What I Saw – by Jackie Philpott

 

To The Delta Again

In July of 2022 Dura Mater and I were tucked into our dock at Owl Harbor. One morning, as I was washing dishes in her tiny galley, I looked up to see two smiling people floating on the water just the other side of the transom. Grant Kiba and Cecily Kneppreth, on paddle boards, had stopped by to introduce themselves. It was Cecily’s first time on a board, and she remained upright while exhibiting perfect social skills. Very impressive, both for her social skills and especially for staying upright.

Grant was already familiar with Owl Harbor. He had brought his boat there since before it had luxe bathrooms and Rhode Island Reds. However, he had never eaten at Foster’s Big Horn restaurant in Rio Vista, so I suggested we go there for dinner. We ate sitting under all those stuffed animal heads and our waitress was very nice. Sorry that I didn’t catch her name.

This year Grant asked Cecily where she would like to go for her birthday and Cecily chose Owl Harbor. Of course, she did. So, they motor sailed across the calm San Pablo Bay, raised the spinnaker at the Antioch Bridge and sailed to Channel Marker 41, where they turned to port into Seven Mile Slough.

So, there we all were again, together at Owl Harbor for Cecily’s birthday party. It was a splendid day with that familiar heat. After checking in with Devery up at the office, I walked up to Grant’s boat on B Dock, S/V Take Five More, where Cecily and I promptly jumped in the water. Aaaaahhh. Jumping into that soft, cool water on a hot day. What could feel better?

The next morning it was a hike along the gravel road, where I checked out the vegetable garden and the chickens. Two chickens were in the infirmary: Either they were sick or they were one of the hens referred to by Devery as “the mean girls,” and they were being isolated. I could hear the tractors in the fields, farmers already working at 7:45 a.m. on this Saturday morning. And then I saw a BIG ship, slowly moving through the alfalfa field. Readers here all understand that it was really motoring down the San Joaquin coming from Stockton, but that optical illusion of seeing a boat on the water from across a field still stops me in my tracks.

Delta Marina

After coffee I drove to the Delta Marina, where I was immediately welcomed by Teresa; I perused the boating items, admired the pretty fishing lures, the Volvo engine parts and picked out some sassy notepads. Teresa gave me a free “diaper” for my bilge. I always like going to the Delta Marina gift shop. It has the best stuff. This is the first time ever that I haven’t bought an ice cream bar, but FYI there is a good selection near the cashier’s desk.

The Sportsman’s Yacht Club

Even though it was September, it was hot in Rio Vista. I needed shade, so I headed over to the covered patio across the lush green lawn of the Marina, where I met up with members of the Sportsman’s Yacht Club of Antioch.

Members of the Sportsman’s Yacht Club participate in the annual Four S Games. It was described to me as “kind of like the Olympics,” and includes events like ax throwing. The four clubs that participate are the Stockton, Sacramento, San Joaquin and Sportsman’s Yacht Clubs.

Apparently, the San Joaquin Yacht Club has had some issues recently; so an effort to revive interest will be made by having the 2025 Four S Games at that club next year. If you want to have a nice time, sail or motor on over to the San Joaquin Yacht Club on Bethel Island during the third week of July in 2025.

Four S Games: The Event Of The Future

I talked with Rick and Terri Barlon. Rick used to have a sailboat. He told me that he went through that classic phase of sailboat ownership, what he referred to as the phase of “I need a bigger boat. I need a bigger boat. I need a bigger boat. This boat is too big.” Then he bought a fishing boat instead.

I also chatted with another fella who had brought his boat Uf Dah! to the marina. He told me that he bought the boat because of its name, and he seemed to think “uf dah” meant’ “f**k you.” I looked it up online afterward, though, and according to Wikipedia the phrase is a bit more nuanced:

“Within Scandinavian-American culture, uff da frequently translates to ‘I am overwhelmed’, somewhat similar to the Yiddish phrase oy vey.” Readers, make of that what you will.

I chatted with Bob Buckley, the current commodore of the Sportsman’s Yacht Club and we talked about the good old days, when you could buy a boat trailer from Montgomery Ward. Then Jerry Batchelor told me that he is the owner of a 21-foot Triumph boat, M/V Sharp Hooks. I looked it up later, and it looks like a nice-looking classic boat. Jerry informed me that this group of powerboaters merely represented the landing party for the approximately 150 additional members of the SYC who would arrive later.

Finally, someone else informed me that the person in charge of scheduling their annual meeting here at Delta Marine had waited too long to reserve the Marina, which caused their meeting to fall on the first day of hunting season. Apparently, this explained the absence of the other 150 members of the SYC: They are all out in the woods hunting. We all nodded at each other silently. I decided that I would probably stay out of the woods for a while.

