The month of May was difficult: we moved out of Alain's spacious hillside home onto the AURA - no phone, no shower, two tiny cabins. It was moored in the free anchorage, and required a rowboat trip to reach it. We were anxious to set sail, and hurriedly finishing preparations, yet many critical chores, repairs and modifications were still pending. Adjusting to this new life aboard was taking its toll in stress and frustrations. We had arranged to leave Scorpio the cat with a friend, but after only a week she called to say that it wouldn't work - Scorpio was a one-man cat, and insisted on remaining with his captain. Finally, the day arrived when Captain Auras proclaimed, "Enough! It's now or never! I'l faut partir, alors!" Early the next morning, we sounded three blasts on the horn, bid Adieu to beloved San Diego, and sailed out of the free anchorage for the last time.

Rowing the Pink Panther in San Diego's Free Anchorage

We followed the coast north towards the Beach towns (Laguna, Newport, Huntington) and began to realize that our mode of travel was akin to a cross-country trip on a moped. The cabins were so cramped it was like living in train compartments for a month and a half. Crossing the San Pedro Channel to Santa Catalina Island constituted our first real open-sea travel, away from the coast. This was a true camping adventure, aboard a home-built racing catamaran!

After the charming but expensive restaurants in Avalon, in view of the magnificent Wrigley's Mansion, we sailed up the scenic eastern side of he island, past sparkling Emerald Bay, around the windward point of West End, and down the rocky windswept coast to the Catalina Harbor. We took refuge from the Memorial-Day Zoo there and at nearby Twin Harbor West, where less than a mile of land separates one from the eastern side and Isthmus Cove. Here we relaxed, leisurely windsurfing and hiking.

Looking east from the peak above Twin Harbors

Then on to lovely and little-known Little Harbor, and around the East End, flying the spinnaker sail back around to Avalon. Our friends Mike and Richard joined us for some more days of spinnaker hoisting, snorkling, fishing, and general R&R. A highlight was swimming out over a group of reticent pilot whales, feeding and nursing.

Departing Catalina Island, we again crossed the San Pedro Channel to the vast Long Beach Marina, leaving our friends and spending the night in view of the Queen Mary and some of the largest cargo ships in the world. Next stop was Marina Del Rey, one of the largest pleasure craft harbors in Southern California (and the world!) and the home-port of our friend Russel and his beautiful, all-wood Kettenburg 38. We spent a weekend here, doing laundry, catching our breath from the suddenly-at-sea culture-shock, and preparing for the rowdy seas waiting just ahead, past Point Dume and Port Hueneme.

The Channel Islands Harbor in Ventura is the closest marina to the four islands themselves, and is relatively small. It was easily my favorite of the several we visited. The stay overnight there and the next days' quick excursion to the National Park Head-Quarters were both pleasant and educational. While doing laundry there, some fisherman captured a four-foot baby Great White Shark just outside the harbor, and sold it for a thousand dollars to MarineWorld. But no one gave warning of the wild, unruly winds which would hurl us out to Anacapa Island in just two hours, and wear us out in a ten-hour battle under heavy weather to reach the Santa Barbara marina. The tone was set for the next two weeks of channel cruising!

The spells of calms, confused currents and weird winds bewitching the Islands did not deter us from several trips back and forth from the mainland. The beauty and wildlife were abundant, as were the adventure and fun.

Anacapa Island, first of this group of four remnant Santa Monica Mountains, is broken by two passages of water connecting the Mother Sea on either side. It hosts a lighthouse, now a national park monument; standing at the Lookout made me realize how big is the ocean and how tiny our little craft. This island is also home to a unique and delicate ecology, including protected Pelican and Seagull Rookeries and Sea Lion Colonies, and the famous California Kelp Forests are nearby. This is a truly tiny, barren rock compared to Santa Cruz Island, which is 37 miles long, and full of inviting coves, stunning anchorages (Little Scorpion), even some waterfalls (Fry's Harbor). Sailing, scuba diving, snorkling, abalone feasting, hiking, swimming, sunning, rowing,... What a paradise!

Santa Barbara is another story. I have fond memories of my college days at UCSB and Isla Vista, which were ten years earlier, a very different time and space. On this reacquaintance of my dear SB, however, it earned several questionable honors: Most Badly Mismanaged Marina Maintenance (shoaled sand is dredged from here to there this month, only to be dredged from there to here next); Most Snooty Yacht Clubbers (close tie with San Diego for this one); Most Fishermen's Hard Luck Stories (we spoke with several boat's crews about their lives and livelihoods, the sad state of the fishing industry, and the crazy weather we were enduring); and the Most Days in Port (6). The weather was sunny and warm, and the inland coastal mountains are stately and serene.

