Avante Races to San Francisco

Positioning Avante in a latitude where we sail in the summer has made our summers in Telluride necessarily short, but this year we made the most of our time home filling the all too short 5 weeks with plenty of golf, bodybuilding ranch work and lots of socializing with local and visiting friends and family. The First Mate tried out a new venue with soon-to-be mini mate-in-training 5-year old granddaughter, Berlin. If the child takes to sailing as eagerly as she did riding, she’ll be at the helm in no time!

Sunday, August 31st, we are back on Avante with 3 days to prepare for our next adventure: sailing south to San Diego, a distance of 1500 miles. We are filled with bittersweet emotions for we have thoroughly enjoyed our two years cruising the pristine waters and beautiful coast and islands of the Pacific Northwest. Fellow world cruisers we have met have told us that one of the hardest things to do is leave one much-loved locale to sail on to the next. If one does want to sail the world, as we hope to do, one must keep on moving – so move we will, south to San Diego and then further south this winter to Mexico.

We have two crew scheduled to join us on the sail from Victoria to San Francisco, a leg of the trip where we hope to head off coast by 100 miles or more to catch the winds south. The trip should entail about 5 to 6 days at sea with watch standers on round the clock. Since The First Mate prefers to serve as Chief Cook and not Watch Stander, we like at least two additional hands on Avante for long passages. The day before we leave Telluride one of our crew calls to tell us he has been subpoenaed and cannot join us. Of course we have a Plan B for just such a contingency and now with only one extra crew we will sail closer to the coast, heading into harbor twice on the trip south to allow everyone a full night’s sleep. We are a bit disappointed, but that’s how things go.

Monday evening we are invited to dinner at the home of Pat and Ean Maxwell, our friends from “Liz of Hanko”, who we met in Kwatsi Bay last June. The Maxwell’s home is on land formerly owned by M. Wylie Blanchet, the author of “The Curve of Time”, the book The First Mate read during this summer’s cruising and referred to many times in previous blog entries. For The First Mate, it was a memorable experience to end her Pacific Northwest stay with the opportunity to walk the land where the Blanchet family had lived. The Maxwell’s home is on a point looking out on the bay toward Sydney. I stood there admiring the view thinking of that woman and her bundle of children heading off in their small boat to explore these waters. That was over 70 years ago! What an adventurer and independent spirit she was!

Not only did we have a wonderful dinner and evening with Pat and Ean, but it was there that our crew shortage problem was solved. Two other sailing couples were also invited so we could meet them and talk the talk (ie: sailing & sailboats). One of the couples was Harmony and John Wills. Their sailboat is a 42’ Sweden, “Ocean Harmony”, which they live on and sail in the Caribbean six months each year. They had commissioned her in Sweden and sailed her in Europe where they lived at the time. Upon returning to Canada, John sailed his boat across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, so he had excellent sailing experience. It turned out he also had the time as Harmony was about to leave for a 3-week visit to England, and he was interested in joining us for the trip south to San Francisco. The next day he and Harmony visited us on Avante to make sure we and the boat were as ship-shape as we and the Maxwells claimed. The two men questioned each other and confirmed as much as possible that they were each knowledgeable and responsible. John signed on. We had our third crew. We were ocean-bound!

Our second crew, Al Adams, arrived that afternoon. Al and wife Linda are friends from our days in Naples, Italy when the two men were in the same Navy flight squadron together. We’ve stayed in touch over the years, but have seen each other infrequently. Al grew up sailing off the coast of California and was eager to join us on this venture. We couldn’t wait to see him. What a great way to spend some time together! If only Linda were with him, too.

That evening we three head to a local pub with Irene and Barry McPhee off “Lanikai”. Remember? We met them while sailing around Vancouver Island, hiked with them, enjoyed cocktails on their boat and dinner on ours. As much as we have enjoyed sailing up here, we have enjoyed meeting other sailors. The camaraderie among fellow sailors is fun and delightful.

In between all this socializing, we work at getting everything ready for us and Avante to head to sea. Our last evening in Canada, we drive down to Victoria to do a little sightseeing with Al and to enjoy a final dinner at “Pescatore’s Fish House”, a favorite harbor restaurant.





