Here's an interesting voyage underway. Skipper Buzz Gentes is in the process of completing the Great Loop in his sail-less Potter 15 (he has a pair of 2hp outboards). 

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Keith Prior dropped us a note to say he'd read with interest our Columbia 150 article in issue #61. Turns out Keith and his wife took a similar trip in their their 20' Thunder Jet Luxor OB from their floating home (near the mouth of the Sandy River and just south of the east end of McGuier Island) to Astoria. They also stopped at Sand Island and spent a night in Cathlamet and cruised up the John Day and Clatskanie rivers. They covered just over 275 miles in three days with an average speed of about 12 miles per hour heading into the chop and 19 miles per hour with the wind behind them.

Keith was nice enough to forward his log notes below.—Eds

Fish camps off the grid

Columbia River Journey—Scouting the Lower Columbia River: July 20 – 22, 2009

Monday, July 20 – Big Eddy Marina, Gesham, OR to Cathlamet, WA

1.    Departed 8:35 am Gresham, OR (Big Eddy Marina) to Sand Island (off St. Helens, OR); 32.54 river miles; Arrive 12:30 pm; Stayed 1 hour on Sand Island.

We left Big Eddy Marina (Floating Home) and cruised at 22 mph (Ground Speed) on flat water. Few avoidances. Passed one outbound bulk carrier vessel fully loaded near where the Willamette River meets the Columbia River. This vessel passed us while we were at Sand Island.

Kermit at Sand Island

Stopped at Sand Island to explore facilities: good camping at north end of island. Wind out of the northwest picking up to about 10 – 15 mph. Great docks though exposed to wind and current.

2.     Sand Island to Clatskanie, OR: 41.87 river miles; Clatskanie, OR to Cathlamet, WA: 18.74 river miles; combined travel time: 1:30 pm to 4:45 pm.

We ate lunch of shrimp and cocktail sauce aboard while underway. Headed north by north-west downriver in 2’ swells with occasional 2.5’ swells. Proceeded at 6 to 8 mph; taking spray and occasional waves over the bow.

Sought smooth water west of Sandy Island (across from Kalama, WA) and east of Cottonwood Island. Able to cruise at 19 – 22 mph on 8” chop into the wind.

Between the north end of Cottonwood Island and Cape Horn reached speeds of up to 32 mph on flat water.

Headed off the shipping channel into the Clatskanie River and cruised at 5 – 8 mph up the Clatskanie River to just beyond Humps Restaurant. Had we gone about 100 yards more we would have been in a narrow channel  and faced with a low bridge restriction.

Grays Bay vastness

Turned around and headed downriver and proceeded south of Wallace Island and Puget island to the turnoff into Cathlamet, WA. Docked in marina and walked 4 blocks to Bradley House. OK meal at the Riverview Restaurant (no river view but you can probably see the restaurant from the river).

Walked a few blocks down to the Rat Trap Tap (now shuttered) on the town’s waterfront.
Cathlamet was once a charming small village that now finds itself out of the way. It  has a bridge and ferry connection to the Oregon side of the Columbia river. Now it is like many small towns and has several shuttered businesses. A few small shops, a few restaurants, and some services. The town is the county seat and has a charming small courthouse across the street from the Bradley House.

Puget Island has a number of interesting sloughs and bays to explore when the water is higher and the tide is in. As the river was low and the tide was out we passed these by noting them for future explorations.

3.    Fuel At Cathlamet: 14 gallons; Departed Cathlamet at 10:00 am; Cathlamet to upper John day River: 35.14 river miles. Upper John Day River to Astoria West Basin: 12.75 river miles; Arrived West Basin 3:45 pm; Fuel at Astoria: 9 gallons.

Tuesday morning we left the shelter of the marina and passed the northwest end of Puget Island and headed across the channel into waterway south of Tenasillahe Island. Cruising at 5 to 9 mph to Aldrich Point and turned north between Woody Island and Horseshoe Island to check out a fish camp cluster along the west range of Woody Island; about 12 separate floating houses secured by pilings and without connecting docks or walkways. No underground or underwater cable leading to the small cabins may require generators for light. Unknown sanitation system.

Proceeded west south-west at 22 mph along the Woody Island Channel to a point due north of the west end of Marsh Island where the channel went from 45 feet to less than 1 foot. Ran aground on a sandbar that is about 100 feet farther south than shown on the 1-year old chart in my GPS/Sounder. Raised engine and drifted off the bar. Headed back east-north-east to meet the safety of the shipping channel near Brookfield, WA.

Proceeded west south-west to Tongue Point and turned south to Fern Hill and John Day Point.

We entered the John Day river and cruised at between 5 and 8 mph upriver past the point where the GPS/Sounder showed any river; about 1.5 miles to a point where the depth was under 5 feet but the river was about 150’ wide. Returned to the Columbia river and rounded Tongue point to face westerly winds and swells of up to 3’. Slowed to 6 mph and cruised into the west basin municipal dock at Astoria by 3:45 pm. Gas and move to transient dock. Fee $12.

John Day River settlement

We rested up for a while and walked a distance of a few blocks to the Bridge Bistro and had quite a splendid dinner. We then walked along the tram/pedestrian path east toward the Maritime Museum (a real treat we had visited on previous trips).

Along the walkway we encountered a beautiful memorial to those whose lives were lost engaging in the commerce of the water and waterways: fisher-persons, crew, beachcombers, cannery workers, and so on. An obscure building is the Finnish America society and it is tucked in almost completely under the bridge crossing the Columbia.

Whist on our walk a Columbia River Pilot boat took a pilot to an up-river bound cargo vessel. The pilot climbed aboard up a ladder fixed to the hull while the pilot boat and freighter were within 100 yards of the docks of Astoria.

Off to bed and slumber: got a really peculiar cramp in the big toe of my left foot in the middle of the night: toe tried to reach for my knee. How odd.

4.    Departed Astoria at 8:30 am; Astoria to Rainier, OR: 53.2 river miles. Rainier, OR to St. Helens, OR via the east side of Cottonwood Island: 26.2 river miles; Fuel at St. Helens: 9 gallons; Stop at Island Cafe on Tomahawk Island for Dinner. Arrived at Big Eddy Marina by 8:00 pm: 126.5 river miles.

