55 knot gusts and the final chapters of the Terrapin Flyer adventure
I got a phone call from Alex about six weeks ago. His boat, the Terrapin Flyer, which I had sailed with him from Hawaii to Alaska and down to Seattle, was in southern Washington and he needed to get it down to San Francisco by the end of the month. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to join me on the trip and responsibility would be all on me this time. I told him I would be more than happy to do the delivery for him. Looking at the pilot charts though, and reading about the typical conditions off of the Oregon coast at this time of year, it would be no walk in the park. Gales are frequent as are seas over 12 feet. No, this wouldn't be easy, but it would be an awesome challenge. Fate was not with me to do this delivery though; I got a call from a guy I've been trying to start a charter business with here in southwest Florida and he had already made the print material for a grand opening on October 22nd.
John K, the southern chef from the Hawaii - Alaska trip was going to crew on the delivery, and I'll admit I was pretty jealous. He called me after the delivery was completed and I was excited and relieved to see his name pop up on my phone. He started to tell me about the trip, but there was a tone in his voice that told me something wasn't right with how things turned out. The boat was fine, he assured me, as was all crew that made the trip. For two days, their second and third day out from Washington, Terrapin Flyer was battered with gusts of wind to 50 knots and choppy, angry seas. They took in all of the genoa outside of a small postage stamp flying from the headstay and as much of the main as they could to maintain some balance of the yacht. Back in California, it was equally as turbulent. The reason Alex could not make the trip was a due to a heart attack he had a month earlier. He had a coronary angioplasty performed but part of his heart was damaged. And, as Terrapin Flyer was pounded in the Pacific, Alex passed away at his home in California. As John entered cell phone range coming into San Francisco he learned of the terrible news. I can't think of a worse way to come into a port after such an exciting trip. Alex was only 40.
A couple of weeks passed, and I unexpectedly got a message on Facebook from John saying that Terrapin had been broken into sitting in her berth in Oakland, and that the family wanted her moved to San Diego, ASAP. He said that Tom would be bringing her south with me, the captain who took the boat down from Washington when I couldn't make it. I got in touch with Tom just before Thanksgiving and flew out the following Tuesday. John Sullivan, who, with his wife, had joined Alex and I motoring through the inside passages of British Columbia, picked me up from the the airport in Oakland Tuesday evening.
We were all up at 6 in the morning the next day and motoring out of Golden Gate by about 8. Here are some pictures of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge shrouded in fog:
The wind was flat calm as we motored out of the bay and into the Pacific. There was a hefty 5' swell from the north though, and by noon we had turned her south and a steady 15 knot breeze had filled in behind us. The rest of the day was uneventful outside of the naps, conversation and snacking that most cruises start out with. The shifts were divided into a 4 hour on, 8 hour off schedule and I had the 4 to 8 (both AM and PM) shifts. When I turned in at 8, the stars were out, the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up to a gusty 25 knots. I woke up at about 3:50 in the morning, and the boat was moving around a lot more than it had when I left the cockpit the night before. I hollered up to Tom about what the conditions were like and he replied with a simple "cold and pretty windy." I looked at the anemometer and it was a steady 30 to 35 knots with gusts to just over 40. Windy it was. It didn't feel uncomfortable or unsafe though, there was a double reef in the main and the jib was rolled up; the head sail was unnecessary as we were headed almost directly downwind. Tom advised that I watch the main to be sure it didn't backwind. It wouldn't gybe over because we had the preventer in tight.
The next few hours past slowly as I waited for the sun to rise. The wind was still increasing and at about 6:30, when the sky was a light, pre-dawn grey, taking a look around I could finally see the sea state. It was jaw-dropping. 16 to 18 foot faces were following us, towering over our stern like being chased by a wall of water the size of a two-story building. After watching this for 30 minutes, with the light still increasing, I observed something I had only heard about previously. Around 7 AM, I was looking off the starboard stern quarter at the seas when I saw a gust coming that literally shaved off the tops of these 18 foot monsters, one after another, like the side of a giant, ethereal hand was at work. I quickly headed about 5 degrees to windward (thank God the autopilot was still working during all this) as the gust approached. The wind speed indicator read 46 knots true, and we were doing about 10 knots downwind at the time. A 56 knot gust. The boat heeled over, rails deep in green water, and the rigging hummed with strain, but she recovered quickly.