Al is as amazed at the varied traffic in the channel leading into the harbor as we were the first time we gingerly inched Avante into the customs dock two years ago.

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The next morning Harmony and John arrive. The Captain gives his crew an information and safety briefing prior to departure.











Harmony officially sends us off and captures the moment as the four of us stand aboard Avante ready to leave.







Our first planned stop is Friday Harbor to clear US Customs, fuel and get those provisions, like meat, that US Customs does not want us to import. The harbor is alight with color and sunshine, and we’re glad that Al is getting his first look at it this way. The First Mate heads off to do the last of the provisioning for the trip. With everything logged in on her Excel spreadsheet and all stowed, we head off to dinner at “The Place”, another favorite harbor restaurant.

Friday, September 5th, is a bit overcast and cooler as we head out and down the Strait of Juan de Fuga to the Makah Indian Reservation village of Neah Bay, our last stop before we head out to sea. Our spirits are high, though both wind velocity and cloud layer are low. We do sail a bit and motor-sail a bit, but mostly just plain motor our way into the harbor to drop anchor for the night. Tomorrow our trip south will really begin.

Day One: Saturday, September 6th, we wake to heavy fog. Not in any particular hurry under these conditions, The First Mate prepares a he-man breakfast of eggs and bacon. At 0940, according to The Captain’s log, we weigh anchor and, with the radar and chart plotter to guide us, slowly motor out of the harbor. We are heading to Cape Flattery and then further out to sea. Winds are light, visibility remains between 200 to 800 yards. This is a dismal start to our great trip!


This photo, taken on our trip north two years previous, is of the lighthouse on Cape Flattery. The fog is just too thick now to see anything. Not even an outline is visible of lighthouse or of the very rocky shore. We are disappointed not to be able to catch a final glimpse of this point on our leave-taking of the Strait of Juan de Fuga.

All day long, we head south and west, angling out to sea, hoping to leave the coastal effect of the fog and encounter those northerly winds out there. The sound of the motor is depressing when we are so eager to raise sail and shut the thing off. Though the winds remain calm, the ocean begins to swell and roll, mostly hitting the boat sideways. Moving about is a challenge, and one the crew is going to have to adapt to as we continue. In the evening, The Captain alters course to head us more into the waves allowing a slightly easier ride for The First Mate to prepare dinner. However, in the confused seas, it is still a challenge to keep body and pots and pans upright.









She thankfully accepts help with the cleaning up after dinner.







Shortly before 8:00 in the evening, winds pick up from the north. The jib is put out allowing us to motor-sail, but we are still in fog and using radar. Dismayed at our bad luck with the start of this trip, we wonder if we’ll ever get out of this fog and feeble wind.

Feeling rested and with conditions benign, The First Mate has offered to stand the 9:00 to 12:00 watch. The Captain and John are in bed when she relieves Al of his watch. She has her foul weather gear on, her water-activated, inflatable lifejacket and her harness which secures her to the boat like an umbilical cord. The fog is thick. There is nothing to see, and nothing is out there to be seen as she monitors the sweep of the radar. Gradually, the horizon becomes more defined and further away. Casting her gaze around, she looks straight up rather than straining straight ahead. There are stars up there. Stars! The fog is lifting. Time noted: 10:00 or 2200 hours.

The Captain has given The First Mate orders to wake him if anything disturbs her. Everything remains as it should until a hazy orangey thing shaped like a sail appears on the far horizon. Quickly, she ducks below to check the radar, but nothing is out there. It must be further out than the radar scan is set. What is it? Is it getting bigger, closer? She can’t stand it. She awakens The Captain who is up like we are under attack or something. He runs on deck to see this thing that’s bearing down on us. What is it? ---- “It’s the moon,” says The Captain. The moon? “Oh, yeah, the moon,” dully whispers the thoroughly embarrassed First Mate. (Well, things do look different at night, especially a foggy night.) The Captain grumbles and ambles off to resume his sleep while The First Mate resumes her watch of the radar, the lifting fog, the brightening stars and the now fully visible, recognizable and setting moon. By midnight when she is relieved by The Captain, the fog is fully lifted, it’s a beautiful night and winds have freshened up to about 15 knots. We are about 60 nm miles off the coast of Washington and heading southwest ever out to sea.

