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Sunday, May 1, 2007: Launch from Swantown Marina

Sunday was load-tow-launch day. I finished loading most nonperishables on Saturday, and put the cooler on board on Sunday. Jan and I towed Whisper to Swantown Marina in Olympia, leaving Shelton at 4:30 pm. With a stop for gas and no pressure to get there quickly, we arrived at Swantown a little before 5:30 pm.

The tide was coming in, so we took our time setting up the boat. At 6:30 pm I backed Whisper down the corrugated concrete launch ramp, and by 6:45 pm Whisper was tucked into guest slip A216.

As I settled all the gear into familiar stowage spots, I found I remembered everything I needed...except my clean dishes and cups that I left drying on the kitchen counter at home.

Monday, May 2, 2007: Olympia to solitude at Eagle Island

I sleep in and don't leave Swantown until 9:30 am.

With no sailing wind on this overcast morning, I motored slowly away from Swantown, staying to the navigable channel until well clear of shoals.

Motoring up Budd Inlet, I pull into Boston Harbor Marina at 11:15 am to buy a mug and a sandwich. I have alternatives on board that can serve as bowls for this trip, but nothing that serves well as a mug.

Motoring out of Boston Harbor at 11:30 am, a bit of wind tickles my face. Whisper went on wind power at 11:45 am, making 3.2 knots in Dana Passage on a falling tide. The sun is out and the wind says, “Let's play!” I sail wing-on-wing for much of the passage.

Looking over my left shoulder, sun reflects off the snowy peaks of the Olympia Mountains, perched on the horizon like a crown over Hope Island.

Off the southeast end of Harstine Island, I hear a splash. Again. Through the binoculars, I see an orca-looking porpoise going airborne twice, then engaging in a series of tail slaps. Given the small size, my guess is it is a Dall's Porpoise.
My beautiful little wind wanes, and by 1:00 pm I start the motor, just off Johnson Point. With the genoa furled and the main up, I motor-sail, using the mainsail to shade me from the bright midday sun.

By 2:40 pm Whisper is tied to the single buoy east of Eagle Island, with a stunning view of Mt. Rainier to the east. At low tide, there is still 17 feet of water under the boat.

The GPS shows a total distance of 17.3 nautical miles traveled today, of which 4.2 nm was wind powered. It may be interesting to track motor time and distance vs. sailing time and distance this trip.

Tomorrow is a 20-nm day, but it will go quickly as Whisper rides the falling tide through the Tacoma Narrows and around Point Defiance. The wind report is for northwest wind to 10 knots, and that won't help, but it won't hurt much, either. I may be able to sail from Point Defiance into Commencement Bay.

As I prepare to settle in for the night, Mt. Rainier begins to glow in the evening light, first white, then a halo of white, then orange to dusky purple-gray. Tugboats catching the flood tide in Balch Passage slide past. An eagle cries from high in the trees, and songbirds trill their last song of the evening.

I hang a chemical light stick from the coat hook on the compression post, providing a moon-like glow inside the cabin all night long.

Tuesday, May 3, 2007: From solitude to saturation

Once again, I'm pleased the weather prediction is predictably wrong. Not only was there no rain overnight, but I awoke to a great golden orb rising over Steilacoom. The water is mirror smooth, and a light surface mist hints at more dynamic weather later today.

Between Steilacoom and Ketron Island, misty curls form above the water as the surface layer moves northward while above it clear air glides in the opposite direction.

I unclip Whisper from the Eagle Island buoy at 8:00 am, motoring slowly past McNeil Island. Maison McNeil looks a little eery in the morning light, with ghost-like misty forms drifting across the penitentiary grounds.

Past McNeil Island, I glance up Carr Inlet and behold the entire Olympic range in a long, unbroken panorama, glowing in the morning sunshine.

By 9:30 am, a light breeze out of the south begins to riffle the water, and since wind and current are carrying Whisper in the right direction, I douse the motor and raise sails. It's a gentle 2 knot downwind drift, with a few fisher folk also drifting off the south end of Fox Island, and a tug passing me slowly to port.