We relished every moment, knowing that as the conditions in the Channel had been more intense than we expected, so the rest of the journey promised even more wildness. We were reluctant to leave this new paradise, yet eager to get on with our journey. We headed west towards the infamous Pt. Conceptión, also known as the Cape Horn of the Pacific. Here the Wild & Nasty North Winds blow unmercifully, and strong fishermen cringe and curse.

Our next destination was Cojo Bay, an anchorage just east of Pt. Conceptión. The forty-odd miles from Santa Barbara took us twelve hours of arduous sailing. Along the way we encountered the most severe offshore winds of the entire voyage: rough, choppy waves, with alternating dead calms and sudden 35-mph winds, enough to ruin our good spirits! There were several boats already at anchor when we finally arrived at the headlands; all waiting for the gale force winds just ahead to abate long enough to sneak around the tempestuous corner of Vandenburg. After three days of watching other boats make the attempt only to return, a late-night calm finally descended, and at 2:00 am we left, the uneventful ride a welcome anti-climax.

The next stop was Port San Luis for a day, and then on to foggy Morro Bay. In both of these places we tied up to commercial fishing boats, as there were yacht clubs but no guest marinas. We spent several days inland visiting with my relatives. My Father joined us for the choppy, wet sail to San Simeon; there he and Alain went on a tour of the Hearst Castle. By this point, every departure was dependent on the weather radio report, and we waited three more days at this lovely, forested spot.

Our dark-of-night passing off Point Piedras Blancas was graced with an awesome phosphorescent light show, with schools of fish creating a mysterious underwater fog, and dolphins becoming speeding luminescent blobs, occasionally leaping into darkness.

Morning brought thick, low fog, which accompanied most of our trip up the Big Sur Coast. This was the most dangerous stretch, with many submerged rocks just offshore; we could hear the surf crashing unseen in the fog nearby! In fact an emergency avoidance manuever resulted in the overboard loss of our autopilot (Louise). Adding to our navigational headaches was an unusual Southeasterly wind; along with the rough and turbulent swell, we were actually pushed us up the coast much quicker than we realized. We found Pfieffer Point and Point Sur unsuitable for anchoring, so we continued to fly on this remarkable breeze, hoping to put in at some cove in Carmel Bay. But our next positive fix was past there, on a buoy off Point Cypress. Now we were committed to all the way to Monterey, making this the longest single leg, fully one fifth of the journey, in twenty rough hours.

Friends from Big Sur trucked us down the coast, to spend Fourth-of-July at their favorite magical spot, Partington Cove, where a steep creek runs under Highway 1, through giant redwoods and delicate ferns, to a stunning encounter with the Sea; a tunnel right through the cliff leads to another outrageous cove, inaccessible by any other route!

Through the tunnel at Partington Cove

In turn, we shared our sea-going experience, taking them across the Monterey Bay to Santa Cruz. During this passage, two young killer whales came to play on the pressure waves off of our bows; swerving and cavorting for several minutes before returning to the main herd, which was uncomfortably close by.

In Santa Cruz our friend Robert joined us for the final stretch up to San Francisco Bay. A blue-water sailor who lived in the City, he knew the Bay intimately. After early gasup, which we had missed in Monterey, we motor-sailed uneventfully to Point Año Nuevo by mid-morning, where the cautious captain would not tempt Fate by continuing, despite the crew's willingness.

Favorable conditions on the next day let us pass Half Moon Bay, and arrive for a late-afternoon ride under the Golden Gate Bridge, then the Bay Bridge, half-way down the Alameda Channel (we call it the Moat) to our new home, the Alameda Marina. We had sunshine and a steady breeze on our shoulders the whole way. After a taxi-cab ride back across the Bay to Robert's place, we celebrated with a hot bath and a good night's sleep.

After so long at Sea, it took us a couple of weeks to adjust to life ashore again, jumping suddenly from low to high gear. We just set about one chore after another, methodically as engineers, and soon projects were underway and life had a schedule again. What a pleasure to come home to a house and hot shower after day-sailing on the Bay! Now those exotic places and extreme conditions are memories and photographs, until the next wild adventure.