Day Two: Sunday, September 9th, The Captain waits eagerly for the crew to awaken for the day. Winds have remained a steady 15 – 20 knots. The mainsail is raised with one reef. The engine is turned off at 8:20. Silence at last – only it must be noted that there is really nothing silent about sailing in a 15 – 20 knot wind in heavy, swelling seas, but at least the engine noise and rumble are gone. By 12:00, The Captain notes that we are about 100 nm off the Oregon coast opposite Tillamook. It has turned into a beautiful, sunny day, and everybody is in high spirits with Avante grandly under sail. This is exactly as it should be out here on the Pacific Ocean going south.

With the wind building as evening approaches, the second reef is put in around 5:30 in preparation for the night. Though the winds are not high enough to warrant the second reef, it is put in as a precaution and in readiness. No one wants to be scrambling around in the dark on a bouncing, rolling deck doing what could have been done in the daylight. By 9:00 or 2100 hours, winds have built up to 25 knots, and we are flying along at 9+ knots. The First Mate again has offered to stand the 9:00 to 12:00 watch, but she has some doubts about her ability to respond to a sailing crisis. The Captain assures her that she will do just fine. Everyone is within calling distance. Okay, she can do this, and she does. The winds, though high, are steady and sure, and the seas, though rolling, are rolling in a fairly dependable fashion. To her amazement, she enjoys being out there in the dark, all by herself. The stars are bright overhead, and, as she studies them, she notes that there are no planes up there at all. When was the last time you looked up into the night sky and did not at some point see a plane? We are out on the ocean and not in anyone’s flight path. She looks around her at sea level. There is not another light. There is not another boat. Other than the three souls sleeping soundly below decks, she is all alone except for the forceful wind and the bashing ocean. It is beautiful and powerful, and she finds she is really enjoying her time alone out there with the elements. The boat feels like it is on a constant downhill roller coaster ride. There’s no doubt in her mind that we are going south. South is down, right?

At 11:00, The First Mate decides she wants a cup of milk to while away the last hour. She unclips herself and heads below. Pulls out a cup, half fills it with milk, and as she is about to take a sip, a wave hits and the boat rolls. Thinking she has the dining room table behind her, she leans into the table to steady herself. The table is not there. Instead she freefalls to land on her rump on the floor. Fearful that the sound of the fall was enough to wake the dead, she waits for the crew to run out to her aid. No one does. They sleep on unaware. So much for everyone being within "calling distance". Stunned, she stupidly sits there anticipating pain. There is none. Body seems to be intact. Carefully, she unwedges herself from the slot between the dining room table and the wall where she has fallen. Now, does anyone know how many droplets a scant half cup of milk can explode into? Irritated she wipes up what she can see in the dim light, but in the morning is aghast to view just how far and wide that milk flew. There is no easy way to wipe up dried on milk. Anyone who has ever let a toddler with a baby bottle of milk wander around the house knows this. Weeks later, she is still finding milky white droplets and scrubbing them away.

By the time John relieves her at 12:00 or 0000 hours, winds have built up to 25 – 30 knots. Waves have also built up, and the ride on deck is uncomfortable even though Avante is moving thru the water easily and as smoothly and surely as a boat can do in such conditions. The First Mate, however, is relieved to be relieved and gratefully heads to her bunk.

Third Day: Monday, September 8th. At 0600, The Captain’s log notes, “A rough night. Lots of rolling. Wind 28 – 32 knots from NW. Now 160 nm off Cape Blanco, OR.” The day dawns overcast and cold. What happened to the beautiful day we had yesterday? By 8:30, we bring in the jib and run on with just a double-reefed mainsail. We are rolling and rocking. That feeling of a downhill roller coaster ride continues, except occasionally when we do hit the bottom of a wave and the boat rolls uncomfortably moving forward and upward thru the descending water. With no place to go, this huge wave of miserably cold water washes over the bow inundating anyone on deck and in its way. To our amazement (and amusement), it is Al who gets smacked every time with this dousing of crystal cold water. He’s a regular water magnet! The only time The Captain gets hit is when he goes up on deck to talk to Al during Al’s watch. Ka-bang, Ka-whoosh, not a minute after he joins Al on deck. We all wisely stay clear of Al on deck.

