Index

A frustrating month.
Out of Canada.
The Pacific coast.
San Francisco.
Monterey.
The Channel Islands.
Grand Canyon and Death Valley.
San Diego.

Winter into summer, British Columbia

A frustrating month.

July proved to be the month when summer arrived in earnest (roll mouse over my pic!), but we had to mark time mostly at Fisherman’s Wharf in Vancouver where we returned on the 3rd, with occasional sorties out to the nearby islands which were brought short by frustrating equipment failures.

Andrew, Helen, Penny, Lyn and Des.

The beginning of the month saw the arrival of Andrew’s sister Helen and bro-in-law Des to Vancouver, the first stage of their holiday visit to the quilting bazaars of the West Coast. Quilting is remarkably popular here, and Helen was in her element. Not perhaps so Des, a former ship captain, for whom a visit to Vancouver’s neat little maritime museum seemed to come as a welcome relief. It specialises in model ships, and when Des discovered one of the model builders working on a ship he had once piloted, the rest of us just left them to get on with it. Together with cousin Penny, her daughter Louise and son-in-law Larry, it was quite a family reunion. They arrived on board on the 7th, Andrew’s birthday, and after surprise gifts and birthday cake, Penny took us to Stanley Park, a forest parkland on a peninsular fronting Vancouver.

We had scheduled an extended cruise around the Gulf and San Juan Islands for the next two weeks, to make up for the aborted Alaskan cruise in June. On the first day we sailed across the Georgia Strait to the northern tip of the Gulf Islands and anchored with a great number of other boats in a bay facing downtown Nanaimo. As we set off the following morning, it took three attempts to engage forward gear. Yes, the old problem with the transmission had returned to haunt us, despite having had a brand new transmission unit fitted in April.

While waiting for a local repair guy to call, we took the little ferry to nearby Newcastle Island for the afternoon, where we walked a few miles along the trails in the wood and parkland, spotting a couple of deer. The island was a popular day trip destination from Vancouver a hundred years ago, when as many as 1,500 people would arrive daily by ferry. It is still popular now with campers and day-trippers from Nanaimo, but peaceful and less crowded.

The local repair guy said that our problem was common with new ZF transmission units, and he wouldn’t touch it as ZF ought to fix it under warranty, but that we would find them sticky to deal with. And so it proved. We contacted the company in the United States who supplied the new unit. It seemed the only realistic way to get ours seen to in a reasonable space of time was to return to Vancouver, pull the transmission out ourselves, rent a car and take it to them in Everett, Washington to check over.

We had a beautiful sail back to Vancouver, using the spinnaker much of the way. We watched the snow cone of Mount Baker hovering over a band of mist at the south eastern end of the Straits of Georgia until it anchored itself to land behind the hills as we approached Vancouver. Fortunately we persuaded the gear to engage as we came back into Fisherman’s Wharf where after delivering the transmission we were now stuck waiting.

A week later we returned to collect it. They had replaced some clutch rings, though the old ones hardly looked worn, and then blamed - as we’d been warned they might - everything else about the engine. We reluctantly agreed to replace the drive plate as they did not like the brand new one we had specially fitted for us in Anacortes. We were told the local ZF rep had agreed to call to inspect the problem, but had failed to show, and anyway ZF were unlikely to admit to fault which meant the company were having to swallow the cost. So everyone was pretty fed up with the time and money spent, and we still had the job of rebuilding the engine back in Vancouver with no guarantee that it would not fail again.

A saving grace of this trip to Everett was the opportunity to remeet Betsy and Ken of Dragon’s Tale at their home on nearby Whidbey Island. It was a drive over the spectacular Deception Pass bridge, then out into the countryside on the island. Their hillside home commands the most beautiful views over the bay and we spent a pleasant evening reminiscing about Princess Louisa Inlet, while they prepared for a cycling and boating holiday in Holland the following week.

While we waited for the transmission to be fixed, we thought it would be a good idea to spruce up Sentinel a bit, in particular grinding and repainting the rust spots on the deck. It was long overdue, as other places have not let us do this work for ‘environmental’ reasons, but among the fishing boats at Fisherman’s Wharf there seemed no problem. The grab handles along the deck have been a particularly bad source of rust, so we decided to ask one of the guys in Fisherman’s Wharf to weld on some new ones. Everything was going fine until suddenly a dust-sheet protecting the cabin windows caught fire. It had probably been smouldering for a while until a breeze took it, and then a spectacular blaze set paintwork alight, one window was partly melted, and a jackstay destroyed. It left a terrific mess but after a lot of grinding, repainting, cursing and scrubbing, Sentinel did look somewhat better.