Rio Vista Bakery

Whenever I visit the town of Rio Vista I go to the Rio Vista Bakery for lunch. The first time I visited was during COVID, and I was the only one there. Earlier this year I drove there and bought a pie to take home with me. During this visit the place was packed full of people finishing up lunch with their families.

At the next table over was a young woman with her three pretty little girls, probably all under the age of eight. They were happy as clams, two of them young enough to need booster seats, with their donuts in front of them. For me? I was showing discipline. No ice cream, no donut and no coconut macaroon from that plate on the counter with the Eat Me sign on it like in the book Through the Looking Glass. But oh, they looked good! Next year I’m taking a whole box of pastries home.

Anacortes To Garibaldi

What could this headline possibly mean? Most people, when they sail down the coast from the Pacific Northwest, start from somewhere in British Columbia or the Puget Sound, then on to Neah Bay. That is the typical jumping off point for the motor/sail down the coast. Sometimes people sail or motor way offshore, sometimes they hug the coast. First, they pass the coastline of Washington, then Oregon, then California. They might sail up the Columbia River if the conditions permit. Maybe they stop in Astoria or Newport, then down to San Francisco, right? Those are the towns I read about. Well, we didn’t follow that script. No way. We followed the route less travelled and ended up in Garibaldi, Oregon, just below the Washington border. Garibaldi is this beautiful little logging/fishing town six nm inside Tillamook Bay. Tillamook is where we get all that delicious cheese.

Why did we stop in Garibaldi? Well, that’s the story.

In his column Lessons Learned in this magazine, Pat Carson occasionally mentions delivering a boat. What is involved in doing that? Do you know? Have you ever delivered a boat? Well, neither had I, but I will explain how it is done.

Let’s Back Up

Andy Schwenk is a marine surveyor and delivery captain. He has also done very well as a racer, on his own and other people’s boats. In other words, Andy knows his way around a sailboat. He was hired by a very nice fella from Los Angeles to deliver his new-to-him 40-foot Nordic sloop from Anacortes, Washington to Ventura in Southern California. Captain Andy invited me along to help deliver the S/V Denali, which was in excellent condition. I completely trust his abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

From my recent experience, this is what a professional delivery captain does. My colleague Pat Carson may do things differently.

First of all, it seems that good relationships with relatives and sailing friends is essential to being a delivery captain. There is a quid pro quo within the sailing community that is very appealing, and of course, your family has a vested interest in liking you. Andy’s family likes him, anyway.

First you travel from wherever you are to wherever the boat is located. In our case we flew from Oakland to Seattle Airport. Then we took a shuttle to Bellingham. We took another shuttle to Anacortes Island. It takes a long time to get to Anacortes, but it’s so pretty that it is worth it.

Then the delivery captain calls his youngest son, who comes to collect him and his lackey in his souped-up car. Then he borrows his mother’s car and drives to the marina with his lackey, where they both inspect the boat to be delivered.

When we arrived at the boat this lackey was impressed by its cabin. It looked like no one had ever used it. The teak and holly sole was flawless, its woodwork was polished and unscratched. The engine looked like it had been steam cleaned and the head didn’t smell. It was remarkable. There was refrigeration and hot water. But first we had work to do.

First things first, you instruct your lackey to register the mileage on the engine. This requires your lackey to get down on her hands and knees in order to squint at tiny numbers at the bottom of a narrow and dimly lit space between the instrument pedestal and the companionway. This lackey became keenly aware that her limberness is somewhat diminished compared to years past.

Then you instruct your lackey to collect any empty propane canisters. Because if you don’t have propane? You don’t have cooking or hot water for your shower and washing dishes. Yes, it was that kind of yacht. A swanky one. I myself could not believe my good fortune. A shower? Aboard Dura Mater I bathe by heating up water on a single burner propane stove, pouring it into the sink and dipping a soapy washcloth into it. I collected one of the empty propane canisters and lied about the amount of propane in the second canister. No sense in getting carried away. If we ran out of hot water I would just bathe in the sink.

Then we drove to the Anacortes Ace Hardware store. A very nice man filled our tank and we walked inside to pay for it. Done. That is a great Ace Hardware by the way. It is almost as good as the one in Truckee, which is excellent.

Finally, we drove to the Safeway and filled our cart up with pasta sauce, pasta noodles, coffee, chocolate and junk food. Lots of junk food and a raspberry cheesecake. Captain Andy explained how important it is to carry all the major food groups. We needed to be prepared for those dark nights on the ocean. Okeedokee, then. We were ready.