At 10:30 am the wind has become too light to give me positive control of Whisper as I approach the Narrows bridges (new and old), so I leave the main up and give the starter a yank to fire up the outboard.

Fifteen minutes later Whisper is well clear of the bridge structures, and the wind feels a little bit fresher on my cheek, so off goes the outboard.

As I approach Point Defiance, the wind is becoming more brisk as it is funneled through the Narrows. I beam reach from the western side of the passage toward Point Defiance at more than 5 knots. As soon as Whisper passes Point Defiance, the wind reverses. I find it difficult to point the boat and make way against the swirling back eddies near the point.

Tack away from the point, tiller over to counter the swirling current, tack away again. I head toward Colvos Passage to stay well clear of Point Defiance, and then catch a wind shift that eventually puts Whisper near Tahlequah. The wind dies enough that Whisper will not progress.

Standing on the cabin roof, I see a bit of wind near Brown's Point, but nothing else, so I pack the sails for good and start the motor. It's 12:15 pm, and moments later – seemingly out of nowhere – a blast of wind hits Whisper off the starboard beam, healing the boat nearly 15 degrees! Small microbursts are slamming onto the water, apparently the expression of the same wind I caught in the Narrows, but now accelerated and disturbed as it blows over the hills that form Point Defiance. I visualize wind flowing over an airplane wing, where the rounded top surface of the wing is Point Defiance, and Whisper is being hit by the accelerated air forming vortices downwind from the wing.

I motor past the ferry landing and boat launch at 12:35 pm, and the gusts are getting stronger and longer in duration. Soon the wave tops are blowing off, leaving long trails of foamy bubbles on the disturbed surface. Whisper is rocking side-to-side from the ferocity of the wind blasts. The wind quiets a bit as I approach the Eleventh Street bridge.

Approaching Dock Street Marina, the wind increases in intensity, and it strikes Whisper off the starboard rear quarter. I have trouble controlling Whisper at slow speed in the very strong wind. Calling the marina folks on the cell phone, they tell me they can see me and will have someone there to help me dock.

I arrive at guest slip H1 but no one is there to help. Fortunately the docks are new and the bumpers in good shape. I have my oversize fenders hanging off the port side and intend to let the wind press Whisper to the dock...but the wind is reversed at this end of the waterway, and I have to motor right to the edge of the dock. I make the leap to the dock with stern line in hand, and barely catch the bow line before Whisper's bow is blown away. The cleats are too far apart to catch a bow and a stern cleat at the same time – or maybe my lines are too short for the situation. Eventually, I get Whisper's lines cleated, and then I tie a spring line to help keep the boat from bucking back and forth.

The wind is quite strong, heeling Whisper at the dock. With the wind howling in the rigging, freeway traffic, rail cars rumbling by, and constant boat traffic, this does not feel like a particularly peaceful place.

After securing the boat, I climb the gangway and exit the secured landing, looking for the office so I could pay my fee, get the gate code, and begin the on-the-ground portion of investigating this destination for a July group trip. A sign on the office informs me they are out. I call the marina number, and they give me the gate code and say they'll be back in the office in an hour or less.

While I wait, I tidy up the boat and take a shower. And I wait. And wait. And wait some more. Twice I walk up to the office but nobody is there. By now it's 5:30 pm and I'm debating whether to go find a place to eat dinner or just eat a cold meal in case the marina folks show up. It is too windy to use the stove outside the cabin (I'm most comfortable using it outside, not inside, the cabin).

I am impressed with the facility but not with the service. This is so very different than the service I received at Elliott Bay Marina where folks were uniformly helpful. Part of the experience of visiting a new destination such as this includes getting some local intel from marina staff. I begin to think the July trip to this destination may not be a good idea.

