A Chronicle of Discovery: Racing

January 2008 - Three Bridge Fiasco Race
September 2007 - 400-mile TransPac Qualifier
August 2007 - VTS Tour
August 2007 - LongPac Redux 2
August 2007- LongPac Redux 1
July 2007 - SSS LongPac
May 2007
July 2006

July 2006
It has been said, and I believe it true, that if two boats are sailing in the same general direction at least one of the two skippers is racing. And my belief is that if the second of the two says he’s not racing its only because he’s falling behind the other boat. Truth is, sailors like to confirm their skill and the speed of their boat by bettering the other guy.

In spite of the above anecdote, and my own participation in confirming it to be true, I came to organized racing along a very different path. I was interested in racing as a means to push myself to the next level of competence and experience, and I wanted to do so without all of the stress, cost, and anxiety often associated with sailboat racing. And yet, I wanted to do so in a measurable way and in a manner that allowed me to learn from my experiences. I found the perfect combination in the Singlehanded Sailing Society.

Singlehanded Sailing Society (SSS)

A good friend and sailor, Chris Case, introduced me to the SSS. Chris and I had worked together for several years, I had sailed with Chris on occasion, and Chris had been my nearly constant sounding board as I moved off of the sidelines and into the world of boat ownership. Chris knew me pretty well, and thought that I might like the SSS. He suggested that I attend one of the meetings to judge for myself whether the group would be right for me.

Chris was right. As it has turned out, joining and participating with the SSS is probably the single most important step that I have taken since buying Libations Too. First of all, this is a group where competition and race results are only one (perhaps even a secondary) objective of many. The stated purpose of the organization is to “provide a forum where sailors and others interested in the sport of singlehanded sailing could share their ideas and experiences…The development of personal skill in singlehanded sailing is encouraged through sailing events and seminars.” The 2006 Commodore Phil MacFarlane has elaborated on this in his annual message to members: “The SSS is serious and challenging racing, yet we don’t have a lot of yelling and screaming nor do we have a lot of protests. When a racer needs help they may find more than one competitor coming to their aid. It is racing not for the win at any cost, (not that there’s any thing wrong with that) but to have fun and challenge yourself. I have found the racers in the SSS to be welcoming, friendly, helpful and encouraging.”

The 2005-2006 season has been a great year for learning from the SSS group. In June 2006, the SSS hosted the biennial Singlehanded Transpac race from San Francisco to Hawaii. In preparation for this event a whole series of seminars were hosted. These seminars covered nearly every aspect of importance to the offshore singlehanded sailor. While not all were important to me in my first season of sailing, they all contributed to my perspective and knowledge. But even more importantly, they allowed me to test and confirm my own knowledge of sailing.

The second reason that the SSS has proven to be a good choice for me is that the group is genuine is espousing the philosophy that everyone that sails a race is a winner…even if you did not finish or place. The experience and the learning are valued highest, and race results simply formalize the process. This point came to me most clearly in a comment by fellow SSS member Mike Carnall when discussing my first race offshore. Mike told me: “My philosophy is to just sail out 'till you scare yourself a bit and then head home. Next time you will feel comfortable a bit further out or in nastier conditions.” Mike’s comment was just what I needed. Prior to that, and for some reason that is probably unique to my own personality and experience, I was thinking of the race as an “all or nothing” event. It never occurred to me that I could race to my own limits and measures for success. Mike, thank you!

Lessons Learned - First Six Months

As I write this (nearly six months to the day after my first attempt to race), I am reminded of how much I have learned from the process in a relatively short period of time. My first race illustrates this perfectly. The SSS “Three Bridge Fiasco” race was held on January 28 (yes, here on the West Coast we sail 12 months a year). This is a fun race that takes racers to all three of the Bay bridges (Golden Gate, Bay Bridge, and Richmond-San Rafael) and the three marks can be taken in any order. Even though I sailed the course, I officially DNS (did not start) because I failed to follow the official race instructions.

Radio. The facts behind that DNS reveal a bit about how much I had to learn about my boat and sailing in the Bay: Libations Too was equipped with a VHF radio, and I had used it many times to monitor Coast Guard communications, weather, and ship traffic. But I had rarely used it to transmit. The official race channel was 69 or 71, and the Sailing Instructions called for a radio check in no later than 10 minutes before the start of the race. To my utter amazement when I tried to check in I found that my radio did not send or receive on the designated channels. And even though my backup handheld radio had the capability, the old rechargeable batteries were incapable of providing sufficient power to transmit. Needless to say, within a week or two, I had a new fixed-mount VHF and new batteries for my handheld. How, I ask, could I miss something so basic as this? I realized that I had a long way to go to build the knowledge and skill that were appropriate for singlehanded sailing.

Stamina. Sailing in Bay during the winter means sailing in rain and temperatures that often drop to the mid to low fifties during the day with frost sometimes seen at the marina in the wee hours of the morning. I knew before beginning this sailing adventure that I would need good foul weather gear to keep the weather out and the warmth in. I was happy to learn that my layers of fleece, foulies, and watch cap kept me warm throughout the January race.

But what I did not expect was the sheer amount of physical activity that I would experience on race day. The Three Bridge Fiasco taught me that singlehanded sailing, and racing in particular, is real work. And at the end of the day the wind picked up, the visibility and temperature began to drop a bit, and quite frankly, I was getting tired and hungry. I finished the race with low reserves of energy and enthusiasm. The next day I was tired and sore, and couldn’t believe that I had received such a workout in my little cockpit. After the race I swore new allegiances to some type of daily exercise regimen in hopes of being better prepared for future races.

Currents. And did I mention currents? I found that I definitely needed to learn more about currents and current prediction. Race results for the Three Bridge Fiasco seemed to be primarily a function of proper strategy relative to the currents. I sailed clockwise around the course (as did many other boats), but the fastest boats were those that sailed counterclockwise. I had a good time, felt that I sailed to my abilities, but realized that understanding and properly anticipating the currents not only made good race strategy but simply made good sense for Bay sailing. Another surprise to me was that with over 248 race entries, strong currents, and plenty of wind the Bay suddenly seemed quite small. Boats were everywhere and, combined with ship traffic, the race required my full attention at all times.

Depowering the Boat. Libations Too, like many boats, sails best on her feet. Too much heel results in considerable leeway, more precarious work on deck, and loss of speed. Add a reef to the main or take a turn or two on the furling headsail and the boat settles down nicely and actually sails faster than when heeled way over. When I sailed the Three Bridge Fiasco I sailed with my full compliment of sail for the entire race. But it was very evident with winds picking up toward the end of the day that I was overpowered. I was able to manage this reasonably by easing the traveler, but even then, I had more sail than necessary.

This may sound obvious to more experienced sailors, but having the skill and confidence to shorten sail in all conditions is a very important aspect of sailing safely. For me, the process of developing these skills began during the Three Bridge Fiasco race where I realized that I was sailing at the edge of my abilities. I never felt unsafe because I knew I could always just furl the sails and power in, but I also realized that I needed to fully develop the capability and skill of shortening sail. After the race I made it my business to practice reefing and furling in all conditions until I was confident that I could shorten sail to match the conditions I found. I did not want to be a sailor that could only sail on fair days. Rather, I was determined to develop the skills to be able to choose my days for sailing and then, within reason, adapt to the conditions that I found.

