Maiden Voyage

By Becky Wehrli

Jim and I set off on my first ocean voyage yesterday on Autumn Daze at 4am, from Warrenton, OR to Neah Bay, WA.  As I sit here on the swim deck of our 43’ Beneteau enjoying the placid water of the bay, watching freighters pass in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, listening to the seagulls and cormorants sing, the harbor buoy horn, the noise of industry in the small Indian town, and Lorena McKenna, the minutes of the LONG voyage, 28 hours, slip from my memory as each push of a hard labor.

            We passed the Columbia River bar with ease, Jim having carefully calculated the exact time to leave for the smoothest trip.  The day and ocean were gray, with light winds and waves.  It was perfect for setting out on a voyage that I faced with apprehension of the unknown, uncharted adventure for me.

            Once across the bar, about two hours into the trip, Jim says “What about breakfast?”  We had already had our first coffee of the day, and so I set out to make the toasted peanut butter and jelly english muffin we had decided on.  That is exactly when it hit.  I couldn’t be downstairs for even a moment, heaving and hoing, without feeling very seasick.  I yanked the muffins out from under the broiler, slapped the peanut butter and jelly carelessly on each half, slammed them together and took them up top, each folded in a napkin.  I barely made it, I was sweating profusely in my foul weather jacket, donned to protect me from the chilling wind.  Glad I made it back to the cockpit, where the waves didn’t sicken me so, I took my first bite.  Wrong thing to do!  I put the remainder down and ever so kindly offered it up to Jim.

            As long as I was on deck, I felt decent…but going below to use the head, I couldn’t get back quick enough to the glorious fresh sea air.  About an hour later, I crawled quickly to the back berth to take one of the many naps of the day, which in addition to being in the cockpit, was the only other activity I could stomach.

            After a glorious hour and a half nap, and a quick return to the cockpit, I felt great.  The clouds were beginning their slow burn-off that resulted in a beautiful sunny day from noon on.

            The wind was light, the swells gently rocked the boat, and there were no wind waves.  OK…I can do this.  I took a drink of water, and Jim showed me how to chart our progress as he prepared me to take the helm of Autumn Daze while he caught up on his sleep, the lack of which was the result of our early cast off.  Then he set out to show me how to identify our exact position on the chart, using bearings and protractor….to track our progress over an endless highway with no distinguishing markers.  The damn birds kept moving and offered no perspective.  Well, lets just say…NO reading for me either.  Stop, I can’t stomach trying to plot our coordinates on a heaving chart.  And so much for the nectarine I had grabbed from the galley and carried to the cockpit on my way up.  Goodbye to all desire to consume my belated breakfast.  It was time for the first of many small soothing sips of ginger ale.  Even the water upset the delicate balance of my stomach.

            Finally confident to take over, Jim went below to rest.  For a while, I manned the helm manually, to get the feel of the boat riding up one side and down the other of each wave.  Then I put “Klaus”, our autopilot in charge.  What would we have done without our strong dependable German “Otto” pilot?  I tested out the instruments, taking a quick assessment of what I could and couldn’t do, identifying my questions for Jim’s return to duty.

            And so our day progressed, back and forth, never spending more than about 10 minutes in the cockpit at the same time.  As the day warmed with sun, I peeled my layers of clothing and took naps in the warm sun on the deck.  I thought about making turkey sandwiches for lunch.  That was enough to make me nauseous, and Jim realized he’d have to prepare any food he planned on consuming.  Two gingersnaps were more than enough for me.

