San Francisco Journey
8/1/2024 - Trip to transfer my boat from San Pedro, CA to San Francisco
After purchasing my boat in San Pedro, it had been a long process of repairs and waiting on weather windows, so that I could bring her up the pacific coast, over 400 NM, to my slip in Benicia. Having never done this before, being relatively new to sailing, I hired an experienced captain to help us to get there safely. I am forever thankful for Cpt. Evan’s seasoned experienced that not only took us through some very difficult weather, but also helped us to resolve mechanical issues as well. I was also very thankful to have my best friend, Jim Sillars, on this journey. He and I have shared many adventures together, and without his enduring and capable experience, I couldn’t have made it through yet another journey.
Leg 1
After fueling up, we departed the Cabrillo Way Marina, San Pedro. Having never sailed or taken any boat out on the water at night, I must admit I had a bit of anxiety. Although we had radar to show any approaching vessels, and the seas were relatively calm, there’s something about not being able to clearly see your surroundings in an unfamiliar situation, that rattles your nerves. But Cpt. Evan’s relaxed position at the helm managed to instill a bit of confidence as the night drew on and my rotation at the helm came around. Not to mention, we were still afloat.
At 11 pm we started to notice variations in engine RPM, slowing and then speeding up again. This continued for about half an hour, and then the transmission disengaged completely. Cpt. Evan killed the engine and went below to check the throttle assembly. After verifying that the cables were attached, we fired the engine back up and reduced our speed to 6 kts. Although this was slower than we hoped to go, it had been a long time since this boat had a true shake down. We didn’t notice any further fluctuations in RPMs the rest of the evening, but we did notice water in the fuel filter. Since there was limited and difficult access to the filter, we opted to wait until we arrived at the Santa Barbara marine to drain the water and replace the filter.
Throughout my 3 hour shift my senses were heightened to the sounds of the waves, the humming of the engine, and every dot that showed up on the radar, which to my surprise, was relatively clear of traffic. Later in the journey I would come to realize that only shipping vessels and crazies like us made this northern journey, which explained why we rarely saw another vessel during the whole trip. At the end of my shift, I attempted to sleep in my cabin, but between the creaking of the walls and my heightened concern of the engine, not to mention my overall anxiety at this point, I slept all of half an hour during my sleep shift. Eventually I gave up and joined Evan up top. At this point the fog was starting to clear, and daylight was starting to dawn. That was a relief. I relieved Evan early and took my shift at the helm.
Just to clarify, being at helm mainly involves scanning for vessels that might not show up on radar, monitoring the engine and the weather. Outside of that, the autopilot maintains the heading, and as long as the boat keeps that heading shown on the nav screen, you are freed up to enjoy your surroundings.
Around noon on 8-2 we were heading into Santa Barbara. During most of the morning the fog limited our visibility to about 2 miles, so it was uplifting to finally be able to see land. It was a beautiful day in Santa Barbara. The marina was welcoming, and after securing a slip, we purchased some needed supplies and had lunch. And although my stomach told me I was hungry, my head told me to be cautious, knowing that after our evening departure, Point Conception would be waiting for us with 25-28 kt winds and 8 ft waves. After we did our maintenance on the engine, we all slept.
Leg 2
At 6 pm we departed the Santa Barbara Marina and continued our journey northward into a beautiful sunset. The weather for now was going to favor us as we made our way towards Point Conception. That evening there was no moon that we could see, making it pitch black all around us, a very eerie feeling. The only light to be seen came from our nav screen and the occasional drilling platform. Looking up, the sky had never been clearer. The Milkyway was in full bloom and every star clear to the naked eye. Up to this point the seas where calm and I was starting to feel slightly more confident about our chances of surviving this trip.
My appetite still hadn’t returned, and I was still managing on 3-4 hours of sleep a day. Outside of the lack of sleep, Jim was feeling the same. For him, sleep was the only cure for not getting queasier than he already was while being below. Cpt. Evan on the other hand, slept well, ate well and moved around the boat more gracefully than either of us. The benefits of having done this all of his life.
