Beth at the helm on her first night watch!
There always has to be a first and for me my first night watch was when we sailed from the southern tip of the Queen Charlotte Islands to the northwest tip of Vancouver Island aboard our Saga 43 ``Sarah Jean II``. Our destination was Winter Harbour, a total distance of about 180 nautical miles. This would be an overnight passage.
My husband, Norm, and I were on a 3 month sailing adventure that took us from Vancouver, up the Inside Passage to BC’s Central Coast and the Great Bear Rainforest. Our most northerly stop was Prince Rupert. We had not planned to visit there but ended up at Rupert hoping to have our electric autopilot repaired. It had failed just a day’s sail south of there. The problem was apparently with the course computer so a local repair was not possible. It would have to be sent back to the factory following our trip.
We pushed on to our main destination, Haida Gwaii or “The Queen Charlotte Islands” without the electric autopilot. We still had our new windvane steering system which we would now have to learn to use. We successfully crossed the famed Hecate Strait with its short, choppy and confused seas. Winds were a steady 25 kt and waves were up to 3m high. Some even presented themselves in the cockpit as we were on a beam reach!
We had purchased our passes for the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve back in March to reserve our spot. Only a certain number of boaters are allowed in the park each day. We spent 2 1/2 weeks exploring the park and learned much about the ancient Haida culture. It was almost lost after the smallpox epidemic in the mid 1800’s. We were lucky to have 2 weeks of sunshine during our visit to Haida Gwaii with only a few days of rain. The locals commented that it was the best summer weather in the Charlottes since the 1980’s!
The time had come to do our passage south to Vancouver Island. This was our planned route so we could get some overnight passage experience. We are leaving to sail offshore in 2010 so this was our shakedown cruise to test systems on the boat, Sarah Jean’s capacities and our own abilities to handle her during passages and higher wind conditions. In Rose Harbour we radioed the Coast Guard to request an extended forecast. It was favourable: 15-20 kts from the NW for the next few days. Over the summer we had been practising with our new Icom 802 SSB radio and pactor modem, checking in with Ron Kolody from BCA on a prearranged sched and with the Great Northern Boater’s Net. We emailed updates to our family on winlink and downloaded grib files and weather faxes. These were especially interesting to us before making the passage to Vancouver Island. We wanted to confirm the Coast Guard forecast and be sure that we had a good weather window.
S’Gang Gwaay, the World Heritage Site on Anthony Island would be our last scheduled stop in Haida Gwaii. Situated in the very southwest corner, this Haida site has 17 standing totem poles and remains of ancient long houses. We motored west from Rose Harbour down Houston Stewart Channel towards the village site in dense fog. Another boat we had met had set out with us but we could not see them in the fog with only ¼ mile visibility. We knew they were there by the blip on the radar. The fog lifted only slightly for our visit to S’Gang Gwaay or Ninstints as it is also called after their chief. Perhaps it was fitting that we saw this special Haida site in the mist.
At 6:00 am the following morning the passage south began. We headed out of our anchorage in Lousoome Bay as the sun came up over the hills. There was not a cloud in the sky. How fortunate we felt not to be battling the fog we had experienced just yesterday. We motored out past Cape St. James where the wind picked up and we raised our sails. Cape St. James is reportedly the windiest place in Canada, but not today. We had only 9 knots, but enough to fly our spinnaker. Before the cape was out of sight I spotted my first puffin! I was thrilled to finally see one of these rare west coast birds!
We began sailing with our spinnaker and small jib poled out to windward. When the wind picked up we replaced the spinnaker with our genoa. For most of the day we sailed with double headsails – genoa and jib in a lovely 15 kt breeze, from the NW as forecast. Downwind sailing truly is the best. It is so comfortable. The sky was a brilliant blue and we made good speed averaging 6.5 – 7 kts. I managed to let go of the sight of land without too much concern. I had some butterflies in my stomach the last few days thinking of this passage. Too much wind was a concern but that had not materialized - 15 kts of wind was perfect! Mainly it was the night passage – fear of the unknown - that caused my anxiety. Would I be able to wake up and do my watch successfully? Would I be able to stay awake all alone out there in the dark?