Back at the boat we stepped aboard and motored over to the nearest fuel dock. We filled both the tank and several five-gallon diesel containers. Whooee. That was expensive. Thusly were we prepared.

Through The San Juan Islands

On Friday we were scheduled to meet up with Mark, the new owner of the gorgeous and pristine S/V Denali. Along with his brother-in-law Garrett, Mark would join us in the town of Ilwaco. Ilwaco is just inside the mouth of the Columbia River. First things first, I got a leisurely tour of the San Juan Islands. Oh my. What gorgeous sailing territory. Since Andy grew up sailing there, I also got a history lesson regarding the tribal nations of the San Juan Islands. Specifically, I learned about the vast differences between the San Juan Island Sailboat Racing Tribes.

Over the course of an afternoon, I learned about which Island Tribe beat which other Island Tribe over a 30-year period. I learned about the different Tribes’ strengths and weaknesses and which islands tended to produce the best racers, due in all probability because of genetic and familial predispositions.

I learned which island could be depended upon to produce sailors best able to recall course details in the face of certain death, and to discern locations where spinnakers were most destined to blow up.

I also learned that the SLOWPEZ wave, is an insult to Lopez Island Tribe members after they lose a race to superior racers from other islands.

And finally, as we continued up through the dense fog of the Salish Sea, I learned how a Pacific Northwestern sailor views weather: “Fog? This is not fog! This is just mist! Fog is when you can’t see the bow of your boat!”

The historical details of it all made my head spin. My history degree from Cal was of no use to me here: The complexity was simply too dense. Onward we continued, passing the rich landscape of the Olympic Peninsula with a brief detour into the very lovely Roche Harbor on San Juan Island. Then we continued onward past Neah Bay.

To The Pacific And Beyond

We sailed between Tatoosh Island – vaguely seen through the fog to starboard – and the rocks to port, through what is known as the Hole in the Wall. Captain Andy cautioned me: “Don’t try this on Dura Mater. This is for locals only.” The water swirled and we sloshed around in washing machine conditions as we rounded Cape Flattery. Were the conditions rough that day? Captain Andy said that it was as calm as he’d ever seen it. On that day I was happy to be on a boat with 18,000 pounds of displacement.

It was my first night of two hours on/two hours off watches, and I was surprised by how easily I was able to fall asleep and then wake up for my watch. Prone to motion sickness, I had taken the OTC medicine Bonine every 12 hours for the previous two days. I continued the regime aboard Denali and it worked for me. What a relief it was not to hang over the lee side of the boat throwing up.

The Nordic 40 sailboat is beautifully balanced and steers like a dream. We were only about six miles offshore, and it was eerily beautiful with a full moon that peeked through the fog once in a while. The electronics all worked, and as long as I didn’t change anything in the B&G chart plotter, I knew just enough to keep us on course. More or less on course, that is. Keep south and avoid the rocks. Oh, and avoid other boats. Luckily, there weren’t any other boats.

Onward To Ilwaco

We motored through the night and entered the Columbia River late the next morning. Captain Andy called ahead for a bar report, just to show me how it is done. After engaging the Coast Guard by VHF, he switched to channel 22. As always, the Coasties were courteous and professional. There was no drama entering the Columbia River on that day, but it can be particularly dangerous under different circumstances.

Mark and Garrett arrived later that evening, exclaiming about how many different types of transportation they had experienced in order to arrive in Ilwaco. After a bacon and egg breakfast the next morning we rocked and rolled out of the Columbia River into the Pacific. Apparently, it is always a rock and roll out of that entrance. We began motoring down the coast.

The “mist” dissipated and we motored about 40 miles south before the wind came up a bit. Captain Andy asked Mark whether he wanted to raise the sails. Mark is a sailor, so of course he said, “yes.” They spent a bit of time working out which lines were which, which halyards led where, then the sails were up and it was wonderful to feel the sails catch the wind like that.

This was the first time Mark raised the sail on his new boat, and we were all happy for him. Everybody on the boat was smiling. Today was a particularly beautiful day. The sun was shining, the fog had all dissipated, Captain Andy reached down to turn off the engine and… wait! What was this?!

The Turbulence Of Boat Ownership

Dark smoke coming from the cabin! The engine noise stopped; Denali continued sailing along. She was oblivious to the fact that her engine was misbehaving. Mark put her brand-new autopilot on and we all jumped down into the cabin.

