Wow this place is still here and a bunch of people are the same.

That's pretty cool. I'll have to linger and read some posts for a while.

I hope everyone is doing Ok and keeping busy.

Wrote a bit of a story this week. Not sure what to do with it so I guess I'll post it here. Tried doing that over at Sailing Anarchy a couple years ago. What a miserable bunch of assholes those guys are. Put me off posting anything anywhere until today. But I remember you guys are more friendly and liked my trip reports in the past.

Oh and FWIW I did eventually get three nights offshore but that was so long ago now it doesn't count any longer. Still working on that one, it's tough to do around here.

....

Tunnel Vision

If you are into sailing, the dream of days long broad reaching in warm waters and sunshine ending at some exotic tropical island is never far away. But the realities of making that happen are, for some of us, quite daunting.

In these parts if the aspiring dreamer ever intends to return home they’ll have to sail in the North Pacific and that does not often involve a lot of broad reaching in sunshine and warm waters.

Just getting to the good stuff from here requires sailing down the cold, windy, and frequently fog bound coasts of Washington, Oregon, and Northern California and getting to that requires getting through the Straits of Juan De Fuca.

So if you’re going to play at sailing in the North Pacific and test yourself to see if you have what it takes to actually achieve your dreams and still get the boat home the first thing you’ll need to do is get familiar with sailing to windward in cold lumpy seas. And what better place to do that than the Western Strait.

For years of sailing to all points in most conditions in the Eastern Strait my eyes and mind were always on the Western Strait and the vast ocean of dreams beyond. With two Swiftsures, two ocean passages, and two off season trips to Neah Bay, one of them probably ill-advised and the other a straight up horror show, I’d barely touched the Western Strait but this year I was determined to begin that phase of my ‘education’.

It started Memorial Day weekend. We left Skyline at 5AM Saturday and immediately began sailing to windward in big waves. After 13 hours of going to windward we started catching up to the tail end of the Swiftsure fleet west of Race Rocks in what we have come to call The Narrows, the narrowest part of the Strait. ‘Narrows’ is a relative term. The Strait is ten miles wide here, but it’s a distinctly different place from all others in terms of wind, wave, and current behavior so it warrants a name of its own.

On this our initial foray for the year the wind built up and the waves got big and not having to go to windward we opted to turn around and head back to Reid Harbor for a nap. We figured the only other options were to change to the #4 jib and continue to battle it out or start motoring up the US shore line, but those were options to be tried at a later time.

What was clear though is that the Strait west of Race Rocks is a different place than the Eastern Strait. Race Rocks marks a clear line beyond which the waves get much bigger and wind stronger. With its 50 mile length and 10 mile width it feels narrow, restricted, even claustrophobic at times. So we gave it a name which is a thing we do on Korrigan, and the name we gave it is ‘The Tunnel’. It started out as ‘The Tunnel of Doom’ but since a person should be able to stay out of there at the wrong times in the wrong boat the ‘Doom’ part of the name is more hypothetical than actual. But don’t kid yourself, if you are looking for your ultimate doom I’m sure you can find it there.

So The Tunnel it is and it has been the focus of most of my conscious thoughts for a couple of months now.

It’s frustrating to think that with a boat like I have that any place in this area should be difficult to get to and it’s more frustrating that typical summertime conditions should cause me to wonder if I even have what it takes to get through the intro to the place where I’ve always thought I’d like to be. And so throwing myself at the tunnel until I either give up or get comfortable there has become an obsession. I know there are conditions where a small boat simply isn’t going to make any seaward progress and it’s foolish to try. But it’s summer time. If I can’t handle conditions in the summer than I should probably be re-working my dreams.

Determined to break the psychological barrier of getting through the tunnel a friend and I set up a sure thing. We took a June trip to Neah Bay and beyond by virtue of motoring through the Strait in the Early morning before the wind picked up. The first day took us to Port Angeles easily and we tied to the dock around noon just as the wind which would eventually build to 30 knots began to increase. The second day, determined not to be turned back we started at 3AM and motored west until the wind increased enough to sail. By then we were at Sekiu and with smooth seas and just enough wind for the #4 jib we had a spectacular sail in the West Entrance, beyond Neah Bay, Tatoosh Island and out into the ocean. We decided that ‘out in the ocean’ means being able to look south down the coast beyond Tatoosh Island. We did that and more, sailing beyond the afternoon washing machine into a smooth swell and bright sunshine. Our trip back the next day was 15 hours from Neah Bay to James Island with a lot of motoring but even more spectacular sailing and introduced the concept of making the one way trip in a single day.

And that constitutes the intro, to my obsession with the Tunnel, and my brief qualifications to begin a course of study there. The first chapter coming up, Tunnel 101 would not disappoint.

With a new partner, and apparently kindred soul in finding pleasure in punishment we set out for what would be my second time of the summer transiting the tunnel. For two weeks in advance I watched the synoptic charts for the North Pacific, stayed glued to the marine forecasts and followed up the forecasts by looking at actual data as it occurred. As expected everything was typical, calm wind in the morning followed by a gradual increase from the west, peaking about sunset then a gradual decline back to light winds by early morning. Day after day it does this and was doing this. It felt like a pretty sure thing to expect more of the same. But to expect a sure thing is to challenge your gods and the gods and I do not get along very well.

We set out at 3:30AM with the intention of getting all the way to Neah Bay in a day. The expectation was to be motoring until sometime after noon when the wind would start to increase and we would start to sail. Instead we began sailing almost immediately. We made good time to Port Angeles and then tacked out towards Race Rocks. At that point the fog filled in around us and the wind increased enough to require a reef in the main. We sailed in increasing winds and waves and lowering visibility out to Race Rocks whereupon I decided it was time to test one of my previous hypotheses and tack back towards the US shore in hopes of getting into less wind and smaller waves.

