"A Windy Night at Angel Island” By Bob Gauvreau (My wife Dee Dee and I had volunteered to be the “advanced team” to secure mooring/raft-up spots for the 2nd annual BBYC Angel Island cruise out. Following is a narrative of a weekend that was on one hand delightful, and on the other mentally and physically challenging.) Dee Dee and I departed from the Ballena Isle Marina aboard our Catalina 36, “Purrrfect,” at 9:30 on the morning of Friday, October 20, generally headed in the direction of Angel Island (near Alcatraz in San Francisco Bay). The weather “smelled of rain,” with threatening heavy overcast and calm seas. There being no wind, we motored to the City Front, where we finally encountered a breeze. Since the forecast was for 50+ knot winds in San Pablo Bay, we were emotionally ready for a windy weekend. Even though the winds were fairly light – about 12 knots - we hoisted a single-reefed main and 110% jib in anticipation of potentially blustery weather and sailed close-hauled towards the Gate. This was a detour we had planned to make on the way to the Angel Island Ayala Cove anchorage. As we approached the G.G. Bridge, the winds decreased, so we shook out the reef and enjoyed a delightful sail, all the time giving way to a constant stream of incoming freighters. At about Mile Rock, we turned and ran back towards Angel to establish the “BBYC Cruise Out Beach Head.” By the time we arrived at Ayala (“Hospital”) Cove, the wind had almost died, the heavy overcast was no longer and the sun was out in full strength. By 2 PM it was a glorious day. “Just where were these big winds, rain and general inclement weather that had been forecast?” we commented to each other. We were being craftily lulled into a false sense of security… As we approached the cove, we readied bow and stern lines and were prepared to make a classic “textbook” tie to the mooring buoys. All went well on the stern tie. We were impressed with ourselves, as were the other 5-7 other boaters in the anchorage observing our methodology. (It is well-known fact that one of the great “sports” in the A.I. anchorage is to critique the abilities of all incoming mariners as they attempt to secure themselves to the mooring buoys.) OK, so we just sorta somewhat slightly miscalculated the bow tie and the current pushed us back. No big deal. But as I eased the transmission into forward the engine abruptly stopped. “Whoops, not a good thing,” me thinks. Even though I thought that I had been watching the slack in the stern line, there apparently was just enough to cause a “rope suck.” The prop was clearly fouled. (Now just quit that goofy chortling…this could have easily been you…) Common sense – and fortunately no wind and minimal currents – prevailed. We calmly dropped the bow anchor, inflated the dingy, and completed the bow tie to the mooring buoy. This being done, I stood in the stern of the boat chastising my stupid self for being so stupid. Next, we got on the cell phone and called Larry and Muggs Zabel, back in Modesto, informed them of our predicament and asked them to try to reach Joel Tuttle, who we knew was a (fellow) SCUBA diver. We needed someone with a tank, fins, regulator, wet suit, etc. to help us out. Muggs was on it. After the phone call was made, Dee Dee noted that I was still in a clearly pissed-off state and suggested that, until I dove under the boat to determine the exact extent of the problem, I would not be fit to live with. She was right. So I stepped off the stern - no mask, no fins, no tank, no wet suit - and swam under the boat to see just what I had wrought. Nine free dives later, the line was removed! We did it ourselves. Cool. (Yea…very, very “cool…”) A hot shower on the stern further restored my (our) spirits, as did the celebratory 2 bottles of wine that were consumed in very short order. (Somewhere in all of this, Dee Dee called Muggs back and canceled the “SCUBA order.”) We were secure, tied to the mooring buoys furthest back in the anchorage. We have a great spot! This is so cool! That night at about 11 PM, Dee Dee wakes me from a sound sleep. “Bob! There’s a huge boat right next to us! It looks like we’re going to get hit!” I look out the forward hatch to see a 30 foot “euro-style” powerboat about 15 feet from our bow. After crawling out of a nice, warm, comfortable bed and hurriedly getting semi-dressed, I went back to the cockpit to observe and fend off, if necessary. It did not take too long to see that the powerboat operator had decided to drop anchor in the midst of several of us mooring buoy-tied boats. Potential problem. The terms “inconsiderate,” “jerk” and “idiot” came to mind. Shortly after arriving in the cockpit, I heard a big splash just