We opened the engine compartment and dark, oily water spewed out onto the teak and holly sole of the cabin. All four of us fell to our knees, grabbing whatever was at hand to mop it up to contain the damage, cursing and moaning in sailor language. Denali continued on, her sails perfectly trimmed, ignoring us all looking in horror at the mess that was her engine compartment. The exhaust elbow had rusted from the inside out. Soot and oily exhaust were everywhere.

We looked at Captain Andy. What do we do now, Captain?

Captain Andy reached down into the refrigerator for two cans of Modelo and handed them to Mark and Garrett.

“Drink up, gentlemen. Drink it all up. I need the empties. Back up into the cockpit with you all.”

We did as we were told. There wasn’t another boat in sight. We were about four miles offshore.

What happened then will live in infamy. Once the beer cans had been emptied, Andy cut them lengthwise. He fitted them around what was left of the exhaust pipe. Garrett had duct tape in his backpack, which they used to wrap the beer cans around the exhaust pipe. Then came the zip ties from my suitcase, after which Mark sacrificed a previously white dishtowel, and finally – the piece de resistance – sail ties to make us all feel like we knew what we were doing.

Here is a photo of the after effect of a broken exhaust elbow. The result was a communal effort to contain the damage. It can also be considered a piece of modern art.

Now what were we supposed to do?

We had passed Tillamook Bay six miles back. Coos Bay was 123 nautical miles south. Mark turned the boat around and sailed north. Good thing there was wind. Good thing it wasn’t dark. Too bad it was ebbing at the entrance.

As we approached the entrance to Tillamook Bay, Garrett used his iPhone to look up Tillamook Bay. He read aloud, “The entrance to Tillamook Bay in Oregon is known for being treacherous and is guarded by the Coast Guard Station Tillamook.”

We all looked at each other.

“Aw, c’mon,” said Andy. “There’s a Dairy Queen. We can get ice cream.”

As we approached the entrance, Andy used the radio to call the Coast Guard, reported that we had a “slight issue with our engine” and asked for a bar report. The Coasties, professional as always, gave the report. It was ebbing at the Tillamook Bay channel, which is never a good answer when entering a river from the ocean. The Coast Guard tower overlooks the Channel there. The Coastie added, “We have eyes on you, Denali.”

We headed up the channel, Mark at the wheel and that ebb just got stronger and stronger. The water shoved Denali from side to side and we began to go slower and slower. When we were almost stopped, we started the engine and continued into the bay, but very very slowly. Water: It’s powerful. We passed the sign: Rough Bar. I can’t imagine what that entrance is like on a stronger ebb, with big waves. It would, indeed, be treacherous.

Mark steered Denali slowly, slowly against the ebb, up the channel and around the corner into the Garibaldi Marina. He turned into the wind and we bumped up gently against a sagging wooden dock as the sun began to set. We were four very relieved camper sailors.

In Garibaldi

What happened after that? Well, except for the anxiety of a broken engine, we enjoyed the unexpected opportunity to explore Garibaldi, eat delicious clam chowder and find a local mechanic. Garibaldi is a beautiful place, and I look forward to visiting again. It is primarily a logging community, and an obvious fishing destination. Large family groups launched their own boats or rented boats and equipment for the day. The town was neat and clean, and a ranger was weed whacking in the park on a Saturday. There is a Hotel Garibaldi and – yes – a Dairy Queen, which is open until 10 p.m.

It must be said that the people we met in Garibaldi were incredibly nice to us. Several people mentioned that they had watched us coming in under sail, against what they knew to be an ebb. Residents of a fishing town, they all knew water. “Why did you do that?” they asked.

“We didn’t have much choice,” we answered.

Be advised that there is very limited public transportation from Garibaldi to Tillamook. You need to make a phone call ahead of time (and only on Monday through Friday, 9 a.m.-5 p.m.) for the bus to come collect you. We had not done that. Instead, after standing at the bus stop for about twenty minutes surrounded by our bags, Tamara stopped to ask if we needed a ride. Tamara is the proprietor of Garibaldi Charters Deep Sea Fishing. If you go visit, please say hi for me. Tamara drove the four of us to Tillamook even though I’m sure she had other things to do. Thank you again, Tamara.

From Tillamook we took a shuttle to downtown Portland, then the light rail train to Portland. Our shuttle ride went through beautiful Oregon country, from the ocean to downtown Portland. It was the kind of lush forest countryside we dream of here in this urban environment that is the San Francisco Bay.

By the way, Denali arrived safely in Ventura on the morning I wrote this. What an adventure it was for all of us, and a nice story for you.

Until next month, enjoy your time on the water and write to tell me about your own boating experiences. I can be reached at jackie@yachtsmanmagazine.com. Thank you for reading. Let’s all be careful out there.