At last on 24th July we could resume our cruising. Once more we crossed the Strait of Georgia, through Active Pass which is another of the fierce tidal rapids in this area, and over to Port Sidney Marina where we had spent winter. It was a chance to meet old friends, including Richard Ludwig in the North Saanich Yacht Club where he is an instructor. He had kindly agreed to act as an accommodation address and passed over some medication for Andrew that had arrived from England. One reason for our return visit was to get our ‘Aquair’ wind generator fixed by the agents in Victoria – the bearings had seized during Sentinel’s winter lay-up.

That organised, we sailed to Ganges on Saltspring Island, a laid-back tourist resort where middle-aged hippies sell poster art, macramé, fancy candles, and all the other things hippies have been selling since the sixties. We stopped in what was the village general store a hundred years ago, but now a coffee bar, and enjoyed a coffee and cinnamon bun. After lunch next day we motored the short distance to Montague Harbour on Galiano Island. Before long a guy came over in his dinghy asking if we were British. He and his wife, Mike and June, left England in 1991 and sailed around the Atlantic for several years before selling up both yacht and home and emigrating to Bellingham, USA. They had just completed circumnavigating Vancouver Island in Sestina and despite being in their late seventies looked extremely fit. They came over for some English tea and June brought over some lovely freshly baked scones.

Then in the morning as we pulled up the anchor the windlass failed, with smoke coming out the anchor well – we were on fire again! Not our first problem with the windlass but this time it’s terminal, the motor has burnt out. If we wished to continue cruising around the islands we were faced with the prospect of having to get the anchor up by hand. No, we have to have a replacement windlass, and after the engine it is the most expensive piece of mechanics aboard. Reluctantly, once more it was back to Fisherman's Wharf where we ordered a new one, and had to hang around for a couple of weeks until it was supplied and we could fit it.

It had no sooner arrived, than as a final insult our water-heater tank ruptured, spraying hot water all round the boat! So now no hot water aboard. It was a good one, copper, working on both 120v and 240v as well as heating up when the engine is running, and it seemed impossible to get a similar replacement in Canada or the USA. So a new one was ordered from England with delivery to Victoria in about a week. It would be collected along with the wind generator.

It is not just equipment problems but Andrew’s health that has been tying us to Vancouver in July. He has been seeing a consultant there for Graves’ disease. He has been up and down with his eyes, and is disheartened by the changes in his

appearance caused both by the condition and as a side-effect of the aggressive drugs he is prescribed. But at least the doctor has said that with care it would be safe to continue travelling down the coast where he would make a referral to another specialist in San Francisco.

One benefit of being stuck in Vancouver has been the opportunity to see the spectacular annual ‘Celebration of Light’ fireworks competition, held twice weekly in late July. Three times we motored out to English Bay and watched the display along with hundreds of other boats, with teams from Canada, USA and China each having a night for their musical display. The shows were awesome specially as we were so close to the fireworks barge, that at times Sentinel seemed almost engulfed by fire and light.

Out of Canada.

While waiting for delivery of the windlass and hot water-tank at the beginning of August, we pottered about in the Howe Sound for a few days, picking up mooring buoys or anchoring in shallow water. The area seemed so much more attractive in the warm sunshine than when we visited in May. It was a good place to 'swing' our compass (check its accuracy) by taking measurements off the islands.

But there was a lot to do on Sentinel. The new windlass needed a new purpose-made hatch over the anchor well. Thor, the welder living on his boat just along the dock from us, made up one for us. We also replaced the front cabin hatch with a new one we had brought back from England in March. As we feared the old one had caused severe rusting to the deck beneath and some holes had to be welded over. It took us a week to get the coats of paint on the new steelwork and fix up the wiring for the windlass, but when it was finally finished Thor celebrated our last night in Vancouver on 14th August with a wonderful marinated fresh Sockeye salmon barbeque on his fishing-boat. It was a great evening with his girl friend and two of her friends joining us.

Next morning it was up and away across the Strait of Georgia to Port Sidney Marina where Sentinel had spent the winter. Neil and Debbie, who we first met in April, invited us to join them for a barbeque with some friends of theirs. It was a very pleasant evening with good food and interesting people.

