Cascadian Bar Crawl Part III – Bound Again for San Francisco, Coos Bay and Umpqua River Combo
Another day, another attempted boat delivery from the Pacific Northwest to San Francisco—this time on a Seawind 1160 sailing catamaran with the owner and broker. The plan is to take this newly commissioned beauty to San Francisco Bay as both a shakedown and to stage it for a crossing to her new home waters of Hawaii. I’m along as invited unpaid backup. Wheel watcher. Pasta boiler. Line grabber. Joke cracker. Duties can, and will, vary.
For my part, actually getting to sail into San Francisco Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge remained a bucket list of mine. The feeling only intensified after my previous attempt with a Beneteau Swift Trawler 47 related in the last article of this Cascadia Bar Crawl series. We clipped a log outside Oregon’s Umpqua River and ended up limping into Coos Bay instead. This time was going to be different. I was going to make it.
We motored out of Seattle with the tides, the Seawind clipping along at around 10 to 12 knots thanks to a pair of Yanmar 29 inboard diesel engines with sail drives (SD30s). Winds were low and running engines was part of the goal as the new sail drives needed to be run for 50 hours and drained as a final step of the commissioning process. This engine drain was going to be completed in a San Francisco yard before loading up the supplies, flying in the family/crew, and picking that ideal weather window for the open sea transit west. The plan was solid and while some weather was to be expected as we journeyed south, nothing seemed out of the ordinary for late spring. A duo of humpbacks fed off our port as we entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca and made way west. I’ve noticed they like feeding along the northern edge of the Olympic Peninsula during spring and summer.
A brief stop was warranted in Neah Bay for a fuel top off and lunch. The tiny town on the Makah Indian Reservation sits on the very Northwestern tip of the contiguous United States. I’d been through a dozen times on Olympic Peninsula road or backpacking trips and knew exactly what meal fit the occasion—a Supreme Indian Taco from Pat’s Place up the road from the marina. The folks are friendly and payments cash only. I fetched a round of fry bread-based Indian tacos for my out-of-state crewmates to try. We ate them aboard the Vietnam-made, new-car-smelling sailing yacht in good order. Only in America, baby.
The dock lines were cast and Tatoosh Island left in our wake. We entered the Pacific, kept going to around 20 nautical miles offshore, and pointed south.
Downhill Run into Trouble
Heading southward down the West Coast is generally known as running downhill due to the prevailing currents flowing behind you. We had a decent 10-20 knots of wind at our back to start with and raise the sails. The sun was out. Nothing beats lounging on the foredeck of a big catamaran with the sails up and sundrenched open ocean as far as the eye can see.
Unfortunately for the peace n’ love vibes, the wind came down to the point where we could only make about five knots of headway. Additionally, the wind was directly off the stern. The Seawind 1160 doesn’t like this point of sail and needs to crack off several degrees to get going. But such a deviation from true north just added time to our transit. The full spinnaker was waiting in San Francisco and we had to use a smaller kite that was thrown aboard as an afterthought. After a few hours mucking around, the Yanmars were fired up again. Our bearing was redirected due south and speed brought back up to around 10 knots. We had places to be and sail drives to exercise.
We fell into the routine of offshore wheel watches. I took the helm and devoted most of my energy to scanning for crab pots and relaxing in-between without much to do. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning on a calm day, I was surrounded by the largest pod of orcas I’d ever personally encountered. It felt like 50 of them, but let’s halve that number in the spirit of keeping me honest. Their breaths were sharp, black fins up and down like switch blades. The exciting melee of majestic hunters were gone within a minute, northward bound. Transients on the prowl with places to be. Not unlike us.
The downhill run continued like this for another day or so. My nightshift watch was about as peaceful as it gets even though a bit of a swell started to form. The moon was so bright it was almost too much to gaze at directly like the sun. Almost as an afterthought, we started to tune into the local weather reports on the VHF once we were off central Oregon. We had the fancy macrolevel picture thanks to our electronic devices. Sure, it wasn’t going to be a picnic ahead, but we could handle a small craft advisory on a boat like this if we needed to. But often when it comes to the conditions off the Pacific Northwest coast, weather conditions can be highly localized. Doing our due diligence and tuning in was smart.
Those VHF weather reports were dire.
