Some time ago a buyer commented, 'your process is too complicated.' It should be just like buying a car. Obviously they did not know what went on in the back office when they last bought a car. To this person it was as easy as handing over the cash and taking the signed off title in return, hooking up the boat to the car and leaving. I did not know them only having talked to them that afternoon. What I inferred was they knew exactly what they wanted, the boat I had listed filled those wants and the fact it was a cash transaction should make the whole process very simple. If it were always so easy.
Buying a boat is much more like buying a house than a car. There are far fewer variables buying a car than a boat, some may argue not true, and the investment of money is different. Most people do not spend a low five digits for cars that are twenty years old or anywhere in between. Even older boats may have values approaching mid five digits. So how could that kind of expenditure be compared to buying a car? Many people sell boats on their own, and I am sure there are many transactions of that nature which are satisfactorily concluded. My experience tells me the percentages are low for success, and just last week received an email from a former buyer he bought a boat on line (not from us) and "got screwed." He did not elaborate, but did tell me he would be looking again. Of course this is anecdotal evidence and hard data might be difficult to obtain. There is just inherent risk in buying high dollar items from people you do not know.
Typically a transaction goes something like this:
*Contact a broker and discuss your goals for a purchase, total budget, and features you would like to see. You might discuss your experience in boating or with the particular type of boat you are shopping. In addition you will learn about the broker, their experience as a boater, and knowledge of the industry.
*The broker goes looking.
*Possibilities are discussed and perhaps arrangements are made to view the boat. You make an offer and the necessary paperwork is completed. The broker contacts the owner of the boat to present the offer. There may be negotiation or there may not. The broker will have consulted with you about the offer and its probability of acceptance and understand your willingness to negotiate.
*The offer accepted based on contingencies**. Your broker will guide through each of these steps. The typical contingencies are inspection and or survey, and water trial. The offer is finally accepted, you place a deposit, (to the brokerage trust account) and arrangements made to satisfy the contingencies. The contingencies are satisfactorily met and the transaction is completed. If they are not your deposit is refunded.
Now each step deserves its own analysis and commentary which are upcoming. For now consider; would you had over several thousand dollars to complete the transaction without some opportunity to inspect what you are buying? Would want to make sure the seller has the authority to sell the vessel? Would you want to make sure you have a clean title? Would you want some assurance the vessel is capable of doing what it is you want it to do?
The broker should be functioning as your consultant on your journey to buying your boat. Ask questions, even the ones you may think are dumb ones (there are not any dumb ones.) The broker should be willing to discuss boats and boating in general and share their knowledge. They should also tell you want they don't know.
**Costs are borne by the buyer
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Friday, October 3, 2014
From the Salish Sea to Home
Captain invited Third Leg to help him bring his boat, a
Willard Cutter, home after his four month voyage in South East Alaska. At the
risk of significant trouble from the company the invitation was accepted to
make the trip from the Salish Sea to its home port near Portland, Oregon on the
Multnomah Channel. Secure of faith in technology a Verizon Jet Pack and 3 gigs
of data account and mobile phone packed along to at least keep up with daily
emails and communications. Picking up The Cook drove north with the wives for
the rendezvous in Olympia. After lunch, hugs and kisses, The Cook’s wife and Third
Leg’s bride of 40 years returned home and we stowed our gear aboard.
Departing Olympia late in the day under a bright blue warm
sky we motored up Budd Inlet, across Dana Passage into Squaxin Passage to Haro
Island State Park; a short cruise. At the helm Third Leg steered the boat to a
mooring buoy.
The Captain said, “let’s take” that one.”
“Ok. That one there?” Third Leg called out. The Captain and
The Cook were ready to feed the line through the eye.
“No over there, the middle one.”
“Oh.” Then they went ahead and tied off to the one next to
the boat. ‘Oh, well’ Third Leg thought, ‘we will nail communications later.’
No one was hungry after the late lunch so a few snacks, an episode
of British drama on Netflix everyone found their bunks and slept an unsettled
night. (Technology note: The Captain uses a Super Wi Fi Antenna to find open
connections – used this throughout his summer cruise.) The intrepid crew spent
a fitful night on the buoy as the wind direction did not favor the location.
On day two all rose and departed around 0730. This became the
routine which conveniently matched the tide and current from departure to
destination. After reviewing the expected course, time, and planned plots with Third
Leg, The Captain he announced, “I want to top off the fuel tank.”