What great fun!

Getting to know my boat and building confidence in my own skill have been great fun. Racing is an effective proving ground, and the preparation can be as fun as the race. The Pearson 323 is a great boat for singlehanded sailing.

The 2006 Singlehanded Farallones Race

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May 2007
This year promises to be a continuation of the fun and challenges that I discovered in 2006.

For me, the 2007 singlehanded racing season began in January with the "Three Bridge Fiasco" race in the Bay. It was a fun race with 297 entries, but the wind was light and I ran short of time to finish before the 1900 time limit. In April, I raced the "Singlehanded Farallones Race" out to Southeast Farallon Island and back. It was a good wind for the course...a reach out and a reach back, but it started raining around noon and by the time I was back in my slip at about 2030 I was cold, tired, and a little wet. With an elapsed time of 9 hrs 56 minutes, I bettered my 15 hr 12 minute time of the previous year, and feel great about that accomplishment.

The big event for me in 2007 will be the Great Pacific Longitude Race (LongPac) starting June 27. This race is a qualifying race for the TransPac (singlehanded race to Hawaii), and covers a route no less than about 400 miles...essentially all offshore. The distance is variable since the outer "mark" is simply anywhere on the line formed by Longitude 126 degrees, 40 minutes West....race to the line, turn around and race back. Since this race is all offshore, the minimum equipment requirements includes a life raft, masthead strobe light, emergency rudder, sail repair kit, storm sails, and other gear and rigging appropriate for extended offshore sailing. I am working steadily (see my Projects List) at preparing myself and Libations Too for this race and I am sanguine about the real possibilities of me being ready in time, but I will confess that I have much to do and a relatively short time in which to get it all accomplished.

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July, 2007
The Great Pacific Longitude Race…the LongPac Race
As stated previously the big sailing event for me in 2007 was shaping up to be the SSS LongPac race. Having just returned from the race, I can say that I was not mistaken. The race marked a milestone of some significance for me…but before I focus on the highpoints, I’d like to just state the facts:

The course was essentially from the Golden Gate Yacht Club (just east of the Golden Gate Bridge) to West Longitude 126 degrees, 40 minutes…by any course chosen by the skipper. The rhumb line roundtrip distance by the shortest (most direct) route was 400 miles.

29 boats started the race on June 27, 2007; 8 boats retired from the race; and as of 9:00 pm July 1 only 4 boats are still on the course and are assumed to be on track to finish before the race time limit of 2400 hours PDT at the end of Tuesday July 3, 2007.

The largest boat was a 54-foot trimaran (also the first boat to finish); the smallest boat was a 20-foot monohull.

Winds west of the Golden Gate and northwest along the coast after the start were NW at 25 to 30 knots, moderating later in the day to 15 to 20 knots as the fleet moved offshore. NOAA weather station 46026 located 18 nm west of San Francisco recorded winds up to about 18 knots.

Seas at NOAA station 46026 from noon to 2:00 pm after the race start recorded swell heights of approximately 5 feet with a swell period of from 6 to 7 seconds. Wind waves were recorded at 2 to 4 feet.

Some of the highlights for me: I sailed further into the ocean (alone) than ever before, I sailed through 25 to 30 knot winds for much of the first day, I confirmed that the boat can take care of me when I am not fully able to function, I had no gear failures or boat problems, and I made decisions that got me back home safely and without damage to me or Libations Too. In short, I had a blast and I am ready for more!

Some of the low points: I was on the edge of seasickness for about 24 hours and was unable to go below for more than a minute or two at a time (I even found that sitting in the shelter of the dodger threatened sickness); my feet, head, and hands got wet early in the race, I soon became chilled, and never recovered; I was unable to eat for the first 24-hours; and I did not finish the race.

The chronology of my first 24 hours was roughly as follows:

Race start for Libations Too was at 11:05; current was flooding.

Due to strong westerly winds at the Gate and a flood current I was forced to tack twice inside of the Golden Gate bridge, and six more times before I could clear Point Bonita and head north and west up through the Bonita Channel.

I tacked three more times before heading offshore from a point near the buoy at Duxbury Reef. Winds along this section of the coast were the strongest that I saw during the race. It was during this beat up the coast that I found that the only comfortable spot for me on the boat was in the cockpit on the weather side facing to leeward. And in this position I was regularly doused by wind-blown spray caused by the bow driving through the short choppy seas.

During one of the above tacks, I furled the jib to about 70 percent. Just before my last tack, which headed Libations offshore, I had decided to further reduce sail after the tack. However, a combination of seasickness and more settled conditions offshore left this intention unfulfilled. I chose this route up the coast primarily to work my way north and to avoid the center of the offshore traffic separation zone.

From Duxbury reef I sailed at about 55 degrees apparent wind angle, and fell just to leeward (southeast) of Southeast Farallon Island. Pointing higher was difficult due to sea state. At this wind angle and in winds ranging from 20 to 25 knots Libations Too made 6 to 6.5 knots regularly.

At the Southeast Farallon Island it became apparent that I was unable to point high enough to stay out of the shipping lanes. A developing fog forced a hurried attempt to tack to the north to stay out of the traffic lanes but a strong current setting to the south/southeast thwarted this attempt to prevent me from slipping into the traffic lanes. Soon after passing Southeast Farralon, and where the currents were somewhat less, I tacked and headed north for a short distance to avoid crossing the lanes.

Following this short leg north I tacked to the southwest and sailed a course about 225 True into the night and into fairly thick fog. At some point after this I unfurled and unreefed the main so that I was sailing with full main and full 95% jib.

A few hours after sunset I sailed into a little clearing (free of fog) with a bright near-full moon at about 30-40 degrees above the horizon. This was a magical scene and remains my clearest memory of the race.

By early morning the winds had dropped to less than 10 knots and a thick, dripping wet fog settled around Libations Too. At this point the fog condensed and settled on everything exposed on the boat. Pads of paper and charts that I had below were nearly as soggy as wet bread. It was during this time period when the combination of being wet, cold, on the edge of sickness, and (by this time) low on energy left me feeling at my low point for the race.

By 7:00 am my boat speed had dropped to 1 knot in light air directly from the west. With a lumpy sea and difficulty in keeping the sails full, I was only able to sail generally north or south, but made little way west. I considered changing my head sails to my 120% jib, but soon lost interest partially due (I believe) to tiredness and fatigue and also due to the seeming futility of hoping to make the remaining 140-mile westing to the mark in a reasonable time period. (I was clearly mistaken about the ability to reach the mark and make a return to San Francisco within the race time limit...several of the boats that were close to my position on Thursday morning, but tenacious enough to stay in the race, finished within the time limit and reportedly had a great time.)

I realized that if I wanted to retire and make it back to port before nightfall I would need to leave sometime mid morning. I was not eager to retire, but I was chilled (had been shivering uncontrollably earlier in the morning) and when trying to drink some hot chocolate to warm myself and add some energy to my system, I nearly became sick….I decided to retire after fleet check in time at 0900 on Thursday June 28. I was at Latitude N 37 degrees 27.205 minutes by Longitude W 123 degrees 41.321 minutes...about 62 miles from the Golden Gate bridge.