For three days we had some very interesting sailing in the Gulf Islands, ending up at Maple Bay where we needed to anchor using the new windlass for the first time. This one powers the anchor down as well as up. Andrew complained that he could not 'feel' the anchor touch bottom and set itself in, as he could when lowering by hand. Sure enough, at about midnight the wind rose and we heard a shout go up from the next yacht along - for the first time in two years our anchor was dragging. Quickly we raised it, only to discover that with the pawl set, the windlass had completely locked up. The pawl can't be released under load, unlike our old one. So there we were circling around in the middle of the night in our underwear while Andrew was once again on the foredeck dismantling the windlass, our neighbours flashing lights at us warning us to keep clear. We took the anchor off the windlass and dropped it by hand, and this time it held fine. Andrew reckons we will need more practice.

Then it was back to Port Sidney where we picked up and fitted the new hot water tank and the repaired wind generator, which took a couple of days. Finally it was time to leave. Our first move was to sail round to Victoria. Well actually we motored as there was not a breath of wind. We moored right opposite the famous Empress Hotel in the heart of downtown Victoria. That evening we saw more street-life than we had seen since Chicago. Crowds were teeming down Government Street and around the dockside walkways. A lively street market started up, there were pavement artists, fortune tellers, buskers, and street entertainers galore. An unusually talented band of three women and two men playing on a variety of xylophones and drums sticks in the memory. The rhythm was Afro-Caribbean and it was difficult not to move to the lively music. A well-dressed but very elderly man kept picking out young women from the crowd of onlookers to dance with him.

Further on we spotted a sedan chair lying behind a kiosk. While we were wondering about it, a group of lads came and hoisted one of their number up in it. He was wearing a T-shirt with "Groom" on the back. Then we realised the others all had matching T-shirts, on the back of which was written variously "Best Man", "Usher", "Friend", Another Friend", "Gatecrasher", etc. Andrew was amused by the Darth Vader playing a violin. Beyond him was an enthusiastic crowd watching a mime with quite the tallest unicycle I have seen - whether he ever mounted it I don't know. All this was against a backdrop of the Empress Hotel floodlit in changing colours, and the impressive government building picked out in white lights as if it were drawn on the night sky.

The next morning we visited Victoria's maritime museum to see Tilikum, the dugout canoe that Captain Voss sailed around the world in 1910, and then set sail to an anchorage fifteen miles around the coast.

It was time to tackle the Juan de Fuca Strait out into the open Pacific. However, the weather forecast was for rain and strong adverse winds later so we set off at dawn. In fact the wind stayed light most of the day, so we motored, and the rain was bearable, but what really made the day was sighting a pod of Orca whales. There were perhaps a dozen, and they swam all round us, though at a respectful distance. They were graceful arcing out of the water. Their long dorsal fins looked like sharks to begin with, but they just got taller and taller until the top of the whale appeared, sometimes showing the white patches on the sides of their heads. I was so excited. We had not seen them close all the time we were in Canada but at the last moment they came to say farewell.

We arrived in Neah, Cape Flattery, the very north-western tip of mainland USA, in the early afternoon of 24th August and checked in with US Customs.

The Pacific coast

Leaving Neah and getting round Cape Flattery reminded me of leaving La Coruna in north-west Spain to get round Cape Finisterre. It is either foggy or the winds are on the nose. After three nights in Neah we thought we could leave. The winds were forecast as west and not too much rain. After waiting for a foggy shower on the morning of Wednesday 27th August, and filling up with diesel, we left around midday, motoring into the west wind and an increasing west swell. As we turned south, so did the wind. Wind waves from the south meeting the swell from the west caused a choppy and confused sea that often knocked into Sentinel. We were making only three knots even with the engine. We had it on for nearly 30 hours, by far the longest non-stop run under engine we have ever done in open water. Fog had descended in the early hours of Thursday and persisted all day. We were among he shipping, and on the radar we could spot large ships passing us by not half a mile away that we couldn't see.

When we reached Grays Harbor in southern Washington, we radioed the coastguards to find that the harbour was closed due to the height of the swell over the bar, but as we made it sound like we were coming in anyway, they agreed to send a vessel to check, and eventually they agreed we could come in. Still in thick fog, unable to see from one buoy to the next, made for a nerve-wracking entrance. As we reached the bar, the sight of breaking waves ahead was rather alarming, but luckily we managed to spot the next buoy before we were among them. Eventually the harbour wall loomed out of the fog, we rounded, and it was all easy. The coastguards were waiting for us inside and insisted on doing an inspection. At last we settled down for the evening, but having suffered from the terrible motion of the yacht on passage, I now felt the yacht was continuing to roll around when it was stationary. I swear Andrew said he didn't care if he never went to sea again, but he denies it absolutely!