At 9:00, The Captain announces to everyone that we have just completed a 216 nm day! The First Mate does not at first realize how momentous a feat this is in a sailboat, but now she knows. John tells us that this trip is completing two of his sailing goals: one is to sail down the coast from Canada to San Francisco and the other is to sail a 200 nm day.

At 12:00, The Captain’s log notes that we gybed to port tack. We are now 175 nm off the coast, and with that gybe have begun the journey back to the coast toward San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge. Winds have decreased a bit to 22 – 26 knots, but we are still rocking and rolling. An estimate by the crew put the waves at 14 to 15’ high. (There is no way to get a picture of those waves, but honestly they were significant and not something I could endure watching for long.) The Captain notes in his log that the crew is a “little groggy” but “getting used to watches and the impact of a rolling ride on sleep.” That was The Captain’s impression. The First Mate notes in her blog that everyone is “very” groggy. There seems to be a general feeling of being “under the weather.” No one has much of an appetite. John at one point mentions that this is a good time for nothing more than Granola Bars, which The First Mate remembers that she has on board. Out come the Granola Bars and then some cut-up fruit. That is it for the day. Everyone is on their own and seems content. It is too cold and miserable to be on deck unless one is on watch. If not on duty, everyone stays mostly in his bunk. The prone position is the only safe position unless one is wedged into the Nav Station. If not cleated on deck or prone in bed, the alternative is bumping off corners, walls and doors. None of that is fun. Bundled up in several layers of slippery fleece, The First Mate hunkers down on her bunk trying to stay put without sliding off the bed or being tossed to the floor – which happens twice, first to her amusement and second to her rising irritation. Then The Captain sets up the lee cloth which The First Mate had forgotten about since there had never be a need for it until then. Somewhat secure, she dozes fitfully thinking that if it were raining; maybe one could say we were in a storm, rather than just heavy winds and rolling seas. Was this trip ever going to end?

I don’t remember what I prepared for dinner that night. I do know I fed the crew, but it was nothing that I had planned. Cooking, as I knew it, became impossible. The oven could not be used. Pans would just slide around banging off the insides with contents being spewed and burned all over the oven. The stovetop has these widgets that screw on the grid and hold pans in place. Since they do not work on the sloping sides of the frying pans that I have, I was reduced to one-pot cooking in a straight-sided stew pot. We had plenty of food on board, but I needed to get creative with it in my one usable stew pot. Needless to say, I excused myself from standing the 9:00 to 12:00 watch that third night out. The conditions were just a little too much for me. I was not scared. In fact, I was never scared other than the occasional pitty feeling when the boat hit the bottom of a wave trough and rolled before it rose gallantly into the next wave. Scared really is not the right word to describe my response, though I probably looked scared. It was more the panicked scramble to hang on now or be tossed about to painfully land either on the corner of something or on the floor. I have black and blues to attest to the fact that my feeble scrambles did not always work, and I am sure the rest of the crew, if they would admit it, could show a few, too.

We continue into the night with just the double-reefed mainsail. During the night, wind gusts rise up to 35 knots! Is not that gale force? The First Mate does not even try or want to think of The Captain’s formula of the force on a sail being the squared root of the wind velocity. 35 squared is not a pretty number. According to The Captain’s log we spend “another uncomfortable night with high wind and constant rolling.”

Fourth Day: Tuesday, September 9th. At 0900, The Captain records another 200 nm day! 210 nm to be exact! With two 200+ nm days in a row, we are all jubilant. Could we make it three? We are racing along and talking of arriving in San Francisco a day earlier than expected. However, to temper all that, the weather continues overcast and ever colder, but happily, all aboard seem to be feeling much better and have adjusted well to both the routine and the motion of the boat. The First Mate sets up her computer in the salon wedging herself amongst cushions and works on her blog. She comes up with something for dinner in her one pot and is determined to work on one-pot menus this winter back in Telluride. Casseroles are the answer. Yuck, she realizes that she has not made a casserole since the kids were little! Rice and beans and stuff with Campbell’s Mushroom soup – yuck. There’s got to be more creative mixes than that out there.

