Voyage of the Canta Libre - completely and totally off topic

[C9]

Voyage of the Canta Libre


And now ... a word from another dimension....

But not from the twilight zone or anything strange.

I am more than a one dimensional guy.
And have done, and do, things other than hot rods and writing.

In fact, early in life, I had quite a few things I wanted to try and so far, have tried just about all of them.
Not always big accomplishments so much as new experiences and learning new things.

Attached, a couple of photos from one of them.
The photos, circa summer of 1987 I believe and the last voyage of the Canta Libre.

Canta Libre being the name of my sailboat as well as one of my favorite Neil Diamond songs.
It translates to several things, but I always took it to mean ‘Sing Freedom’ and that’s pretty much what the boat meant to me.

The ‘Homeward Bound’ photo taken just off the north/east tip of Santa Cruz island a little after dawn.
Headed N/E on a reach for Ventura harbor.
The wind coming from the N/W as was true most times, meant an easy few hours of sailing on the port tack until we hit the harbor and sailed right in, dropped the sails in the turning basin and let wind pressure on the mast and rigging carry us down the fairway and into the slip.
Returning home under sail a small point of pride for most sailors.
(Port tack is simply terminology for ‘the wind is on the left side of the mainsail’.)

[C9]

Part 2

The second picture, labeled ‘Santa Cruz’ and shows the boat anchored off shore at the extreme east end of Santa Cruz island.
On board, two old friends I don’t see much of anymore.
The guy on the left, 6'7" tall and when he stands up, the boat looks like a dinghy.
A bit of a klutz, he’s lost more than a few things overboard, but it’s ok.
He’s such a character and so likable it’s hard to imagine how life would have been without him.

The boat, a Columbia 23 Sloop that would have been called a Cutter in days past, slept four in big bunks, had a head and cooking facilities on board, an auxiliary engine and four sails.
Although we usually flew only two sails at a time.
Sometimes three when reaching or running before the wind if it was light, but most times there was all the wind you needed and then some.
Especially true in the channel.

Many’s the time we came home with the working jib on, the mainsail reefed and dried salt covering the boat clear up to the top of the mast.

We spent a lot of time, a little over fourteen years in fact, sailing up and down the Southern California coastline and out to the islands.
The islands a most interesting visit back in time.
They are, even today, as they were when Cabrillo discovered the Western Coast of the United States.

People we knew would tell us that they’d never go out in the ocean in such a little boat.
And alluded to the fact that we were a little crazy.

It seemed that way to some, but the simple truth was, learn to sail, have a good boat, safety equipment including a life raft, pay particular attention to the weather - at all times - and it’s as safe as any other thing you would do.

What most don’t realize is that different storms affect different sized boats differently.
Sounds strange and it is, but what happens is that a storm a freighter can slide through with ease can be a tough go in a little boat.
Conversely, storms the little boat goes through without much trouble can give the same freighter a tough time.

Weather, another story sometimes.
We got the forecasts and paid attention, but every now and then we got caught out.

We got caught out this time because of inexperience with coastal wind flow.
Predictions were for small craft warnings Monterey to Point Conception.
And mild winds, Point Conception to the Mexican border.
Sounds good, right?
The islands are south of Point Conception.

I failed to take into account that the islands should be included in the Monterey to Point Conception area due to the way the California coastline breaks to the S/E at Point Conception.
Leaving the islands exposed to the same wind flow pattern that Monterey to Point Conception was.

Live and learn I guess, although sometimes it gets tough.

When the winds came up the first day, we found ourselves crossing Windy Lane, a stretch of ocean about 6 miles wide between the islands and the mainland and right up against the islands.
Beating into the wind on a close reach was pretty rough.
The winds blew strongly here - hence the name Windy Lane - as the winds that came down the coast from the north weren’t tempered to any degree like they were closer to the mainland.
Tempered due to being bent around Point Conception which was and still is regarded as the Cape Horn of the California coast.