Up and on the water by 8:30 am Proceeded upriver at between 22 and 26 mph, staying in the shipping channel. The wind was behind us so the boat fairly sailed from crest to crest on 1’ waves. There was a bit of pounding but our shock-mounted seats served us very well.
Stopped at Rainier, WA for an early lunch and, after going back around east of Cottonwood Island, stopped at St. Helens for fuel.

Proceeded into Multnomah Channel to Coon Island—a mariner’s park— with lovely dock facilities. Continued along Multnomah channel to the lower Willamette River, sailed out into the Columbia River and north of Hayden/Tomahawk islands to the east end of the Columbia Channel. Stopped for an excellent dinner at the Island Cafe.

Sailed the final leg north of the Lemon, Government, McGuire Island chain to arrive home at Big Eddy Marina before nightfall.

Lessons Learned:

• Get where you are going between sunup and noon before the wind picks up and makes water travel tricky.

• Keep your plans flexible.

• Don’t trust to GPS for navigation: watch your sounder carefully.

• Plan your trip with the tides in mind during low water in the late summer months.

• Carry the best, longest range VHF you can get, especially between Longview and Astoria.

• There is a lot of empty space out there in the lowest reaches of the Columbia and it is empty for a reason: there are hazards out there (sand, deadheads, pilings, rocks and vast areas of no human habitation).

• Get fuel wherever it is available.

• Proceed as the way opens. ###

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This is a repost of a trip report from 2006. I thought I'd put it up on this blog to dissuade any crazy minivan pilots from attempting a similar stunt.  You've been warned!

January, 2006 - Apache Lake

Since the boys and I had successfully navigated Roosevelt Lake (meaning we managed to sail some and not sink, get dismasted, blow up the boat,  or get hopelessly lost, and that we returned home with the same Boy Count we started with), I decided that for #1 Daughter’s first voyage we’d try a different lake. 

There were a number of considerations in choosing the next lake—Driving distance, lake size, possibility of wind, and likelihood of such vermin as jet skis.  Lake Pleasant (I mentally refer to it as Lake Unpleasant due to the great number of jet skis and bass boats during the summer) was out because it’s way the heck out on the other side of Phoenix and the return trip was certain to involve huge traffic jams due to the traditional lets-wreck-out-car-on-the-only-road-heading-into-phoenix scenarios that seems to be the case nearly every Sunday on I-17.

Bartlett Lake looked like it was polluted with big powerboats and Felicidade would not fit in too well with the beer-and -bimbos crowd that seemed to favor that scene.  Plus the lake was way out on the North side of Scottsdale.

Saguaro lake had potential, but looked kind of small.  Canyon Lake sounded interesting, but I had heard the wind was not particularly good there, and it appeared kind of narrow.  We could motor around exploring the canyons, but I wanted to sail, dangit, not exercise the outboard motor.

That left Apache lake.  According to the www.Recreation.gov website:

"Formed by Horse Mesa Dam, Apache Lake is long and narrow and is the second largest Salt River Project lake. It is located off the Apache Trail (Highway 88) about 65 miles from Phoenix, and is a favorite with many sportsmen, particularly those from southern Arizona. The Apache Lake Marina and Resort is one mile from the main highway and features a motel, gas station, coffee shop, picnic supplies and a trailer park for 12 units. A boat ramp and dock are at the resort, and a county sheriff's aid station is nearby. The Three Bar Wildlife Area is just across the lake from the resort and provides a scenic spot for photographers. Seven miles northeast of the resort is the Burnt Corral Recreation Site with 17 spaces for trailers which are less than 17 feet long. The area is open all year and has boat launching facilities. Game fish in Apache Lake include walleye, largemouth and smallmouth bass, red ear sunfish, bluegill, channel catfish and crappie.

There are two ways of getting here. Take the Apache Trail for 18 miles from Apache Junction past Canyon Lake to Tortilla Flat. Another 15 miles, some of which is unpaved brings you to your destination. Or, if you're coming from Globe, take Highway 88 northwest about 35 miles to Roosevelt Dam, then turn south along the Apache Trail (still Highway 88) about five miles to Apache Lake."

That didn’t sound too bad.  18 miles from Apache Junction?  Some of it dirt road?  Well, we live on a dirt road.  This is a highway (Hwy 88—it said so on the map!).  How bad can it be?  A lot of the Alaska highway was dirt, and that doesn’t slow down the RVs any.

 On the map it looked like a pretty good sized lake.  The website, www.apachelake.com, showed what looked like a real marina, a restaurant, and even a resort hotel on the lake.  Very nice. 

An SRP (Salt River Project-- They made the lake)  website talked about the dam itself:

"Horse Mesa Dam, located on Apache Lake, is named for nearby Horse Mesa, where thieves sometimes hid stolen herds. The dam was constructed between 1924-27. It is 300 feet high and 660 feet long. It has three conventional hydroelectric generating units rated at a total of 32,000 kW and one pumped storage hydroelectric unit added in 1972 and rated at 97,000 kW."

Sounded interesting, and relatively easy to get to. In retrospect I should probably have scrutinized the map a little closer.  The little red highway line looks rather squiggly when viewed closely, a clue that it may be a tad  more challenging than the breezy travel descriptions provided by the tourism websites.  But I get ahead of myself.

The trip out

#1 Daughter and I set off for Apache lake on Saturday morning and soon found ourselves in Apache Junction, where we turned right at Hwy 88.  The road was smooth pavement, curvy and swoopy, which was a nice change from the rectilinear monotony of most of the valley’s roads.  This isn’t so bad!  I was enjoying the drive and looking forward to a quick trip out to the lake.

