A northbound passage up the California coast in summertime is a long, long bash against prevailing winds and current. We defintely earned our destination.
As we got further north of Port San Luis, the waves got progressively smaller as the fog increased and the temperature dropped. All things considered, it was still pretty mild - just very long days.
We arrived at the San Francisco entrance bouy around noon on Saturday, turned off the engine (finally!) and set all sails for passing under the Golden Gate. With the flood tide running and a modest breeze at our backs we clipped over 10 kts as we cleared bridge. Dozens of day sailors, racers and commercial traffic made the Bay seem congested after so much sailing alone... but it was good to be home again.
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After installing the rebuilt starter, we made the short hop from Santa Barbara to Cojo for the second time this trip. The weather report called for 15-20 kts directly from the NW - the direction we were headed - but if we got around Conception and Arguello early in the morning - where winds can be double the forecast - we figured everything else would be fine. As it turned out, the biggest action came mid-afternoon. By the time we were about 5 miles off the beach at Point Purisima, the wind was consistently in the high 20's and right on our nose. Not a big problem by itself, but the waves were now coming in short intervals and were very steep; probably 12-15 feet if you included both swell and wind waves. Apparently this is common in these waters and accounts for the the famous surfing beaches and huge sand dunes onshore. Even slicing through at a diagonal off the wind we would occasionally take spray off the bow that doused the whole length of the boat, overflowing the side decks and throwing buckets of salt water into the cockpit.
We pounded away for several hours like this but by mid-afternoon we were still 10 hours away from our destination in Morro Bay. Our nav computer said we would not arrive until 0200 the next morning when a strong ebb tide would be running out of the harbor. Under such conditions, the entrance at Morro can be treacherous.
It was an easy decision to divert to San Luis Obispo instead. We arrived around 6 pm, ate a quick dinner, went to bed and slept for the next 14 hours.
Weather report the next morning called for more of the same, so we decided to stay over another day and fixed a huge breakfast. While we ate French toast in the cockpit, a flock of pelicans were dive-bombing for their breakfast within 20 feet of the boat with scores of seagulls trying to immediately snatch the fish away from the pelicans. Through the feeding frenzy, a pair of dolphins were quietly and methodically hunting while seals occasionally stuck their heads up to see what was going on. It was quite a show. Joni probably took 200 shots with her digital camera trying to get the whole thing on film. When it was over, we laid out all of our damp foul weather gear topside to dry and set out to explore the port.
There is an historic light house here but we found that the trailhead starts on the PG&E grounds for the Diablo Canyon power plant and requires a permit to gain access. Too bad, because the rest of the port consists of a commercial fishing pier, a couple of restaurants and a bait & tackle shop. Even stopping to read every placard and road sign, we ran out of things to do within an hour. So we grabbed a 6-pack from the bait & tackle (actually, only a 4-pack, since all six would have cost $24!) and took a dinghy tour of the harbor. We'll head around Pt. Buchon to Morro Bay in the morning to fuel up and re-provision before continuing on to San Simeon to wait for a weather window around the Big Sur coast.
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We hailed Vessel Assist on the VHF and they arrived in Cojo a few hours later. Within we were being towed back to Santa Barbara and our plans for making a Northbound passage were on hold. The ride back took 7 hours but as soon as I could make cell phone contact, I located a mechanic in Santa Barbara and arranged to meet in the morning. Our mechanic arrived in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, offering advice but no actual work. His prognosis was that poor ground connections were to blame, so I spent the first half of the day taking apart and cleaned every cable connection from one end of the system to the other - something like 23 of them. Still did not fix our problem.
As it happened, there was a young guy working on the boat next to us who suggested we pull the starter off the engine and take it to a shop nearby for test and repair. The guys at the shop were super competent. They diagnosed the problem and rebuilt the starter and solenoid within a few hours - and for just $70. By dinner time, I had everything put back together, tanks topped off and we were ready to go... again.
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The weather turned cloudy on Sunday so Ron & Joy decided to stay home - which gave us the perfect reason to get the hell out of Avalon. We decided it was time to start the long trip home by hopping up the coast to the always lovely Santa Barbara. For the first time in over a month, we were now heading into the wind and were forced to motor sail with just the main up. When we arrived at Santa Barbara two days later, they only had room for us to stay one night. That was OK since light winds were predicted all the way up the coast for the next 3 days and we were now anxious to keep going.
Next morning we took a short hop (35 miles) from Santa Barbara to Cojo. We've always liked it here. This is a famous refuge anchorage and a surfing mecca, tucked in just behind Pt. Conception. We arrived to a spectacular sunset, had a quick dinner and went to bed. Up again at 0300 to start the passage around the Point and on to Morro Bay; Got all geared up and everything ready to go... and the engine wouldn't start. Turned the key and, "Click". Time for Plan B.
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An acquaintance from Santa Cruz Island had told us the best margaritas in town were at a little place behind the golf course. The gal at the Visitor Center seemed pleased that we asked about it, as if it gave her a chance to share a secret. We arrived at The Sandpit just as the Happy Hour with $1 tacos began. When I stepped up to the bar to order two margaritas, Joni said, "Make it a pitcher". I don't really want to talk about the rest of the evening. Let's just say that I now have a Hawaiian shirt in my closet that I'll probably never wear again and several of psychic palm readers on the island know that I was born on the cusp of Sagittarius and Scorpion. What I can tell you is that when the harbor master stopped by the next morning we asked to be moved to a mooring at Descanso Beach, outside the harbor.
By comparison to the main harbor, Descanso seemed peaceful and remote... until a bunch of teenage girls in string thongs arrived at the dive boat next door (where did I put my dark glasses?) and an endless stream of drunk 20-something males walking down the boardwalk onshore started screaming "Show us your boobs!" as they walked by. To which the crowd of 14 year-old girls would invariably hoist their drinks overhead and reply with a chorus of rebel cheers but not actually show any booty. Which never discourage the drunk guys from asking and seemed to provided endless fun for the afternoon.
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Joni's sister Joy and her husband Ron were planning to join up with us for a few days on Catalina and we thought Avalon had the kind of attractions they would like best - restaurants, casino, snorkeling, shops, etc.. Since neither of them had spent a night rolling around on a boat at anchor, we headed down to Avalon to secure a mooring inside the harbor before the weekend crowd showed up. I had no idea how crowded Avalon actually is - even during the week the boats were packed in like trailers at an RV park.
We tied up to our assigned mooring and immediately wondered if coming here had been a mistake. It took our neighbor about 15 minutes to convince us that it was. The cabin cruiser next door was the type frequently purchased at boat shows by insurance salesmen. This particular family of chubby kids and sunburned adults spent their time making sure everyone was paying attention - especially Brandon. I'm not actually sure which of the three chubby kids was Brandon. The mom would say his name in a really annoyed voice at least twice every sixty seconds in a way that over-emphasized the first syllable and made it sound like an accusation. The dad would chime in with a few nifty supporting comments like, "I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap so we don't have to talk about it anymore Brandon". There was nothing left to do but get drunk.
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