At 6:00, we are passing abeam of Cape Mendocino about 100 nm offshore. On the trip north in 2006, we spent a whole day slowly crawling north along this very same coast. Winds were on our nose and current was against us. We made a pittling 4-5 knots of speed over the ground. Cape Mendocino was never going to let go of us. Today we race by and, even though we are not near enough to see the Cape, we are not concerned about it except that we are expecting the winds to drop slightly as we get well south of the Cape. They do drop a bit, and we are able to raise the jib. Around 4:00, winds are down enough to shake out Reef 2, but by 6:30 the reef is put back in as we expect the winds to increase as night falls. Increase they do to 30 – 35 knots! On watch that night, John records a boat speed of 12.2 knots. We are flying to San Francisco. All we need to do is hang on!

At some point that night when Al was on watch, the boat really hits bottom and rolls. Out of the black night, a huge wave slams into the boat and rolls across the deck. In the pitch dark, Al gets hit unawares, smack in the face. Bill and I in our bunk hear him sputtering and grumbling, and we cannot help laughing at his consistent affinity for the cold ocean. Then I hear water running and dripping down the companionway onto the floor. That’s not good. Fearful that someone could slip, I get up and fetch a towel to wipe up the water. There is poor Al sitting on the top steps valiantly standing his watch dripping water from every seam. I give him the towel and fetch another for the floor.

Fifth Day: Wednesday, September 10th. By the early hours of the morning, winds have decreased to 23 – 28 knots. By daylight, they are down enough to shake out both reefs, and by 8:00 they are below 10 knots. We had hoped for another 200+ mile day under sail, but that is not to be. The engine is cranked on, and we motor-sail. By 10:00, winds are so diminished that we take the sail down and continue on under just motor. Though the day is once again overcast and grey, we are not going to let it affect our moods. We are going to arrive in San Francisco today! We will go under the Golden Gate Bridge! We are one full day ahead of schedule.

At 10:55, The Captain’s log notes, “Land sighted behind Point Reyes”. We still have a long way to go, but sighting land means the end is within reach.

Out of the mist, we see a strange whitish stanchion looking like an over-sized mast. It does not seem to be connected to anything. Could that be part of the Golden Gate Bridge? Gradually, it takes shape and the rest of the bridge slowly appears. There it is! We seem to creep toward it.







We shoot pictures of it and of ourselves from every angle.











Slowly, the bay opens up beyond the bridge, and then before we know it, we are under that bridge and into the immense bay of San Francisco. According to The Captain’s log we motored under The Golden Gate Bridge at 4:00. From the water, the bay looks huge, much bigger than it looks from the land.







The wind picks up just before we get to the bridge. Wind surfers are out enjoying the 20+ knot winds in the Bay, and we are impressed with how strong one needs to be to ride those boards and hold on.








We continue on toward the city, enjoying the view as famous landmarks reveal themselves before our eyes. We go under the Bay Bridge and tie up at South Beach Harbor.





South Beach Harbor proves to be a great location and a clean marina. The first thing we all do is head to the showers. Ah, what a luxury after 5 days at sea!








Evening aboard Avante with the Bay Bridge lit up in the background.






We now have several days in the city before the crew departs and The Captain and First Mate continue south to San Diego. Part of the first day is spent repairing a water hose that burst and cleaning the boat. Those chores done, we explore the city meeting for cocktails and dinner each evening. With the marina located right off the Embarcadero, everything we need from shopping, to restaurants, to transportation out and beyond is within easy walking distance. It is a delightful time, as, without the pressures and demands of being at sea, we can sit back, talk and fully enjoy each other’s company.
Our last evening all together is spent being classic tourists in San Francisco. We take the trolley then the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf for dinner. It is sad to know that tomorrow John will be leaving and the next day Al will head home, too. Both Al and John want to join us again on another passage, and there is no doubt in our minds that we certainly are going to do what we can to make that happen!

The trip log records a total of 1069 nm from Canoe Cove to San Francisco. From Neah Bay when The First Mate started numbering the days, it was 859 nm to San Francisco. Most noteworthy is that 615 of those miles were done completely under sail in 69 hours at an average speed of 8.9 knots. Wow, what a ride we had!