04 | Offshore Passage on our Wooden Boat- Neah Bay to San Francisco

After some last-minute repairs and provisioning in Port Angeles, we hauled in the anchor and pointed Julia west, down the Strait of Juan de Fuca and toward the Pacific Ocean. The Strait can make for a difficult exit. It is an 80-mile climb, generally heading into a stiff breeze. Tidal currents run at several knots in each direction, interacting with the Pacific swell that has come unimpeded since Japan. Where the Straits meet the Pacific Ocean, there is one last harbor of refuge, Nia Bay. It is tucked behind a massive breakwater, poised right at the northwesternmost point of the continental US. It is a dramatic, misty, green place, perfect for watching the weather and setting off at the right moment. Sitting in Nia Bay felt like standing at the top of a cliff. It is essentially the point of no return. From here, it would be an easy downwind run home. But once stepping off the cliff, we would be committed. We felt somewhat uneasy with the anticipation and distracted ourselves with little jobs, such as a final rig inspection, as we waited for one last system to blow through. Finally, the moment was right. After four years of boat work, a decade of saving and preparing, and a lifetime of dreaming, it was time. We pulled the anchor out of the last bit of Washington mud and headed out into the heaving, oily swells of a near calm, as several knots of current outflow stacked up the Pacific ground swell. Just as we made that momentous left turn around Tattoosh Island, a pod of porpoises joined us to provide escort for the beginning of our voyage. It was a very special moment, and we took it as a good omen. The second afternoon out, the wind built, and a steep short sea rolled us around, seemingly without pattern or rhythm. The massive outflow of the Columbia River seemed to send a confused cross swell out across the building wind waves. By the following morning, things were calm again, and we motor sailed south, working to hit the correct tide for the Newport Bar. What's your definition of fun? I'm seasick. This first leg was about 240 nautical miles, the longest we had ever done. Our relatives in Newport said we looked a bit haggard, as we were still learning how to sleep with the motion of the boat at sea. After hot showers and a good sleep, we hiked to see some truly massive trees, hunted mushrooms, and worked on a few boat projects while we had access to a workshop. Before long, we were anxious to be making miles south again, so we set sail on a beautiful day for the run to Coos Bay. For nearly a month, the winds off Cape Blanco had been blowing hard, stacking boats up at Coos Bay and other ports as they hoped for a weather window. We had the same issue, and we anchored bow and stern in the Coos River for a few days of 30 knot winds. The tidal currents are significant in the river, and the bar crossing can be treacherous when the ebb tide collides with the ocean swell. When the winds and tides were right, we crossed the bar in a dense fog, and headed back out to sea. Our rounding of Cape Blanco was not bad, despite the fog and drizzle. After dark, we had to douse the jib, and then tuck two reefs in the main. We sailed comfortably at 6 knots under just the double-reefed main for a few hours, before the wind eased after midnight, and we sailed slowly towards Eureka. Eureka is a friendly place. We found a spot to tie up with the fishing fleet, and took in some of the sights of the town. Just south of Eureka is the single largest obstacle on this coast, Cape Mendocino. Due to the bottom contours and the effect of the high cape, it is notorious for large waves and strong winds, even when the rest of the coast is relatively benign. We had read enough horror stories to be very careful about when we rounded this famous cape. We had good conditions, and sailed around it wing and wing. The next day, we motor-sailed for a bit in light conditions, but the wind built steadily, and we had some fast sailing as we made our way south along the California coastline. Near sunset, we sighted the headland for Drake's Bay, and made our way behind the giant bluffs to wait out the rising gale and time the tides for a daylight entrance into San Francisco. For two days, the wind howled through the rigging, but when it calmed down, we hoisted sail, and headed south again for the 30-mile run to San Francisco Bay. We skirted inside Potato Patch Shoal and down the Bonito Channel, catching our first glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge as we sailed into tide rips capable of rivaling any of those seen in the San Juan Islands. Working the sails for the varying wind and tide, we made our way under this famous landmark. Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge is definitely a highlight in any sailor's career, and it was a magnificent ending to our first ocean cruise. The 700 nautical miles between Neah Bay and San Francisco covered some very intimidating waters for us, and it felt surreal to look up at the bridge passing overhead. As we set the hook in Sausalito, in full view of the downtown skyline, we felt tremendous relief and accomplishment. We had said many times that if we can just make it to San Francisco, we can certainly handle whatever comes next.