off the stern of our late-night visitor. It was dark and difficult to see. My first thought was that this guy had jumped in the water and was swimming to a mooring buoy to attach a stern line. Well, almost true. It turns out the reason that he dropped anchor was because he had wrapped a line around his prop. The splash we heard really was someone jumping in the water – but for the purpose of diving under the boat to untangle the “sucked” line. Suddenly we became kindred spirits. Fortunately, a kind soul from another boat came out in their dingy and helped him attach a stern line to a mooring buoy. At the same time they convinced him that because it was dark and cold and late and dark and cold and dark, the tangled-line problem would keep until morning; he agreed. All lines secure, we headed back to bed, but a little less comfortable then before. The stern of our new neighbor was about 10 feet from our bow; we hoped he didn’t drag anchor. No more than 2 minutes after we were back in the sack, he fired up his built-in, gasoline-powered, generator to provide 120-volt electricity for his blender, to enable him to make “boat drinks.” The exhaust port from the generator faced our boat. The fumes were nauseating and the noise was irritating. It ran for 90 minutes. Suddenly, we were no longer kindred spirits. (When telling this story the next day to friends it was suggested that a well-placed potato in the raw-water intake would have pretty much silenced the generator.) Saturday morning dawned bright, clear and windless. The powerboat skipper dives in (again) and clears the line from his prop. He also moves his boat away from ours, so there is no longer a threat of colliding, and the generator exhaust is facing in another direction. However, he is still using a bow anchor instead if a mooring buoy. At about 9 AM, boats begin to pour into the anchorage. It turns out that another yacht club of mainly power boaters was having a cruise out, too: 26 boats. By noon, Ayala Cove was a spider-web of mooring lines. And none of the BBYC folks had as yet arrived. Saturday, 11:30 AM: Conversation overheard on our VHF radio: “‘Ixia’, this is ‘Tournesol.’” “‘Tournesol’, this is ‘Ixia.’ Hi, Joel.” “Hello, Burt. 68?” “68.” “Ixia,’ this is ‘Tounesol’ on 68. We are just off the north end of T.I. (Treasure Island.) Where are those 50-knot winds that were forecast? It’s only blowing about 8-10 out here. Delightful. Looks like the weatherman missed again…” 12:30 PM: “Tournesol” arrives with Joel Tuttle, Muggs and Larry Zabel and starboard ties to “Purrrfect.” Mooring/seamanship skills rated at “2” and “3” by judges (inside joke.) Shortly afterwards, “Ixia” with Barbara Williams and Burt Masters port ties to us. (Judges rate tie-up skills at “7” and “8.”) It is decided that all boats should have bow and stern ties to the mooring buoys. (By midnight we all regarded this as a wise decision.) 3:00 PM: “Anticipation” with Jane and Jim Flemming starboard ties to “Tournesol” (judges rate tie-up at “10” and “10”, respectively), followed shortly thereafter by their friends Clara and Rick, in another boat. They decided a separate tie to a mooring buoy with a stern anchor to be the most prudent, just in case they had to make a hasty departure due to bad weather. (“Bad weather? What bad weather…the winds that were forecast have missed us…this is going to be a great weekend…”) Our BBYC group is complete. We breakout the munchies, beer and wine begin to flow. It’s 78 degrees – almost too warm. Not even a hint of a breeze in the anchorage. Talk soon turns to the whimps back at “The Club” who chickened out. “Hell, party on without ‘em. They’re gonna be sorry they missed this perfect weekend. Just wait ‘till they hear how great this was!” 3:15 PM: Joel decides to go for a swim – fully clothed. 5:45 PM: The sun is down; it’s dusky and getting breezy. 7 PM: We all adjourn to the spacious salon of “Anticipation” for a great potluck dinner. Someone is heard to ask, “Where’s Clara and Rick?” Jim and Jane respond, “They left. Looks like the wind is coming up.” 7:45 PM: Desert (angel food cake with Joel’s can of whipped cream) is being served. The motion of the boat due to waves and wind is becoming noticeable. There is a definite sound of “wind in the rigging.” Jane comments, “Here it comes.” Jane and Jim then say, “We might leave soon to look for a better anchorage.” Quietly, people leave “Anticipation” to check their boats. More bumpers are put out. The north wind is blowing directly into Ayala Cove. Wave height 1-2 feet, wind steady at 12-15 knots, gusts to 20. 