Sailing the Monterey Bay

I was invited to join the crew of the 32' Nola II for the Wednesday night sailboat races on Monterey Bay. I was reluctant since I know nothing about sailing and didn't want to be responsible for costing them a victory. I was told I would be given a task in keeping with my experience. Bailing or ballast I thought.

 I was given protocol advice by the second in command before hand. "It is customary to bring a gift aboard. Such as an adult beverage." I decided on a six pack of Guiness stout. Even when it isn't kept cold it still tastes good. Besides, the word "stout" sounds manly, befitting the weather worn men of the sea. I tried to picture Gilligan quaffing a stout but quickly cleared my head of the thought.

I had an early dinner at a favorite Mexican place. Chicken tacos. I thought they would be easiest to digest. I chewed well and went easy on the salsa. I didn't want it to sting too much if it came back up. I'd been somewhat seasick on a couple prior sailing trips.

 We met at the end of the dock; Captain Barry, his girlfriend Marilyn and another couple who owned a sailboat, Pat and Gary. Within minutes of boarding I was assigned lines to coil, gear to stow and gear to unstow. Our engine fired to life and with lines cast off, we backed out of our slip to join several other craft making their way down the channel to the bay.

It was about 6:00 pm and the October sun was riding low. Outside the harbor mouth Barry remarked on how little wind there was and indeed, boats were circling sluggishly outside the mile buoy, sails luffing in an indecisive breeze as they lined up for the start. "We'll skip the race." Barry said "We don't have a practiced crew and there's not enough wind. We may just motor around and drink beer." Fine with me.

We continued southerly pointing roughly toward the seaside village of Carmel. Not long after, we found the wind.  Or maybe, it found us. We were soon letting out sail and running hard between 8 foot swells. At the bottom of each trough the water was eye level on either side of the boat. We were now heeled so far to port, the rail kissed the water from time to time. Barry braced himself at the wheel and was laughing like a madman. This kind of action is precisely why he owns a boat. I stayed out of the way and clung to a starboard line with both hands while the rest of my body dangled toward port.

I was thinking of Jonah's voyage where they threw the cargo over board and each sailor was instructed to call upon his own god for aid.  A course change to the west and we were no longer riding parallel to the swells but slicing through them. The bow pounded the face of each wave into spray while the hull shook. After ten minutes or so of this, we took in some sail  and encountered slightly calmer seas. Though I probably looked shaken everyone else was ecstatic.

The sun looked like brass as it slid below the horizon bookended by a few distant sails. Pelicans turned in circles above us and west facing windows of houses on the distant eastern hills flared with the setting sun.

 I was invited to take the wheel. Barry would point out a landmark and tell me to aim for it. at one point, we neared the end of the wharf and he said to come close, not too close.

Gusting wind kept turning us toward the wharf, I kept correcting but at last had the wheel as far as it would go to no effect. "She's not responding!" I shouted sounding like the doomed crew member in every disaster at sea movie I'd ever seen. Barry shouted something nautical to the rest and they immediately fell to the winches and began spilling wind from the sails as the pilings loomed like the barnacle encrusted wall that they were. He took the wheel to my relief, cranked it to starboard and we swung the opposite direction.

"Here you go." he said handing control back to the guy who'd nearly wrecked us. "What did I do wrong?" I asked. "Nothing. The wind overpowered the rudder. You can't do anything but turn around in that case." He went back to swapping sea stories with Gary while I kept a weather eye ahead. I noticed a boat with dark red sails on an intersecting course and pointed it out.

"Yeah, she'll come close. They have the right of way."

"Should I turn to their stern?"

"No, not yet. I don't want them to think we're afraid." (I was afraid!) "I don't think we'll hit them." he said uncertainly. (You don't think?)

We passed some 25 feet to their stern and got a good look at a somewhat scowling skipper as we went by.

We tacked back and forth between Seal Rock and Twin Lakes Beach till well after dark. The clouds to the west turned a brilliant red.

Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

The lights of every town along the coast were burning bright. Away from trees and buildings, you can see the whole sky. The constellations of the big and little dippers ladled out the darkness. The top of our mast was dipping into the milky way that disappeared off to the southern horizon. The sea was calm and the wind was low. With no more need to hang on I could finally address my neglected glass of Chardonnay.

At last our trip was over and we put in between the red and green lights that marked the harbor mouth. We slid back into dock and after we buttoned things up I had that manly Guniness stout to celebrate our journey. It was an unforgettable experience and I couldn't help but notice a salty swagger in my gait as I walked back to my car.