Again waking up with the day's plan on my mind, I quickly checked the current charts for my trip back to Seattle and decided I'd better get up and at 'em. One breakfast and one anchor recovery later, I was on my way motoring out of Mackaye Harbor. Though it looked like it might have worn itself out, most of yesterday's choppy seas persisted once I got out into the open. I generally motor sail with the main up in conditions like that to help control Mabrouka's roll, but that tactic is only so effective, and it was a long, sloppy slog across the western Straits of Juan de Fuca.

The wind managed to oblige enough towards the end to make sailing against the current worthwhile for an hour or two, and I sailed past Point Wilson Light into the protection of Admiralty Inlet. Two days of rough sailing and a rolly night at anchor had left me drained, so I pulled in to Point Hudson marina to tie up for lunch and a rest.

After using up my 4 hours and five dollars worth of moorage, I had a little problem to contend with. I'd tied up bow to windward when I pulled in, and the breeze had risen enough that I was concerned about being able to turn around and head out of the small nook the marina manager had put me in. I knew that, no matter what I attempted with wheel, throttle, and gear shift, I wouldn't be able to back cleanly out to a maneuvering space that was big enough to do a 180 with a 50ft boat. There was only about 1-1/2 boat lengths where I sat for me to turn around, so careful preparations were in order.

Recruiting a man from the schooner Martha (she's a BIG girl, so I figured he'd know what he was about with a dock line), we added an extra stern line from Mabrouka's far side. That would allow my recruit to hold the stern in while the wind pivoted the bow downwind in the tight space. It worked perfectly and we were on our way.

I'm sure he meant well, but The Recruit happily informed me that, luckily, the wind would slack off as the evening wore on. "No," I complained. "We LIKE this wind!" The prediction turned out not to be too much of a curse, because I got a good 6 hours of down wind sailing out of the next eight, although it wrapped up much less boisterously than it started, with a stately promenade south along Puget Sound to Eagle Harbor.

I refer you to the Campaign for Proper Appreciation of Sunsets album for the sunset photo that compliments the caption photo for this blog entry. Though the sunset itself was almost entirely blocked from my view by Kitsap Peninsula, the anti-sunset bore witness to its bright colors. As you can see in the photo above, Mount Rainier was lit pink and the windows of Magnolia reflected the bright golden-yellow of the western sky.

What I kept jealously to myself without recording by camera were the signal fires that sprouted up all along the eastern shore of the sound. The windows and sliding glass doors of Seattle's northern suburbs took turns reflecting the Sun's blaze my way, with Edmonds making a contribution that looked like the sequined dress of a call girl on the strip in Las Vegas.

I'd forgotten how much I enjoy night sailing. It's a completely different scene, dominated by the night sky and what light there is shimmering off the surface of the sea, but governed by distant navigation lights flashing in the night. White, (wait for it) red, pause, ...white, red, pause. That's West Point just north of Seattle. Or red (short pause), red-red, pause, ...red, red-red, pause. That's the entrance to Eagle Harbor.

The strange tension of sailing into scant visibility is oddly reassuring. There are some things it doesn't do you any good to worry about, so you don't. Within the faith you put into your dependence on the navigation lights that guide you is found an exhilarating appreciation of the glimmering night.

I made it safely into Eagle Harbor and tied up at quarter-past midnight with no plans to get up early on Wednesday.