8:30 PM: Jim and Jane depart in “Anticipation,” telling us they may head towards Sausalito to look for a more comfortable anchorage. (As it turns out, they decided to return to Ballena Bay. They arrived at about 12:30 AM Sunday morning, contending with 2-3 foot seas, 30-knot tail winds and an errant dingy on the way back.) At about this same time, a 30’ Hunter charter from Club Nautique in Ballena Bay ties up to our aft mooring buoy and throws out a stern anchor. The boat is crewed by a young, inexperienced couple with a small child. The stern of their boat is about 40 feet off the sandy beach. Muggs recounts: “My first reaction, sitting in the Fleming’s' boat at dinner, was to be real scared. But after observing the action of the boats relative to each other, and after the Fleming’s’ took their boat out of the equation, I wasn't quite so scared. When we were at Nelson's last week, there was a boat, bigger than the Fleming’s and very similar in design. It had the high toe rails with the top piece that overhangs outside the boat. These toe rail top pieces had been lifted up and off -- completely messed up -- during a raft-up in heavy weather. I took a look at the three boats we had -- Joel's boat was the only one with a similar toe rail arrangement, and his toe rail was at a very different height from yours (“Purrrfect’s”) -- below it, if I remember correctly. Anyway, after watching it for a while, I figured it wasn't going to get any worse (based on a few nights sleeping in the harbor with loud, heavy wind all night), so I went to bed. However, the noise and the motion kept me up all night. It's definitely a lot more fun when everyone can just party and go to sleep” 8:45 PM: There are three boats remaining in the raft-up. There is a brief discussion about leaving, but we all decide it’s safer where we are and to hold tight until morning. The wind continues to rise. We all turn in and try to get some sleep. As it turns out, we would be up all night. 11 PM: Everyone is either up or still awake. Wind and waves are still increasing: steady 2-foot wave height, wind from the north at 18-20 knots, gusting to 26. Every boat in the harbor is rocking severely. 12:55 AM: We decide to establish an anchor watch. I have the first 2 hours. 3-foot breaking rollers are now the norm. Wind gusty at 20-25 knots, occasionally hitting 30-35. All hell is breaking loose. The noise is incredible. Our 3 connected boats are severely rocking, out of sync. Sunday, 1:05 AM: It’s really, really windy. A Catalina 30 in a raft up near the front of the anchorage seems to break loose. Lot’s of screaming and yelling from that direction. After they blow down 15-20 yards, it appears that they are under power and headed for the finger piers. Suddenly, more yelling, this time laced with panic. I roust out Larry, Joel and Burt. The Catalina lost power and is getting blown straight towards the anchored “euro-style” powerboat. It just misses and is heading for the rocky cliffs in the southwest corner of the anchorage. The skipper runs for the bow and manages to get an anchor out almost in time. The anchor bites, but Dee Dee says she can hear their rudder ‘crunching’ on the rocks. The tide is all the way out. The sound of the wind, the hissing of the waves, the panicked yelling and motion of the boats combine to form a surreal vision. This is serious, scary stuff. (As we were to find out later, the folks in the Catalina had intentionally cast off to make for the safety of the Park Service docks. Shortly after letting loose of their mooring lines to the raft up, they wrapped a line around their running gear – causing the sudden loss of power. To make matters much worse, a woman on board was holding the “wrapped line” at the time and her finger was nearly torn off when the line became entangled in the spinning prop.) 1:30 AM: A Coast Guard rescue/boarding team arrives in a rigid inflatable with a crew of 4. We are monitoring the rescue on channel 22a. Several powerful spotlights turn the anchorage into daylight. At first, they head for the Hunter 30 charter in back of us, thinking they were the distressed boat. However, they quickly noted the Catalina near the rocks. The whole anchorage is up now. A “Coastie” boards the distressed boat and stabilizes the woman with the severely injured finger. After about 3 attempts and some confusion, they manage to get the Catalina under tow and proceed across Raccoon Straight to Belvedere. During all of this, the wind and waves seem to be subsiding. Perhaps the worst is over? False hopes. 3:00 AM: Gusty winds have now changed to a steady blow of about 25-28 knots. I head for the sack; Larry and Joel take the next watch. However, nerves have me up and down checking our bumpers and mooring lines. 