A few miles later, the road narrowed a bit.  Not a problem, it was still a nice paved road.  We began climbing some gentle grades.  A few miles after that, we came to a one-lane bridge.  Huh?  I thought this was a highway!  What kind of stupid highway has one-lane bridges?  “Highway 88” was starting to look more like Podunk County Road #12A with each passing mile.  Still, we pressed on.  Soon we got our first look at Canyon Lake off to the left.  It looked small.  A couple of miles after this we passed through the crusty-looking flyspeck town of Tortilla Flat, which was busily extracting dollars from what appeared to be a large flock of snowbirds.  After creeping through the 200-foot long downtown of Tortilla Flat, we continued on our way.

The road narrowed some more, and began climbing in earnest.  Still not worried.  We had to slow down, but life was good.  Then we came to a sign-- “Dirt Road ahead”.  Okay.  I slowed down a bit and we plowed on over the dirt road.  “hwy 88” which, as dirt roads go, was pretty nice.  The next sign warned that trucks over 40 feet were not allowed on hwy 88.  As we passed this I was wondering how long the minivan and Felicidade were.  Forty feet?  I hoped not.  I kept up a cheerful face for #1 Daughter—“We’ll be there in about 30 minutes,” I said.  Silly Captain Dad.

Fish Creek Hill

Well, the nice dirt road began to narrow and twist, and the first washboards began appearing as the grade steepened.  A few miles later we were in full mountain goat mode, creeping along a periodically single-lane dirt road that was switch-backing up a precipitous canyon wall.   Yikes!  Now I was worried.  Every turn was a blind corner, and there were no guardrails or anything to prevent what would (hopefully) be a mercifully rapid descent to oblivion at the bottom of the canyon.  We moved along cautiously as the road twisted and turned, nervously looking down at the distant bottom of the gorge to our left.  Two or three cars passed us in the opposite direction, their drivers looking stunned, knuckles white on the steering wheel, with a what-the-hell-was-I-thinking expression on their faces.  I imagine I had pretty much the same expression.

The worst part came as we descended into a deep canyon.  About halfway down, a huge pickup truck appeared coming up from the opposite direction.  I got as far to the right as I could, fearing that I was about remodel Felicidade’s starboard rub rail on the cliff beside the road.  The pickup inched past us, thankfully on the  precipice side, getting as close as he could to the trailer.  We managed to squeeze past each other with no damage to anything but our respective nerves.

I found out later that the part of the road which was so gnarly is called “Fish Creek Hill”.  It is apparently infamous, being a 15-17% grade that drops 1000 feet in less than a mile, into the bowels of Fish Creek Canyon.Four-wheelers evidently love it; minivan pilots, towing a fat sail boat, not so much.

A USDA Forest Service website had this to say:

“The scenic byway (with numerous sharp curves and narrow stretches of road) is safe to all but the reckless driver. Traffic is moderately heavy on weekends, less on weekdays. Pulling trailers of any type over this road is strongly discouraged.

A significant part of the byway is unpaved, and is normally suitable for passenger cars. Keep to the right. DRIVE CAREFULLY AT ALL TIMES.

At Fish Creek Hill (Milepost 222.5), the road is primarily one-way (with turnouts), climaxing in a 1,000-foot drop in elevation over a 15-17 percent grade, hugging the bronze bluffs.

For closer viewing and photo-taking, please stop at the vista points where there is safe parking. DON'T look while driving! The road is safe but one must pay close attention to twists, blind-turns, and oncoming vehicles.

Prepare yourself for a most unusual experience: some of the most spectacular scenery to be seen in all of the West.”

Unusual experience, my poop deck.  How about a life-threatening experience? Twists, blind-turns, and oncoming vehicles; Ya think?  How about the grim reaper leering down at you as you fearfully inch down the precipice, trailer sailer in tow?  How about preparing yourself for a few new gray hairs? And that spectacular scenery?  Yeah, right.  Any fish in Fish Creek probably died long ago from terror as the minivans came crashing down the canyon into the creek. Puh-lease.

Arrival at the marina

Following  that harrowing experience, the so-called highway flattened and widened, and we made good progress towards Apache Lake.  After driving what felt like halfway to New Mexico, we finally came to the turn off for the marina.  Woohoo!  We had survived!  The rest was, going to be a piece of cake.

We could see the facilities below as we made the turn—Way down below, it seemed to me.  The 1-mile road to the marina was very step and sandy in parts, which gave me reason to worry that we might have trouble pulling the boat back up.  Minivan = front wheel drive, boat = 1900 lbs, steep, sandy dirt road, you get the picture.  Nonetheless we arrived at the launch ramp without too much fuss.   #1 Daughter & I went inside the resort, which was pretty much empty, though nice in appearance.  Hmm.  Could the Highway Of Doom have anything to do with the sparse occupancy?  We made our way to the launch ramp, where I called The Wife  and announced our safe arrival, omitting the details of our journey along  Death Highway 88.

The launch ramp was interesting, being composed of deep concrete troughs. While #1 Daughter explored the area, I rigged the boat up.  The only other boats there were a couple of huge Pontoon things which had apparently just pulled out of the lake.  While rigging the main sail I discovered I had forgotten the battens.  I worried about this for a few  moments and then decided that it probably wasn’t going to make a difference, considering my skill level and the relatively light winds (4 – 8 knots).

Launch

In about 30 minutes we were ready to launch.  I put #1 Daughter on the boat and backed down the launch ramp… and down, and down, and down.   The stupid ramp seemed to take forever, as it descended between two concrete walls.  At the water’s edge the walls soared 10 feet above the water level. What kind !of screwy launch ramp was this? I felt like I was locking through  the Panama Canal!  Once I got Felicidade into the water, I had #1 Daughter alert me when the boat was floating.  I had to back in pretty far before the boat would float off the bunks;  the minivan was pretty close to floating as well. #1 Daughter was thrilled by all this excitement;  I was rehearsing the apology I was going to give Sweetie for launching her car into Apache Lake. None too soon, the boat reluctantly lifted off the bunks.

I climbed onboard, fired up the engine, and backed us off the trailer.  About this time I realized that there were no docks visible nearby.  How was I supposed to tie up and get the minivan out of the lake?  We motored slowly around the huge concrete wall and finally I spotted some docks across  from the fueling area, right around the corner.