The Cook (which eventually just shortened to Cookie) busied
himself in the galley making coffee and preparing breakfast, and Third Leg said
“Ok.”
“I have a jerry can, and that should be enough to the next
place we can fuel.” He pointed out a couple of potentials near our destination
of Gig Harbor.
Third Leg eyed the computer screen, made a mental
calculation and shrugged. Helping Captain pull the can out of lazarett he
added, “gauge says quarter tank but not sure if it is accurate.”
Finishing that task Third Leg put away mooring lines and
fenders and sat down with Auto’s shiny new electronic control and checked the
course. After breakfast Captain and Cookie discussed who would do dishes in
what would become a daily ritual. Once
completed, The Captain came on deck, and Third Leg went about checking emails
and responding to inquiries from sellers and buyers. One ear tuned to Cookie
and The Captain talking about the now closed McNeil Island prison and avoiding
the ferry to starboard.
This section of the trip was mostly, ‘so we turn round than
point there?’
‘Yea, that one. See it the one this side of the other one.’ It is the disadvantage of using a small screen laptop. The larger perspective is available but not without some manipulation.
‘Oh, sure I see.’ Fortunately a sail boat does not go so
fast course corrections can be made with relatively little embarrassment. As we
swung past a bucolic little marina to starboard Cookie asked, “what is that
place.”
Third Leg said, “why that is Baston Hawba.”
Cookie gave a look like maybe he was from there. The real
Baston Hawba.
Third Leg just chuckled and said under his breath, ‘Yah
Baston, south of New Yawk.” Looking around, “well they probably make fun of the
way we talk.” For some reason Third Leg was the only who thought his
linguistics were funny.
Sliding through the Narrows at high slack tide the next
destination eventually hove into view. Gig Harbor is a beautiful and snug
location with most amenities within walking distance of the boat. There is a
museum of wooden boats, a chandlery, good restaurants (one with killer ice cream
called Kelly’s) and a large public dock. There is no fuel, and Captain wanted
to fill that, now empty, jerry can. That would wait until later as the first
order of business was lunch. Who knew the appetizer menu would include an
iceberg wedge salad? It had a profound effect on Cookie, who could not get it
off his mind the remainder of the trip. The reduced balsamic vinegar stayed on
his tongue.
When it became clear from asking a couple of the locals and
consulting the internet via smart phone, we were in for a walk to fill that
jerry can.
“We gotta walk up to the highway.”
“Up?”
“Yeh, like San Francisco or Seattle.”
“How far?”
“I dunno, six blocks maybe.” Third Leg stopped, then said,
“coming back down carrying forty pounds of diesel, will be the hard part.”
Captain gave a funny look, he had the heart surgery after
all, “no worries, I have a hand truck.”
Third Leg rubbed his knees. “Ok, let’s go.”
Captain took the lead towing the handcart with can firmly
attached. Cookie looked at Third Leg shrugged and began our slow march. A third
of the way up the hill we stopped (cause Captain did.) “Good view.”
“Yeh, great.”
Captain chuckled and resumed the march. Finally reaching our
destination he filled the can.
Third Leg took the cart and we began the descent. Halfway
down stopping to rub his knees.
Captain stated from behind, “we will stop and get some ice
cream.”
‘Great,’ thought Third Leg, ‘this kind of constitutional
loosens the bowels.’ Eating ice cream just sounded like swallowing poison at
that point.
Stopping in front of the ice cream store Captain and Cookie
went in. Third Leg made his excuses and quickened his steps to the boat. A few long moments later--sweet
relief.
Emerging from the restroom at the top of the ramp, Third Leg
spied Cookie and Captain still eating ice cream. Captain stating, “we will have
to go back later.”
Day three opened with a planned destination of Blake Island
State Park. “Our first stop is Des Moines for fuel.” Captain stated. “Since we
are entering a VTS (Vessel Traffic Separation) are we will just track along
this line.” He pointed to the salmon/pink dotted line on the chart. Pulling out
his pad, he pulled up another chart which he frequently referenced. Great
planning tool, but since the manufacturer saw fit not to put in a GPS into the IPAD
we could not utilize the full power available in the program. Hence followed a
long conversation about upgrading the device at minimal cost. One of the
Captain’s virtues.