But no sooner do I tack than the current changes direction. I know there’s a lot of talk about ‘slack water’ around here, but my experience is that there is no slack water. The current changes from in to out in minutes. During ‘slack water’ you will have some current still coming in and some starting to go out simultaneously, but none of it is just sitting around with nothing to do. It’s moving at a knot or better in some direction. Oh and don’t get mixed up and talk about the tide going in or out especially when referring to the Straits of Juan De Fuca.

The tide goes up and down, the currents go in and out. Take a look at the data some time and you will find that the current in the Straits goes out more than it comes in. The tide may be coming in but the current is still going out so don’t get confused between the two. Let that one sink in for a while. There are explanations but they’re not for this story. For this story it’s enough to know there is no slack tide and the currents are very strong in the Strait.(nl)

Now if your VMG to windward in 25 – 30 knots of wind is 3 maybe 4 knots if you’re good at driving through waves and you take away between 1 and 3 knots due to currents suddenly your best achievable VMG is going to be between 3 and 0 knots, most likely you’re going to spend a lot of the current cycle around a VMG of 0. And this is quite apparent when you look at your direction vectors on the chart and try a couple of tacks and see that in fact you are going nowhere. That’s another thing you’ll need to get used to out in the Straits, going nowhere!

And so on this trip, lesson one from the course Tunnel 101 we are quickly going nowhere and the second part of my hypothesis comes into play, motoring. My intent is to motor to windward along the US shore because it seems to be calmer close in there and the current should be weaker there. But as soon as I’m motoring towards the shore an endless line of ships decides to parade into the Strait and they are blocking safe passage across the shipping lanes.(nl)

Picture the situation, visibility is an 1/8th of a mile at best it’s blowing 25 and the waves are big. Radar is questionable and already a few boats have snuck into view without being seen on radar. Besides the parade of ships is 20 miles long they are doing 20 knots and it’s going to take me an hour at this rate to get across the shipping lane.

So we are stuck in the middle of the strait in increasing wind and waves and an adverse current. But this is something to be happy about, something to celebrate because before I had the AIS data displayed on the chart I wouldn’t have had any clue about the line of ships blocking the way to the shore and stretching 20 miles into the distance. Back then I guess I would have headed across and hoped for the best using the radar which would have been essentially useless considering how fast the ships are moving and how helpless you would be to avoid a collision if a giant ship suddenly appeared out of the fog coming straight on from the beam.

I guess I’ve never made such a hazardous move in the past or if I did, don’t remember. Ignorance is bliss with this sort of thing. But this time graced with the, now apparently essential, technology of AIS and a VHF radio I’m able to execute the maneuver in relative safety.(nl)So in the midst of bashing and smashing, sending saltwater skyward and having wave tops roll over the deck from stem to stern I make my first ever VHF call. I call into Seattle Traffic and tell them we are motoring up the center of the Strait and intend to make a right angle turn and pass behind the trailing ship in the parade.

But it takes a while to happen. We’re making 2.5 – 3 knots over the ground at best, motoring in some big waves. We wait and wait for the ships to pass and eventually are able to cut behind them and head over to the US shore.

The hypothesis becomes more of a theory as the waves become much smaller as we approach the shoreline; the wind is still up but without so much slamming we can push the throttle up some more and make better time against the wind and current.

At this point it’s afternoon, there’s no sign of the fog lifting and it’s really not a lot of fun to be out here. We are way too far into it to turn around now so onward to Neah Bay is the only good option. At Sekiu we get a bit of clearing and a bit of sun. The small fishing boats around us give us comfort. There’s something about not feeling alone out there that is very encouraging. The sun is out in force now, there’s wind and we’ve made it past the incoming period to once again have favorable current. But it’s too late in the day to start sailing again so we motor out the last few miles, few is ten in the Straits. As we’re approaching Neah Bay is just coming out of the fog and as we arrive it goes back into the fog.

It’s a foggy sunset that greats our arrival. The marina is full so we anchor for the first time in Neah Bay. It’s nice to be here even if a bit gloomy. The water is flat and I’m tired of bouncing around, I’ve been seasick all day and really need a rest.

The next day it’s still foggy. It’s been foggy and windy all night. We forego our plan of sailing in the ocean since it’s so heavily fog bound and after yesterday I don’t have the same craving for adventure. Instead I decide we’ll work our way back along the shore through the fog and get back to Port Angeles. There’ll be plenty of stress and adventure in that alone.

This day is a bit different. In this case fog does mean light or no wind. We motor for hours and hours along an invisible shore past invisible fishing boats. But eventually the sky clears, the sun comes out and the wind starts to build. At 1600 we are at Race Rocks with peak incoming current. You can’t set yourself up for a good sail better than that and we’re moving quickly straight towards Anacortes. At this point it’s not hard to decide to go all the way which we do arriving back a Skyline just after sunset and 14 hours from leaving Neah Bay.

So lesson one in our course of study had everything expected plus a little more. Neah Bay and back on a weekend, total travel time 32 hours. Nothing particularly difficult but still an arduous journey. It’s not for the faint of heart but like all this sort of adventure it’s worth it. There’s no place quite like Neah Bay. There aren’t many places where the loudest thing in the morning is the whoosh of air through an eagles wings as it flies over your head. The wilderness still has a voice out there and even if you are there for just a few minutes on the way to somewhere else the experience is special. This is the domain of eagles and fish, big waves and dark forests. It’s really too bad this place is so hard to get to but then if it weren’t I suppose it wouldn’t be the place it is.(nl)

And now it’s been a day and I’m working on a plan for chapter two. More sailing, less motoring, and less suffering is the goal for the next lesson.