As we approached the docks, I realized that I had not yet rigged the dock lines and fenders.  Bad sailor!  Feeling slightly embarrassed, I quickly darted below and fetched the fenders and dock lines, and while #1 Daughter steered us in while I  got them rigged. .  As we approached the dock I saw signs telling us these were private docks and there was a $10.00 fee to use them.  Well screw that, I thought. and we tied up at the first outside dock.  I figured I was only going to be there long enough pull the trailer up and park it.  We made the dock without any mishap and tied up

I admonished #1 Daughter to stay put and not fall into the lake, and went back to the minivan.  As I pulled the trailer out, the front tires spun pretty good before slowly grabbing on, and for a panicked moment I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to pull the trailer out. The ramp was pretty steep, and covered with wet sand.   But we finally got moving, much to my relief.  After I parked the car, I quickly walked back to the boat, freaking out now at the thought of pulling the boat up the ramp.  If I had trouble pulling the empty trailer, it was going to a problem getting the boat up the ramp!.  Now I had another thing to worry about in addition to (a) the road from the marina to hwy 88, and (b) hwy 88. This was turning out to be more nerve-wracking than a flipping typhoon, fer cryin out loud.

Sailing at last

Back at the boat, we put the daggerboard down and shipped the rudder.  We started the outboard and cast off for #1 Daughter’s first sail at 1530 in a nice breeze of between 4 -8 knots.  While #1 Daughter steered us into the wind I put up the main, unrolled the genoa, and killed the outboard.  We were sailing!

I was impressed by how well #1 Daughter handled the boat.  She has a great touch—Steers just enough to stay on course without overcorrecting.  She had no problem with the concept of using a tiller and always managed to turn in the right direction.  Cool!  We sailed West on a starboard tack while  I explained to #1 Daughter  how to pick a spot on ahead to steer for, how to feel the wind, and what tacking was all about.

 As we beat to the Northwest,  I used the  wind gauge and measured the breeze.  4 knots steady, with occasional puffs to 6 -8.  When the puffs hit, Felicidade put her shoulder down  and accelerated nicely.  It was great, even though it only happened a couple of times.  I was very pleased with how the boat was performing—the helm was close to neutral (I guess remembering to tighten the backstay paid off on this sail!) and the boat happily performed all required maneuvers with little fuss.  It was fun to heel over a little bit in the gusts, though the first time it happened #1 Daughter & I did pucker up just a bit.  But Felicidade sailed like a dream.  What a great little boat.

We seemed to average between 3.0 and 3.6 knots.  I had forgotten to zero out the GPS so I don’t know what out actual max and average speeds were under sail, but the boat seemed to move along very well in the light airs.  I think we even topped 4 knots a couple of times.  In any case, Felicidade felt like she was sailing great and we were having a blast.

By 1615 we were SW of Bass Point.  The sailing was fun, but we weren’t really getting anywhere very quickly.  I wanted to make better progress towards an anchorage, likely spots being 1 – 2 miles ahead.  #1 Daughter agreed, so I reluctantly started the outboard, rolled up the genoa and dropped the main.

  In search of an anchorage

The first anchorage we approached was where Indian Wash joined the lake.  It was a narrow little cove with a deep V at the head where the wash (supposedly) ran.  I liked it because it was sheltered from the westerly wind, but as we motored in slowly the lead line told me it was staying pretty deep despite the narrowing cove.   #1 Daughter steered and managed the motor while I threw the lead line and fretted.  About 100 feet from the head of the cove, we sounded 24 feet.  I dropped the anchor and let out about 60 feet of rode, then had #1 Daughter put the outboard in neutral while I waited to see how we’d swing. 

We slowly spun around the anchor, coming uncomfortably close to a couple of large boulders.  I knew if I let out any more rode we’d get too close to the rocks.  All the way up the cove, it looked like we could squeeze in to the narrow part of the wash, which I briefly thought about trying.  I decided against it because the sides of the wash looked pretty rocky and I wasn’t sure I could keep the boat centered in it.  Plus I’d have to blow up the raft to tie up, and I didn’t really feel like screwing around with the raft just yet.  Reluctantly, I decided to seek a better anchorage. I pulled the anchor up, piling the rode on the deck, and #1 Daughter steered us West out of the cove. 

Almost due West across the lake was a bight with something called Hermit’s Cave.  According to the chart it looked like the bottom was flat and only 10 feet deep.  That sounded like a good spot for me except from where we were, motoring out of Indian Wash,  it looked like the cliffs ran right to the water’s edge, and it was exposed to the wind which was blowing  from the NW.  It was about 2/3 mile across the lake to investigate.  On the other hand, half a mile to the NW was Ash Creek, which while somewhat small appeared like it might make a good anchorage.  I opted to head us up to Ash Creek.  If that didn’t work out then we’d be at a better position to look at the Hermit’s cave area through the binoculars, and if all else failed there were all kinds of coves and bights further to the NW.

In a few minutes #1 Daughter had us slowly Pottering into Ash creek.  It was a wide bowl of a cove with a nice little beach at the head, surrounded by saguaro cactuses.  To our port was a sandbar (well, maybe more like a gravel bar)  that the chart didn’t show—We gave it a wide berth.  #1 Daughter expertly steered us into the center of the cove and I dropped the anchor in about 20 feet of water.  We put the motor in neutral and waited to see what the anchor did as the breeze swung us around.  After a few minutes I let out 110’ of rode, as much as I dared to with the rocks all around us, and killed the motor.

This looked like a pretty good spot. I stood there admiring the scenery for a while, letting the stress of the last few hours roll off.

Life at anchor

“Don’t tell me you forgot a pan to cook the ramen in, Dad,” came #1 Daughter’s accusing voice from below, interrupting my reverie.  Doh!  I had a checklist, but somehow forgot to follow the stupid thing.  #1 Daughter gave me one of those looks familiar to any male who has ever been married, but I was the Intrepid El Capitan, and would figure something out.

Salvation arrived in the form of the fruit cocktail I had brought for dessert.  We opened it up, and ate the fruit cocktail.   Next I removed the paper label from the can and rinsed it in the lake.  I  used some of my stainless steel rigging safety wire to make a grate to set the can on over the stove burner, and in a few minutes we had boiling water for ramen.  Crude, but effective.