I’ve seen aerial photos from 20,000' feet or so and north of Point Conception is a maelstrom and south is a well protected bit of the ocean lying under the lee of Point Conception.

We got wet and cold and I made a poor - hypothermia inspired - decision to run east for Little Scorpion anchorage just S/W of the eastern tip of Santa Cruz island.
Little Scorpion was a good anchorage in good weather, but not the best place in the world to be when the winds cranked up.
It’s an exposed anchorage as far as winds from any direction are concerned.
I should have toughed it out and went the three miles or so beating into the wind and gotten into Pelican harbor which was well sheltered with its steep cliffs and a much better place to ride out a storm.

Making a turn to the east and Running for Little Scorpion, we had to cross Prisoners Harbor, a big open bight 2-3 miles wide that was 60' deep, but still considered shallow. Crossing the open bight we found waves that formed up very much like you’d find off a mainland beach.
We ended up sailing in and running parallel to what looked like big surf.
The surf generated by the wind and the shallow bottom.
Strangely enough, at least to non-sailors, the deeper the water, the safer most times.

We were lucky the waves were only breaking at the top, but they were big enough to worry about.
It was sail parallel to the waves in the troughs, head up when the wave picked you up, steer through the breaking water at about a 45 degree angle and turn back parallel as the wave slid under the boat.
I was scared that I would get the boat out of sync with the waves and we’d roll it right there.
Losing the mast and who knows what else.
The boat would have stayed afloat as it was closed up and Sweetie and I were tied in with safety harnesses to life lines and wearing life jackets.
Even so, losing a mast and the sails, which are your motive power and a way to reach safety is not something you want to do.
Winds in this area were running 35-40 mph with some gusts to 50.
The backs of the waves after they passed were white with spindrift and for the both of us, one of the most awe inspiring sights in nature that we ever saw.

We got to Little Scorpion ok, both soaking wet and a bit cold.
The foul weather gear I had on board wasn’t much and didn’t do as good a job as I thought it would.

Anchoring at Little Scorpion the first night wasn’t bad as the wind died down and stayed down all the next day.
We figured we’d stay one more night at Little Scorpion and sail for Santa Rosa island in the morning.
Continuing with what was to be about a one week trip offshore exploring the islands.
In retrospect, we should have ran for home in the morning.
The wind came up about dusk and it was too late then.

We ended up spending the second night anchored at Little Scorpion anchorage hanging off one anchor line in a 50-60 mph wind storm with some gusts having wind speed’s I don’t even want to think about.
When those hit, the boat got shook like a dog killing a rat.
The wind speeds were measured with a wind meter for what that’s worth so no exaggerations here.

Two anchor lines, one fore and one aft was the preferred way for most to anchor at the islands.
We had the bow anchor pull out about midnight and start sliding along the grassy bottom.
The boat spun down onto the stern anchor which I changed to the bow cleats and after pulling in the front anchor, we spent the night standing two hour watches with the boat tacking back and forth on one anchor line.

Entering the channel on such a stormy night and especially with all the tanker and freighter traffic was something I didn’t want to do.
More than a few who did that never came home.

I worried a lot that I’d dragged Sweetie into a situation where she could get hurt.
I never worried about the guys on these trips.
In a case like that, if something happened, to an extent it was every man for himself.
Something unspoken and understood by them and accepted as such.
Just a ‘guy thing’ I think.
Even so, I always felt more than responsible for the ladies.
As it should be.

I was ready in case the one anchor let go.
The storm jib was in place and I figured with it we could sail away from the rocks and steep bluffs at the end of the island, enter the channel and have a tough trip home.
I figured too, if worse came to worse and we did wash up on the rocks, we’d swim for it, climb out on the rocks - which looked like it would have been easy to do and survive the rest of the night huddled around a small campfire.
I did have waterproof matches in a water tight container in my pocket.

Waves, for the most part, don’t break on southern side of the islands like they do on the coast.
The water just goes up and down the cliff face.
Which is what made me think that getting out of the water wouldn’t be too difficult.