After dinner, I'm a little calmer and take a walk. The walkway over the freeway is full of fantastically shaped and colored glass art, hinting at the richer displays in the Museum of Glass. Once across the walkway, turn left and immediately encounter the Washington State Historical Museum. Or turn right to see the renovated Union Station, and a block or so farther is the Tacoma Art Museum. Even the buildings appear sculptured and form part of the artistic atmosphere.

As I try to go to sleep with the sounds of the city not abating in the darkness, the wind continues to rock the boat and causes the wiring inside the mast to slap. I climb out and pull the antenna cable a little tighter and that eliminates much of the annoying slap.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007: Escape to Gig Harbor

My sleeping bag is warm, and the cold air on my shoulders prompts me to snuggle a little deeper in the bag as day breaks. Soon a ray of sunlight pierces the starboard portlight. I crawl out of my warm haven and start the catalytic heater.

Clouds dominate the sky, but there are patches of blue sky to the north, and they are heading my way.

As dusk fell last night, I was surprised to hear a song sparrow singing in the nearby shrubs. Even in the midst of this riot of sound, color, and industry, nature emerges. This morning I was greeted by ducks and geese casually paddling by Whisper.

Today is almost an off day. I could stay. I could go. The museums don't open until 10:00 am so an early morning departure is off the table if museum-hopping is on the menu. But I think not. I've had enough of Tacoma for this trip. Before the wind gets rambunctious again this afternoon, I'll head to Gig Harbor. That will give me a few hours to walk about Gig Harbor, get some ice for the cooler, and maybe visit Dearth of Books to find a good used book.

It's 7:30 am and the janitorial contractor appears to have possession of the restrooms. I wait for marina staff to arrive, and finally at 9:00 am I call them again. They say they'll be there in five minutes. About 10 minutes later a staffer appears on the dock, apologizing for the lack of helpfulness of yesterday. I summarize my disappointment, adding that my e-mails in February and March to the published e-mail address for the marina have gone unanswered. He waives my moorage fee, promises to check into the e-mail problem, and gives me a phone number to call later today to set up the group trip.

I depart at 9:30 am, still in sensory overload. So much sound and activity and smells and colors and shapes, it is not restful. It doesn't help that I'm still upset about the service. They have not demonstrated a service-oriented attitude in my e-mail and phone contacts. I'm disappointed and in no mood to enjoy sailing, and there isn't enough wind in Commencement Bay to do much sailing, so I motor past working tugs and into the bay.

Once opposite Colvos Passage, a wall of wind thunders down on Whisper, reminiscent of the Dockton Potter Party trip. A 25-foot C-Dory I saw yesterday comes out of Gig Harbor, and we wave as each skipper admires the other boat in passing.

I motor into Gig Harbor against the current, and find plenty of space at the public dock. After tidying the boat I walk to West Marine to see if they have unbreakable cups and bowls in stock. A late lunch is on the menu at Tokyo Teriyaki (saving half for later), then I walk next door to QFC for cookies and ice.

Back at the boat, a Catalina 30 pulls in. I help the skipper get docked as the afternoon breeze is making it a bit difficult to get the boat to the dock. That boat seems cavernous inside compared to little Whisper!

Later still, Winifred, an 80-year-old Lake Union dreamboat pulls in, taking the last dock space. The varnish is perfect and the boat name is picked out in gold leaf. What a stunning boat. She draws lots of attention at the dock.

I find Gig Harbor much more peaceful than Tacoma. The slower pace and small, intimate feel of the town are comforting.

Thursday, May 10, 2007: Solitude at Penrose Point doesn't last

Motoring quietly out of Gig Harbor at 8:30 am, I approach the Narrows on a gentle flood tide. Staying near the western shore to take advantage of the sweeping current, Whisper putters along at up to 6 knots. Clusters of colorful waterfront cottages sit at the base of the bluffs south of Gig Harbor.

Winifred passes me as we go under the bridges, and I grab the camera for a few more pictures of such a spectacular boat.