Even though I was the fourth boat electing to retire from the race I am very satisfied with the overall outcome. As I have reflected on the circumstances and results there were several lessons learned that I want to share and document here for my own future use. I post these comments under the general topic headings of boat, body, and mind.

Boat
I am very happy that my work over the past 6 months (see my project pages) was appropriate for this type of offshore sailing. Many of the improvements and additions were never needed during the race, but it comforts me to know that even in the wind and short-period seas through which Libations and I sailed I experienced no equipment failures nor did I need to use my storm jib or my third reef in the main. I probably should have taken a second reef in the main…but I’ll address that further below (it was not a gear problem that kept me from taking the reef).

Lesson 1: Remove the anchor from the bow roller when sailing offshore or double check and inspect frequently to be certain that it is being held securely to the boat. Carry a spare shackle to secure the shank of the anchor or replace it with a fastening that is more stoutly built.

I did experience near-failure of a shackle that I used to hold the shank of my anchor stationary on deck, but this was caused primarily by my own oversight in securing the head (or crown) of the anchor to the anchor roller. Normally, I use a line and snap shackle to hold the anchor down and back against the bow roller. With this line loose, the head of the anchor is able to move with the motion of the boat. On this race the line was holding the anchor down, but not back, and every time the bow plunged into a wave the forward momentum of the anchor was all transferred to the shackle at the shank of the anchor. In the extreme waves, the anchor was trying to launch itself with each plunge. After a few hours of this motion the shackle at the shank of the anchor showed signs of breakage and distortion. Fortunately I noticed the loose line and went forward mid afternoon to fasten it correctly; I did not notice the near failure of the shackle until after I had returned to my slip. My “belt and suspender” approach to keeping the anchor in place served me well this time, but my oversight could have been catastrophic had I not noticed and corrected this problem when I did.

Lesson 2: My foul weather gear needs to include a viable solution for keeping my hands dry, and my boat gear needs to include a means of drying and warming my hands after long periods of being wet and cold. I will investigate the options used by others and will report back here when I have devised a solution that I think will work for me.

This issue of keeping dry and warm is not strictly a gear problem since getting wet and staying wet were directly related to being nearly seasick for the first 24 hours of the race. I initially got wet because the most comfortable position for me on the boat was sitting mid-cockpit on the weather side, and thus exposed to wind-blown spray from waves coming over the bow. I stayed wet because, being nearly sick, I could not bear going below to change into dry clothing.

However, even if able to stay dry initially or change into dry clothing when wet I would have been plagued by wet and cold hands for the entire time. My normal sailing gloves quickly became saturated and stayed that way until I changed to a dry pair. I went through three pair of gloves in the first 24 hours and found no lasting relief. After soaking in saltwater for 24 hours my hands were becoming soft and tender…and I do not know how they would have faired over a longer time period. I know that others who sailed this race experienced the same problem, and I am guessing that still others found a way to address it.

Body
During my first Three Bridge Fiasco race in January 2006 I learned that my physical condition was not adequate to meet the strength and endurance requirements of longer distance sailing. As a result, and in preparation for the LongPac, I had started a regular exercise regimen that improved both my physical strength and condition. I am pleased to report that this served me well. I recall that after that first TBF race I needed a couple of days to fully recover…I was simply stiff and sore and had no energy for more immediate work. However, after the first 24 hours of the LongPac and even after my bout with seasickness, I was able to function normally even before returning to port. The lesson here (simply restated since it was learned back in 2006) is that sailing is an endurance sport requiring a reasonable amount of strength and stamina. For me, this requires conscious and dedicated preparation that includes strength and cardiovascular training at least three times a week.

Lesson 3: I really need and want to find the right solution for my seasickness problem. The lesson here for me is to get as serious with this aspect of preparation as I did with my life raft, my emergency rudder, or any of the other boat projects that have occupied my time for the past 6 months. Half measures and a trial-and-error approach are not appropriate for prevention of seasickness. I now plan to consult with my physician and develop a Plan A, Plan B, and Plan C for dealing with seasickness both in terms of pre-departure preparation and in terms of medications and measures to deal with seasickness once it starts.

My retirement from this race was almost entirely related to my continued battle with seasickness during the first day and night of the race. And I was growing fearful that the effects of seasickness were beginning to cascade into more significant problems that I could not resolve on my own in a location with no relief or shelter other than that which I could find on Libations Too. During all of my past sailing experience I have never been sick to the point of vomiting even though feelings of queasiness have been common. I knew that this condition had the potential to be a problem for me and I had been searching for a solution that worked for me. During the 2006 season I used Bonine (active ingredient: Meclizine HCL 25 mg…which is an antihistamine) as a preventive medication. I was unsatisfied with the results and for this season I switched to a regimen recommended by John and Amanda Neal which included generic antihistamines and mega dosing on vitamin C, as well as abstinence from alcohol, caffeine, and rich/fatty foods. For me I took generic diphenhydramine HCL and while this regimen worked well for the Single Handed Farallones race, it obviously did not work for me on the LongPac.

What is additionally interesting to me is that on the LongPac I also had on board Bonine, Dramamine, candied ginger, and one other prescription medication given to me by a friend…and I neglected to try any of these alternate approaches.

Mind
This last category of reflection is one that is no doubt different for every sailor, and personal in terms of motivations, personality, and life experience. Nevertheless, my own perspective is that this is an important aspect of preparation and execution that warrants a few comments…subjective as they may be. And this aspect of skipper’s ability to perform will change as fatigue and sleep deprivation begin to diminish the skipper’s normal mental capability.

Lesson 4: It is important to develop a personal and carefully considered decision-making process for starting any offshore passage. For me and based on my experience with this race, I think sea state (swell height and period) will be the most important criterion…any swell period of less than about 8 seconds will be a red flag for me. Additionally, wind conditions will be of importance. The sea state follows wind conditions and near gale force winds will typically result in a sea state that I would choose to avoid.

One of my post race observations is that I doubt that I would have started an offshore passage in the conditions presented during this race (flood tide, near gale force winds, and short-period seas). So why did I choose to start the race in these conditions? And under what conditions would I have chosen not to start the race? Of these two questions I believe the second is the more important. As a long distance and offshore sailor it seems prudent to develop some type of criterion that I use to make this decision. For me, I clearly did not have a go/no-go decision-making process. In hindsight I think I was unconsciously thinking that if others chose to go then I would start also. And I am sure that this was exaggerated by not wanting to appear to be too timid to sail out the Gate for this race. In hindsight I also realize that this is pretty weak logic for making such an important decision.

Lesson 5: Similar to a decision-making process for starting a passage I believe some consideration to deciding when and how to abort a passage is important. And for me, I think the time for such a decision is not at first light…rather it might be more valid if made closer to noon (if possible). It is here that a very mindful approach to abandoning a passage or course may have its greatest value. Rather than being swayed by feelings of the moment, a more deliberate approach should be developed and practiced.

