I’d massaged the schedule for final departure from Seattle in and out a bit. We (That is, the crew and I) wanted to get several days together on Mabrouka in the San Juan Islands before turning left out the Straits of Juan de Fuca. We wanted to be sure we all agreed the boat was fit and fiddle and, not least of all, that we all got along well enough. A plan evolved for a relaxed mid-morning start on Friday the 8th. Then I actually checked with gods of Puget Sound and found the morning currents unfavorable for heading north, so I’d delayed casting off lines to mid-afternoon.

Unable to find a legitimate buyer for my Grandy skiff (see earlier posts), I’d finally succumbed to just leaving it with my brothers for care, feeding, and sale. Without a trailer, the most convenient way to deliver 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 to incorporate a 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 Northsea 27, Manwe, isn’t a light weight for her size, 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. Oh, and we were still 30 feet from the dock

Ever vigilant for the chance to turn misfortune into opportunity, I went about lowering the Grandy while Jim gently persuaded Mabrouka to back 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 dallying ashore for some reason so, with JB standing by, I walked in and gave him a parting hug. It might have been an entertaining scene to nearby spectators to see two at least slightly rotund old farts approach each other on the beach and, shifting their bellies slightly to one side to encourage closer proximity, join in an embrace. It certainly feels a little funny to me. Though I’d hoped Russ’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. Afterwards 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 mentioned in order of priority, by the way.) Ever the 14 year old boy in a 65 year old body (he’s 79), he leaned JoAnne back in his arms for a big goodbye smooch. Her embarrassed giggle and squirm took about 50 years off HER countenance 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 in the San Juans before moving on to join in bon voyage festivities at the Pacific Northwest Cruiser’s Party in Anacortes. Tentatively we wanted to be in the islands that night, but it wasn’t essential and there were still a few 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 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 a howling wind threatens to 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 a more challenging practice session than anticipated. It was good to see Jim and Robert working together to explore techniques and tweak their use of available winches, lines and cleats to develop a procedure that was both effective and efficient. I haven’t reefed Mabrouka’s main that many times myself and also learned a few things from their fresh approach.

The sails were loosely stowed by the time we approached the anchorage in the lee of the bluff that stands over Port Townsend’s main street. Selecting among the variety of expert opinions offered on how and where to drop the hook, I supervised my stalwart deck hands in paying out a hundred and sixty feet or so of chain and we were soon safely set off the public dock for the night. We settled below while the wind continued to growl outside, jostling the bay with small waves that rocked us through the remainder of the evening and into the wee hours of the morning. Jim, Ed and I slept a little more soundly below knowing that Robert, who’d chosen to spread his sleeping bag in the cockpit, could open an eye once in a while and keep watch on the nearby pier and other boats at anchor some 50 yards to either side.