4:45 AM: A very large sailboat to our starboard and near the east side of the anchorage dragged anchor, becomes entangled in mooring lines and is crashing into several power boats secured to mooring buoys. The Coast Guard arrives once again (same rescue crew as before) to offer assistance. Overheard on the radio is a C.G. request to the power boaters to cast off/cut their mooring lines from buoys in an attempt to untangle the mess and prevent further damage. The power boaters (not-so-politely) decline, indicating that it was the large sailboat who dropped anchor in their vicinity. They suggest the C.G. tow sailboat away from trouble. However, the small rigid inflatable does not have the bulk or power to handle the task. A small C.G. cutter is dispatched and the sailboat is moved. 6:30 AM: Dawn is finally here! I am nauseous from being up all night and the constant motion of the boat. The wind is now down to about 20-22 knots, waves at 1.5-2 feet. Larry and Joel hop in an inflatable and head for shore to rescue a mooing bumper lost during the night. Upon their return, the consensus of the entire group is to head back to Ballena Bay and have breakfast. 7:15 AM: There is much discussion about best way out of the anchorage. There is still the myriad of lines to mooring buoys, and we are way back in the bay. We decided to go to the outside, paralleling the west (rocky) shore. “Ixia” is off first, then “Purrrfect,” finally “Tournesol.” Everything goes smoothly. It’s not too often that one departs Ayala Cove exceeding 5 knots. 7:45 AM: We have all managed to clear the anchorage. We head east, and then south. Waves are about 3 feet, winds at 30 knots out of the north, but the sky is clear and we are on a broad reach. “Ixia” and “Purrrfect” are sailing only under a 60% jib and making about 7-8 knots. “Tournesol” begins to raise a double-reefed main and their rigid boom vang shears off. They also raise a 60% jib. The sailing is great. We are all very tired, but are finally managing to get relaxed – even somewhat exhilarated. 8:30 AM: As we approach the Bay Bridge, the wind begins to drop to about 15-17 knots. We all are now under 110% jib, no main. This is getting to be fun. 9 – 10 AM: We are all still together, in the vicinity of the “Hornet,” and it’s beginning to really blow. Suddenly, we are hit with a 40-knot gust that puts the starboard rail way under and we round up severely. First “Purrrfect”, then “Tournesol”, and then “Ixia.” We reef the jib down to about 30%, but are still overpowered. It’s time to douse the sail and motor that last mile. “Ixia” has trouble with her jib and can’t get it retracted; it’s quickly shredded. They head off the wind, moving towards the lee of an anchored freighter where they sort things out. The winds are rapidly rising and within 3-4 minutes reach a steady 35 - 40 knots. “Purrrfect” and “Tournesol” struggle back to the shelter of the marina. We are all worried about “Ixia.” 10:30 AM: Safely back in the slips. “Tournesol” came in ‘hot’ due to a substantial tail wind. Full reverse for about 10 seconds did little to halt forward motion. No damage to the dock or the bow, however. We are safe. There are white caps in the fairways, boats secured in slips are heeling 15-20 degrees, and winds are reported to be gusting to 70 knots near the harbor entrance. Time for a beer. No, better make that 3 beers. Noon: Aboard “Tournesol” for breakfast consisting primarily of greasy bacon. Gads, it tasted good! We are all zombies. 5 PM: “Ixia” returns, safe, but sans 1 jib. The wind has dropped and it’s a glorious October day. Did all this really happen? Who cares…it’s going to make a great story! Maybe Joel Tuttle, who we recently discovered to be a ‘closet romantic,’ sums it all up. (Imagine, if you will, the melody of “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” from “Carousel,” playing softly in the background as you read the following. Joel’s words are a bit on the melodramatic side, but they work for us.) “I believe that the success of any voyage begins when one has a goal, a vision, or destination in mind and has the courage to spread their wings and begin the journey that up to now has been only a dream. To be able to believe in their worth, trusting their instincts, nurturing their souls and buoying themselves up during their moments of greatest need, knowing that they have the personal strength to take what’s there as well as having a vessel that is capable of doing battle with the elements. It is about having the heart to push on when you most desperately want to turn back, even when it means being or going where few have gone before. It is then that the dream becomes a reality and when the destination is reached you are able to savor the moment - and it is oh, so sweet.”