After dinner we amused ourselves by playing Poker, Millbourne, and Mancala.  #1 Daughter creamed Captain Dad, showing insufficient regard for my lofty stature.  I pledged to make her walk the plank come daylight.  She reminded me that Mom would make me walk the plank if I did that.  We thus arrived at an amiable truce and turned in for the night after a  story.

During the night, I slept better than I had on the Roosevelt Lake trip with the boys.  I woke up at 2300, and took the opportunity to pop my head out of the hatch an survey the surroundings.  Everything seemed to be in order.  There was no moon, but the bathtub ring around the lake glowed eerily in the darkness.  The wind had died down, and the water no longer had any chop.  Felicidade was sitting peacefully at anchor.  I checked on #1 Daughter who was burrowed deep into the quarterberth. I went back below and climbed into my sleeping bag.

The next morning I woke up about 0630.  I climbed stiffly out of the sleeping bag and fired up the propane heater.  Shortly thereafter #1 Daughter woke up.  We had breakfast and played Millbourne again as the sun illuminated the cliffs around us.

Around 0815 we got underway.   I had to haul on the anchor pretty good to pull it up, and when it came to the surface there was a large glob of grey-white mud on it.  When I took sailing lessons on Lake Pleasant a few years ago, the instructor had complained that anchoring was not very good in AZ lakes.  Twice now I’d anchored and things were fine.  Maybe it depends on how neurotic one is about picking the perfect spot.  I was trying really hard to pick what looked like flat bottom anchorages on the theory that there would be fewer boulders to mess things up.  So far so good!

We fired up the Iron Jenny and headed East out of Ash Creek. As we motored into the lake,  my cell phone had no reception (it was so bad that the phone didn’t even attempt to connect, and instead entered “power saving mode.”), and I knew The Wife would want to hear that we survived the night.  So the first thing we needed to do was go back to the marina and use the phone.   The wind was very light, and it would have taken us forever to get to the marina, so we powered on instead of sailing.

  It took us about 20 minutes to make the marina.  As we approached, I noticed there was another launch ramp to the East of where we had put in.  We cruised past it and checked it out—It looked like a much flatter, and less sandy, ramp than the other one.  With relief I resolved  to pull Felicidade out from that ramp, and leave the other ramp to the pontoon boats.  While checking out the new ramp I spotted a small dock next to the fuel docks.

We tied Felicidade up to the  small dock, and hiked up the hill to the resort.  While #1 Daughter wandered the gift shop I interrogated the lady manning the front desk about the condition of the road from here to Roosevelt Lake.  No way I was going to drive back up Fish Creek Hill!  The woman was very helpful and told me that the road to Roosevelt Lake was wider and better that the way we had come.  That made me feel much better! I mused aloud that nobody was likely  to be pulling those big old honking pontoon boats over that nasty road.  The woman said that what most people with the big pontoon boats did was put in just below Roosevelt Dam, and float down to the marina.

We checked in with The Wife, and headed back to the boat.   The wind had come up while we putzed in the resort, so we got underway and set sail.  We ran dead downwind to the West at about 1.6 – 2.2 knots.  I performed a couple of jibes, which the boat accomplished without any fuss.  It was nice to be able to push the boom across—A bonus for having a small, light boat!  After a while I set the whisker pole, and we ran wing-to-wing down the lake.  It was great sailing.  Felicidade handled great on a run, and it was very quiet and peaceful. 

#1 Daughter amused herself by tying Barbie to the roller furling line and trailing her behind the boat. Barbie gets Keelhauled!

While we sailed I took some bearings off of the various bluffs and headlands and plotted our position, getting my navigator jollies.   I used the Iris 50 hockey puck and the KVH  to shoot the bearings.  Both instruments worked well, except the contrast on the KVH was not very dark.  Since I had calibrated the KHV to work with my glasses, I preferred to shoot the bearings with that.  When using the hockey puck I had to take my glasses off before shooting the bearing, which was a pain. 

About 40 minutes later we were abeam of  our anchorage at Ash creek, in the center of the lake.   As we sailed by we spotted a bass boat anchored there. I was hoping to make it further down the lake under sail to see what lay around the next bend, but right about then the wind died.  We flopped about  for a while before I gave up and started the motor.  Before we got moving I shot a fix, then plotted a course to Hermit’s cave, which turned out to be 210 degrees, more or less.  I did this because I couldn’t see anything resembling a cave from where we were, and wanted to go direct to the cave as opposed to running up and down the shoreline under power searching for it.

I steered a course of 210 degrees towards the cliffs on the  SW side of the lake.  In about 8 minutes we came up to a small cut in the cliff.  Just above the bathtub ring was a small cave with what appeared to be wood covering the bottom half.  Felicidade slowly pottered into the cut for a closer look.  #1 Daughter wanted to get real close, but I started getting nervous because of the confined space.  Plus if there was an actual hermit in there, being Arizona he was probably pretty well armed. Before we got too deep in the cut I reversed the motor and backed us out.

Back to the trailer

It was getting late, so we steamed back to the marina.  We tied up again at the small dock, where  I raised the centerboard, unshipped the rudder, and got Felicidade ready to pull out.   I walked to the minivan and backed it down the new ramp.  When I stepped out of the car, with the trailer in the water up to the correct depth, my bare feet were slipping and sliding on the brown algae.   I could barely stand, and ended up hanging on to the driver’s door, which closed (gently)  on my fingers.  I felt pretty stupid hanging there by my fingers, feet sliding around, barely upright.  Somehow I managed to make it to dry concrete without going swimming.

Back at the boat, all of a sudden the wind picked up, this time blowing a solid 7 knots, of course directly across the boat ramp.  Oh great.  NOW there’s wind.  My second ever retrieval, and a veritable hurricane of a crosswind! When I was a pilot I relished crosswind landings, but I had a feeling this was going to be a challenge. 

