(Sorry, no visual aids this time. Somehow we got all the way from Shilshole Marina to Cap Sante Marina without taking picture.)

Back in early August, I’d massaged the departure schedule for our final shakedown cruise in and out a bit, at first planning an early start on Friday the 8th. When I got to actual cruise planning, a check of the current tables showed them to be unfavorable, so I’d delayed casting off lines to mid-afternoon. Unable to find a legitimate buyer for my Grandy skiff, I’d finally succumbed to just leaving it with my brothers for care, feeding, and (hopefully) sale. Without a trailer, the most convenient way to delivery it to Russell's house in Port Orchard was to drop it off with him at the nearby Manchester public dock, so departure was accelerated back to 10 AM for the southward detour from our northward course to the San Juans.

The plan was to pick up Ed in Kingston on our way out, so Mabrouka departed Shilshole Bay Marina on one of the last legs of her Seattle life with just me, Jim, and Robert aboard. With the Grandy in the davits and the Pudgy in tow, I’d put Jim at the wheel for our approach to the Manchester docks almost two hours later. His boat, Manwe, isn’t a light weight for her 27 feet, but she doesn’t compare to Mabrouka’s 16 tons, so I wanted to give Jim a little more experience handling this heavy boat.

We knew it was shallow, so we watched the depth sounder as we nudged up to the landing, …15 feet, 14 feet, 13 feet, 12 feet, 6 feet. Oops. Mabrouka draws 6-1/2 feet. There’s nothing to compare to that sudden, heavy lump you feel in your gut when you run a boat aground. In this situation the worst damage that would occur would be to the crew’s pride and maybe a little impromptu sanding off of the keel paint.

Ever vigilant for the chance to turn misfortune into opportunity, I went about lowering the Grandy while Jim gently persuaded Mabrouka to back out off the shallow bit. Russell had recruited his friend JB to help transport the skiff and he was standing expectantly at the end of the dock. Loaded with its sails, the dinghy cover, and some paint and varnish with which to doll the skiff up, I rowed in to meet him.

Russ was still ashore for some reason so, with JB standing by, I walked in and gave him a parting hug. Though I’d hoped he’d make it to Anacortes to see us off at the line cutting party, I knew it might be the last time I’d see him in a long while. JB rowed me back out to Mabrouka to conclude the transaction and off we motored around Restoration Point at the south end of Bainbridge Island and northward to pick up Ed.

A couple of hours later we’d maneuvered in to the fuel dock in Kingston where Ed was waiting with his duffle and his girl friend, JoAnne. Not in that order of priority, by the way. Ever the 14 year old boy in the 65 year old body (he was soon to be 79), he leaned JoAnne back in his arms for a big goodbye smooch. This embarrassed her and greatly entertained the rest of us, especially Ed. Fond farewells accomplished, we backed away from the dock, pirouetted Mabrouka in the turning basin, and motored out of Kingston.

Our schedule, as far as it went, was only to spend three days or so with the whole crew getting used to Mabrouka and to each other. Tentatively we wanted to be in the San Juans that night, but it wasn’t essential and there were still a couple of hours before the tide through Admiralty Inlet would stop fighting us, so we hauled up the sails and cut the engine, swapping its distracting growl for the soothing chuckle of water lapping against the hull.

It was the first time out with the new main and, paired with the new genoa, the sails looked great. We had a moderate wind that increased slowly as we rounded Point No Point. Mabrouka was lookin’ gooooood, so Ed called JoAnne to come out to the lighthouse for a photo op. We tacked and jibed and otherwise posed for the camera in the bight north of the lighthouse, then headed on our way. The wind built and veered, but our late start and our indulgence of sailing would leave us substantially shy of Admiralty Inlet by dark, so we opted to anchor off Port Townsend for the night.

We took the opportunity of lowering the sails to practice reefing. This process of pulling the main sail part way down and strapping the excess at the bottom to the boom takes some teamwork and no small amount of effort. The intent is to reduce the amount of sail exposed when the wind is starting to howl and overpower the boat, so we didn’t want to attempt it for the first time under pressure of an impending storm. As it was, the wind chose that particular time to build dramatically, so it turned out to be an excellent practice session.

The sails were tucked nicely away by the time we were ready to anchor. With a variety of expert opinions being offered on how and where to drop the hook, we were soon safely set off the public dock for the night. Swinging on 160 feet of 3/8 inch, triple-B chain, we settled below while the wind howled outside and jostled the bay with small waves that rocked us into the wee hours of the morning. Jim, Ed and I slept soundly knowing that Robert, who’d chosen to spread his sleeping bag in the cockpit, would stand a horizontal anchor watch for us.