Should I Stay or Should I Go

Waves build off Big Sur.

The NOAA marine forecast called for winds NW 5-15 and seas NW 4-6 feet with a 14 second period for the stretch of coast between Monterey Bay and Morro Bay. 110 nautical miles. 22 hours start to finish at Anna's pace. Fair enough. So we zipped out of our cozy little spot at the end of the wharf in Monterey's inner harbor. It was 1100 and the conditions were calm. By the time we exited the outer harbor and slipped into the bay, the wind direction read SW on our compass, or more important, it was blowing directly over the bow. The seas were 7-9 feet, and the interval between swells was 8 seconds (square waves, lumpy).

...and building.

14-foot seas -- view from the cockpit.

A few hours later the wind clocked around to the north and the seas built to 12-14 feet in response to the increase in wind strength; 15-25 knots and gusting higher. Thermal dynamics at work -- low pressure inland, high pressure offshore.

Whitecaps break off the crests.

We had just begun the passage and already the wind and waves had more than doubled in intensity -- the forces being exponential.

Full moon minus one day, on a clear night at sea.

Conditions built slightly higher by nightfall, but dropped like a bag of dirt, at 2300, exactly 12 hours after we had set out.

Nothing in sight.

Sliding off of  the waves at Big Sur.

Now we were flopping around in left over swells without much of a breeze to fill the sails. Our velocity through the water had slowed to a glacial pace and the sails, in the calms, didn't help matters when it came to dampening the rolling action of the sloppy wave sets we were dealt. One minute we were surfing 14-foot waves at 7-9 knots, ripping along, and the next we were flopping around, a fish out of water, at a speed of about 1 knot.

On the job.

A few hours later, night turned into day as we arrived at the entrance to the chancy, Morro Bay bar. The wind had piped up again to 15-20 knots as the sun rose, peaking out from behind 651-foot-high, impressive, ginormous Morro Rock. And we could see the gray entrance breakwater awash with foamy breakers, on the south end. But the swell had settled down and the shallow sandbar was smooth as we rode the full flood current into the protection of the anchorage, a mile beyond the breakers. The gentle swell inside the breakwater heaved Anna up, and set her gently down with a slight yawing action, a wag of her tail. A sequence that repeated itself for a half-mile until the swell dissipated completely as we rounded the bend and glided into the main harbor.

Unstable winter weather patterns have already set up as we approach southern California. And the systems are highly complex near Point Conception -- not unlike Cape Mendocino, a few hundred miles to the north. So, we cut the NOAA forecasters some slack in their ability to accurately forecast conditions, around here, 12-48 hours in advance. Normally their predictions hold up reasonably well, out to 72 hours. But we found, lately, that while the general forecasted trends are correct, the specifics and timing have been off, resulting in conditions that may be significantly stronger or significantly weaker than implied in their reports -- even their forecast for the next 6 hours.

Of course, when they get the numbers wrong, they can't hear us cursing them (and their mathematical models) over the volume of roaring wind and waves, on a night that was forecast to be light to moderate. Ultimately, though, the responsibility for the final decision is ours and ours alone: should I stay or should I go?

We could have continued around Pt. Conception and on into southern California. It would have been simple to extend the ride to two nights, instead of one, but in the end we were too curious about Morro Bay, an anchorage that can be hell to enter or exit. A reputation for one of the most hazardous bar crossings on the entire west coast, especially this time of year.

Morro Rock at sunset.

Well, our entry was uneventful and our stay here has been remarkably pleasant. We've been anchored-out now for almost a week, near the entrance of the bay, close to Morro Rock, and on the fringe of the sand spit.

Morro Rock.

The wildlife is a constant thrill to watch: crazy seals, crash-diving pelicans, long-billed dowitchers drilling the flats at low tide, peregrine falcons gliding over Morro Rock.

PG&E stack at sunset in Morro Bay.

And then  there is the goings on of the commercial fishing fleet: backing and filling, fueling up, icing up, getting ready to depart, and coming back a couple days later.

Fishing fleet at Morro Bay.

Fishing boat slips out the bar, behind Morro Rock.

The town has convenient access, by dinghy, and there is an enormous Albertson's, just up the hill, for provisioning (a large, well-stocked grocery store can actually be exciting news when voyaging). The harbor patrol keeps a good eye on the boats here, and the Coast Guard is stationed a few hundred yards away. Sunsets and moon rises with Morro Rock as the backdrop are spectacles worth waiting for.

At anchor in Morro Bay.

Mooring field at east end of Morro Bay.

Great blue heron fly-by.

Workboat getting ready to go out, at night.

All-in-all the decision to come to Morro Bay, for a look-see, was a good one. We haven't regretted the choice for a second. In fact we were happily surprised to find an old friend anchored out here when we pulled in. Someone we've seen everywhere we've ever been. From Alaska to Mexico and out to Hawaii. We've spent time in remote anchorages together and we've crossed the North Pacific together (well, a few hundred miles apart) on our way back to British Columbia. We've been meeting like this, unplanned, for the past 12 years. A remarkable coincidence, but understandable, as Firewater has been sailing the expanse of the Pacific Ocean Basin, almost continually, for the past 40 years. And in the community of ocean-crossers, it's a small world.

Firewater swinging at anchor next to Anna.

The weather window appears sketchy, bi-polar, once again. NW winds 15-25, gusting to 35.  Big seas. We hope to exit the anchorage at Morro Bay and round Pt. Conception in the next day or so, entering southern California, where the weather is typically milder and the seas typically lower. But 'typical' may be changing, and so once again we study the weather forecasts and the data, and we ask ourselves: should I stay or should I go?

Darling you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? 

If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ’til the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? 

Always tease tease tease

You’re happy when I’m on my knees

One day is fine, next day is black

So if you want me off your back

Well come on and let me know

Should I stay or should I go?  

Should I stay or should I go now? 

Should I stay or should I go now? 

If I go there will be trouble

An’ if I stay it will be double

So come on and let me know!

This indecision’s bugging me 

If you don’t want me, set me free

Exactly whom I’m supposed to be

Don’t you know which clothes even fit me?

Come on and let me know

Should I cool it or should I blow?

 Should I Stay or Should I Go  --The Clash