Careless Indifference

Cat gets ready for a chilly night at sea.

We left Sooke Harbor at noon. The sun had displaced the cool, foggy mist at long last. The boisterous conditions on the central portion of the Strait of Juan de Fuca had settled down from its gusty gale-force outlook -- and reality -- of the previous few weeks. The breeze was light and we drifted along with the current just off the outbound shipping lanes on the Canadian side of the Strait to the West Entrance. We then crossed the shipping lanes to the US side and slid into the anchorage at Neah Bay for the evening.

Before anchoring we stopped at the fuel dock to top off the starboard diesel tank. Fifteen minutes later we left with a full tank of diesel and, a bag of potato chips, two boxes of Cracker Jacks, some Saltines and a case of Canada Dry ginger ale -- no self control at the Makah Mini Mart. We motored out to the anchorage, dropped the big Spade anchor in the sandy bottom 30 feet below our keel and went to sleep just after setting up the jack lines and trysail in anticipation of the next few days.

At 0500, just before dawn, we brought the hook back up. The sky was a brilliant, diffused red. The bull kelp was streaming toward the Pacific on the way out of the anchorage. And we left Neah Bay and Cape Flattery in our wake with the dawn sun streaming beams of light through breaks in the heavy, dark gray cloud cover adjacent to the Cape. 

Daybreak at Cape Flattery, WA.

We analyzed the raw GRIB (gridded binary) weather files before we departed. Downloaded the NOAA text analysis too. And we studied the upper atmosphere 500 millibar charts, and the surface analysis, and the wind wave, swell and wave period forecasts for 24, 48, and 96 hours out. We did this along the way, each day and night as well.

Analysis of US Navy GRIB files.

For the most part the forecasts and analysis were very good, that is, the reality was similar to the prediction in the areas we sailed through. But we had some unpredicted surprises along the way too. Wind and wave angles were a mixed bag. We had a NW and SW cross swell in addition to the wind wave component. Sailing a little east of south with a NNW wind puts the primary seas on the beam; a rolly ride on a starboard tack. We can reduce the roll on a port tack -- by taking the seas more aft of beam (a following sea), but then we sacrifice moving in the desired direction, SSE.

And of course the weather varies over time. Winds veer and back, sea state is altered -- wave period and direction and height shift, relentlessly. Fog patches roll in and out, gusts pick up before sunset, calms come and go. Further out, the breeze fills in along with the swells. Further in, trawlers with bright flood lights mark their territory, drifting very slowly five to ten miles apart from one another. You can set a course to their lights (not unlike following the stars in the night sky).

Anna's trysail and jib combo.

The forecast on the second night was for clear skies and a light breeze 40 miles out off the Oregon coast. The weather analysis was off the mark for that time period. The wind and seas picked up after midnight and the heavy fog set in. The NNW breeze was 25 knots and gusting and the cross swell was 6-8 feet with 5-foot wind waves blowing off the tops of the crests. All we could see, of course, was the bioluminescence of the marbled sea as the wind blew the tops off the crests.

Approaching dawn at sea.

We made our final approach to the jetty and sand bar at Newport, Oregon after 52 hours and 270 nautical miles out of Neah Bay. It was dawn when we approached the entrance channel buoys. We heard them whistling, but we couldn't see them in a near white out. The fog was dense as we entered the channel and crossed the bar to Newport. We passed a couple of commercial trawlers with stabilizers out on our way into the narrow dredged channel. They were rolling heavily and just visible as our bows passed port to port. 

The north jetty, Newport (Yaquina Bay bar).

The fog lifted and the winds died down as we entered the harbor after passing beneath the Newport bridge. The current in the channel was strong and we drifted rapidly while dowsing our sails and preparing to slip onto the guest dock at South Beach Marina. We tied up, checked in, and a few hours later, before noon the winds piped up once again. 25 to 30 knots at the dock. The waves exploded on the jetty breakers. It stayed breezy for two days. Calmed down and then picked up again. A recurring pattern. Light in the morning, then windy all day and calm again as nighttime set in.

Anna at dock across from commercial fishing fleet.

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Anna's slip at South Beach Marina.

Newport's Yaquina Bay Bridge arch.

Sometimes it simply isn't possible to know what the weather will bring. With all the technology at our disposal we are still surprised at the lack of predictability, at times. And it is because of this that we sometimes feel, ironically, as if we are voyaging with careless indifference, notwithstanding our profound respect for the sea.

One of many murals in Newport, Oregon.

Old CG rescue boat, Newport CG Station.

Newport is an extraordinarily friendly town. We love spending time here. The hike out to the grassy sand dunes and ocean breakers is spectacular. And the modest marina is a convenient crossroads for sailors from all around the world, making their way along the rough Pacific Northwest coast.  

Breakers at South Beach, near the marina.

 Our next step after leaving here is to sail on to Cape Mendocino where we hope catch up with some family we haven't seen since our last trip down the coast a few years ago. Also, we want to stop in and visit our friends at the NOAA weather station in Eureka, just across from the Humboldt Bay bar.

Later, we'll look for a weather window to exit the bar and head around Cape Mendocino on our way to the San Francisco Bay area.