It was time to gybe.We had been heading offshore, in more of a south-southwest direction, and it was time to head back in towards Point Conception and the Santa Barbara channel. I woke up Tom and John. John took the wheel to hand steer while I released the preventer, hauled the main in and freed the traveler. Tom steered slowly to port and the boom came over as we gybed in a trough between the waves. Next came the task of resetting the preventer and, since I was a solid 35 years younger than either of my crewmates, I'll give you a guess as to who got to leave the cockpit to do so. Hunched over on the leeward rail, feeding a line through a snatch block to bring back to the cockpit, the boat heeled over drenching me from the waist down in water that was moving at nearly 10 knots. I saw it coming though, and braced myself securely. I made my way back to the cockpit and rolled in. It was now 8 AM and my shift was over. I went below, removed my soaked foulies and crawled into my bunk.
For my next shift the sea was down considerably, as well as the winds. Reflecting on the previous shift, it was surreal and intense, but never did I feel the boat was out of control or fearful. Tom is an excellent and experienced captain and I was very glad he was aboard for an experience like that. By the next morning the wind had dropped completely we were past the Channel Islands, motoring towards Catalina with San Diego a short 75 miles beyond that. Here is a photo of the sun rising over and a landscape shot of the island of Santa Cruz:
I was on watch the morning after as we rounded Point Loma and headed into San Diego Bay.
We motored her into her slip and started cleaning. Everything was caked with salt and the cabin was still a mess from the journey. The next day, yesterday, Alex's widow and his parents came to see the boat. There was a lot of emotion and I did my best to not act too awkward in an already awkward situation. I just told them stories about the trips from this past summer with Alex and how great it was to have the opportunity to sail on such a fantastic yacht with such wonderful company. They left and Tom went to dinner late in the afternoon. I snapped this picture as I left her to take John to the airport:
As so it ends. While it would be nice to think I'd be sailing on her again someday, I know that probably won't happen. That boat and, more importantly, its owner, changed my life. They offered me the opportunity of a first ocean passage, meeting the great people he surrounded himself with and a myriad of memories.
John K, the southern chef from the Hawaii - Alaska trip was going to crew on the delivery, and I'll admit I was pretty jealous. He called me after the delivery was completed and I was excited and relieved to see his name pop up on my phone. He started to tell me about the trip, but there was a tone in his voice that told me something wasn't right with how things turned out. The boat was fine, he assured me, as was all crew that made the trip. For two days, their second and third day out from Washington, Terrapin Flyer was battered with gusts of wind to 50 knots and choppy, angry seas. They took in all of the genoa outside of a small postage stamp flying from the headstay and as much of the main as they could to maintain some balance of the yacht. Back in California, it was equally as turbulent. The reason Alex could not make the trip was a due to a heart attack he had a month earlier. He had a coronary angioplasty performed but part of his heart was damaged. And, as Terrapin Flyer was pounded in the Pacific, Alex passed away at his home in California. As John entered cell phone range coming into San Francisco he learned of the terrible news. I can't think of a worse way to come into a port after such an exciting trip. Alex was only 40.
A couple of weeks passed, and I unexpectedly got a message on Facebook from John saying that Terrapin had been broken into sitting in her berth in Oakland, and that the family wanted her moved to San Diego, ASAP. He said that Tom would be bringing her south with me, the captain who took the boat down from Washington when I couldn't make it. I got in touch with Tom just before Thanksgiving and flew out the following Tuesday. John Sullivan, who, with his wife, had joined Alex and I motoring through the inside passages of British Columbia, picked me up from the the airport in Oakland Tuesday evening.