I napped in the evening after dinner in the sea berth that we had prepared in our aft cabin. Then the time had come. It was dusk and night was falling. Very unfortunately just before dusk the clouds rolled in and covered the sky. I had dreamed of being on night watch with a million twinkling stars overhead. On this night however there were no stars, not even a moon. The sky had become a dark grey and the water a darker grey, bordering on black. Between the two there was a very faint line – the horizon. It became so black I could not see the sails. Norm is an excellent strategist, always thinking and planning ahead. On a sailboat this is a wonderful attribute. He knew that we would want to reduce sail at night so he set our small jib out on the whisker pole so sail trimming would not be an issue. The wind was off our quarter so this set up was perfect for our downwind sail. We were comfortable sailing at a reduced speed of 5 kts as night settled in.
Norm and I did 2 1/2 hour watches at night. It was really a 2 hour watch as the ½ was spent making tea or a snack and feeding the helmsman. I managed my first shift without incident. Norm loaded the jib furling line on the winch for me so I could partially furl it easily and reduce sail if the wind picked up. I was amazed that a comfortable sailing speed during the day of 6-7 knots, at night was more like 4-5 kts. The swells, the jostling of the boat in the darkness and of course not being able to see a thing added to my sense of anxiety. Sailing at a slower speed therefore felt much better.
My wrist watch said 2:30 am – time to wake up for my next shift. I knew Norm would be tired and would need a break so I scrambled out of my warm sea berth “nest” and pulled on my foul weather gear – pants, jacket, boots, toque and mitts. It was not raining but the layers of clothing were needed to keep warm at 52 degrees north! Norm and I joke that we wear the same amount of clothing for sailing that we wear for skiing! My headlamp went on over my toque so I could see in the darkness of the cabin without putting on the lights. This would spoil Norm’s night vision at the helm. I grabbed a snack and made a cup of tea from the thermos and headed up the companionway to the cockpit to report for duty. Norm provided me with a report: we were nearing Triangle Island and he gave me the compass heading that he had been following. He said he could hear squeaks and squawks beside the boat in the dark. It was as if he jostled a seabird from their sleep with the hull of the boat. Norm gladly pulled off his boots, jacket, foul weather pants and toque and climbed into the warm sea berth I had just vacated.
I first checked our compass heading to be sure we were on course. Due to the failure of the course computer on our electric autopilot we were following our course with only our compass. I checked the chart plotter for our position and then looked up to check the masthead windex. Both it and the compass were lit up which was very helpful. I looked at the sail but all I could see was blackness. It’s an eerie feeling and somewhat unnerving to be surrounded by blackness. It’s a challenge to the senses to no longer be able to see what is happening on the boat. I just had to feel the wind and have faith in the instruments. The windvane steering system was working well to keep us on course with occasional hand steering for course correction.
To keep occupied as I sat at the helm I began to write this story in my mind. Suddenly I heard breathing behind me and then a loud splash. I was totally awake now and my imagination was running wild. What was that? A whale? A seal? Before I could come to any logical conclusion I heard the sound again on the starboard side of the boat – a big breath and a splash. I looked – blackness and then a streak of stars in the water - phosphorescence. Then the monster from the deep surfaced on the port side and then all around the boat, teasing me as if it knew I could not see it. Finally it dawned on me – they were dolphins. I recognized the short splashes, breathing and the darting to all sides of the boat as the activity of dolphins. They love to swim with a moving boat. I felt my grip loosen on the helm. These were my friends, not sea monsters and now I was no longer alone on my night watch.
My husband, Norm, and I were on a 3 month sailing adventure that took us from Vancouver, up the Inside Passage to BC’s Central Coast and the Great Bear Rainforest. Our most northerly stop was Prince Rupert. We had not planned to visit there but ended up at Rupert hoping to have our electric autopilot repaired. It had failed just a day’s sail south of there. The problem was apparently with the course computer so a local repair was not possible. It would have to be sent back to the factory following our trip.
