San Miguel

San Miguel

Friday before Labor Day i hurried back to Ventura and at ~6:30pm set sail, well actually motored, west-bound.

This was to be a big trip. Firstly it's a long way over & back, and secondly San Miguel sits way out at the west end of the Channel Islands, protruding out past Pt.Conception into the constant wind that blows from the northwest, unimpeded by any land. MAP

But the weather looked especially tranquil so it was a good time. Plan was to go to Goleta tonite (just west of Santa Barbara, ~30 nautical miles), stay overnite anchored in the little bay there, then to S.M. saturday (~32 nm), hopefully go ashore & hike that day & the next, then ideally move to a place partly toward home (Santa Rosa or the west tip of Santa Cruz Island) sunday afternoon, finishing the return on sunday.

I was hoping for flat water to Goleta, but didn't get it, the wind was blowing about 20kts from exactly where i was going, and the seas build up there at Ventura, really steep, so initially i was making as little as 1.5kts. Not good at all, but i expected it to get better, and it did. Firstly the seas got less steep, then the wind gradually dropped, but for a long while it was mighty bouncy. Once the boat dropped into a trough and the bow plowed right thru the next wave, the wave top coming over top the deck. But that's happened before. Not a big deal. (Later found the rather extreme up & down longitudinal motion of the boat had transferred 'stuff' from the holding tank forward, back into from-whence-it-came, the 'head'. Oh, nasty! Thank goodness the bowl had not over-flowed.)

Sun went down ahead. Sky was clear and the stars came out, lots of 'em, i was surprised that it was clear i could see the Milky Way. Then too there were the lights far ashore, and the line of headlites on 101, and the oil rigs, especially the oil rigs. Lots of 'em out there, all very very brightly lit in multi-colors - they were marvelous.

Only saw the lites of 3 boats the whole way, far off.

GPS told me where to go, and Otto The AutoPilot steered.

Passing Santa Barbara there was a litehouse, but beyond that there were no more oil rigs around, and the coastline, more natural here, was dark. Suddenly i really seemed alone at sea in the dark. But far ahead a lite suddenly popped up over the horizon, the top of a UCSB tower, and it was right where i was going. Eventually i could make out the lights of the Goleta Pier and the university buildings, and when i got there all the lites so lit the bay that i could clearly see the 1 other boat anchored there. I did likewise, and dropped into bed. Here protected by Coal Oil Point, it was completely calm and silent. It was 1:30 am.

Woke to check things around 3 or so: fog completely enveloped the environs. I couldn't see the beach or so much as a glow from the university lites. Completely, thickly socked in. Was so lucky to have gotten there when i did.

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Morning, fog remains, thick. Weather report says should lift by 10:30, and by 9 i can see the airport tower inland, so i motor out thru the now-lifting fog. No wind. I see a fishing boat, and hear the foghorn of an oil rig farther west. Cross the shipping lanes without incident, as the fog's dissipated by then to the usual haze. Wind gradually comes up, and i decide to raise the jib, close-hauled, to supplement the engine. Sure enuf, the speed rises from about 6 to 7-to-7.5kts, as hi as 8! As the wind builds, with the heel and the engine noise: this is exciting! But the GPS tells me actually i'm still only making about 6kts toward the destination, the rest consumed in side-slip against the headwind.

Thru the haze, S.M. appears. Now unlike the other Channel Islands (which other than Anacapa all look like California), S.M. has some real interest to it: outlying mini-islands, dangerous rocks awash, dunes, exotic vegetation.

As i arrive the sun's shining bright, the sea is blue with whitecaps, it's just lovely. I'm surprised to see other boats (4) in the bay - i figured i'd be here alone. Darn. But i find a good spot close to shore and anchor, dropping, after some debate, both anchors. It's about 3pm. I quickly drop the raft and go ashore.

It's just beautiful. I walk down the beach, then the 0.8mi up the steep trail. I'm so out of shape! Atop the cliff there's a campground, and farther on a very nice ranger station building. The sign says 'Ranger on Patrol'. I wait. On S.M. it's illegal to go any farther except with a ranger. Actually i'm skeptical that a ranger in fact exists. But gradually folks start trickling down the trail, and they assure me Ranger does exist.

And she arrives. Stacy, it turns out, is not the interp ranger, she does wildlife, but she's friendly and anxious to tell me all about what she does. It's a typical tale of wildlife management woe. There's the endangered Island Fox. Golden Eagles eat them. Turns out Golden Eagles were not always on the island - the Bald Eagles kept 'em away, and Bald Eagles eat fish, not fox. But DDT killed the Bald Eagles, and the Goldens moved in. So it's gotten so bad for the foxes that they've captured them all and put 'em in pens to protect 'em from the eagles (protective custody). Stacy feeds 'em every day, and there's a captive breeding program. Meanwhile, get this, helicopters chase the Goldens til they get tired, then swoop down, net 'em, and relocate 'em. (That part isn't going very well - perhaps sometimes the helicopters get tired before the eagles.)