We were all up at 6 in the morning the next day and motoring out of Golden Gate by about 8. Here are some pictures of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge shrouded in fog:
The wind was flat calm as we motored out of the bay and into the Pacific. There was a hefty 5' swell from the north though, and by noon we had turned her south and a steady 15 knot breeze had filled in behind us. The rest of the day was uneventful outside of the naps, conversation and snacking that most cruises start out with. The shifts were divided into a 4 hour on, 8 hour off schedule and I had the 4 to 8 (both AM and PM) shifts. When I turned in at 8, the stars were out, the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up to a gusty 25 knots. I woke up at about 3:50 in the morning, and the boat was moving around a lot more than it had when I left the cockpit the night before. I hollered up to Tom about what the conditions were like and he replied with a simple "cold and pretty windy." I looked at the anemometer and it was a steady 30 to 35 knots with gusts to just over 40. Windy it was. It didn't feel uncomfortable or unsafe though, there was a double reef in the main and the jib was rolled up; the head sail was unnecessary as we were headed almost directly downwind. Tom advised that I watch the main to be sure it didn't backwind. It wouldn't gybe over because we had the preventer in tight.
The next few hours past slowly as I waited for the sun to rise. The wind was still increasing and at about 6:30, when the sky was a light, pre-dawn grey, taking a look around I could finally see the sea state. It was jaw-dropping. 16 to 18 foot faces were following us, towering over our stern like being chased by a wall of water the size of a two-story building. After watching this for 30 minutes, with the light still increasing, I observed something I had only heard about previously. Around 7 AM, I was looking off the starboard stern quarter at the seas when I saw a gust coming that literally shaved off the tops of these 18 foot monsters, one after another, like the side of a giant, ethereal hand was at work. I quickly headed about 5 degrees to windward (thank God the autopilot was still working during all this) as the gust approached. The wind speed indicator read 46 knots true, and we were doing about 10 knots downwind at the time. A 56 knot gust. The boat heeled over, rails deep in green water, and the rigging hummed with strain, but she recovered quickly.
It was time to gybe.We had been heading offshore, in more of a south-southwest direction, and it was time to head back in towards Point Conception and the Santa Barbara channel. I woke up Tom and John. John took the wheel to hand steer while I released the preventer, hauled the main in and freed the traveler. Tom steered slowly to port and the boom came over as we gybed in a trough between the waves. Next came the task of resetting the preventer and, since I was a solid 35 years younger than either of my crewmates, I'll give you a guess as to who got to leave the cockpit to do so. Hunched over on the leeward rail, feeding a line through a snatch block to bring back to the cockpit, the boat heeled over drenching me from the waist down in water that was moving at nearly 10 knots. I saw it coming though, and braced myself securely. I made my way back to the cockpit and rolled in. It was now 8 AM and my shift was over. I went below, removed my soaked foulies and crawled into my bunk.
For my next shift the sea was down considerably, as well as the winds. Reflecting on the previous shift, it was surreal and intense, but never did I feel the boat was out of control or fearful. Tom is an excellent and experienced captain and I was very glad he was aboard for an experience like that. By the next morning the wind had dropped completely we were past the Channel Islands, motoring towards Catalina with San Diego a short 75 miles beyond that. Here is a photo of the sun rising over and a landscape shot of the island of Santa Cruz:
I was on watch the morning after as we rounded Point Loma and headed into San Diego Bay.
We motored her into her slip and started cleaning. Everything was caked with salt and the cabin was still a mess from the journey. The next day, yesterday, Alex's widow and his parents came to see the boat. There was a lot of emotion and I did my best to not act too awkward in an already awkward situation. I just told them stories about the trips from this past summer with Alex and how great it was to have the opportunity to sail on such a fantastic yacht with such wonderful company. They left and Tom went to dinner late in the afternoon. I snapped this picture as I left her to take John to the airport:
As so it ends. While it would be nice to think I'd be sailing on her again someday, I know that probably won't happen. That boat and, more importantly, its owner, changed my life. They offered me the opportunity of a first ocean passage, meeting the great people he surrounded himself with and a myriad of memories.
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