We pushed on to our main destination, Haida Gwaii or “The Queen Charlotte Islands” without the electric autopilot. We still had our new windvane steering system which we would now have to learn to use. We successfully crossed the famed Hecate Strait with its short, choppy and confused seas. Winds were a steady 25 kt and waves were up to 3m high. Some even presented themselves in the cockpit as we were on a beam reach!
We had purchased our passes for the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve back in March to reserve our spot. Only a certain number of boaters are allowed in the park each day. We spent 2 1/2 weeks exploring the park and learned much about the ancient Haida culture. It was almost lost after the smallpox epidemic in the mid 1800’s. We were lucky to have 2 weeks of sunshine during our visit to Haida Gwaii with only a few days of rain. The locals commented that it was the best summer weather in the Charlottes since the 1980’s!
The time had come to do our passage south to Vancouver Island. This was our planned route so we could get some overnight passage experience. We are leaving to sail offshore in 2010 so this was our shakedown cruise to test systems on the boat, Sarah Jean’s capacities and our own abilities to handle her during passages and higher wind conditions. In Rose Harbour we radioed the Coast Guard to request an extended forecast. It was favourable: 15-20 kts from the NW for the next few days. Over the summer we had been practising with our new Icom 802 SSB radio and pactor modem, checking in with Ron Kolody from BCA on a prearranged sched and with the Great Northern Boater’s Net. We emailed updates to our family on winlink and downloaded grib files and weather faxes. These were especially interesting to us before making the passage to Vancouver Island. We wanted to confirm the Coast Guard forecast and be sure that we had a good weather window.
S’Gang Gwaay, the World Heritage Site on Anthony Island would be our last scheduled stop in Haida Gwaii. Situated in the very southwest corner, this Haida site has 17 standing totem poles and remains of ancient long houses. We motored west from Rose Harbour down Houston Stewart Channel towards the village site in dense fog. Another boat we had met had set out with us but we could not see them in the fog with only ¼ mile visibility. We knew they were there by the blip on the radar. The fog lifted only slightly for our visit to S’Gang Gwaay or Ninstints as it is also called after their chief. Perhaps it was fitting that we saw this special Haida site in the mist.
At 6:00 am the following morning the passage south began. We headed out of our anchorage in Lousoome Bay as the sun came up over the hills. There was not a cloud in the sky. How fortunate we felt not to be battling the fog we had experienced just yesterday. We motored out past Cape St. James where the wind picked up and we raised our sails. Cape St. James is reportedly the windiest place in Canada, but not today. We had only 9 knots, but enough to fly our spinnaker. Before the cape was out of sight I spotted my first puffin! I was thrilled to finally see one of these rare west coast birds!
We began sailing with our spinnaker and small jib poled out to windward. When the wind picked up we replaced the spinnaker with our genoa. For most of the day we sailed with double headsails – genoa and jib in a lovely 15 kt breeze, from the NW as forecast. Downwind sailing truly is the best. It is so comfortable. The sky was a brilliant blue and we made good speed averaging 6.5 – 7 kts. I managed to let go of the sight of land without too much concern. I had some butterflies in my stomach the last few days thinking of this passage. Too much wind was a concern but that had not materialized - 15 kts of wind was perfect! Mainly it was the night passage – fear of the unknown - that caused my anxiety. Would I be able to wake up and do my watch successfully? Would I be able to stay awake all alone out there in the dark?
I napped in the evening after dinner in the sea berth that we had prepared in our aft cabin. Then the time had come. It was dusk and night was falling. Very unfortunately just before dusk the clouds rolled in and covered the sky. I had dreamed of being on night watch with a million twinkling stars overhead. On this night however there were no stars, not even a moon. The sky had become a dark grey and the water a darker grey, bordering on black. Between the two there was a very faint line – the horizon. It became so black I could not see the sails. Norm is an excellent strategist, always thinking and planning ahead. On a sailboat this is a wonderful attribute. He knew that we would want to reduce sail at night so he set our small jib out on the whisker pole so sail trimming would not be an issue. The wind was off our quarter so this set up was perfect for our downwind sail. We were comfortable sailing at a reduced speed of 5 kts as night settled in.