And then He arrives, Edwin, interp, and yes if i'll just show up at 10 tomorrow i can go along on the Walk. Turns out his priority is the 20-or-so folks that came in on the Island Packers boat (sort of a sea-going tour bus, for the more-hearty). But that's fine. He's a volunteer, spends a couple of weeks a year doing this, away from his real job as an physical-oceanography researcher at UCSB. Nice, smart, knowledgeable, friendly young man.

Back to the boat. Wind has come up, but i make it back ok, other than getting my shoes wet because i was too lazy to take 'em off and then the raft starting floating off at the beach so i slogged in to grab it. Dang, and i have to walk in these tomorrow. Back aboard, I set 'em carefully out to dry. Top Ramen for dinner. Wind rises to 40kts. Wow! Lines banging on the mast, inside it's like someone hammering on a pipe 4 times a second. But i'm used to that. I have wonderfully interesting dreams.

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Sunday. Beautiful place, the outlying islands in fog. Wind unabated. I paddle ashore (no outboard), end up far down the beach. Up the cliff trail again. Meet Edwin and the campers. We walk the 3 miles to the point. It is a beautiful warm sunny day, unusual for this place. Down on the beach are elephant seals. Edwin tells of folks who started a ranch on Santa Barbara Island, a small one southeast of here. At first, they raised rabbits & chickens. But when the wind blew hard, the chickens BLEW AWAY.

(I commented about the sharks: Shark 1: "What the hell is that anyway?" Shark 2: "I don't know, but it tastes like chicken.")

I expected i'd continue to Santa Rosa or Santa Cruz that afternoon, per plan.

But back on the beach the wind was extreme, and i ran into a guy right out of Old Man & The Sea, white beard, his was the 'character boat' in the bay. He offered to take me back to my boat via his motor-dingy, as if i missed my boat, due to the wind, i'd be blown out to sea, never to be heard from again.

Now this possibility hadn't occurred to me, and now i saw that it was in fact a possibility.

But i declined the offer.

"Two boats left," he warned. "One came back."

This i took to mean that conditions were so horrendous at sea that one would be a fool to leave the shelter of the anchorage.

So i stayed.

Well, i did tow my raft thru the surf far up the beach til i was upwind of my boat, then paddle like hell to make sure i hit the 'V' of the 2 anchor lines.

But, back on the boat, I had conflicting feelings:

1. From my views out-to-sea while i'd been ashore, I believed that it was not this bad 'out there'. Which didn't really make any sense, as here we were in the protection of cliffs against the west wind.

2. I felt very discouraged. I had to be back tuesday. It was a long way. The weather report had been for 20kt winds, not 40, which are extreme. And the weather, so the radio said, was expected to get worse, not better. So how long would i be out here? Should i brave the likely-extreme conditions at sea now? I know if i'm not back tuesday at 9am, the boys at the office will call the Coast Guard for sure.

3. And then i had a new feeling, that went like this: i can do anything i want. If i want to stay, fine.

I haven't felt like #3 since about Baja, when i delayed for the wind 3 days on the deserted Isla Salsipuedes ("Leave If You Can" Island).

But it didn't make me feel better.

It was cold. The lines hammered the mast. I dreamed worried discouraging dreams.

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Next AM awoke before 6. Wind as bad as ever. I resolved to stay til it abated.

By 8 the wind was unchanged but i changed my mind. Like the lines against the mast, after a while it seems normal.

Raising the anchors took an hour. The first wasn't too bad as the 2nd took the strain, but against the 2nd each stroke of the windlass was hard, and each stroke brot in about an inch of the 120ft of line.

And the boat meanwhile was maneuvering in the wind, back & forth. At the extremes, the line jammed against the mount & any effort was wasted, so i rested, then cranked fast as it passed back toward the other way. I didn't fight it, conserved my strength, and finally as the anchor let loose its grip on the bottom, the boat took off downwind and i had to let the anchor dangle as i raced aft to put the motor in gear and get Otto steering in the right direction.

Outside the bay, past the sheltering cliffs, out to the awful sea, the wind dropped to 20kts. Go figure.

It was a pleasant sunny warm sail back. The wind was from straight behind, i proceeded wing-on-wing, 5+ knots. I stripped to shorts, lifejacket, and hat. It felt like Baja.

Mid-channel, a puff of smoke? What the hell? And then i saw the hump of the whale. And another and another, 5 in the 1st group, 10 in the second, including a tail-display, my first i think, and then another group so close i could hear them breathe, and the final bunch, ~30 in all. Marvelous. And far off toward the islands, there i could see puff after puff of their plumes, it's very distinctive. It was like the Valley of Smokes.

Afternoon, the wind died rather than built, and finally at 4pm, realizing at this rate i'd arrive home at 10pm, i started the motor, keeping the jib up for a couple extra tenths-of-knot in the trailing breeze.

Sun sinking, arrived the harbor at 7pm. Docked perfectly. What a trip! I think come spring i'll join the Park Service, spend next 15yrs there.