As we motored up (North) through the East Passage, passing
through the short Dalco Passage first with Maury Island to port, Captain
pointed several land marks along our route. A couple of largish power boats
motored out fast after clearing the breakwater at Des Moines. Captain
commented, “wait till tomorrow, ferry boat wakes are bigger.”
Third Leg’s mind wandered while standing at the computer.
‘One thing about the ocean, there is a certain rhythm, boat wakes just toss
everything around.’ This comment will come back to haunt him.
The approach, entrance, and refueling session at Des Moines
passed without incident or any comments of particular interest other than
learning Cookie’s brain is filled with far more trivia than Third Leg. Everyone
thought Third Leg the master of the arcane thought, but the torch has been
passed to Cookie, at least in Third Leg’s mind.
Blake Island is a favorite destination for boaters from
Seattle due to its proximity to the city. It must be crazy on Friday afternoon
in the summer. The camp host was friendly and directed the boat to a dock. The
showers are usable but on Captain’s advice deferred that activity to another
subsequent port. Instead a walk was ordered up. Great
walking trails, but for the most part the tracks are in deep forest and the canopy is
thick. Back at the docks deer grazed nonchalantly allowing posing for a number
of photos and as the sun set and the full moon rose above the skyline. The view
was impressive.
Captain was proud of his existence without ice (two months
he says.) Cookie and Third Leg really disrupted that by bringing some food
items that are best served cool. Unfortunately block ice was never found, and
cocktail ice has a shorter life span than a dragonfly. The eggs, chicken, bacon
and other perishables were eaten early in the cruise. Cookie made eggs and
bacon for breakfast and the now thawed chicken was added to rice and beans
tonight.
“Pretty good, Cookie.”
“Thanks.”
“Too bad we don’t have some curry.”
“I do, hang on,” exclaimed Captain! He dove below and began
digging through his supplies. Now understand this boat has more places to store
stuff than most bigger boats. When something went missing Captain would say,
“it is only a thirty foot boat.” There are a lot of hiding places, however. In
a moment he came up with a small container of curry powder.
“Ahh, that will answer,” Third Leg stated.
“Good,” grunted Cookie.
The evening was complete when after dinner, we snapped a
number of pictures, settled into watching Foyle’s War on Netflix, and Cookie
fell into slumber.
The next day dawned foggy, really foggy. Not as foggy as
some trips though. Recollection of a night leaving Port Angeles so foggy the
bow lights could not be seen and wearing a towel around the neck ‘cause the air
was so thick the glasses had to be wiped every few minutes. It was not that
bad. Captain did fire up the radar however and we left Blake Island quietly. Our
destination, Port Townsend, was some distance so it was going to be long day.
The forecast, as before, predicted no wind so we would listen to the iron jenny
all day. Sokay—it is a smooth running engine.
As usual Third Leg took the first trick at the wheel while
Cookie, under the watchful of eyeThe Captain, made breakfast. Now that sounds
worse than it really was, it is just that The Captain knew the location of
everything. Thanks to a previous guest aboard we had superlative oatmeal with
raisins, bananas, and brown sugar. Oh yeh good hot coffee.
Third Leg steered, actually telling Auto to steer, a course
North through Puget Sound again following the western edge of the VTS. Tugs and
Ferry’s moved in and out of the fog and thanks to the radar kept us well clear.
By the time we changed heading at Point No Point came abeam, the sun was
burning off the remainder of the morning mist. By this time Third Leg had
finished the morning email, having long since been relieved of poking Auto’s
buttons. Standing on the companion way steps a broad view of the area revealed
Whidbey Island to the north and the still snow covered Mount Baker.
For some reason the morning ritual of reviewing the planned
course did not take place. Third Leg, reluctant to call out the Captain, merely
stretched around to look at the laptop screen. “Forecast for Admiralty Inlet is
for small craft advisories this afternoon.”
“Not going that way. Going to Oak Bay and through the Port
Townsend Canal.”
I did not need to see
the planning chart on the pad to see we were already bucking an incoming tide.
“Are we late,” Third Leg ventured?
“Depends on how you look at it.” Captain chuckled. “We will
be ahead of the slack so it may be a bit slow going through the Canal.”
We were and it was. It was a nice ‘shortcut’ though.
Emerging on the other side we speculated on what the Navy
did on Indian Island recognizing in the end we had no clue. Port Townsend lay
ahead, and unfortunately or fortunately, we missed the Wooden Boat Festival by
a weekend. Tying up to the dock we were still in the midst of a number of
beautiful wood boats. Rounding up quarters we headed to the showers, noting the
cleaning lady was not put off. Cookie seemed most disturbed.