“Holy *@%#!” I couldn’t help myself as the stiff robotic weather radio voice reported the news. Gale warnings. Steep seas. Building systems. We were about half a day north from some truly disgusting stuff. But where to go? Forward into certain hell was the worst move. One option was to go offshore further with the hope of brighter open water prospects. It’s the Pacific Ocean’s interaction with the coast that generally creates the foulest conditions. But going out would certainly add days to the trip and we’d miss the yard appointment in San Francisco. We’d also pledge ourselves to an extended offshore life for who knew exactly how long.
The other move was to go inland to seek shelter. A weather window was likely to open up within a matter of days and the transit south could continue. Heck, the amount of time either way could end up the same—just one involved surefire safety with the resources and comforts of land. The skies darkened and the seas kicked up while we reached our decision. Inward it was.
I took a look at the chartplotter and cackled like a maniac. The nearest and best shelter hidden behind a bar entrance was, just like my last San Francisco attempt, Coos Bay. Surely, I was in some kind of aquatic Ground Hogs Day sequel. We motored in as conditions deteriorated and I was overcome with déjà vu, but this time I had more of a clue. Range markers were lined up and the channel was shot before we tucked into the marina in little Charleston. The Seawind 1160 was tied securely to the exact same length of guest dock that I experienced during my last visit.
Bar to Bar – Coos Bay Departure, Up the Umpqua River
We spent a day or two in Charleston while the owner and broker schemed about the next move. Another sailboat sat across from us in the guest moorage, a 40ish-foot production fiberglass monohull. The family aboard had nearly gone down while running uphill from the south through some of the weather that pinned us down. They were newbie dreamers headed to Puget Sound to live out a semi-off-grid life. But their bout with foul seas and taking on near-sinking levels of water had shaken them quite a bit. Talking to them was a sobering reminder that we made the right call. Charging into Triton’s wrath to make a boatyard appointment is rarely the sane move.
The owner adapted. Why go all the way to San Francisco anyway? If all he required was a haul out for a quick sail drive drain, why not rally here, wait for a proper weather window, and strike out to Hawaii from Oregon? All we needed to do was find a boatyard that could accommodate us—and the Seawind 1160’s beefy 22’ (technically 21’4”) beam. The Charleston Shipyard that hauled out the Beneteau Swift Trawler 47 from my last Coos Bay foray beckoned just down the road on the South Slough. Surely, this mostly commercial yard could handle a mid-sized catamaran like us, right?
Wrong. We chitchatted with the yard guys who were friendly but confirmed their lift’s maximum haul out beam was technically a foot or two shy of ours. All that wonderful interior and deck space was coming at a price with boatyard selection. The old saying that there is no perfect boat, just a series of compromises remains undefeated.
An unconventional option emerged as our only hope for a local haul out—Fred Wahl Marine Construction of Reedsport, Oregon. His iconic commercial yard with the largest lifts around (one 600-ton and one 825-ton) lay up the Umpqua River to the north, the nearest bar crossing. Did he typically work with recreational boats, much less sailboats? No. But I figured he might help us. He certainly had the capability, unlike the yards of Coos Bay.
Why did I think this? Well, I was scheduled to interview Fred Wahl for a magazine article in Fishermen’s News magazine and had been in contact with his office. In fact, the San Francisco trip was part of my plan to get to the yard for an in-person interview that included a rental car and a few scenic days along the coast. A detour back to Seattle if you will. Now here we were, one bar crossing south of Fred Wahl due to weather and in need of a haul out. Was fate knocking? Sure enough, Fred Wahl’s yard agreed to help if we could get up there.
The new plan was hatched: exit across the Coos Bay bar, zip north about 20 nautical miles, hop across the Umpqua River Bar, and head upriver another five or so nautical miles to Fred Wahl’s yard. It was still hairy out there with a US Coast Guard issued restricted bar entrance for all vessels under 30 feet in length. The Seawind 1160 is 38’ length overall. We were going for it. Reedsport or bust.
We took our slack tide window on a sunny but blustery afternoon. White surf shot up the stone jetties to either side but we maintained course easily enough. Abruptly the VHF on Channel 16 boomed with the stern voice of the coasties hailing us. They were ordering us to turn around!