            On watch I occupied myself with learning boat and navigating skills, making a few feeble attempts at changing sails or heading, but mostly I identified my 2-3 most pressing questions for my brief passing with my husband.  I also sat, meditated, and thought.  WOW….there is MUCH more water on this earth than I previously visualized.  Except for lots of birds close to the shore, which Jim called “Petrels”, there was not much going on in the ocean.  Just one wave followed by another, in patterns of about 5 small ones to 2 large ones.  Once I was excited by a big log I imagined to be a huge ocean mammal.  Once I spotted a tiny face about 6 feet off the starboard side of the boat which quickly dove before I had convincing confirmation that it was a seal.  Jim pointed out a big silver splash, which we imagined was a tuna like the one we hoped to hook on the line trailing the back of our boat.  Needless to say, it, too, eluded us like the big silver flash off in the distance.

            So you get my point.  Endless sky, endless water, endless waves that upset the balance of my tender stomach with each heave and ho.  Endlessly boring!  So I took a long afternoon nap.

            By dinner I felt pretty good, so when Jim offered to make dinner, I suggested chicken noodle soup and saltines.  The crackers went down well, and the broth….hot and yummy.  But the solids….well, I gladly gave all mine to Jim.

            The wind picked up throughout the afternoon and into the evening.  The ocean got choppier….it was still hard to drink water without getting sick, but my body was feeling signs of dehydration.  We had decided to take advantage of the “generally” calm seas and motor overnight all the way to Neah Bay.  My apprehension about manning the boat, alone, in the dark, grew.  Finally after another short nap, I suggested to Jim that he go to get whatever sleep he could at dusk.  I was as ready as I’d ever be, queasy gut and all, to cross from the world of visible to invisible.  Jim slept about two and a half hours while I steered Autumn Daze from daylight to darkness, ocean spray fogging my glasses, eliminating visibility through the plastic glass of the bimini, which provided the only barrier from the driving cold spray and wind.  The seas were choppy.

            Courage.  That’s what I had to find…and trust in my ability to keep us on track…and out of danger.  As if the challenge was not already great enough for me, the fog set in.  I peered out expectantly for that boat I had missed on the radar, appearing out of the fog, aimed right at us. It never came. Well, at least not until daybreak!  As I got wet, and colder, bored by the relentless waves crashing on the boat, carrying out my watch duties every five minutes or so, I sat in silence, in the dark, confronting my fears.  I thought about my dad as he faced death.  He had asked me to sit with him during the middle of his last conscience night, to stay with him as he faced his final darkness.  He had said to me that my presence gave him strength to face his journey to that place of eternal darkness.  I responded to him that he had always given me strength during my life….and he did again that night.

            As the motion, cold and wetness set in…I began to notice my brain function slowing.  I was aware that the physical challenge was effecting my ability to make decisions.  I wondered how long I would be capable of manning the helm.  In a challenge to myself, I decided I would try for one more hour, and give Jim close to three and a half hours to sleep.  But as luck would have it, he appeared soon after to relieve me from my watch.  I gratefully welcomed him and asked him to call when he needed a break.  Sweet dreams!

            No….No….I’ll learn not to hope for so much.  An hour or so later, a noticeable increase in rolling woke me, as I slid side to side in the back berth.  I figured I better go check on the Captain.  Well, let me tell you….a crazy man had invaded the body of my stable, dependable husband.  There was a wild man on deck!  Decked out in foul weather gear, hats and gloves so only his glasses were showing.  But his eyes were wide with a glow of excitement.  He was out there in the middle of the ocean having a party all by himself, just rockin’ and rollin’ to some weird electronic circus music (he told me them were the blues….well, not unless you’re a clown!).  He called out to me that he was working on a SARS (search and rescue) case with the Coast Guard!  Was he exhilarated?  Or deeply demented?  I neither knew or cared because he said I should go back to bed….and I always obey the Captain!  (Anyone who knows me knows this is pure bullshit.)

            At four am….still dark, I hear “Becky, good morning.”  I see a flashlight aimed through the hatch right at my face.  He definitely is hallucinating by now.  This is NO good morning.  It’s a continuation of the night from hell.  But I rise, put my contacts in because the fog steams glasses requiring a wipe every five seconds or so and there never are enough dry Kleenex around.  By now the wind and sea are calm again….the wind has shifted and its warmer because it is coming at our back.  Famished, I grab a banana from the galley, and thinking of my nectarine still stowed in the cockpit table from yesterday morning, I head off to relieve Jim.  Now, tired from his four-hour adventurous watch, Jim was anxious to hit the berth.  He gave me a few directions and disappeared.