On this race in particular, I am comfortable with the decision that I made after the first 22 hours. But I also admit that with the benefit of hindsight, it probably would have been safe for me to stay a bit longer. I say this primarily because I knew the weather was not deteriorating and as soon as I turned toward home and eased boat motion a bit by motoring through the lumpy seas and heading downwind, I started to feel much better. Within a couple of hours of starting home I had eaten breakfast, had recovered some energy, was feeling warmer, and my feelings of seasickness had largely subsided. On top of this, I now understand that for me the hardest time of a singlehanded passage may be those early morning hours…especially when they bring cold, damp, and uncomfortable conditions. Morning light brings much relief and if the sun happens to appear and bring with it some warmth, I know that my outlook will improve.

On this race, and given the above comments, it may have been appropriate for me to simply ease my course (even if it resulted in a course with an easterly component) for a few hours to see if that helped alleviate my feelings of seasickness. Had this occurred, I probably would have had some breakfast, recovered some energy, and would have still been racing as the day continued to warm. Had it not occurred, I still would have been able to start my engine, begin my trip home, and make it back to port before needing to spend another full night at sea. As it was, by the time I felt this mid-morning renewal, I had already started my engine and had withdrawn from the race.

Lesson 6: Reef early and often…and be mindful of the risks of postponing such a decision.

My next comment in this category of mindful action relates to my earlier statement about believing that I should have reduced sail even more than I did early in the race. The context here is no doubt important, but does not alleviate what I now consider to be one of my near errors early in the race. The question remains: why did I not shorten sail as soon as I passed the Gate and was exposed to the full force of the NW winds that were blowing along the coast…or even better, why did I not shorten sail before even reaching these conditions? Part of the answer lies in the fact that I was sailing in a flood tide, in the middle of shipping lanes, and in confined conditions leaving the Gate…my highest priority (and the easiest course of action) was just to ease the traveler, keep the boat moving, and deal with depowering the boat at a later time. But after I had passed through the Bonita Channel and had tacked away from shore (but was still outside the shipping lanes), why not take a reef then? The answer was that I had worked so hard to gain this passage through the Gate and this slight offing that I was reluctant to shorten sail and loose any of the headway in the process. I was also slightly intimidated by the process of putting another reef in the main under these conditions.

I don’t want to over analyze this, but it does reinforce the old adage that the time to reef is when one first thinks about it…and quite frankly, I had been concerned about sail configuration all morning long. First I was focused on which of my two head sails to fly, and then I was wondering if I should reef the main. Had I been given more time, or had I been sailing in a non-race mode perhaps I would have added that second reef before heading out the gate. The reality was that I did not shorten sail when it was perhaps most opportune to do so, and I am fairly confident that such lack of action contributed to my uneasiness, more active boat motion, and my problem with seasickness.

Lesson 7: Be mindful of intentions, expectations, and goals…and be flexible enough to set those aside when necessary and appropriate.

My stated goal on this race was to make it past the Farallon Islands and stick with the race through the first 24 hours. I also had expected reasonable winds to hold through most of Thursday. I knew that the forecast was for light winds in the mid range of the course and felt I needed to be well past the one hundred mile mark before encountering these light winds. As it turned out, we encountered light winds at the end of the first 24 hours and at that point I was only about 60 miles west (rather than the 100+ miles that I had hoped for). Facing prospects of light westerly winds (able to sail at only about a 2-knot boat speed just before Thursday morning check in) and a distance of over 160 miles straight up wind to the mark, it was easy for me to quickly come to the conclusion that these conditions, combined with my seasickness, were sufficient reason to retire from the race.

Had I been more flexible with these goals and expectations a slightly different outcome may have been possible…even if I did not finish the race. First of all, I would have been able to further evaluate and practice my ability to shake off feelings of sickness in the morning warmth of my second day. Additionally, had I stayed with the race for a longer period, I would have gained just that much more offshore experience, including the possibility of practicing my twin headsail downwind configuration when I finally decided to change directions and head home.

The fact that I made it home safely with no damage to me or the boat is a confirmation that I was able to make the important decisions related to safety. But once I decided to retire from the race I simply motored straight home and abandoned all other possibilities that may have been achievable on my way home. In hindsight, I regret this course of action simply because it deprived me of the additional offshore sailing experience that I really desire.

In my post race analysis of other boat positions on the evening of 6/27 and the morning of 6/28 I see that I was actually sailing fairly well with my class on a boat for boat basis. My westing during this time period was 38 minutes of longitude while westing for the class ranged from 37 to 39 minutes…with one boat making a total of 55 minutes. Other skippers in my class appeared to be willing to bear south in the light early morning air while I maintained my attempt to sail a more westerly course. My most southerly position was achieved just prior to my retirement at 37 degrees, 27 minutes; many of the faster boats had dropped slightly below 37 degrees by this time and only one other boat in my class was north of my position. This may have been an error on my part and I believe it was tied to my rather entrenched tactic of sailing 55 to 60 degrees apparent and making as much westing as possible. Had I fallen off more to the south perhaps I could have maintained a better boat speed that would have eased my feelings of sickness and still kept me with my class.

I also want to be clear with my observation here that it takes more than a properly prepared boat and good physical condition to make a successful offshore passage. I believe that motivation, desire, intent, and good tactical thinking must be solidly in place and the skipper must be flexible enough to approach the goal via different possible strategies and routes.

My congratulations and respects go to the skippers who had all of these facets of preparation and physical/mental skill solidly in hand and who were able to finish the race. This was truly a significant undertaking and those who succeeded have achieved an accomplishment of significance in my eyes.

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August 2007 - LongPac Redux 1
On June 28, 2007, fearing escalating fatigue and seasickness, I retired from the 2007 SSS LongPac race. As indicated in my July race log, the wind was strong but manageable, the boat performed well, but the skipper was on the edge of seasickness for the duration of that attempt. On Friday July 27, with renewed vigor and a fresh supply of prescription meds for seasickness, I made another attempt at the 200-mile LongPac mark.

Weather forecasts on the morning of July 27th looked acceptable for my start: NW winds 10-20 knots out to 20 nm and mostly in the 20-25 knot range (with 25-30 forecast for Sunday) 20-60 miles offshore. NW swell at 4-5 ft at 10 seconds and wind waves 3-5 ft. Full moon was Monday July 30. I expected heavy fog after midnight. I didn’t really like the 25-30 knot conditions, but I thought it possible to sail south of these stronger winds (they were forecast to be most probable in the northern offshore waters between Bodega Bay and Pt. Arena). The winds were also shown by GRIB modeling to be somewhat lighter further out so I thought that I might be able to get west of the area of stronger winds before they had a chance to build. The chronology of this second attempt is a s follows:

I started on my own terms: on an ebb tide and with first reef in the main and 95% jib furled to its 2nd reef mark, which coincides with the end of the reef patches sewn on the leech and foot of my jib. The ebb tide peaked at about 3:00 pm, and I was under the Golden Gate bridge at precisely that time. My intent was to sail north and west along the coast until dark and/or fog, and then turn offshore.

I was able to clear Point Bonita with half the number of tacks as on LongPac race day, and I soon found myself headed northwest in the Bonita Channel under a low marine layer of fog and cloud. Winds after passing through the Gate were moderate and by the time I had reached Bonita Channel R2 I had shaken all of the reefs out of my main and jib. The ride up the coast was easy and uneventful with boat speed generally at about 5 knots. By about 1700 I had reached Gull Rock and tacked offshore. When I was almost due south of the Duxbury Reef Buoy I tacked back north and was able to clear Bolinas Point before making my final turn offshore.