Grays Harbor is a major fishing port and we were moored among the fishing boats with lots of noise and mess. Ashore were large fish processing factories for crab, tuna, salmon and halibut. There were also a number of seaside type gift shops and cafés. There was an air about the place of a holiday destination out of season and yet we were there over the Labour Day Holiday weekend, traditionally the end of the summer holiday. There was nowhere to buy supplies other than a mini-mart attached to a gas station on the main road out of the village, a half-hour walk from our mooring.

A couple of days later we left with smoother seas and -at last- a north breeze actually helping us. The wind was light at first, so we motor sailed and then sailed through the night and all the next day. By evening we were off the town of Newport in Oregon and with forecasts of deteriorating weather, rather than continue southwards we decided to put in.

It was to prove a much longer than expected stay, as gale force winds blew up to the south and then eventually around Newport itself. The entrance is through an attractive bridge over the Yaquina River (left). More yachts arrived in the next couple of days, all caught like us waiting to continue heading south when the weather improved. But we had a jolly time together in Newport, which like Grays Harbor is a big fishing port, but the old fishing area is now very touristy. We took the free shuttle bus, which does an hour-long loop around the town, and did some shopping. The aquarium was only five minutes walk away from the marina and is one of the best we have seen, with clear, well-presented tank displays. Outside had been cleverly fashioned in artificial rocks and pools around which paths meandered. Windows

in the rocks gave views into the pools where we watched them feeding the sea otters and the sea lions.

At the weekend, a big surfing competition was being held on the nearby beach, so we took the long walk out over the sand dunes to sample the west coast surfing scene. Some of the guys were good, but even more spectacular were the kite surfers tearing across the water and leaping high over the waves.

Right beside the marina was Rogues Brewery. Here we tasted lots of their products though sadly we decided that instead of making twenty different beers that were not really to our liking, perhaps they should have concentrated on getting just a few right. But they also produced a very drinkable gin. We bought a bottle from their nearby tiny distillery, where we met the distiller himself who signed the bottle!

The weather on land was warm and sunny with a strong breeze that blew up in the afternoons, whereas outside there were hazardous seas of high waves and high short swells. It was not much of a hardship to stay on land a while. But after a week everyone was itching to leave. One day several boats set out, including Dave and Debbie on Wave Sweeper, and John and Barb on Naida, but we thought it would still be rough from the gales, and so it proved. Naida returned with water leak in the engine. Next morning it was our turn, and we left just after Angus and Rolande on Periclees. Fog was clinging along the coast, and when we came out of it there was no sign of Periclees. I spotted a grey whale only a couple of boat lengths away from us. It was charging towards Sentinel and I could see the huge width of its body, and then its fluked tail as it dived right under us. Very exciting, but by the time Andrew had got up on deck, it was nowhere to be seen.

The swell was still high, rolling us, but with the wind still strong we were making good speed with our Aries windvane steering, helped by deploying a weighted warp off the stern. Before nightfall we took down the main sail and sailed just as fast under the genoa alone. I slept for a couple of hours from midnight and awoke freezing cold. We were nearing Coos Bay in southern Oregon and the wind was forecast to get yet stronger, so when Andrew asked if we should stop there, with my teeth chattering I said "Yes". We reached the outer entrance buoy at three in the morning and after calling the coastguard for clearance to enter, there was a thick bank of fog inshore and we could not find the fairway buoys. Coos Bay is another harbour with a dangerous sandbar at the entrance, so we felt it was safest to wait outside for the fog to lift. The CG called back later to ask why we hadn't come in, then told us they were coming out in their boat at dawn to assess the conditions, so if we liked we could follow them back in.

That was fine but once tied up they decided to give a couple of juniors practice at doing an inspection, just as they had at Westport. When all we wanted to do was crash, we had to spend half an hour answering banal questions. ("What is your state?" "England" "What country is that?"). It reminded me of Caribbean bureaucracy, the important thing is to get every check-box filled, no matter with what nonsense. After I had to demonstrate my fog horn, scattered flares all round the cockpit, and they had quizzed Andrew as to whether his British Yachtmaster Certification included a US coastguard-approved safety course, mercifully they did admit enough was enough.

There is not much to say about the rest of this passage. It was still thick fog when we left Coos Bay, but with the wind now light and southerly, it was mainly motoring. Cape Mendocino, the major turning point of the Pacific coast, was rounded and the weather grew milder. A little bird, an American Redstart, landed on board. It was like a chaffinch. It kept hopping up to me and once even onto my arm. It flew down into the cabin but fortunately flew out again. Then we lost sight of it and are not sure if it took flight or hid under our dinghy. While Andrew was listening to his iPod, some Pacific White-sided dolphins came to play with us. They appeared each time a Led Zeppelin track came on, then moved away for the quieter stuff! Later a seal swam alongside, leaping out the water as if to jump aboard, then clapping his fins. We ran into an area of gigantic jellyfish, some in psychodelic colours of bright red and yellow. "Must be getting close to San Francisco", said Andrew, "even the jellyfish are on acid".