By midnight that night that calm that I had enjoyed was suddenly gone, as if we had left the eye of a storm and entered into its chaos. It was Point Conception, the place where tides and waves converged to create a stew of high winds, high waves, all woven together in a blanket of terrifying darkness. By time Evan came up to relieve me, my eyes were wide with fear and any color I had in my face was gone. I strained in the darkness to see the next 8 to 10 ft wave crashing down on our bow, while 25 kt winds sent freezing spray into the cockpit and into my face. After casually sitting down, Evan looked at my fear struck face and casually said, “Point Conception. We’ll survive.” A part of me wanted to trust his calm demeanor, the other part just thought he was crazy. Look around you man, this is insanity. With every loud slap of the bow, I knew the next would break the boat in pieces. I believe I mentioned that to him at some point, his simple response was, “She can take it.” As it turned out she could, but that didn’t stop my imagination from envisioning us sinking into the abyss. But at least I would die doing the thing I loved. NO! I wasn’t loving this part of sailing at all!
Daylight couldn’t come soon enough. I stayed up all through the night until day started to break, and the seas had settled to 6 ft waves and 15 kt winds. Evan and I then went to bed and Jim took over. Well Evan went to bed. My sleep was very restless, and only out of exhaustion. Later, when I got up to relieve Jim, I found out it had been a very rough night for him. The rough seas had finally pushed his queasiness into full on puking, and it showed. He wasted no time going below to go back to bed, his only source of comfort throughout this long journey. Since I couldn’t sleep or eat, my only comfort was being above where I had a horizon to calm my nerves.
The overcast daylight, although dreary, brought surprises that, for the moment, made all of this pandemonium worth it. As I sat staring off into the distance, rethinking my lives choices, I saw a big slash in the distance. My first thought was, oh crap, more huge waves heading our way. But then I saw it, a whale launching out of the water and breaching. I quickly grab my phone just in time, as it came around my bow and breached again. What a spectacular site, to be so close to something so awesome. As I moved away from it, it flapped its front fin as if to say goodbye to me. Thankyou my friend, you just made my day and entire journey more than worth it. Shortly after the whales left, a large pod of dolphins came swimming beside us. At one point they were swimming all around me, briefly looking up to catch my eye. It was a very magical moment. One that lacks enough adjectives to describe but has to be experienced.
I was now resorting to sleeping on a cushion at the salon table after I discovered the hatch above my bed had started to leak and drip water all over it. Just as well, I still wasn’t sleeping much anyways. But I wasn’t looking forward to the mess I would have to clean up. The waves and winds had started to gain momentum again, so eating wasn’t on the menu still. Jim and I started to call it the Coastal Diet. By late afternoon we were facing 8-10 ft waves and 20-28 kt winds. Our tired autopilot was becoming intermittent, so we switched it off and self-steered for the remainder of the leg. I actually preferred having control back in my hands and determining my own course over the surging waves. It was challenging, but I found skirting the waves at an angle and finding gaps where the waves split, made fewer slaps to the hull. After a few hours it became a game to see how well I could run my course, similar to choosing the best path on skis through a mogul field. I was now more in my element, aside from the fact I’ve never skied on 45 ft skies. Slight adjustment, but I figured it out. After my turn at the helm was done, since it had been a rough day, I went below to check on the hatch leak in my cabin. But what I found was far more disturbing. Now both hatches were leaking, the other onto my clothes. The hard slapping on the hull had broke the handle on the door leading to the forward head, causing the door to swing open and break off its hinge. We put the door on the bed, cleaned up the water on the floor and I moved my clothes further up into the cabin. Another fun mess to cleanup when we got into Morro Bay.
Leg 3
On the morning of August 3rd, we entered into the eclectic marina of Morro Bay. With it’s mooring field and quaint little shops, the town stands apart from the typical modern marinas. It’s a very cool place to visit, and one I’d return to if passing this way again.
After waiting in line to refuel, and being met by a pair otters, we tied up at their complimentary dock and started the work of cleaning up the boat from all of the leaks and mess. After taking a long-awaited nap, we made our way into town to find a place to eat. By now I was starting to stomach more food and was looking forward to a good dinner. But not too good, I still wanted to be cautious. Cpt. Evan on the other hand, had made one stop at the ice cream shop while we rested, and after dinner, made another. The man had a cast iron stomach.
