintles had to be located, and several months passed before I found the weekends needed to patch the hole in her bottom. Repair work is never as much fun as building something new. I also missed many good days of sailing. Still, I suppose that this was just penitence for my sin of procrastination. But she did float again and a year later I sailed Jean Alden back to Watmough Bay for an equally memorable voyage. But that's another story.

Mike Higgins grew up in Seattle but now lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where he builds and sails boats named after his wife and daughter. When not messing around with boats he works in the medical device industry as an engineering manager.

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