Once in Hale Passage, the motor goes off and the sails go up for a slow, calming drift. Thirty minutes later, I furl the headsail and start the motor because 0.4 knots is just a bit too calming! Wollochet Bay looks inviting but I motorsail past.

At 11:00 am Whisper is approaching the Fox Island bridge. Even though it looks marginal for clearance, I remind myself I should have at least four feet of clearance based on the present tidal stage. The tide has turned by the time I make my approach, and with the current now against Whisper, I'm able to keep headway down to 0.2 knots. I creep toward the bridge, ready to throw the motor into reverse and back down if it looks too close...but the mast and antenna clear the bridge, and I'm on my way.

At 11:30 am Whisper passes out of Hale Passage, entering Carr Inlet. The marine weather forecast predicted a north wind, but Whisper reaches on a southwest wind all the way to Mayo Cove.

Apparently, I've forgotten how shoal the water is against the northern bank. A dinghy motoring in slows down and the occupants stare in concern. The depth sounder tells me I have 7.3 feet below the transom, and I can almost count the rocks in the clear water. I peel off to port and enter deeper water, and make my way to the dock at Penrose Point State Park.

Two boats are at the dock when I pull in, including an older Carver that reminds me of the boat Dad once had.
After a shower and dinner, I take a walk through the park at dusk.

Friday, May 11, 2007: Jarrell's Cove to escape weather

Last night I planned a primary route plus a couple of alternatives. I was looking forward to staying on a buoy at Hope Island, but winds to 20 knots and 2-3 foot waves are not very pleasant on a buoy. I choose a longer alternative: Jarrell's Cove. If the wind really does kick up to 20 (or in Pickering Passage, more likely +25 knots), Jarrell's Cove will provide good shelter.

Leaving Penrose Point at 8:30 am, I turn southward in Carr Inlet, with a light breeze directly on the nose. My plan calls for clearing Pitt Passage by 9:30 am, and I'm already a bit behind schedule, so I motor through, exiting the passage at 10:00 am.

No wind ruffles the surface of Drayton Passage, so I continue to motor.

Rounding Johnson Point and entering Dana Passage, Whisper catches the tail end of a flood tide. I'll take advantage of the current and stop at Boston Harbor for a sandwich. I arrive at Boston Harbor at 12:30 pm, back on schedule.

The gas tank is feeling a little light, so I empty my two-gallon spare can into the main tank, filling it. Boston Harbor Marina has only one left of my favorite sandwich – smoked salmon with provolone, tomato, and red onion on light rye – and my mouth waters as I buy it.

A few minutes later, I'm leaving Boston Harbor and eagerly unwrap my sumptuous smoked salmon sandwich. It is as good as ever.

A Corsair 28 drifts by with main and spinnaker out, but making almost no headway. The current more than the light breath of wind carries the Corsair into Dana Passage.

There are almost no other boats visible. Passing Hope Island and Steamboat Island is interesting, but with no wind it is somewhat less pleasant than I had hoped. The south buoy on Hope is available, and I briefly think about taking it. With the wind prediction again for strong winds out of the south, I decide to stick with my plan to go to Jarrell's Cove.
I spot what appears to be an abandoned vessel – a green tri-hull, sans motor – near the north end of Squaxin Island. Moving close to shore, I snap a couple of photos to send to the Squaxin Island Tribe folks.

Passing Squaxin Island, I realize I am already at the entrance to Hammersley Inlet. This river-like waterbody was missed in early explorations, and I can see why. From the water, you can't see up the inlet, making it look like a small bay.

Passing under the Harstine Island bridge with room to spare, Whisper motors steadily up Pickering Passage.

When I arrive at Jarrell Cove Marine State Park, there is one boat on a buoy, and no boats at the docks. This seems very unusual, especially on a Friday when spring weather has been so spectacular.

It is so quiet. A heron stalks the shallows for a fishy meal. Tree swallows and violet-green swallows perform their highly acrobatic aerial maneuvers. An osprey slaps the water and comes up empty the first time, but succeeds in catching a meal the next four attempts.