We walked around a bit to check out the town, we then returned back to the boat to get more shut eye before leaving again at midnight.
After going through more choppy seas and fog through most of the following day, by time evening rolled around, the seas had started to calm. Cpt. Evan suggested that we push on past Monterey and shoot for San Francisco in order to avoid another heavy section of winds and seas. Although we were exhausted, we agreed, if it meant calmer seas and possibly more rest. But unfortunately, the boat had other plans. Just as we were making our way past Monterey, the engine RPMs started to fluctuate for a while and then the engine quit. After multiple attempts to restart it, it was clear we were dead in the water. Evan went below and saw that the fuel filter was empty. This could only mean that the fuel line was either clogged, or our fuel gauge was faulty and we were out of gas. Although the winds were extremely light and contrary, maybe 5 kts, we put up the jib and did our best to make it into the Monterey Bay. We initially called the Coast Guard to see if we could get a tow, but given it was midnight and it wasn’t an emergency, they were more inclined to have us first see if my insurance would provide a tow. After spending a bit of time on the phone, thankfully I barely had a cell reception, I manage to track down the towing service in Santa Cruz, who would meet us near the marina and tow us the rest of the way in. While we waited for them to find us, I was thinking, minus ripped sails and a broken mast, I have had the full experience of, what could go wrong, will go wrong. This is life on a boat. At about 3 am, the tow boat showed up and pulled us into the marina, where we tied up at the fuel dock. That night I got a full 4 hours of sleep. It felt amazing.
Leg 4
Once we had completed repairs in Monterey, which turned out to be a clogged fuel line, we set off at 6 am to head north once again. Unfortunately, the area of rough seas off the coast of Santa Cruz, that we were trying to avoid, was waiting for us that morning, and punished us for most of that day, having increased in size. We had temporarily started using the autopilot, hoping it could handle the rough seas, but quickly resorted back to manually steering, not wanting to cause any damage to the steering motor.
By nightfall we had finally made it through the rough patch and were coming into calmer waters. Cpt Evan than cranked up the RPMs and we finally began to make better time. But like so many nights before, we had to make our way through a fog bank. Once again, we kicked in the autopilot north of Santa Cruz, and let it take us to Pacifica. At this point I hand steered until we got close to the turn towards the Golden Gate bridge. Cpt. Evan then took over at this point and brought us into the bay.
First estimation had put us arriving at the bridge around 6 am, but we had made such good time coming up from Santa Cruz, our arrival put us at the Golden Gate Bridge at 4 am, socked in with fog. A little disappointing, but by now, we were just ready to be done. Even though my phones camera had a hard time getting a clear picture, it was still amazing to see as we passed under it.
Our unfortunate timing also put us at the tide going out. This would slow our progress to a crawl as we tried to make our way to the north bay. In fact, what should have taken us a couple of hours, had we been able to use the tide coming in, instead took us 6 hours to reach our destination in Benecia. That’s how strong the bay area tides are.
After a slow dredge past Richmond into the Carquinez Strait, the last bridge was in sight, and after that, the Benecia Marina. But once again, our bad timing put us into the marina at low tide. Without going into all of the issues the bay has been having trying to get marinas dredged, suffice it to say we had to wait another 4 hours at the fuel dock before I could bring the boat into its slip. In the meantime, after Sandy, Jim’s wife was kind enough to meet us there, Jim took Cpt. Evan to the airport where we parted ways.
Summary
To just call this a journey would mildly understate the vast amount of learnings and experience that Jim and I gained, both from our Captain and especially the hands-on experience. I’m sure, as you’ve progressed through this story, it has become clear that the anxiousness and fears I faced at the beginning of the journey had receded to a more confident sailor both in myself and the capabilities of my boat.
For this, I am very thankful to my best friend Jim Sillars, not only for his willingness to go on this journey with me, but especially for his never dying quest for the next new adventure. I also want thank Cpt. Evan Wanamaker, who’s extensive knowledge and experience helped to instill confidence throughout our journey, and mechanical skills kept my boat moving towards its final destination. Mostly, I was impressed, or confused, by his ability to captain a journey up the northern Pacific coast in only a light jacket and shorts.