The winds stayed with me until about sunset. At that time, the winds dropped to less than 5 knots, and I essentially drifted until after midnight. This was frustrating because I had not crossed the northern shipping lane and I was forced to turn back north to allow three or four ships to pass in the last hours of Friday. I closely monitored VHF channel 12 (offshore vessel traffic) and carefully chose my time to cross the shipping lane.

At about 0200 on Saturday the wind started to fill in and continued to do so. By about 0230 I had passed through the northern shipping lane and was making good time on a heading that was generally WSW. The winds continued to build and after sailing out the lee of Point Reyes, the seas became my enemy. Within an hour I had reefed the main and furled the jib back to its 2nd reef mark, and shortly thereafter (with the winds 25 to 27) I was ready to take another reef in the main. Now my short story gets a bit more interesting.

It was the dead of night, the marine layer limited visibility, and the Farallon Islands stood between the open sea and me. I faced the challenge of taking another reef in the main and navigating through the nearby islands. And by this time, my old nemesis of seasickness was starting to raise its head. This situation may not represent a huge challenge for experienced offshore sailors, but it was sufficient to give me pause.

My first reef had gone quite well…I simply hove to and climbed up on the cabin top to take the reef in the main. The seas added a bit of a challenge, but I used my harness and jack lines, and was not troubled by this chore. I do think, in retrospect, that this activity probably facilitated the onset of my feelings of seasickness. Before I chose to take the second reef in the main I had completely furled the jib to slow the boat while trying to choose a course through the Faralonnes. This meant some time below at the chart table, which was the final straw regarding my seasickness.

I will digress here a bit to summarize the effects of near seasickness. For me, I first find myself in a state of growing lethargy. I seem to have little motivation to do the things that are necessary or finish the things that I have started. Anxiety starts to build…first about whether I’ll actually be sick, and then about my ability to continue to handle the boat safely in my sickened state. I then find myself resting with my eyes closed and with my mind skipping haphazardly over the things that I think I ought to be doing. What seems to be missing most of all is the simple ability to stay focused and move forward to complete a simple task.

So in the wee hours of Saturday morning I found my mind skipping back and forth between trying to decide what to do about my seasickness, whether to take a second reef in the main, and what course to sail to get through the Farallones. With a distance of several miles to North Farallon Island I eventually decided that the second reef would be my first task, but in unfurling the jib a bit so that I could heave to I ended up allowing it to unfurl almost to its full extent. In trying to furl it back in, the sheets managed to whip themselves into a massive tangle that required a trip to the foredeck to undo the mess. At this point, and unwilling to move to the foredeck and further aggravate my seasickness, I shifted my focus back to navigation. (Notice that I didn’t finish the task that I had set for myself, and I quickly skipped to another task.)

I had the Southeast Farallon Island boxed with waypoints and I had a waypoint set for the North Farallon Island. But I had not adequately marked Middle Farallon or the Island of St. James nor did I know the distance from my North Farallon waypoint to the southeast side of St. James. And even though the buoy at Noonday Rock was shown on my GPS, I had not confirmed it with a comparison to my chart. This navigational chore is quite simple at dock, or in a boat that is not moving violently. But I found that in the seas that I was experiencing and, more precisely, in my state of near seasickness I could not do the work to choose a course that I knew would get me through the islands.

I recall a little conversation with myself where my seasick voice was saying that there were only three small islands out there. This voice was arguing that I just head on through the islands…the light on Southeast Farallon was visible and I had a waypoint on North Farallon…so wasn’t my chance of hitting Middle Farallon really quite small? Thankfully my more conscious self heard this voice and I immediately stopped sailing and set the boat up to forereach under main alone. I checked my rate of drift and my distance to North Farallon, and I decided I had time to wait for the light of day to help sort things out. I settled into a comfortable spot on my bridge deck and managed some rest and even some sleep. I used the half-hourly vessel traffic advisories as my alarm clock and was able to keep a good watch for both traffic and the islands. This was a good decision and as light began to reveal the details of the seascape, I was able to see the islands quite clearly.

After resting another hour I decided to head back in. This decision was as considered as possible in my state of near seasickness and was based on forecasts for higher winds late Saturday and Sunday and my continued feelings of seasickness. My greatest distance offshore was about 27.3 miles from the Gate.

So, what did I learn this time out?

Lesson 1: Either get through the Farallones before dark, or be certain that you have a route planned and waypoints set before getting near the islands.

It was interesting and disconcerting to discover that even with waypoints set around Southeast Farallon and at North Farallon I was still at risk as I tried to work my way through the islands. I considered sailing south of Southeast Farallon, but that was literally taking me back east and I was loath to give up any of my westing.

Lesson 2: Due to continued problems with seasickness, I need to plan a departure from the coast and a route through or past the Farallones so that even if plagued by seasickness I can continue sailing.

I still do not have this seasickness problem solved. My prescription med was Scopace, and I am not ready to give up on it yet. But it clearly did not perform as I had hoped. What I have heard from others is that if I can make it through the first day or two, the symptoms of seasickness will diminish. Clearly I am having difficulty making it through the first day or two and will redouble my efforts at doing so. In retrospect, I think that I may have been OK on this last attempt if not faced with the navigational challenge at the Farallones. Or at least I would have been in the open sea heading west and, had I been able to get the boat set up right, my seasickness would have posed minimal difficulty.

Lesson 3: The GRIB models are pretty accurate.

In this instance the GRIB models showed winds building offshore, and wind veering more to the north as I worked my way west. And this is exactly what I found. As can be seen looking at my track, after sailing out of the lee of Point Reyes the winds veered north and my track was giving me very good westing.

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August 2007 - LongPac Redux 2
On August 3 I left on my third attempt at the LongPac 200-mile mark. I am determined to find out if there is really a green stripe at Longitude West 126 degrees 40 minutes!

On this attempt at the 200-mile mark I made it out to a point 115 miles WSW of the Golden Gate Bridge. Libations Too covered that distance in 24 hours, which included time for an emergency repair to my Monitor windvane. My seasickness was with me at all times, but the Scopace tablets kept it at bay even in very rough seas. I was able to get better rest than on my previous attempts and was generally able to stay warm. Libations Too performed beyond expectation. Offshore, with two reefs in the main, and the 95% jib furled to the end of its reefing patches Libations seemed to find her stride. We averaged 4.8 knots vmg with true boat speed at about 6.5 knots much of the time.

Working up the coast was enjoyable in light to moderate winds.

I turned offshore at Gull Rock southeast of Bolinas.

I stayed in the north half of the VTS precautionary area and dropped below the western traffic lane at the Southeast Farallon Island.

The GRIB model as of Friday morning for a position about 100 miles WSW of San Francisco generally showed sustained winds less that 25 knots with winds easing Saturday evening.

At the 100-mile mark I found myself sailing under clear skies and over a confused and angry sea. But winds were 25-27 knots and I was beginning to doubt my GRIB file forecast that had promised reduced winds toward the end of Saturday. I decided to stick with it until 1700, which marked the end of my first 24 hours. I resolved that if the winds showed some sign of easing or if the seas settled down a bit I would continue toward the 200-mile mark. If they did not, I would turn Libations’ head toward home.

