By Suzanna Leigh
July 15, Sunday
Terns were diving for fish as we passed the red nun buoy at the mouth of Quartermaster Harbor. We motored into the teeth of the wind, hoping to get through the Narrows before the current was so strong against us we wouldn’t be able to make headway. We raised the small jib and reefed the mainsail as soon as we cleared the bridge over the Narrows. We were fignting both wind and current as we sailed south.
The current varies in strength between Fox Island, south of Gig Harbor, and Day Island on the Tacoma side; it looked as though it was stronger on the east side near Day Island. We tested it. Yup, it was. It pushed us back up north. Sailing close-hauled – sailing almost against the wind – we squeaked by Fox Island and headed for Penrose Point at the end of Keystone Peninsula. Occasional gusts pushed the rail under, and once I had to let the main sail out to spill the wind so that we wouldn’t capsize.
It was windy coming into anchorage under power. We dropped the anchor and tried to back down to set it, but the engine wasn’t giving us any power, even when Bob gave it more fuel. I took the helm while Bob checked out the problem. The fuel can for the stove had fallen over the shifting cable, an easy fix.
We anchored in 15 feet of water and checked the tide charts. The tide was at 6′ when we anchored and would be at .5 feet early the next morning, a loss of 5.5′. That would put us in 9.5 feet of water; we draw 4′, so no danger of going aground. We checked the barometer and marine weather report; no storm approaching. We could sleep easy and have a leisurely breakfast before going ashore and exploring the Penrose State Park.
I wonder if we will find thimbleberries tomorrow?
July 16, Monday
We put on our life jackets and climbed down into the dinghy. Bob took the oars and rowed, his back to the shore, while I, facing forward, pointed to the direction he needed to steer. We found two trails up the steep bank to the main trail, both nearly hidden by brush. We climbed one and found ourselves on a path leading through moss-covered maple trees and tall ferns to a grass-covered area with picnic tables and shelters. No thimbleberries, but the ranger was an old high school buddy of Bob’s.
July 17, Tuesday
Anxious to take off under sail, perhaps we hadn’t latched the shackle that connects the main sail to the halyard quite right.
Bob pulled on the anchor line until we were right over the anchor, then he latched the halyard to the main sail with a shackle and pulled on the halyard to raise the main. I loosened the mainsheet to prevent the wind from putting pressure on it before we were ready to sail, and watched the sail rise, rise, SNAP – and fall. The recently released folds of the sail came falling and folding back down to the boom with a whoosh!
We set the anchor again and checked the damage. Had the shackle broken? Or had the halyard snapped? No, nothing of halyard or shackle remained on the sail, but there was the shackle, still attached to the halyard, up against the pulley at the top of the mast. Nothing for it but one of us to go up the mast to get it, and before that ugly cloud was upon us with wind and rain.
Being the lighter of us, and less strong, I felt more comfortable going up the mast myself than I did hoisting Bob up. I have only been up the mast once, and then only as high as the spreaders, about three-fourths of the way.
I climbed into the blue canvas bosun’s chair. Bob fastened the jib halyard to the chair with a good strong shackle, and pulled on the jib halyard to raise me up. Up I went, focused so hard on holding onto the mast to keep my body from swinging around it, on clearing the spreaders, and on locating the shackle at the end of the main halyard, that I missed my opportunity to look down at the boat far below me and panic.
Bob hoisted me up until I could reach the shackle. Once I had a good grip on it, he lowered me down. As I descended, still holding the mast with one hand, I pulled the shackle and main halyard down with me. Finally, my feet rested solidly on the cabin top and, with a sigh of relief, I climbed out of the bosun’s chair.
Bob examined the shackle. It was bent, and Bob fixed it easily. Soon we were ready to sail again – but here comes the rain and wind!
We waited out the squall, then drifted off the mooring under sail, in the light fluky airs of the cloud’s tail.