Venturing around Port Townsend is an interesting activity.
The architecture is striking and the tree lined streets are inviting to walk.
The crew had many choices for dinner, but settled on finding a place by way of an alley
off a side street to enjoy the view of the water. The limited menu looked good
as Cookie ordered off the appetizer list; oyster shooters, artichoke dip, and spiced potato tots.
Oh, yeh cold beer from a local brewery also. Cookie commented again how much he liked the salad at Gig Harbor. Slow walking back the ice
cream vendor was located, and the helping was generous, but not as good as the place back at Gig
Harbor.
We got back to the dock and another transient boater asked
“is that your Bayliner?” In unison we shook our heads.
Captain pointed out we were on the cutter.
“Well you may want to check the back of your boat.” He
pointed, “I think he may have hit it.”
Seems the big power boat came untied and the only thing
keeping it from caroming off other boats was that it was plugged into shore
power. Checking the aft end of the Willard there appeared to be no damage other
than the bar-b-que askew. ‘I took a line from them when they came in but did
not watch them tie off,’ thought Third Leg. ‘Make a note for future reference.’
Also remembering the skipper saying the boat had not been out for two and a
half years as he maneuvered into the dock. Also, now it was tied port side to
rather than starboard. Guess the guy will figure it out.
Getting under way the next morning for Port Angles, Third
Leg could feel the tug of upcoming long day and night down the coast. The
weather forecast was still favorable for a Saturday departure from Neah Bay.
For now we would enjoy replenishing a few supplies at Port Angeles. The usual
morning drill, Third Leg steered around Pt. Hudson with the top of Admiralty
Inlet to starboard. A short time later the boat Pt Wilson and again followed a
course along the (now southern) boundary of the VTS.
A breakfast of The Captain’s French toast was not only
welcome, but settled down the ensuing who would do dishes dialogue. The eastern
end of the Straits of Juan de Fuca were un-naturally calm, bringing the view
across to Victoria closer. It is a short sixteen nautical miles from our next
destination, but on some afternoons can seem interminably long. The benevolence
persisted all the way into Port Angeles.
Tying up to the fuel dock The Captain wanted to top off the
tank, and Cookie inquired about ice and nearest grocery store. The Harbor
master responded Ice was available at a café at the top of the ramp and gave up
general locations for the store. He assigned our spot for the evening and tied
up.
Now everything is a long way away in Port Angeles. The good
news—it has the fuel dock. There is a considerable commercial fishing fleet and
in the transient area you will see everything that looks like it could go
around the world in comfort and some that should not be in the neighbors
irrigation pond.
“How about some lunch?” The Captain Inquired.
Silent and enthusiastic nods from Cookie and Third Leg.
‘Lord I have gained weight on this trip,’ he thought. Walking the length of the
dock as the Willard was tied at its extreme end, the various and sundry were
eye balled and discussed. Passing a J42 bound for Portland The Captain talked
briefly with one of the crew. A sailing plan roughly the same.
“What’s on the menu?” All staring at the ‘specials’ on the
wall.
“Seafood.”
“Ok, let’s go.” Cookie noted the place has ice also.
“Well that was good, shall we go for a walk?”
Locating a nearby grocery store, a sort of New Season’s type
place, the shelves were perused for items to see us through the next three
days. The overall plan to procure what could easily be made underway, on and
off watch, in conditions which would never allow a level deck. Satisfied we had
enough the next quest was for, what can’t you guess? Ice cream. All three knew the
Dairy Queen was near the wharf for the Coho ferry so a course was plotted. Finishing
this end of the walk along the new (relatively) public area just to the east the plot was laid to return to the marina.
Walking by the café where lunch was had previously resulted in disappointment as
they were closed. No ice.
“Well I will walk back to the gas station,” Third Leg
volunteered.
Cookie said he would go.
The Captain said, “let’s stow our groceries and we can all
walk back.”
Third Leg raised an eyebrow, ‘exasperation maybe. Naw, he
really likes to walk and he does it a lot.’
On the way back with ice the chat continued with the boat on
its way back to Portland. A crew of three also, and it will stretch its legs on
the way. Never mind it had twelve feet of additional length it’s a J boat.