Under more benign conditions I would have spent more time contemplating the cobalt blue of the deep sea. But on this trip I was mostly dogged with unanswerable questions about what I would do if…. After 24 hours, knowing that the 200-mile mark was within reach, but seeing no sign of easing conditions I decided to turn back. This decision was made largely on the realization that I was essentially helpless in the event of a major equipment failure or mishap of any kind. In those angry seas I was literally holding on with both hands most of the time or wedged between cockpit coaming and companionway. It was just like riding a wild animal as Libations Too charged through the waves blasting spray and spume in all directions. My new dodger served well as time after time it provided shelter as I caught snatches of rest on the bridge deck and tried to stay dry. From the shelter of the dodger, I was able to watch as the wind blown spray rattled into the cockpit and slowly drained through the tangle of sheets and lines. At other times, mostly while I was at the wheel, I received the full force of the spray but managed to stay mostly dry.

In these conditions the goal of completing a qualifying sail for the TransPac diminished in comparison to the known warmth and quiet of sheltered waters. As I turned Libations back towards home the idea of the 2008 TransPac began to fade. Continuing with this qualifier attempt just seemed too much. I was in an area where swell from two or three different directions was converging, seas seemed to be in the range of 8 to 10 feet high, and I was no longer having fun…if offshore sailing was what I was experiencing then I wanted no more of it on this trip.

After turning back and in the deep of night I sailed through areas of phosphorescence and jellyfish…the sea provided me with an amazing show of living light. When the bow would meet a wave the whole area in front of the boat would light up, the spray was light, the water running down the side of the deck was light, and when I looked into the sea next to the boat the submerged blue-green flashes proved the presence of disturbed jellyfish. And the light show was set to a chorus of howling wind, creaking boat, and the rattle of wind blown spray on the dodger. This was certainly exciting and a great rush….but my mind kept trying to answer those questions about what if….

I made it out 115 miles, nearly twice as far as I have been out before, and have a new respect for what it means to be sailing offshore.

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August 2007 - Vessel Traffic Service - Sector San Francisco Tour
Although not strictly associated with racing, the value of the USCG Vessel Traffic Service (VTS) was confirmed during my attempts at the 200-mile offshore mark. The half-hourly reports of offshore traffic movement, the ongoing communications with ships approaching and within the VTS control area, transmitted information regarding visibility, and simply the reassurance that someone was watching what was happening were all of value as I worked Libations Too offshore. Offshore, my situational awareness was greatly increased by monitoring VHF channels 12 and 13 (VTS Offshore and Ship Bridge-to-Bridge).

After returning from my third attempt at the 200-mile mark I decided to gather more information about how VTS works and how I can better use the VTS services. After a little web research I sent an email to Mr. Sean Kelly, Chief Operations Director of the San Francisco VTS and in a few short days I was able to visit the VTS facilities on Yerba Buena Island and benefit from a personal tour led by Mr. Thomas Boone, Training Assistant at VTS.

The VTS facilities are located at the very top of Yerba Buena Island in spartan but functional buildings.

Training Assistant Thomas Boone was very helpful and flexible in his approach to showing me around. VTS has a standard introductory "VTS 101" presentation that is frequently used with group tours and is a perfect forum within which to ask questions of particular interest.

Brief History: The VTS 101 presentation started with a brief history and rationale for the VTS. Much of the information is presented on the VTS website so I'll not try to repeat all of it here. I was surprised, however, to learn that prior to 1970 there was no formal traffic monitoring and coordination effort here in the Bay Area. And it was only after the collision of two oil tankers directly beneath the Golden Gate Bridge in 1971 that momentum began to build for a formal traffic monitoring system. VTS San Francisco was established in 1972 and in 1986 (following an offshore accident) VTS San Francisco was the first in the nation to establish an Offshore Vessel Movement Reporting System. In 1994 federal regulations made it mandatory for vessels (40+ meters long, tugs in tow, and passenger vessels) to participate in VTS reporting.

Objectives and Procedures: According to the VTS User Manual, the primary objectives of the VTS are to: monitor vessel movement, inform mariners of other vessels and potential hazards, recommend courses of action, and (in rare cases) direct vessel movement where violation of navigation regulations are observed or where an immediately dangerous condition exists. VTS communication is via VHF channel 12 (Offshore) and VHF Channel 14 (Inshore); participating vessels also monitor VHF Channel 13 per the 1971 Bridge-to-Bridge Radiotelephone Act.

The VTS offshore sector covers an offshore area enclosed by a 38 nautical mile radius of Mount Tamalpais; the inshore VTS sector extends from the Offshore Precautionary Area through San Francisco Bay to the ports of Stockton, Sacramento, and Redwood City. On VHF Channel 12 VTS provides Offshore Vessel Traffic Advisories twice hourly at 15 minutes before and after each hour.

Vessels within the VTS sectors are required to check in with VTS and provide specific information regarding vessel name, position, destination and ETA to VTS reporting points. By monitoring Channels 12 or 14 the recreational boater can stay informed of large vessel movement and plan accordingly. The VTS User Manual should be on anyone's reading list who is serious about boating safety here in the Bay Area.

VTS Operations Center: The heart of the VTS is the Operations Center. Monitoring consoles are set up to allow the controllers to monitor visual and radar imagery as well as Automatic Identification System (AIS) generated data for all vessels in the VTS inshore and offshore sectors. The primary source of information is the AIS transponder on reporting vessels. These data are received by VHF radio stations located throughout the VTS areas and are then transmitted via microwave to the VTS facilities atop Yerba Buena Island. Radar images are sent from stations at Point Bonita, Yerba Buena Island, Point San Pablo, and Mare Island. Radar and AIS information are displayed in layers on top of schematic charts of the VTS control area. Visual imagery from several remote video cameras allows the VTS controller to carefully watch traffic at bridges and at key navigation nodes.

One question that I posed to Tom was to what extent can or should small recreational vessels contact VTS with either questions or intentions. It was reassuring to learn that such contact is welcomed...even encouraged, especially if it can help reduce navigational risk or prevent a collision or other incident. Tom even gave me the phone number for the direct line to the VTS Operations Center: (415) 556-2760. He encouraged me to use it whenever I was within cell phone range and whenever VTS might help by restating or clarifying information pertaining to ship movement near Libations Too.

I was most interested in the VTS role in gathering and sharing information regarding offshore traffic movement and this visit provided me with a much better knowledge and understanding of the procedures and process that provides such information. It also confirmed for me that the VTS is a valuable and easily accessible navigation and safety resource for recreational boaters when sailing in either the offshore or inshore sectors.

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September 2007 - 400-mile TransPac Qualifier
I finally made it. On my fourth attempt I was able to complete a non-stop, 400-mile offshore passage.

My first three attempts at the 400-mile offshore qualifier passage were great in terms of experience, but all three attempts fell short of actually meeting the goal of a 400-mile non-stop passage that took me a minimum of 100 miles from shore. But my last attempt proved successful, and I was able to cover the requisite 400 miles in about 4-3/4 days.