Norm and I did 2 1/2 hour watches at night. It was really a 2 hour watch as the ½ was spent making tea or a snack and feeding the helmsman. I managed my first shift without incident. Norm loaded the jib furling line on the winch for me so I could partially furl it easily and reduce sail if the wind picked up. I was amazed that a comfortable sailing speed during the day of 6-7 knots, at night was more like 4-5 kts. The swells, the jostling of the boat in the darkness and of course not being able to see a thing added to my sense of anxiety. Sailing at a slower speed therefore felt much better.
My wrist watch said 2:30 am – time to wake up for my next shift. I knew Norm would be tired and would need a break so I scrambled out of my warm sea berth “nest” and pulled on my foul weather gear – pants, jacket, boots, toque and mitts. It was not raining but the layers of clothing were needed to keep warm at 52 degrees north! Norm and I joke that we wear the same amount of clothing for sailing that we wear for skiing! My headlamp went on over my toque so I could see in the darkness of the cabin without putting on the lights. This would spoil Norm’s night vision at the helm. I grabbed a snack and made a cup of tea from the thermos and headed up the companionway to the cockpit to report for duty. Norm provided me with a report: we were nearing Triangle Island and he gave me the compass heading that he had been following. He said he could hear squeaks and squawks beside the boat in the dark. It was as if he jostled a seabird from their sleep with the hull of the boat. Norm gladly pulled off his boots, jacket, foul weather pants and toque and climbed into the warm sea berth I had just vacated.
I first checked our compass heading to be sure we were on course. Due to the failure of the course computer on our electric autopilot we were following our course with only our compass. I checked the chart plotter for our position and then looked up to check the masthead windex. Both it and the compass were lit up which was very helpful. I looked at the sail but all I could see was blackness. It’s an eerie feeling and somewhat unnerving to be surrounded by blackness. It’s a challenge to the senses to no longer be able to see what is happening on the boat. I just had to feel the wind and have faith in the instruments. The windvane steering system was working well to keep us on course with occasional hand steering for course correction.
To keep occupied as I sat at the helm I began to write this story in my mind. Suddenly I heard breathing behind me and then a loud splash. I was totally awake now and my imagination was running wild. What was that? A whale? A seal? Before I could come to any logical conclusion I heard the sound again on the starboard side of the boat – a big breath and a splash. I looked – blackness and then a streak of stars in the water - phosphorescence. Then the monster from the deep surfaced on the port side and then all around the boat, teasing me as if it knew I could not see it. Finally it dawned on me – they were dolphins. I recognized the short splashes, breathing and the darting to all sides of the boat as the activity of dolphins. They love to swim with a moving boat. I felt my grip loosen on the helm. These were my friends, not sea monsters and now I was no longer alone on my night watch.
When my watch ended Norm came up into the cockpit sleepily after a short 2 hour nap. The sky was beginning to lighten. With the return of daylight we unfurled the genoa and poled out the jib to windward. Our double headsails gave us more speed as the morning began. I made us a cup of tea, warmed a couple of muffins and we watched the sunrise together. We had achieved a milestone in our sailing careers – completing our first night passage together on our own boat. It was a good feeling. I climbed into our sea berth for a well-earned morning nap!
Beth Cooper
S/V Sarah Jean II
August 2009
Beth Cooper
S/V Sarah Jean II
August 2009
Dear Norm and Beth,
ReplyDeleteI'm enjoying your blog.
It is good to see both you are fine on your sailing.
It is unbelievable for me who is land man that you can sail as you like freely in spite of failure of autopilot system.
I really enjoyed Beth's story "Night Watch" which makes me image beautiful landscape and exciting happening like encounter with dolphins!
When you felt you were no longer alone, you must join deeply into nature or you must be a part of nature!
I pray you can see "a million twinkling stars overhead" in the next Night Watch.
Please take care of yourself Norm and Beth!
I pray safe sailing from Japan.
Yuji