The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly noting another
fast looking sloop came in and tied up for the night. Her home port announced
San Francisco. A third boat in the flotilla all mused. Knowing the boat would never be seen again once we departed as it (we were to learn later) raced
south and home.
“Hey Cookie, can you stay up for another installment of Foyle’s War,” asked the Captain?
“You guys go ahead and follow your routine,” he smiled.
Since the laptop provided the viewing from its perch on the
counter atop the companion way ladder Third Leg made his seat on the cabin
sole. Utilizing two back cushions from the settee and moving a folding table
just long enough to bar the passage to the head and V berth as the support for
one of the two cushions.
The Captain popped a kettle full of pop corn (no microwave
stuff), Cookie stretched out the port settee happily munching corn. Third Leg
assumed his position on the cabin sole. The Captain announced, “we may see the
Aurora on the way home, big CME’s.”
“Ha,” cried Third Leg. “Hey Cookie if I have told you this
story, tell me to stop.” Swallowing some crushed salty goodness. “This was
years ago, I think my first trip on this boat Captain.”
“Yeh, we had not had it too long at that time.”
“Bout, this time of year I reckon. Anyway we were already
outside heading south and I was on watch by myself. For some reason The Captain
had decided we should stop in La Push.” Cookie tried to interject some story or
other about when he lived and worked there. Another of many he could tell of
the multitudinous locations he has lived in or worked. But those are his
stories. “I got the floor now Cookie, wait your turn.” Third Leg waived his
arm.
The Captain laughed at that one. “We stopped because it is
an interesting place, and to slow us down to make the high tide on the bar.”
Third Leg knew he had them now and did not want to distract
them from the story. “Anyway it was about two in the morning. You could see
Destruction Island Light – that was when it was still there.”
“Isn’t it?” Queried The Captain. “
Third Leg gave him a funny look, “according to the 2014
Light List. It has been a couple of years since my last trip. Not sure when the
Coasties decommissioned it.” Third Leg paused for a drink of water, “I’ll be
brief.”
Cookie snorted, “yeh sure.”
“Everybody needs a peanut gallery. As I was saying I was on
watch and happened to look aft and right there in the North was the most
beautiful display of celestial light I had ever seen. It hung like a blue green
curtain waiving in the wind. I was so excited I hollered below ‘Hey the Aurora
is out. In unison, from below, ‘we’ve seen it! Call us again on the watch
change.’ Well I thought then, your loss. I had never seen it and damn it was
spiritual.”
The Captain said, “well I will make sure you have that piece
of the midwatch then.”
“Thanks Skipper,” Third Leg grinned.
Cookie started to relate some story again about the Northern
Lights around some place up North he had worked.
The Captain said, “ok let’s watch the movie.”
Cookie was starting to doze off anyway.
We left a little later the next day, than had been our usual
routine, and The Captain figured we would get into Neah Bay around 1600hours,
and he hit it about spot on. Third Leg did not even make a comment at the
morning “briefing.” Once again at the helm for the first trick and the
breakfast banter. The sea state was near perfect compared to some previous
trips. No fog, a shifting wind, and unfortunately an incoming tide. We rolled
on out watching the shrinking sails of the two acquaintances from yesterday.
Both reached across the Strait and we lost sight of the San Francisco boat
early. A few fishing boats, big commercial vessels, and a clear view of
Vancouver Island were companions on the trip.
At the usual post meal shift change Cookie and The Captain
came on deck. “Let’s put up the staysail.”
The Captain and Third Leg moved cautiously forward and set
to work. Several times on the trip the staysail had been hoisted, but under the
current conditions the goal to stabilize the role of the boat would be reached.
Completing that chore Third Leg turned below to check emails
and review inquiries. The afternoon passed slowly and Third Leg noted the various sea
states from flat calm to three foot swells, confused surface, and occasional
one to two foot wind waves.
“At least no fog.” The Captain stated flatly.
“Oh yeh,” Third Leg stopped, ‘humm, already told them that
story,’ he mused.
The J42 crossed our bow a few miles out heading into Neah
Bay.
As Cookie managed the helm Captain and Third Leg doused the
stay sail. Third Leg noting that no one was anchored out. An unusual site as we
motored deeper into the bay. Third Leg secured the fenders with Cookie’s help
and we tied to the gas dock, a short distance from the marina. Picking up a
finger opposite the J42 The Captain went up to the moorage office seconding as
a small grocery and fishing supply. Since the harbor master wanted us on the
same finger adjacent to our new acquaintances The Captain said, “we will just
hand line her over.” The space between the fingers is much wider than the
length of the boat we easily turned her and pointed bow out.