Nonetheless, we fired up the outboard and got going into the windy lake.  When we cast off from the dock I forgot to let go of the stern line until the boat had warped herself backwards around the end of the dock.  No harm done, but I felt pretty stupid.  I was holding the stern line firmly and wondering why the boat was doing what it was doing.  Duhhh.  I hope I quit doing these kinds of things as I gain experience!

Anyway, we approached the trailer.  I knew I had to head into the wind, and I did so, until I turned into the trailer.  At this point I discovered how a Potter P19 handles without daggerboard or rudder!  In a word, she floats like a piece of Styrofoam, skittering sideways all over the place.  Needless to say My first approach had to be aborted.  We backed out and circled around for another shot.  This time I got Felicidade in between the guideposts, albeit at a good angle.  But we were close enough for me to go monkey off the pulpit to attach the trailer winch, which I did, standing on the 6 inches or so of water covering the trailer frame.

#1 Daughter got the boat centered by pulling on the guides as I winched away, and in a few moments we were all set.  I gingerly stepped off the trailer into the brown algae, but this time I was wearing shoes and had no problem, to my relief.   I felt I had already made enough of a spectacle of myself without falling into the lake.

Dismasted

We pulled the boat out without difficulty and parked above the ramp.  I rigged the mast-raising tackle and disconnected the forestay.  Heading aft, I heard a ping! And the mast began to slowly topple aft.  The tackle had disconnected from the gin pole, and the mast fell free as I watched in horror.  It bounced off the hatch several times before I got hold of it and put it in the cradle. Fortunately the massive bludgeon missed the daughter, though her tender ears did learn a few new words from Captain Dad.

The boom vang u-shackle attached to the lower part of the mast had punched a neat square hole in the forward edge of the hatch.  Other than that, there didn’t appear to be any damage, other than to my nerves.

I retrieved the twist shackle that had been holding the tackle to the gin pole, and it was open but appeared undamaged.  I don’t know for sure, but my guess is that it had twisted somehow which caused it to open under load.  Alas.  I guess now I get to learn fiberglass repair!  Could have been worse.

Once I regained my composure, I got the boat secured for trailering, and we got moving.  The road from the resort back up to so-called-highway 88 was, as I had feared, pretty bad.  I put the minivan in low gear and kept my speed up.  A couple of times we lost steerage way and the car began skittering sideways, but by using the entire road I managed to get us up to the top.

Once on hwy 88 we made good time traveling 12 miles to Roosevelt dam.  #1 Daughter was impressed by the dam, and I pointed out where the boys and I had anchored on the last trip.

The trip home was uneventful.  Another successful voyage for Felicidade! And this time it only took about 6 bottles of 2-buck Chuck to get myself calmed down enough for the next road trip.

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Two weeks ago 'Jo, I, and Bosun traveled over to Channel Islands Harbor to sail with Captain Howie and his group, The Socal Potters. It's a seven hour trip for us to get over there with Dauntless in tow but it's a trip we've made every year for the last four years. In fact, it was the first place and time that we actually launched Dauntless after acquiring her and having to do major repair work. So, it's kind of like an anniversary every time we go.

We usually stay for 3 or 4 days and the group either sails out to Anacapa Island or up to Ventura, or both. Well, this year the wind just didn't cooperate. A high pressure system set-up right over us. Temps soared (for the coast anyway) and winds dropped. On Saturday morning the group assembled to head the 11 or 12 miles offshore to Anacapa. There was no wind.....none. Hoping that as we got offshore the breezes would pick up, off we went under motor. Jo and I weren't planning on going the whole way, anyway, but we were hoping to head out with the group and find some sailing. It wasn't to be had.

We were trailing behind the main group that was pushing to make time for the trip out to the island. A couple of other boats were in the vicintiy of us. Suddenly we were surrounded by a pod of dolphins. Not 5 or 10, or even 15 or 25, but lots of them. They were everywhere. We circled around to stay in the area. As I turned the boat the dolphins that were riding our bow turned with us. I looked over at Howie's boat, Sweet Thing II, and the same thing was happening to them. Craig in his P-19 was experiencing the same thing.



We played with these guys for well over an hour, circling around they would jump from our boat to Howie's, then Craig's, then back to ours. They'd split up and give us all a group of our own and then all converge into one group again. As they would swim alongside the boat you could literally see them looking at you. You could see them switch their gaze from me in the cockpit to 'Jo on the bow. It was amazing. I've seen it before, but never for such a prolonged time. Their motion through the water was effortless and they could speed away from us at will....but then they'd come back! Occasionally you could even hear their high pitched sonar sounds they make.

The entire episode lasted well over an hour. Eventually we turned for home as the pod started moving on.

Motoring back to the harbor was a time of reflection for me. In my everyday life I sometimes find myself so caught up in things. Like so many of folks out there, recent times at work have involved budget cuts, manpower shortages, and leadership that at times seems so out of touch with reality that it's hard to believe. Power struggles within the organization disgust me, especially when they lead to decisions the are made for entirely the wrong reasons. I came looking to find a get away from the whole situation and turn my brain off for a while. I knew a good stiff ocean breeze would distract me, at least for the short time that we'd be there.

 I didn't find that breeze......
 
What I found was better. That pod of dolphins opened my eyes. My focus has been on such a microcosm that my viewpoint has been skewed. All these people that I have been so frustrated with, the ones that are the "movers and shakers" (at least in their eyes), the ones that make the decisions based on personal motivations rather than the good of all, the ones that abuse their power to attack anyone that challeges their motivations, regardless of the damage it may do...they are only kidding themselves. They are big fish in a very little pond. Yes, in this little town of 50,000 people they have the power to do what they do....but in the overall picture they are little people and inconsequential. There is a great big world out there that moves along whether we know it or not. That pod of dolphins is somewhere out there in the Pacific, right now as I type this. They are hunting for food, giving birth to and raising their young, and playing on someone else's bow wake. The pod lives on with no ill will towards anything. Their motivations are pure. Acquire what is neccessary to support their own. Period. They don't destroy their own environment. They don't seek to acquire perceived wealth or worry about their own self-importance. It makes me think that maybe they look at us (humans) in amazement...of our ingnorance as a race. It made me wish that my world was more like theirs.

