Sailing home, but not quite through yet

Dear friends and family, 

So, I took the advice and set my path for due north, back to Palacios. The fog showed up early, just as forecasted. I took a leisurely breakfast in the cockpit, allowing the morning sun to dry some of the moisture on the tent. 

And I realized that by the morning rising tide, the boat was afloat by 0700 even with the moveable ballast aboard. Finally got that right: aground during the night at low tide and floating when ready to leave. As I write that previous sentence I tell myself that this probably won’t be a good strategy aboard the eighteen ton Hongvi this next summer in Alaska, but only works here on this tiny boat. 

It was a long row away from the barrier island (technically Matagorda Peninsula) to get to water deep enough to drop the centerboard and rudder allowing me to sail. It appeared the fog was gone for the day, the forecast said until 0900, but I could see it in the distance until just now at 1000, so north I went. 

Just clear of the shallow water I found the wind, probably just blocked by the land, I thought. So, the start was fast downwind sailing in almost ten knots of wind. For fifteen minutes. Then it was mill pond time. No wind or the occasional puff to move me forward at three quarters of a knot. 

I was feeling good about this decision, as if this was what would prevail in a longer open crossing I could be stuck out here all day into the dark. From this direction I knew I could drift all day and then with a little rowing, could find shelter to anchor for the night.

With each puff of wind I tweaked the sail and would be happy with any speed. I calculated my arrival time with each quarter hour of progress. 

Let’s see, at 1.5 knots I could make it in by 4 o’clock or now at the racing speed of 2 knots would be there before then. With every change of wind I recalculated.  Accounting skills die hard.

Or, at a half a knot, I would have another night out at anchor, which was an acceptable plan, but the “back to the barn” syndrome didn’t welcome it.

Maybe it was the knowing this was the last sail of this trip, or just the beauty of sailing slowly in the vastness of this Bay. Looking out to the west or south, I could only see water out to the horizon. Could have been in the middle of the ocean it seemed so vast. 

There is something psychologically healthy about staring at horizons. The mystery of sky meeting sea. The mix of limited and unlimited futures. 

So, I stared, all day, the water only being inches from me in this low freeboard craft. I was reminded of all the days drifting along on Lily, the boat I sailed halfway around the world in. Drifting like this, waiting for wind, while crossing the equator on a route from Tahiti to Hawaii.

Now I remember why I didn’t motor even when I had fuel. I filled up with 80 gallons of fuel in Panama, sailed to Galapagos, Marquesas and Tahiti, then to Hawaii and Port Townsend, arriving with half a tank left.

Drifting, looking for wind, staring at that horizon and those “cat’s paws” as a sign of any wind, but not being in a hurry and letting my mind settle. 

The afternoon wind did pick up slightly each hour as I drifted north until I was scooting along at three to four knots towards my destination. 

I could see the water tower of Palacios getting nearer, directly behind the harbor entrance from this point of view. 

Worries about solo re-trailering started to cross my mind. “Why worry if you aren’t even there yet?” I asked myself.

Dont know why I suddenly stopped, furled the sail, set the centerboard at about a third way down for directional stability, and set the rowing station, but I did. I was over a mile out from the marina entrance.The water for the last couple of miles had increase in choppiness and the wind increased so my speed was now about five knots. I suppose it was a combination of later in the day for the wind to build up and more fetch  and now at the end of the Bay the bounce back of the water hitting land and mixing with the waves, but the chop was about four feet, easy enough while sailing downwind, but challenging in this little boat if I turned upwind. And looking quite challenging to row in.

Fishing boats were steadily streaming into the harbor along their deep channel which converged with my path at the entrance. One was coming up just as I sat down at my rowing station and instead of passing me by, idled next to me to watch this crazy man at the oars. I could only see tall, steel sides, once painted blue under the rust and about sixty feet long.

And at the oars I labored. Yes, I was downwind, but with the chop the oars would not get an even grab at the water each side so I had to use patience, still pressing hard on the legs each steady stroke. “Use the dark meat” is what my rowing coach used to tell me, meaning legs and back and not arms. This is why I bought THIS boat, I reminded myself. And why I chose this life. The perfect match of strength, technique and challenge.

The fishers could see the smile on my face as each stroke took me closer to the entrance, not fast, but steady. I noticed them, but was fully concentrated on the task at hand. As we, the fishing boat and I,converged, I waived them to go on past. A large puff of smoke confirmed to me that they had put it in gear and then left me to my challenge. I am guessing as to  the questions they might have had about seeing me out here in this. Probably jealousy.

It didn’t take that long to get inside the quiet of the marina and to the launch ramp. I expected to be tired, but found instead an energy of enjoyment to take me the remainder of the way in. I guess the daily rowing into and out of my anchorages had prepared me for this, or even trained me. Huh?

The trailering of the boat went fine and then I felt the tiredness as I attempted to organize the gear and prepare for a long journey. I decided to get a local room and do only the minimum to get to the motel and showered and relaxed and do the organizing tomorrow when I am rested and have time.

Only three miles away was the two star Deluxe Inn, and they said no problem parking the truck and trailer as they had only two other customers. 

Then after I had my room assignment and key and visa charge, the guy checking me in said ” Oh, there won’t be any running water for the next couple of hours as we are doing a plumbing repair”

Only a shower missed? It could have been fog, darkness or big north winds. Minor issue. 

So, still wearing the five days layer of sun cream and the state of my hair, I walked to the neighboring Mexican restaurant for dinner. They served me without any suggestions about having to use the back door or not getting too close to their other patrons. I was, after all, only their second customer.

Sending love,

Charley