I experienced winds to 30 knots, 10-foot seas, calm, rain squalls, beautiful sunsets, crystal clear nighttime skies, the nighttime sounds of whales breathing, and much more. I was more alone than I have ever been before, and the reality of 4-3/4 days without meaningful sleep now has a very personal meaning. A brief chronology and commentary:

Day 1: Wednesday 1600 to Thursday 1600, September 12 and 13, 2007:

On the afternoon of September 12, 2007 Alan Hebert, sailing his Santa Cruz 27 AnkleBiter, and I set out to complete our 400-mile offshore qualifying sail for the 2008 TransPac race. Alan and I had both attempted the formal LongPac and we agreed to set out on this renewed attempt together. Alan was kind enough to sail with a reefed main so as to not outpace me in the moderate conditions that we found outside the Gate. I sailed with unreefed main and my 120% jib.

I started my sail at the Bay Bridge and was under the Golden Gate Bridge at 1600 hours on Wednesday September 12 in a dying flood current. Our track outside the Golden Gate took the familiar path NW through the Bonita Channel and then offshore near Duxbury Reef.

My first 24 hours outside the Gate took me past the Farallon Islands and to a point just over 65 nm from the Golden Gate Bridge. This VMG of 2.72 knots included a 4 hour period of drifting in near clam conditions early Thursday morning and winds at other times that ranged from 8 to 12 knots true. The nighttime trip out past the Farallones was filled with the sound of "heavy breathing" of the whales that were obviously all around me...though I never saw one.

After noon on Thursday we sailed through a couple of squalls that included some rather significant precipitation. I sailed with my strobe light on and snuggled up tight under my dodger to stay dry. After the second squall, I sailed into near calm conditions and drifted for about an hour until the wind filled in again. This may have been the classic case of me exiting the squall on the wrong side and finding myself in light air...though I do not know for sure.

Alan and I had agreed on a communication schedule of every 6 hours...at 12 and 6. After sunset on this first night out we lost visual contact with one another but the radio check in was both reassuring and fun. By noon on Thursday Alan was about 10 miles west and a couple of miles north of my position...stretching his legs in these moderate conditions.

Day 2: Thursday 1600 to Friday 1600, September 13 and 14, 2007:

My second 24 hours took me another 80 nm south and west, for an average VMG of 3.33 knots. This time period included winds that ranged from less than 5 knots to a high of 11 knots...with my estimated average at 8 to 10 knots. Thursday's conditions were delightful for offshore sailing even if a bit slow.

Thursday evening Alan and I had our last radio communication. At that time he was about 10 miles north and 10 miles west of my position; his course was north of west. The little spike in my track log above shows where I tacked south and our positions continued to diverge. A closer look at my track just prior to this tack is shown below.

My track just prior to heading SSW away from Alan reveals a frustrating couple of hours as I sailed through an area of shifting light air. The track shows a wind shift from southerly to westerly. I was sailing with my Monitor Windvane and my track simply followed the wind shift until I was heading generally NNW. When the winds became too light for the windvane I switched to my autopilot and fell off to maintain boat speed. My choices of direction seemed to be NNW or SSE. Neither tack was acceptable to me and as soon as the wind filled in from the west I tacked south and sailed away from Alan. This also allowed me to avoid a heavy marine layer that was visible NW of me. Instead, I was able to sail under an absolutely clear and moonless sky for much of the night. The Milky Way and general brilliance of the stars was so incredible that it remains one of the memorable highlights from this passage. As the night deepened, the wind continued to veer toward the NW and I was able to continue on a southwesterly tack.

When Alan and I last spoke on Thursday evening he had just talked with his wife via satellite phone. She reported weather forecasts for Point Conception (my original destination) that were beginning to look rather onerous for a first-time landfall in that area. As a result, I subsequently tuned to the SSB high seas weather forecasts and modified my plans to make a landfall in Morro Bay instead of at the Cojo anchorage around Point Conception.

At midnight I was able to hear Alan trying to raise me for our scheduled radio check in, but by that time I was out of range to his south. I think the strength of my response to his transmission was also diminished by a battery with low reserves that I did not discover until well after midnight. This was easily solved by running my engine for an hour, but by that time Alan was definitely out of radio range to the north, and I continued on my track to the southwest.

Day 3: Friday 1600 to Saturday 1600, September 14 and 15, 2007:

Libations Too covered 105 miles during our 3rd 24 hours at sea, for a VMG of 4.375 knots. This included another 36 nm to the southwest to reach our turning point, and 69 nm reaching toward the Morro Bay RW buoy that I had selected as my alternate "finish line". By diverting to Morro Bay instead of the Cojo anchorage at Pt. Conception, it forced me to sail a bit further to the west than I had originally planned. This was not a bad development because I generally sailed out from under the marine layer that typically lies along the coast and was able to enjoy the clarity and relative warmth of the open ocean.

At 2309 on Friday I reached my turing point, which was at N35 degrees 51.279 minutes by W125 degrees 16.762 minutes as recorded by my GPS track. This point was 179 nm from the Golden Gate Bridge south tower and 217 nm from the Morro Bay RW buoy. Adding the 5 miles that I sailed within San Francisco Bay, this yielded a total distance of 401 nm...just enough to meet my goal of 400 miles.

My sleeping schedule during this entire passage was generally limited to 20-minute catnaps....with the wakeup call enforced by the ring of my egg-timer alarm. Throughout this passage I had seen enough lights on the horizon after sunset and had a few close encounters with shipping to reinforce the validity of the 20-minute maximum nap time.

The Yang Ming, for example, crossed my bow at a distance of less than 2 miles just before sunset on Friday evening. At this time I was approximately 28 miles from my turning point or about 200 mile west of Morro Bay. My AIS receiver/alarm picked up this ship and shortly thereafter I was able to make my first visual contact. I tried to contact this ship via VHF channel 13 (bridge to bridge) to determine if I needed to alter course, but the ship did not respond until after crossing my bow. I was a bit worried for a time, but I was able to gain some relief from continued close examination of the AIS track that showed we were not on a collision course...even so, we were still closer than I would have liked.

The conditions during this 3rd 24-hour period were delightful. Winds continued in the 8 to 12 knot range generally from the NW and skies were clear.

After I had made my turn toward Morro Bay I took a reef in the main and tried to get a period of somewhat extended sleep. For me this meant a 45-minute nap instead of my normal 20-minutes. I thought that surely at nearly 220 miles from shore I would be secure in taking a nap that was a bit longer than normal. I was wrong, and was shaken by the sight of lights on the horizon after my first nap. Although we did not appear to be on a converging course I was surprised that this ship did not trigger my AIS alarm.

In retrospect and even though it provided some piece of mind while I tried to get some better rest, reefing the main was neither necessary nor was it in the best interests of my landfall at Morro Bay. It needlessly slowed my approach at a time when I should have been sailing as fast as the moderate conditions would allow. I shook the reef out at sunrise and managed to gain a bit of boat speed for the rest of the day.

Mid morning on Saturday found me listening to the high seas weather forecast on my SSB receiver. The forecast spoke of 25 to 30 knot winds around Point Conception and seas in the 10 to 12 foot range. The forecast both confirmed my decision to divert to Morro Bay and also put me on notice that as we approached shore, Libations and I would encounter winds and seas much different than we had been sailing in. As a result, I changed my headsail from the 120% jib down to the 95% jib. While I did this, and even after changing headsails, I flew my 115% hank-on jib from my inner forestay to maintain boat speed and to ease the changing of headsails. It all worked beautifully and I am very happy with the inner forestay arrangement.