Distance traveled today was 26.9 nautical miles in 6.5 hours of motoring. I did not need to go that far today, but if the predicted strong wind actually materializes, I'll be in a great spot.

The solitude is delightful, but I know it is too good to last. Motor yachts start showing up around 6:00 pm. The latest, a Bayliner 3288 with flybridge and hardtop, arrived at 9:00 pm. Of course, the hollering seems to continue even after the motors are silenced. The Bayliner has a nice shear and lots of glass for good visibility. The owner tells me how roomy it is inside.

I wonder: in their haste to pack an experience into a weekend, are motor boaters able to slow down enough after they arrive to actually have such an experience? They are so busy, I find it hard to grasp how they will be able to see and hear and sense the environment they occupy.

As I write this, they talk on the dock about top speed, fuel mileage, replacing a starter, carpet stains, good deals at Costco, forgotten shoes, and call out, “Don't run on the dock!” to the kids.

Around me are circling schools of five-inch salmon. A heron waits to catch one. Two ospreys dive for fish, both making a catch, and as they fly away they pause in mid-air to shake the water from their feathers. Swallows are chirping and swooping and courting and nesting.

Spring greenery is a raucous explosion of color and form. New growth on huckleberry bushes is tannish crimson in color and almost translucent. Fiddleheads form feathery fern fountains. The typically nondescript cascara has leaves suffused with green spring richness. Solomon's seal sprouts stalks with white blooms. Fresh woodpecker holes mark a cedar tree.

Clams are squirting on the beach. Starfish slowly climb up and down the dock pilings. Glacial deposits are exposed in the banks of the cove. Fresh spring grass and mosses beard the edges of pathways. Tan, mahogany and green-skinned madrona trees abound, in bloom and showing their trademark peeling papery bark. Seven-foot-tall salal reaches for light in the forest of maturing Douglas Fir.

I suspect they'll see little of these things. But I also recognize that the experience I am seeking is likely different than what they are seeking. I don't have to agree with it to respect that we all have the right and opportunity to experience such a wonderful place in our own way. The fact that we have access to a park like this is truly amazing.

Saturday, May 12, 2007: Allyn

I don't have to leave early, so I don't. I take another walk along woodland trails as I realize my week is going to end soon.

With the motor idling quietly, I glide out of Jarrell's Cove at 10:00 am, turning north into Pickering Passage. Sails go up at 10:00 am, and I sail along the eastern shore of Stretch Island. Seals are surfacing and blowing and romping all around Whisper.

At noon I turn toward Fair Harbor and drop sails, motoring to the dock. Hoping for a sandwich for lunch, I'm disappointed to see a note on the door that says gone to lunch. I don't wait around.

By 12:30 pm, the sails are up again and the wind builds. Again it was predicted to be out of the north, and again it is out of the south. Soon whitecaps are forming. Whisper sails dead downwind, wing-on-wing, then reaches on starboard tack to regain the main channel. I sail until Whisper is lined up with the Allyn dock. Jan is on the finger pier at the ramp, waving as I motor in. She catches the stern while I secure the bow.

Comparison of motoring vs. sailing

I thought it would be interesting to keep track of actual hours motored and sailed, and distances covered. In the past, I've used the off-the-cuff figure of 75% as an average proportion of time motoring vs. sailing. The figures in the chart below corroborate that number. I do find that when I have long distances planned, I tend to be less patient sailing, because I want to get to the planned destination!

Raw data was derived from my onboard GPS unit, with time rounded to the nearest quarter hour and distance to the nearest one-tenth of a nautical mile.

Total hours and miles per day

For planning purposes, I have been using an average speed (motor and sail) of 3.5 knots. Since I was keeping track of time and distance on this trip, it was easy to check my assumption. The results show I should probably use a lower average speed when planning a trip, say, about 3 knots. That figure would be more conservative, but of course I would need to factor in currents and expected winds.