Now there is not much in Neah Bay other than a world class museum. The
J boat crew recommend the pizza at a little vendor. Sounded good to us. Third
Leg told his bride upon returning home. ‘Two solid reasons for making a weekend
road trip, honey. Smoked Salmon Pizza in Neah Bay and ice cream in Gig Harbor.’
Since the plan was to leave a little later in the morning tomorrow we did
not go through the usual prep of stowing loose items and rigging jack lines.
There was time also for breakfast at the Round House. Nothing like eggs, bacon, and pancakes to settle a nervous stomach. The Captain figured to cross the bar at around 1300 hours on the slack Sunday
afternoon. Leaving by 1000 in the morning will give us ample room either way.
“We can slow the boat down; we can’t speed her up,” he emphasized.
Third Leg thought inwardly of the crossing into La Push
dismissing the thought quickly, ‘different circumstances then. Besides we will
only be a few hours into the trip.’
After stowing gear and rigging jack lines the essentials
were laid out including harness and PFD. The weather report looked benign but
that also meant no favorable winds. The forecast called for an offshore flow, not
unusual for this time of year, and a westerly swell for most of the trip. The
swell would become northwesterly generally south of Gray’s Harbor. The last
trip was similar mused Third Leg, but more wind and that westerly swell made
for a somewhat uncomfortable trip. This would be different with the absence of
the predominant north westerly’s.
The Captain laid out the plan including taking the short cut
through Hole in the Wall. Considering the sea state and an ebb tide, “should be
easy to see the rocks.”
Most of yesterday The Captain pondered an appropriate watch
schedule and still discussed the dilemma of meeting his goal of having two on
watch through the night as we departed. Third Leg only contributed, “won’t
work. Each of us will have stand one hour alone in the night.” Finally agreeing the schedule
was posted.
Now Hole in the Wall is a local knowledge thing. The more
cautious route is around Duntze Rock leaving its light well abeam. The pass
provides access from the Pacific to the Straits through a narrow channel
between Tatoosh Island and Cape Flattery. To avoid the drying rocks (low tide)
it is best to stay close to the island. There are no markers. That’s the local
knowledge thing. Sea lions barked and a helicopter passed from the mainland to
the island carrying a bucket, the assumption was some construction on the
island. Like many other islands with lights on the North Pacific coast this one
was once serviced by a keeper. ‘A lonely and courageous existence,’ thought
Third Leg.
Cookie cooked up the last of the bacon and served an
excellent lunch of BLT’s and chips. “All food is better on the water,”
announced Third Leg. “Thanks Cookie!”
“You are welcome,” he grinned. “A regular lunch meal on the
tugs I worked on bound for Alaska.”
“Right,” chuckled the Captain.
The afternoon passed leaving La Push and Umatilla Reef behind
while still in the daylight. As the late afternoon progressed it seemed a good
idea to use up some the perishable vegetables for the evening meal. As anyone
who has done this recognizes working the galley in any kind of seaway can be
difficult. Third Leg was sure he had it mastered, mixing together lettuce, tomato,
onion, canned corn, canned peas, some cheese, chopped almonds (try that
underway), and seasoning. Viola! Chicken salad, once the canned chicken breast
is added. Third Leg was pleased with himself as he dished up for Cookie and the
Captain, and even managed to clean up the galley. Then, ‘where did that seventh
one come from?’ The remainder of the bowl managing to find itself upside down
on the deck. “Damn it,” cried Third Leg.
“Sorry. I saw that one coming.”
“Thanks,” grumbled Third Leg.
“Its Ok,” smiled Cookie, “everyone got seconds.”
“Not like it is the first time it has happened,” said The
Captain smiling.
“Thanks guys. I think I need to gift some carpet cleaner,
Skipper.”
“Probably that rug needs replacing anyway.”
