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On Saturday, April 7 I took my 29' sloop TIME ENOUGH across the Columbia River Bar. At times I was cold, hungry, wet, sea sick, and terrified. It was an icredibly exciting trip and I can't wait to venture further out. Here follows the story of my first steps onto the Pacific Ocean.
Preparation:
TIME ENOUGH is currently moored in Astoria, Oregon. Astoria is located at the
mouth of the Columbia River overlooking one of the most dangerous stretches of
coastal water in the United States. The constant hazards of the Columbia River
Bar are such that the US Coast Guard uses this area for regular Search & Rescue
drills.
This adventure crossing the Bar began by taking Amtrak from my home in Richland
through Portland, Oregon then on to Astoria. As the map in Clip #1 shows,
Astoria is about 300 miles from Richland, Washington. The interstate and train routes
follow the Columbia River west from Richland to Portland. Clip #2 shows the
Union Street Train Station. The 100+ year old Portland train depot, Union Street
Train Station, is quite attractive.
Because of winds ranging from 30 to 35 kts, 30 foot seas, and a Small Craft Warning;
I stayed aboard TIME ENOUGH in the marina for several days. On Friday evening
the forecast improved to 10 kt winds, 10 to 15 foot seas, and the warning was
down graded to a Small Craft Advisory. That was the break I wanted and needed.
Getting Underway:
At 0500 Saturday morning, still 2 hours before sunrise I readied the boat to set
sail. It was a cold cold morning. The marina dock and the topside of my boat
were coated with ice making for poor footing. Although I was being most careful,
twice I slipped and nearly lost my balance.
I started the 12 horsepower Yanmar Diesel engine to warm up while singling up
the mooring lines. After a test of the engine both ahead and astern, I cast off
and was underway. Because of the slick footing I stayed in the cockpit and
motored down river towards The Bar. The river is well marked with buoys on both
of the channel for the 15 miles I had to travel from the marina to the Bar.
By international convention Red buoys are placed on the Right side of the channel
when Returning from sea (Red Right Returning). Conversely Green or Black buoys
mark the opposite side of the channel. In addition to the buoys, I carry Coast
Guard approved charts and GPS for navigation. So there I was motoring in the dark
cold morning with 15 miles to cover before crossing The Bar.
In the river there were no swells and the wind was generally calm (less than 10
kts) so I made good time motoring at about 5 kts. As the sun came up I was
approaching The Bar. As I had planned, low tide had passed about an hour earlier
so I would be crossing The Bar on a Flood Tide, the safest time. On either side of my little sailboat I could see and
hear the violent surf. Clips #3 thru #11 show the view but pay particular
attention to the breakers and surf, which show up, as white waves in the photos.
It is these breakers best illustrate the hazard of The Bar. Even at the best
of times, these breakers are dangerous. When the weather turns sour . . . The Bar
is closed by the Coast Guard to All traffic. Many large vessels have been lost
taking many mariners to their grave.
As I made my final turn to sea, the lighthouse at Cape Disappointment became my
reference. Clips #6,7,9 & 11 all show different views of the lighthouse. If
the lighthouse was there to provide security I surely began to need it. Now
about 2 1/2 miles from the Bar the swell was growing and the surf to my sides
was growing more violent by the moment.
I don't know the precise moment when it began but . . as I approached then crossed
The Bar the seas started to build . . . the wind picked up . . . and I
got a bit uncomfortable with the first signs of sea sickness.
The seas continued to build . . . the winds continued to pick up . . . and I
continued to get more sea sick. Now well across The Bar and 3 or 4 miles out,
surely I had seen the worst . . . Not Even Close!
Rain squalls:
The winds grew further, the seas compounded yet more and the sky grew darker. I didn't lose my lunch
. . . I was too scared! Clip #15 shows the stark contrast between the dark
sky and the sunny patches. As I look at the photos now, my minds eye
carries a far more frightening image. The photos just don't capture the
expanse, energy and threat the seas imparted to me. Did I say I was seasick.
Perhaps nauseous is a more accurate. My mast height is
45 feet high . . . the seas weren't as high but damn close to it. It is
important to note that when I was most scared . . . I didn't bother to take
photos. On the other hand, when my confidence built just a little I was
willing to risk photos. You know the dizzy headache turning stomach
type of nauseous. That was me . . . that was me.
My original plan had been to leave early Saturday morning (as I did) and sail
for the day and night. The next morning (Sunday) I would then return to
Astoria as a tired but conquering sailor. By about 0900 that Saturday morning
the seasick and scared sailor (wanna-be) was looking over the tide-tables to
plan an early return to the marina. Unfortunately for me . . . you don't enter
or leave the Bar at any old time. No, if you wish to survive the Bar you only
cross the bar when the low tide has just passed and the flood tide is between 1
and 3 hours old. As the tides turn about every 12 hours, my original plan had
provided for leaving on the morning flood tide then taking the next morning
tide in. Having taken the morning tide out at about 0800, the very very
soonest I could safely return was 12 hours later or at 2000. So there I
was . . . seasick, scared, building seas and growing winds . . . and I couldn't
safely turn around for 10 hours.
So I tried to keep the boat afloat and headed into breaking seas.
In time the seas subsided, the winds eased and the rains let up. Not entirely,
but enough to let my fears ease. Perhaps it was just the time of the morning
or the proximity to land but the sailing became more pleasant. I sailed out to
sea about 20 to 30 miles. Land was always visible unless obscured by rain. As
the day passed I did see an occasional freighter. I wonder what they might
have though seeing a solitary sailboat out on such a nasty day.
Going Home:
By 1600 I was feeling better. I had managed to stay alive for most of the day
and my nausea was almost gone. Except for a nagging headache, it was almost
fun. I began maneuvering the boat back towards the Bar and as I did the seas
and weather again grew bad. In retrospect it may be coincidence or the Bar
itself may be the cause of the bad seas. Clearly there is an immense
struggle-taking place as the Columbia River fights the Pacific Ocean at the Bar.
By low tide I was positioned to return home. As the skies began growing dark I
was crossing the Bar. Although just as violent and terrifying, it was easier
the second time having survived the first. As twilight turned to the black
night, I had my GPS and the Coast Guards red & green buoys to guide me back to
Astoria and the marina.
I arrived at about 0100 Sunday morning in a light cold rain. I was exhausted,
alive, and unhurt. I tied up the boat and went to sleep. The next morning I
awoke at about 1000 to a light breeze and a bright sun. My boat was a jumbled
mess of gear I had stuffed here and there combined with the improperly stowed
items that flew about in the rough seas. I spent a few hours cleaning and
stowing and thinking about my experience.
My confidence had grown.
I had crossed the Bar sailing single-handed.
I look forward to my next crossing with excitement and apprehension.
Mike
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