San Miguel, at last!

Monday Aug. 16

 

I am writing this from Cuyler Harbor, San Miguel Island - where approaching 9PM, we are counting down to the NOAA forecasted dip in wind velocity, which would be welcome, as we tug on our two bow anchors, in the dense black foggy night, where the wind is gusting in the low 30s. I've got on thermals and fuzzy socks and would be wearing my fuzzy hat too, except it got wet on the dinghy ride from shore.

 

We (Holly, Jani, Kathleen aka Madame K, Jenene and I) are celebrating our successful voyage (thus far) to San Miguel - where Holly, who has been sailing since before she could walk, has been efforting (more than a dozen times) to visit, and has been turned back time and again by foul weather. We are singing along to old tunes, playing the spoons, dancing, checking the wind.

Never mind. We have defied every NOAA forecast since we left, inching towards San Miguel despite small craft advisories, peeking out of our anchorages in the early morning hours, to satisfy Holly's lifelong quest. San Miguel!

 

Here's the brief synopsis of our trip so far (since leaving Santa Barbara) .... as Holly throws a grape on they keyboard and Jani remarks: "29 - see it's dropping" and then, they begin dancing to some old Sonny & Cher song.

 

Saturday we left for Santa Cruz - having decided that San MIguel would be suicidal and our guests might mutiny. We had a gorgeous, quick sail to Fry's Harbor (during which time I napped: .. one thing I LOVE about sailing is that you get to nap, and in fact it's your JOB to nap. sweet!) Fry's is a perfect little cove: protected on either side by tall pocked cliffs, with a small gravelly beach ashore.

 

But it's honking outside the next morning, so we pull up our anchors and leave early, for a surly ride west along the top of the island and across the channel to Santa Rosa Island. The wind (as expected) kept increasing, but the angle made it tolerable, as we continued westbound to Becher's Bay. It appeared just as I remembered it: heinous. A wind-streaked, kelp-strewn expanse of frothy water, beneath dull brown hills.

 

We anchor in the frigid breeze (on the third try - hacking away wads of kelp each time we re-attempt) have some soup. "Is it pretty much like this all the time?" Holly whispers and I reply "No it's windier at night.". We figure it's time to get the hell outta dodge. We venture out again into the channel - huge breakers rolling along the point - turn the corner, and ahhhhhh: calm, warm(ish) bliss.

 

Skirting the bottom of west Santa Rosa toward the midpoint, we find Johnson's Lee ... snake our way through a thick carpet of kelp to the right depth, and drop anchor. Holly, Madame K and Jani jump in the dinghy for a quick excursion ashore, but after fighting their way through the breeze and kelp, are send scurrying back by a giant elephant seal protecting his harem. "I have never SEEN a head that big" Jani sputters and Holly retorts "Hence the name ELEPHANT seal ... "

 

We have a peaceful night in the lee of this island. Elephant seals call all night, seagulls cry, and unseen fish leap - slappling on the slick surface of the water. The air smells like wet straw, and the sky above is clear.

 

Monday

It's 6:15 and Holly is stirring. I know what this means. If (like a groundhog) she pops her head out and sees the right condition, we are off for San Miguel. Forecasts all weekend have been unfavorable but getting underway early has saved us from the worst of it.

 

First though, we have to give the boat 'a Brazilian'. She has swung in the night into a kelp bed and we need to whack a mountain of foliage from under her belly. Then we're off - pleasant enough at first, until we round South Point and enter the channel between Santa Rosa and San Miguel. The fog thickens, the wind builds, and the waves resemble a washing machine as the points of the islands stretch to meet in the channel. We liken it to squeezing through the sphincter of the islands. It is cold and wet ... but just a few hours and brief enough. By noon we are rounding the rocky isle at the entry to Cuyler Harbor. In the time it takes to do a donut and drop the main, the fog clears just enough for us to make out the rocks, and we slowly motor to the anchorage.

 

There's a lot more to tell - our excursion ashore, bypassing a slew of elephant seals including massive juveniles who broke from their game of slapping their huge floppy probiscus at each other - to gape at us; a proliferation of wildflowers; strolling the sand dunes that stretch up 100s of feet, and the incredible array of textures of the rocks, but after a long day and a filling dinner of lasagna and wine, it is time to go to sleep and prepare for tomorrow ...

 

Everyone is well. Love to all ~ Betsy

 

PS - Yay Buggy, back to school! Congratulations, I am proud of you and hope you had a GREAT first day.

 

PPS - I left my phone at home: not that I have service anyway ... whoops!