Day 4: Saturday 1600 to Sunday 1600, September 15 and 16, 2007:

This 4th 24-hour period provided the greatest extremes in terms of wind and sea conditions. Saturday evening brought a beautiful sunset and moderate winds to about 13 knots.

However, by Saturday evening the winds were continuing to build and I knew from the weather forecasts that this trend would continue. As a result I took my first reef in the main before dark. By 2ooo I had furled the jib to the end of its reef patches, and at 22oo I took the second reef in the main. In this configuration, Libations and I settled in for the night and soon found ourselves making 5 knots in winds of 15 to 18 knots true.

By Sunday morning the winds were 20 knots from the NW and we were maintaining a boat speed in excess of 5 knots in growing beam seas. At these speeds I checked the GPS ETAs for Morro Bay RW. At 7:45 am Sunday the ETAs suggested a 4:30 am arrival on Monday. This was of concern for me since I did not want to arrive before sunrise and it did not seem likely that I could increase boat speed sufficiently to make my landfall before sunset on Sunday. As a result I decided to furl the jib completely and continue with only the main set with two reefs. Boat speed dropped to about 3.5 knots and an early morning arrival at Morro RW seemed reasonable.

At 1400 and with winds to 23 knots and boat speed at 6 knots I took a third reef in the main in order to slow our approach. Shortly after taking the reef we were again moving at 6 knots with a ETA of 2355. This is when, with the benefit of hindsight, I somewhat regretted trying to slow the boat down. Had I used all plain sail and kept the boat moving at her best I do believe that I could have made it into Morro Bay Sunday evening before dark.

But by this time on Sunday afternoon the only options were to arrive in the deep of night or to slow the boat further. So at 1575 at the end of my 4th day at sea and with a fully reefed main and a furled jib, I decided to heave to for few hours. I was able to reduce boat speed to about 0.8 knots with a course just north of east. At this point, having traveled 98 nm during the previous 24 hours for an average VMG of 4.08 knots, I was about 50 nm from my destination...the Morro Bay RW buoy.

Day 5: Sunday 1600 to Monday 1041, September 16 and 17, 2007:

During each of my previous 3 attempts at this qualifying sail I had been plagued by seasickness. On this passage and up to this point, seasickness had not been a problem for me. I had taken a couple of Scopace tablets at the outset, but had found little need to continue with the medication until late Sunday and early Monday. When I hove to at the end of my 4th 24-hour period my old nemesis of seasickness came rushing back to join me on Libations. Within an hour and a quarter of heaving to I was once again at the edge of being sick and decided to resume sailing again.

Boat motion while hove to was more extreme than I had expected. The seas were indeed growing rapidly and were beginning to break on occasion. From the safety of my berth it was uncanny how quiet Libations was compared to when sailing and how I could hear the unsettled character of the waves as they began to break. When I hove to I had backed the main a bit using a preventer and allowed Libations to find her own position relative to the waves. This ended up being with the waves nearly on her beam and I was not real happy about this position. But when first hove to there were few if any breaking waves so I set the boat up and went below. As the sound of waves beginning to break combined with increased boat motion and the rapid approach of sickness I pulled myself back into the cockpit, released the preventer, and put Libations back on her course toward Morrow Bay.

After returning home I visited the NOAA archives for the Cape San Martin buoy, which is located 55 nm NW of Morro Bay. At the end of the day on Sunday September 16 when I was 50 nm out from Morro Bay and relatively close to the San Martin buoy, the archive report showed wave heights of 2.5 m with a period of 5.2 seconds. These waves were described as VERY STEEP...no wonder I was feeling a bit green.

Within two hours of getting back under way I saw the wind at 30 knots true and achieved boat speeds of 7 knots with no headsail and three reefs in the main. ETAs for the Morro RW buoy were between 0400 and 0500 and I decided that if needed, I could heave to again for a couple of hours while I awaited daylight. And to my pleasant surprise, my feelings of seasickness diminished as Libations sailed into the night.

A few hours after midnight and at a distance of about 12 miles from the Morro RW buoy, the winds dropped off completely. It took until 1041 Monday morning to cover those last 12 miles and reach my "finish line".

I was joined by dolphins early in the morning. And at 0930 on Monday morning, Morro Rock and the end of my 400-mile passage were in sight. In another hour , at 1041, I sailed past the RW buoy to end my 400-mile passage.

This was a very good sail and a very good experience. I am very glad that I pushed myself to complete this milestone.

I think that the most important outcome here was confirmation that I can do this type of sailing and that Libations Too can support me very well while doing so. The biggest surprise for me was the impact of cumulative fatigue. It was never debilitating for me, but with increased fatigue came a narrowing of my experience, a tunnel vision of sorts. The result was that I feel that I missed much of the experience. My tunnel vision served me well as I was able to do those things that were necessary, but it seems to have diminished the entire experience to some degree. I would be interested to hear from others who have made similar singlehanded passages to see if their experiences are similar.

I suppose the logical question at this point in time is whether I'll do the singlehanded TransPac to Hawaii next summer. I'll admit that I have been tempted by the idea, but the return trip would be a brutal experience for sure. At this moment, my answer to the question is that I will probably not make the trip...though I reserve the right to revise this tentative decision if my feelings change.

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January, 2008 - Three Bridge Fiasco Race
This year was my third attempt at this unique and perhaps typically Californian race: sail to all three of the Bay's three major bridges, take the marks in any order, and cross the starting and finish line from either direction. This year there were 295 single and doublehanded entrants.

For the first time I had both a successful start and a successful finish. Of the 29 singlehanded boats starting the race, I finished 16th. My elapsed time was just over 8 hours, 22 minutes. This followed my two earlier unsuccessful attempts that ended with a DNS in 2006 (due to radio problems) and a DNF in 2007 due to light air (or my poor sailing ability).

In my two previous attempts at this race I sailed clockwise around the marks. This year promised SE winds and my strategy was to head west riding the remainder of an ebb to the Blackaller Buoy near the Golden Gate Bridge, and then reverse course and sail counterclockwise so that I could ride the flood current back to Treasure Island. On the far side of Treasure Island I knew that I would be stemming a southerly setting flood current, but for me that was preferable to sailing through this very congested area with the current. North of the Berkeley Pier I hoped the flood would help carry me around Red Rock. After Red Rock I was least certain of any help from the currents, but due to a week-long period of rain prior to the race, I was hoping that the ebb might build early and help carry me to the finish.

Except for loosing a jib sheet just west of Treasure Island and very light air toward the middle and end of the race, my strategy worked pretty well. I did encounter the beginning of the ebb current prior to rounding Red Rock, which was a bit of a problem, but that same ebb helped carry me south in light air for the remainder of the race. Due to light air (now generally from the north) I sailed east of Angel Island on my trip south to the finish line. The trip south is actually shorter via Raccoon Straight, but the danger of wind holes in this area prompted me to stay east of Angel Island, where I enjoyed both the benefit of the current and steady light air.

All in all, this was a good race and a good beginning to the 2008 sailing season!