We returned to the dock early. Most of the group had gone the whole way out to the island. With no wind, and our four legger (Bosun) aboard, we figured we'd head back, get some lunch, and let him make a pit stop.

As afternoon moved into evening the boats began returning. Everyone arrived back in the harbor and smiles and laughter soon filled the docks. An impromptu dock party began. Someone decided we needed pizza and soon six or seven pizzas were being devoured by the group. The finger dock between Dauntless' starboard side and Sweet Thing's port side became "The Spot".

People were sitting on the boats, on the dock, in beach chairs, or just milling around the group. Open pizza boxes covered the concrete dock. Multiple conversations could be heard at any one time, all interspersed with laughter and joy.

 

Pizza boxes on the ground, chips and salsa on the cabin tops, drinks for everyone......soon crews from other boats nearby, not even associated with our group  began to mosey over. They were welcomed with open arms and joined in on the the feeding frenzy.

As darkness set in, Bosun indicated it was time for a walk. He and I took a little stroll up the dock and through the park like surroundings of the harbor area. The whole time we were walking my mind was thinking about the dolphins. We walked for about 20 minutes before returning to the docks. The tide was out making the docks quite a bit lower than the walkway above. As we came down the gangway to the dock I could see the whole scene from above. All the crews were there in the dim rays provided by the dock lights. There were so many conversations going on that it was difficult to pick out just one from a distance. Someone had turned some music on in the background. Every body was eating, laughing, and moving about. One second there would be a group by Dauntless' bow and Sweet Thing's stern, then as the laughter continued the group mingled around and reformed on Sweet Thing's bow and Dauntless' stern. Then everyone momentarily got on the same conversation and an uproarious laughter was heard before they broke up into indiscernable conversation and reformed their groups again.

Right then it hit me: I'd seen this before—I'd found my Pod ;-)

Thanks gang I needed that.


Casting off

—Sean Mulligan

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Here's Andrew Linn's report from the C150.—Eds

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Checking in from Maple Bay Marina this afternoon. Looks like we've got somewhere around 120 nautical miles under the keels so far. Eight boats remain in the fleet, 3 M23s and 5 M17s. Everyone else has had to go back to reality already. Luckily, for the rest of us, we get to continue to play for a while longer.
 
Our sail from Ganges to Montague Harbor had some decent wind. It was a short sail but fun nonetheless.

John and Julie onboard the M23 Dream Time sailing to Montague Harbor.

Montague proved to be another stunningly beautiful stop. When we arrived the Government Dock at the marine park was already full. Most of our fleet was grabbing mooring balls. We elected to grab a slip at the Montague Marina right next door. Right about the time we secured a slip, dock space at the Govt Dock became available but since we already had secured the marina slip we decided to stay.
 
Luckily for me we just missed having a major/minor tragedy. The marina had assigned us a slip over the radio and indicated that it was a starboard side tie, bow in. We usually tow the dinghy off the starboard stern cleat. As we've done so many times before, 'Jo helped me move the dinghy over to the Port side and shorten its lead so it'd be close in to the boat while maneuvering in the marina. As we approached the dock the wind as setting us off. My usual tactic to handle that is to carry a little more speed into the dock, approaching it at a fairly steep angle. I use the outboard with the steering lock released and as we approach the dock I turn the outboard hard over to the side the dock is on and use reverse to slow the boat as well as to pull the stern to the dock at the same time. It seems to work well for me, with a little practice you can get the boat to come to a complete stop at the same time it is parallel to the dock and if you do it right your mate can leisurely just step across with a line.  Well, I did it, and it worked...kind of. But, just after I hit reverse and started pulling the stern around the motor came to an abrupt stop. My inattention to details allowed the dinghy bridle to get caught by the prop. Fortunately we had the dock made and the motor was still going fairly low rpm before it caught the webbing. Once we were secure I sheepishly went back to look at what damage I had caused. Surely the webbing was trash, maybe the prop...did it get the dinghy itself???  I was Super lucky on all counts. After unwrapping 2 full wraps from between the prop hub and lower unit case...no damage...to anything!  Dodged a bullet there!

So you want fresh crab?...How bout buying it right off the boat?!

Jo and I spent a quiet afternoon on the boat at the marina. Later, while Jo caught up on some reading and relaxing, Bosun and I hiked over to the Government Dock where some of the Monty group had gotten dock space. After dinner, the three of us got in the dingy and motored over to say hi to the other crew that were out on the mooring balls. Some of the crew took the famous "school bus" to the pub on the interior of the island. The big thing on the bus is that they play, and everyone sings, Fats Domino's "Blueberry Hill" all the way to the pub. They reported having a great time.

Life aboard...

Sunset at Montague Marina

Negative Tide = Steep ramps!

 
In the morning we moved over to the Govt Dock which was now open and the whole group gathered before heading out for Conover Cove on Wallace Island. The tides right now are huge with negative Low Tides making for some VERY steep ramps and thin water.

Gary, Sean and Bosun just before leaving Montague Harbor

Monty Fleet (8 boats now) gathered and ready to head out for Wallace Island

After a brief skippers meeting the fleet set out for Conover Cove on Wallace Island. Now wind to speak of this morning. We motored all the way. Arriving at Conover we found, just as the cruising guides promised, thin water at low tide. Fortunately, there was just enough water to get the 23s through the entrance although it was a bit sketchy. A couple 17s that took routes slightly to the right or left of what we did reported touching bottom. As for us, we pulled the rudder up halfway and pussy-footed our way through at about a half of a knot with the sounder reporting as shallow as 4 feet. It was worth it. Conover was a snug little anchorage with a Government Dock that had enough space, JUST, for the whole crew. All 8 boats were able to tie up.

We got everyone tied up to the dock, otherwise this cove requires short scope anchoring with stern lines to be run ashore.
 

There is an abandoned house on the island that visiting cruisers leave signs indicating their visit. Most signs are carved on driftwood, of which there is an abundance on these islands. Some are VERY creative. We found the one left by the Montgomery Group that visited in '06.
 