            Instead of heading northwest, into the waves, we were now heading northeast to round the furthest point in Washington.  Oh boy, nobody told me we’d be rolling over the waves….and they were so big….especially every 6^th or 7^th one.  Right to left, right to left….forget the banana, leave the nectarine another day or so.  Where is that ginger ale?  This was the worst yet. 

            The fog thickened.  I couldn’t see a thing.  I had trouble walking the cockpit.  Good thing I was tethered in.  Any pitch on the wet deck could send me overboard.  Now I had to rely on the radar as my eyes.  Trust, Becky.  But something doesn’t seem right!  There are no less than three big things on the screen, which were getting closer with the passing with each minute.  What are they?  Will they appear out of the black fog as a missile aimed directly at us?  The pitching was relentless.  I changed direction one degree at a time….trying to stay close on course, but trying to calm the motion of the boat.  No success.  Unsure of myself, I tried moving the small sail set to stabilize the boat, to the starboard side, that made Autumn Daze tilt downward with each slide down the fifteen foot swells. I quickly put the sail back where it had been.  Back at the radar – my targets were bigger and closer….I didn’t know what to do.  So I called the Captain….not knowing whether the crazy man who had invaded his body in the darkness of the night had been exorcised or not.

            Five minutes later, my rational husband appeared…and gladly took over, even though my inexperience only afforded him a measly one and a half hours sleep!  The captain of Autumn Daze was in control again!  I quickly assumed my more comfortable job as first mate, eyes and ears for the captain. 

            It was daybreak.  We had been at sea more than 24 hours.  Still sick, and tired, I stood peering out into a thick fog as we rounded the corner into the Strait of Juan de Fuca trying to avoid all the rocks at the base of Capt Flattery and shoot into the pinpoint entrance to Neah Bay where we would anchor, rest, and return to physical well-being with the first of our major ocean stints behind us.  Jim confirmed the lines on the radar were freighters coming out the Strait bound for far away ports…..and they were definitely to be avoided at all cost…even if it meant waking a tired captain. 

As we neared Neah Bay, a steady stream of fishing boats poured out into the Strait.  “There’s one at one o’clock,” I shouted as it passed us, using the position of the clock face to communicate with the captain.  “Now one at eleven.”  One appeared suddenly at noon, from the fog just fifty feet in front of us.  It sped up and veered its course to avoid a collision. Jim spotted boats to the right and left of us on the radar.  Many I didn’t spot visually until they were at three or four o’clock…way to late for any avoidance maneuvers on our part. I turned around to check their visibility as they approached us because, like magic, as a drawing curtain, they seemed to part their path for us.  The visibility heading west, as they were, was at least twice of our eastern course, where a bright rising sun caused blinding glare in the fog. But as I turned to check where we had come from, I saw the most beautiful sight….a full arch of fog reflecting a gateway of sorts, for me on my maiden ocean voyage.  A welcome, Jim said, from my dad, to our days of cruising.  I christened it my “fogbow.”

Things started improving immediately.  The water calmed.  We could remove our life preservers and harnesses, my stomach settled and I felt hunger return.  I traded in ginger ale for water, which tasted great again.  As the Captain headed right for the small opening to the bay, the fog lifted to reveal a beautiful, warm, wondrous day.

            Following a hearty breakfast on a table adorned with yellow gladiolas and pink dahlias from our garden back home which had made the voyage in a paper bag, I sit on our swim deck in awe, taking in the beauty that awaits us for exploration on my first cruising adventure, just as I did when I held each of my three children for the first time, the fruit of my former labors from hell.