“Turn around!?” we exclaimed, halfway into the entrance. Spinning around at this point seemed like the most dangerous move of all, especially considering that we were complying with their issued restricted entrance. We asked for clarification but the coasties were stern. Turn around. Now. Confused, scared, and pissed, we executed a 180 in the channel that ranks high as one of the more hair-raising 180s of my lived experience on land or sea. But we did it and were a few boat lengths back into Coos Bay when the VHF cracked to life again.
Oops, never mind. We could go through after all. No biggie. Blame it on the new recruit maybe.
We spun around again and this time nothing was going to stop us. Out into the Pacific Ocean and north we went. It was blustery and swelling out there, I want to say over 10-foot swells and 25-knot winds at our back. The weather was still snotty to the south and we were getting the slop. But we rocked and rolled outside the Umpqua River bar where we lined up the range markers for the channel shot. The bar restriction up here was a mere 24’ and the coasties didn’t give us grief. We cruised in while minding the channel with the extra strong tracking capabilities of the two catamaran hulls keeping us straight as could be. The swells really grew in the entrance and the boat repeatedly got picked up and rocket boosted like a surfer.
“Hold on!” was the white knuckled refrain. Eyes stayed glued forward on the channel markers as the boom of the waves on the jetties to port and starboard deafened. A final swell picked us up and we rode it, “woah!” and “@$&*!” flying unbidden from our throats. The sight from ashore must’ve been something. We surfed into shelter and unclenched sphincters in relief.
“17 knots!” one of the crew crowed from his phone screen. “Speed over ground! 17!” I’m willing to bet that is the top speed record for a Seawind 1160 sailing catamaran that’s designed to cruise-sail between 5 and 9 knots. If anyone out there has topped 17 knots, and lived to tell the tale, please let me know.
After the high fives and sighs of relief, we settled into an unreal, serene upriver motor. The epic sand dunes of Oregon Dunes National Recreational Area towered on the northern shore while the charming little marina town of Winchester Bay beckoned on the south. These are the same dunes that inspired Frank Herbert, who may or may not have been on LSD, to write the science fiction epic Dune. The river twisted this way and that past sandbars and forested banks. Salmon leapt while ospreys and bald eagles splashed for them. We rounded a bend to find a few dozen head of completely blissed out cattle laying out on a beach. These were not only contenders for the happiest, most relaxed cows on the planet, but all living beings in the universe.
Fred Wahl’s yard sits on Bolon Island tucked among this riverine paradise. We docked up for the haul out all according to plan for once. Our Seawind 1160 was the first of its kind, and perhaps first sailboat ever, to grace Fred Wahl’s over 50-year-old yard. But hey, 22’ beam is 22’ beam whether it be a luxury sailing catamaran or a commercial Dungeness crabber.
I looked at my watch and laughed out loud. Our arrival, free of influence from me, was about one hour before my interview with Fred Wahl scheduled weeks ago. I hopped off the catamaran and made for the office. Maybe setting sail isn’t about getting to San Francisco but rather the Oregon bars we cross along the way. The golden gate will just have to wait.
SIDEBAR: Fred Wahl, A Legend
You can read Norris Comer’s Fisherman’s News article that resulted from his interview with Fred Wahl online here. From the piece:
“…For Wahl, boatbuilding is a magical practice.
“You take a bunch of parts and pieces and steel and form it into a shape. Make a boat out of it,” Wahl said. “And you put engines and stuff in it. Paint it. Wire it. When we build a boat here, we do everything ourselves. We build our own cranes and anchor winches. We build our own anchors.”
The labor leads to a single moment at splash.
“When you put it in the water and the first time it floats,” Wahl said. “We say it pops. It’s usually on the ways, the boat is stuck a bit. Then it just jumps up about half an inch maybe. And all of a sudden, there they are! To me, it’s like a little kid being born or something. All of a sudden, it’s on its own.”
He describes the newborn’s first moments.
“It can float. It can drive. It can do all the stuff you’ve intended to do that first time it floats,” he said. “It’s kind of fun. I enjoy…building new boats. We just don’t get to do it very often.”
In many ways, Wahl has come a long way from his early days as a seasick Oregon youth with a toolbox and disposition toward boats. Over 50 years, he has built a maritime empire on a slice of riverine paradise that is a key pillar of the entire region’s industry…”
Cascadian Bar Crawl Part II: Failing to Get to San Francisco via the Yaquina Bay Bar to Coos Bay Bar
Cascadian Bar Crawl Part I: Grays Harbor and Columbia River