There are four points of activity along the Washington
coast. General locations where it pays to keep out an eye for other vessels with a tad more intensity and
a sharp watch on the radar at night. Local sailors always make the remark that
‘the crab pots go away at night.’ So staying out past the hundred fathom line
is always a safe bet. It is a good idea to watch for floats in any case. The
Straits are behind as is the port of La Push and as the night began and the
number of boats that could be seen diminished. What is left is a celestial
tapestry that is unbelievable. Third Leg thought to himself, ‘there is nothing
like a clear night on the ocean.’ Stars appear right down to the horizon and
the Milky Way occludes the night sky like a cloud. The stars barely twinkle and
the manmade objects compare poorly to the view. Third Leg felt good about
getting the 2200 to 2400 watch to see the moon coming up. Coming back up on
deck at 0200 a city had bloomed around him. The area off Gray’s Harbor is one
of the “areas” of activity. The lights of fishing boats nearby and distant
shone well to the west. The numerous buoys marking the entrance winked in the
night and the RACOR return from the number one buoy made a large bright spot on
the radar. Standing watch alone at this time provides a welcome solitude, but
no aurora. The Northern Lights failed to appear. Third Leg decided to let
Cookie sleep and stood the second hour alone watching the passing lights.
Around 0400 I rousted him out and The Captain.
Waking around 0700, Third Leg made coffee without the mishap
of the previous evening. The sun was coming up and the forecast held as the
swell was now rolling out the northwest. Cookie was rustling and Third Leg knew the
morning routine established seven days ago would begin. Third Leg took his turn
playing with Auto, The Captain went below to muster up breakfast and
subsequently a nap.
With the sun up full the eyes start straining to see the
North Jetty. Cape Disappointment is visible and it occurs to Third Leg, this is
when things can get weird. More recreational and commercial fishing boats, lots
more crab pots, and the nearness of the “quiet water” of the river beckons’. The
frequent and numerical growth of all the above proved no surprise. As the rumb
line pointed closer to about buoy six, the number of pots grew as did the
number of commercial fishing rigs. Third Leg shut down Auto and thanked him for
his dedication. He could take a rest until we reached the bar.
Third Leg checked his watch. “We are early,” he said to no
one in particular. The bar pilot announced a large ship inbound. The bearing
did not look good to Third Leg, so steered a course towards its stern. ‘Damn
crab pots.’ Quickly maneuvering around. Resuming the course the boat headed on
a more southerly course. This happened frequently. Now about two miles off the
North Jetty and the ship well in we bounced on the still ebbing tide slowly
making the way in.
A fuel stop in Astoria, sandwiches from the galley under
Cookie’s care and the boat headed upriver to Cathlamet. The Captain napped.
Under clear windless skies motored into the Elochoman Marina. Third Leg, under the Captains tutelage, eased
the boat into a starboard tie turning the cutter inside the little fairway
between the docks. Behind a big Hunter which had passed on the way up river. The Captain and Cookie regaled the crew of the
Hunter, but Third Leg had no interest in being friendly. Only getting a shower
and shave. A ‘B’ line to the showers. Looking over his shoulder Third leg saw
his escape was a near things as the female representative of the Hunter crew
seemed to be intent on bending the Captain’s ear all the way down the dock.
The evenings activities were probably some of the most
entertaining, but to comment on the locals might bring the wrong impression of
this neat destination on the Columbia. The Captain did buy ice cream at the
local grocery. Talking the long walk back to the marina The Captain noted the
expansion of the facilities and the drying of the treatment ponds since the
city now had a treatment plant. Ahh progress.
Departure the next morning and a plan to make the long run
back home. There are two ways into Cathlamet (or exits depending on your destination.) One is around Puget Island. Longer and in the summer windier and rougher. The other is through the Cathlamet Channel. All three of the crew has navigated the channel prior to the Coast Guard placing ATON's. They have since been removed due to the "shifting channel." We took this shorter route and even though a couple of the "old" references (pre ATON) are gone. The trip up river was uneventful and relaxing in the late summer sun.
Enjoying an adult beverage on Cookie’s deck late that
afternoon, he stated “man that salad was
good”.
The Captain and Third Leg laughed together, and The Captain
added, “yeh and so was the ice cream.”
Thursday, October 2, 2014
From Practical Sailor Waypoints--Stop That Leak
A repost from Practical Sailor Waypoints.
Practical Sailor Waypoints - Stop That Leak!
Modern chemistry has presented us with new choices of sealants for everything, including the kitchen sink. Stop That Leak! Modern chemistry has presented us with new choices of sealants for everything
| From: | Practical Sailor (practicalsailor@e.practical-sailor.com) |
| Sent: | Wed 9/03/14 7:15 AM |
| To: |
Modern chemistry has presented us with new choices of sealants for everything, including the kitchen sink.
|
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