I was a good swimmer at the time and I probably worried about Sweetie more than I should have.
She was and still is a better swimmer than I.

Anyway, and this turned into quite a little story I see, we made it through ok.
When dawn broke Sweetie was exhausted and asleep in the cabin, nestled against the partially inflated life raft and covered with a sleeping bag.
I started pulling the anchor out.
It was buried so deep in the sand that I came close to cutting the rope and abandoning it.

I hesitated to do so, because I could see that we may need an anchor again before we got home.

It took about a half hour of cranking on the jib winch - which incidentally could pull 1200 pounds - before I got the anchor out.

The wind was still blowing strongly, but not as bad as it had been during the night.
I got the mainsail up and we ran for home.
At times, surfing down the big waves and sometimes the boat was going so fast the rudder was humming.
We were fortunate that our boat handled quite well under mainsail alone.
Not true for most sailboats.

Displacement vessels, of which my sailboat was one, have a built in speed limit.
And in fact, exceeding this speed limit caused the loss of more than one square rigger when a squall hit and the crew couldn’t get the sail off fast enough to slow it down.
Once a displacement vessel exceeds it’s limitations speed-wise, it settles lower and lower into the water until it finally sails right under and is never seen again.

The speed limit due to hull length and physics and the fact that it does displace water as it moves through it.
The boat inspired wave train gets farther and farther apart as speed rises and before long the bow and stern waves are so far apart, the boat is not supported like it should be and before long it’s riding lower and lower in the water.

My boat had a fairly flat and wide bottom all things considered and it would get up on a plane for a while.
Planing was fun stuff and it didn’t last long.
Very similar in fact to body surfing, when the wave runs out, the ride stops.

It was more than strange to look eastward at the wave and watch it break - the whole wave breaking at almost the same time - for as far as you could see.
You could see about a mile of the wave before it faded into the haze.

It took us three and a half hours to sail home on the same route it took us five hours to sail out.

It was about nine or so in the morning when we got back.
We were so tired and worn out that after I tied the boat up in the slip, threw the raft into the cockpit, the sails into the front bunks and took a look around, we said to hell with it all, went inside, curled up and went to sleep.
Until late in the afternoon.

When we woke up, we picked up a few things, left the boat pretty much in disarray with everything piled inside, locked up and went home.

A lot of lessons learned here, but the biggest one was that it’s a lot easier to live an adventure from a good book in the comfort of your armchair than it is to be right out there in the middle of it.

It was ok though.
It was something the two of us are glad we went through.

Once anyway....

[tootallrodder]

Great story, Having been a sailer in my youth I can appreciate the entire situation. If my wife was a "Water Person" I would have a boat today but instead she like dry land activites and that works for me being a Hot Rodder to the core. Do you still get out on the deep blue sea?

My parents, and grand Parents both honeymooned on sailboats. As a matter of fact, My grandparents road out a hurricane on there honeymoon trip. I guess if they can handle that 65 years of marriage is nothing.

[Smokin Joe]

Great story Jay. We used to spend lots of time out by the islands on the ship when I was in the navy. Beautiful there. We watched the goats and barbary sheep with the "Big Eyes" and always got a kick out of the otters in the kelp. The story brought back memories for me...

As for the waves affecting ships and boats differently I know what you mean. Here's me on a slightly larger boat (536ft. long) in the Tonkin Gulf 1974. Another place where shallow water allows the waves to grow. Notice the horizon is still tilted in this shot. Tilt your head so the horizon looks level to see how far we were really leaning. Nice breeze huh!
http://www.ussengland.net/cg22/images/JoeCoulter1.jpg

[flt-blk]

Great story, well told as always.

One of the few things I miss after moving from Seattle to
Texas is my sail boat.

23ft SanJuan, we were getting ready to trade it for
a 7.7 J-Boat when I moved.
TZ

[40StudeDude]

Jay, never having had the opportunity to sail...this is a good story...I'll just keep my feet on dry land!
R-