Crossing the Strait of Juan de Fuca
Mama woke up early. It was her favorite time of day; she had not only the boat, but the entire world, to herself. It was quiet, with last night’s storm having subsided.
This eased her mind greatly, as her midnight awakening had reminded her: She’d never cross the straits without her parents before. It was always her parents who paid attention to the weather (in theory, at least) and made the call as to when they would leave port.
Not that Mama ever remembered waiting out any weather. She vaguely remembered that gale force winds gave her parents pause, but they really weren’t an issue because they were so rare in the calm Salish Sea summers. At most, the radio with squak with smallcraft warnings. “What does that mean, daddy?” she’d asked. “It just means you don’t go out in your dinghy,” he told her.
But last night’s storm had awoken her with gusts reported at 40 knots. The wind howeld through the rigging, with loose lines ringing across the marina in a chorus of noisy gongs. She couldn’t sleep, and she started to worry. She’d made a huge rookie mistake – she hadn’t checked the weather before making plans to cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca. She rolled over and picked up her iPad while her husband slept lightly next to her. The light was blinding, and it was several seconds before her eyes adjusted enough to dim the screen.
She started by checking PredictWind, which forecast high winds, and gusts as high as 40, throughout the morning. Wave heights were predicted as high as 3 feet, with a period of only two seconds. She knew that a period lower than the wave height was sure to be uncomfortable at best. It was 1:00 a.m., and the PredictWind forecast was less than three hours old. Is that weather she was willing to go out in? Sure, she wasn’t going out in her dinghy, but every gust outside chastised her inexperience. True, she was inexperienced alone, but the 35 years of experience she did have sailing the Salish Sea told her the forecast was all wrong. The recent 90-degree days, the clear skies, the evening wind, and even the subdued sunset; they all told her that the straits would be quite comfortable the following morning.
Still unable to sleep, she checked several other forecasts. The University of Washington predicted winds of only 10-20 knots in the morning, with winds blowing in from the sea to the west. That report made her much more comfortable, as those were perfect conditions for a glorious sail across the straits. And, although the UW predictions didn’t include wave heights or periods, she knew it would be manageable. But still, her doubts got the best of her, and her worry continued. After all, if she averaged the UW forecast and the PredictWind forecast, the winds were still fairly high. If she compiled a weighted average of the UW, NOAA, and PredictWind forecasts, the conditions started to look a little better. Her thoughts and worries were a rapidly changing tide of their own, as one minute her confidence in her gut instincts about the morning’s calm weather were firm, and the next minute her self-doubt, fueled by the storm outside, would wash away all trace of calm.
But as she stood there now, facing the red light of dawn, she knew she should have trusted herself. The wind was calm, and the bay adorned with delicate ripples. Despite the red sky at morning, she knew she need not take warning; the day’s crossing would be an uneventful one.
She sighed in disappointment; part of her wished for the high winds that kept her awake with worry, because in that time tossing and turning she had grown more confident in her ability to handle her vessel in the predicted winds, and it would make for a spectacular sail. But, in these conditions, there would be no sailing across the straits today. Instead, they were facing an eight-hour motor, maybe more.
Well, first things first. She made her way up the dock to find the coffee shop closed, but took the opportunity to use the port restrooms. She laughed to herself; most people wouldn’t find a port restroom all that appealing, but to a sailor, any toilet with running water, which you wouldn’t have to disassemble yourself if the delicate plumbing were compromised, was a bit of a treat. Back at the boat, she flipped on the instruments and coiled the power cord. She gagued the light wind and planned her departure. The wind would blow her gently off the dock, which would make disembarcation easy because they had the entire slip to themselves. She fired up the load deisel engine, without any remorse for those still sleeping below. She knew from years of experience that, after just a few minutes, the roaring engine would become a soothing white noise, lulling them back to sleep.
She cast off first one bow line, then the center line. Then she cast off the other bow line, and quickly moved to release the stern before her bow was blown too far out. Having set her vessel free, she leaped up onto the deck and lightly sprang back into the cockpit to take the helm. She put it in reverse, and let her prop walk take care of the rest.
Uh oh. This is where her PTDD always kicked in. PTDD was a private joke between she and her husband; it stood for Post-Traumatic Docking Disorder. Mama had an irrational (or possibly quite rational) fear of taking her vessel anywhere near docks. Growing up, docking with her dad was always intense, to say the least. Her docking experiences were worryingly similar to the scene in the film Captain Ron. There, the hired captain – who was either a genius or the luckiest SOB to ever set sail – gunned the dilapidated fixer-upper into a crowded harbor, headed full-power straight for the seawall. At the last minute, Captain Ron throws it into reverse, spins the wheel, and glides delicately into his moorage. This is exactly how her dad had always docked, and although he acheived similar results most of the time, his results required significant shouting, panic, and gesticulation. Docking was always an event, and she was now terrified of the process.
Sometimes it was better for her to be on her own, because when the panic set in, she had no one to fall back on; she’d take a deep breath, and focus. When she had help, though, she would often give in to the panic, until it overwhelmed her and she couldn’t take it anymore, calling for relief. This day was a semi-solo situation; she wanted her husband’s help, but he was sleeping, and she dared herself not to wake him. So, she took a deep breath, moved the throttle to reverse, and began backing out of the marina.
This particular marina, Boat Haven, was a maze of moorage. There wasn’t enough room to turn the boat around – at least not enough room that she’d be comfortable doing so – so she kept the boat in reverse, strattled the wheel from the wrong side, and maneuvered the boat very slowly backward out of the marina. The panic continued to build, until finally she called Rich up. She was defeated. No, she wavered, she could do it – and with another deep breath, she canceled the alert. When she finally had enough room, she turned the boat forward, and headed out to sea. She was alone on deck, with the water and the waves, and she was calm and relaxed once again.
She finished her breakfast and worked on the lines in quiet peace for over an hour, until the girls appeared in the companionway. All jammies and smiles, their joy was contagious. Mo proudly announced that she had alredy brushed her hair and teeth by herself.
After Daddy got them breakfast, (Mama had decided not to go below deck as they crossed the straits, to avoid getting seasick,) Mama got the urge to clean some of the cockpit cushions with her new Norwex cloths. Morgan thought this looked like a fun game, so she joined in. For the next 45 minutes, they scrubbed contently together, pointing out clean spots and missed spots, and Morgan devising ever new ways to work together to get the cushions clean – with some ideas much better than others. But, the results were satisfactory.
The girls busied themselves the rest of the long trip with coloring, make-believe, school learning kits their Grammy had given them before the trip, and general kid-play. Mama was thoroughly impressed by their abilities to keep themselves busy.
The highlight of the day, however, came when they were nearly done crossing the straits; a pod of orcas crossed their path, and it was a treat to see. Mama took the opportunity to put up the sails, even though there was no wind – but, since no motos are allowed near the orcas, it was the perfect excuse.
By that time, it was barely noon, and that was only half the day! They didn’t stop until they arrived at Sidney around 4:00, where their only purpose was checking into customs; when that was done, they hopped back on the boat and made their way to Gagnes Marina.