Visiting Cruisers' signs

Every island has had great hiking. Conover was no exception. The scenery is hard to describe. This is the southern most point of the island looking out over the waters we had just sailed to get there.

For the first time this trip we had a fairly early start planned for the next morning in order to make best use of the tides/currents to get us to Maple Bay.  Most crews ate an early dinner and then hit the sack in preparation for Tues morning.
 

Eldor and Dorothy cooking aboard Motu-iti.
 

So , now I need to go out and hike around here (Maple Bay) and get some pics.  We had a windless trip here. saw lots of seals, big tugboats with huge barges, and a few bald eagles. Tomorrow morning we're heading to the town of Sydney. Should be able to check in from there.

 Jo drivin' us to Maple Bay this morning.

Weather has been great (except light wind lately). Maybe rain tomorrow. We'll check in from Sydney.
 
—Sean, 'Jo, and Bosun
 

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Dave Scobie in the M17 Sweet Pea zooming down Haro Straight.

We were pretty overpowered for a while and the tide rips we encountered were unexpectedly strong. At times we were sailing along at 5.5 to 6 knots with the dinghy surfing on a following swell and catching up with us, smacking the back of the boat before turning sideways and then being snapped back into line when the tow line went taught. Watching Jim in the M17 Grace who had his dinghy pulled up tight against the back of his boat made me do the same which helped the problem a lot.

Jim working on hoisting the headsail.

It was a rough ride for while until we could take advantage of ducking behind Henry Island for some smoother water. Once again, at Turn Point (and area known for strong rips) we encountered some disturbed waters, but with a lot less wind. This time we had a problem of sails slatting due to the lower wind levels and rough water. Jo and I said "bag this" started the outboard and powered through. Although we were motoring at an rpm that should have given us about 4 knots, we were hitting GPS speeds of 7-8 knots as we rounded the point motor sailing. There was a lot of debris to navigate around in the rips around Turn Point.  Once we rounded the point the water was beautiful again with a nice breeze but we were so close to Prevost that we just motored in.

Prevost Harbor Dock full of Monty's

The dock at Prevost was able to fit the entire group. This was a great set-up. We enjoyed the island making the traditional "Hike to the Treasure Chest" and schoolhouse deep into the woods. The Treasure Chest is a fundraiser for the small Schoolhouse on the Island. There is no-one there watching it. It is full of souvenir T-shorts, hats, sweatshirts, etc that are sold on the honor system. In fact, they don't even want you to leave money. Instead, every item comes with an IOU and a self addressed envelope to send the payment back in. We picked out a couple of items and hiked back.  I think all in all, we hiked about 3 miles.

Jo "shopping" at the Treasure Chest

This morning was a quick motor over to Pender Island, Poet's Cove to check in through Canadian Customs. There was some large traffic to contend with as we crossed the shipping lanes.

Larry's "Corndog" and Eldor and Dorothy's "Motu-Iti" dwarfed by an ocean goliath.

Bosun wasn't too excited about motoring across an International Border.
The check in went fast and we elected to grab a slip a the beautiful Poets Cove Resort for the night. A couple of boats moved over to the mooring balls in the marine park just north of here. I'm glad we chose the marina for tonight as it's 10:30pm and it's blowing hard right now. Forecast sounds like a lot of wind the next few days. We are scheduled to depart at 9am in the morning for Ganges but this much wind could make that a pretty rough trip of about 13 miles. We'll have to wait to see what's up in the morning.
 
So, now you are caught up. Tomorrow, maybe a report from Ganges Marina...or.....? Being that we are on vacation to have a good time, if it looks like a miserable trip we might just stay here. Boat's heeling 5-10 degrees in the slip right now when it gusts. I bet the water is rough out there.
 
That's it for now...
 
Sean, 'Jo and Bosun
Montgomery 23 Dauntless

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Tonight  Friday 6/19, we find ourselves in Poet's Cove Marina, Bedwell Harbor, South Pender Island, Canada. Good internet coverage today, so here's an update from the last couple of days:
 
After laying over at Friday Harbor we sailed to Garrison Bay on the West side of San Juan Island. We sailed over the top of San Juan Island between it and Speiden Island, then passing by Roche Harbor before motoring through Mosquito Pass and into Garrison Bay. The anchorage was beautiful and weather sunny and warm. Most crews went ashore and some, including us, hiked to the top of Mt. Young for a panoramic view of the Haro Straight.

Summit of Mt Young.

Returning to Dauntless from hiking Mt Young

On Thursday morning the plan was to leave Garrison Bay between 9 and 10 am for the sail around Turn Point on Stuart Island and into Prevost Harbor. Some of the first boats out to the Haro Straight saw fog to the west and decided to wait a bit for it to clear, others pushed on. The fog to the west lifted and after a short while the rest of the group headed out of Garrison for Prevost.  The boats that delayed departure, including us, got a rough ride after entering the Haro Straight from Mosquito Pass. We were on a deep broad reach to downwind run. I had elected to carry a fairly large headsail since we wouldn't have to work to windward.

Dave Scobie in the M17 Sweet Pea zooming down Haro Straight.

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We spent two great days in Friday Harbor before moving on yesterday to Garrison Bay. Weather so far has been ideal with excellent sailing every day. Spent last night at anchor. There are 25 or so boats anchored up in here but plenty of room. Biggest lesson learned so far???  hmmmm.  I think it's that there is no such thing as a dog that doesn't shed! hahaha. Put a 45-pound Golden Doodle puppy in a small space for days on end and you get HAIR. Besides that, though, and we couldn't have asked for a better boat dog. He's doing great with the sailing, dinghying—basically everything.  Today we're heading up the Haro Straight to Stuart Island, Prevost Harbor. More later.  —Sean,'Jo, and Bosun

 Crew of Scintilla preparing to depart Friday Harbor for Garrison Bay

Friday Harbor....an awesome place!
 

Anchored up on Garrison Bay

Crew of Motu Iti ready to depart Friday Harbor

Going over charts before departing Friday Harbor
 

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Dave Scobie of the M17 Sweat Pea took this video crossing the Rosario Straight.—Sean

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