We anchored briefly in Drake's Bay, a sheltered bay where Sir Francis Drake is known to have anchored for a few days in 1579 during his circumnavigation. Somehow he missed the entrance to San Francisco harbour just a few miles away. We didn't make the same mistake. On the afternoon of 19th September, with the last of the flood tide, we passed under the world-famous Golden Gate bridge, for once not shrouded by fog. We had logged just under 1,000 miles from Vancouver.

San Francisco.

After entering San Francisco Bay we sailed round to Sausalito Yacht Club, by this time in low cloud and drizzle, but, there on a buoy, were our friends from Port Sidney, Tony and Nancy, and we picked up a buoy next to them. We spent the evening in the yacht club bar sharing stories about the dreadful seas and weather experienced on the way down the coast. We also met a young couple from Holland, Hans and Rose, who had sailed in their racing style yacht The Wind Cries, from Holland, round South Africa to New Zealand, up to Japan and from there, straight across to Vancouver Island. They agreed that perhaps it was not the most comfortable of boats, but was fast. They had two gimballed berths and movable seawater ballast. They had some good home brewed beer on board as well.

Saturday we printed out maps and bus timetables and explored Sausalito waterfront. Sausalito is a very popular up market resort. We had been ‘California Dreaming’ and wondering whether to ‘wear flower’s in our hair’, but had not yet felt the heat of the sun, or seen any remnants of the happy hippy people of the 60’s. We met up with Angus and Rolande. They had moored their yacht Periclees at Alameda Island and taken their bikes on the ferry from there to San Francisco, cycled across the Golden Gate Bridge with some friends of theirs to Sausalito where we met, and were than going to take the ferry back from Sausalito. It sounded far too energetic for me. We took the ferry across to SF and caught the bus back.

John and Barbara, on Naida, arrived at Sausalito a couple of days after us and later moved on to a marina to do some boat work. Wednesday we went over to Angel Island where it made a nice change from the sea to walk all round the island. It took just two and a half hours. Thursday we sailed over to SF’s north shore to the Saint Francis Yacht Club. Here we met up again with Jan and Sean on Solana. They too had been holed up in Newport the same time as us. In the evening we found the nearest Safeway store and replenished our food store. Friday morning we saw the doctor and everything was progressing smoothly. The drug regime would continue as before and a new appointment made in Los Angeles. Then we explored some of the historical ships in the aquatic park before returning back to the yacht. We worked the buses quite well. Periclees arrived with Angus and Rolande and we spent the rest of the day exploring SF’s large China Town with them.

We had a great time Saturday afternoon at the SF Blues Festival. It is held annually in the grounds of Fort Mason, near the Aquatic Park. There were half a dozen groups taking their turn on the stage, all excellent, entertaining a park full of people sitting or laying on the grass in the sun, or dancing. It was certainly difficult not to move to much of the music. It was here that I probably found the aged hippies from the 60’s. Men with long grey ponytails and beards, some wearing bandanas, were losing themselves in the music. One group that Andrew had heard of before did not have drums or keyboard. They were Hot Tuna, consisting of bass guitar, ukulele, and acoustic guitar/vocalist, and were very professional. I’m often amazed at what a good guitarist can get out of his instrument.

Sunday we sailed around the island of Alcatraz, now of course deserted except for many tourists. With the wind blowing quite strongly from the golden gate bridge, we sailed just with the genoa. As we gybed round one end of the island we found ourselves in the middle of a large number of racing yachts, and a ferryboat. We and the ferry did our best not to obstruct too many racers but with the gusty winds around the island their yachts were lying right over and broaching, with their crews scrambling across the decks or getting their feet in the water. The excitement passed and we continued more slowly to a peaceful yacht club between the island of Alameda and Oakland.

The time just flew by. We spent just a couple of nights at the Alameda Yacht Club and then a long time in Marina Village Yacht Harbour. This was an enormous marina edged by a strip of park and apartments. It was cheap, with excellent amenities, and a shopping mall across the street. Here we met up with several other ‘snow birds’, and on our penultimate night, sixteen of us met up for a great evening in the local pizzeria.

We rented a car for three days and drove northeast out of Oakland, over the fertile valley and to Yosemite National Park. We took a walk to see a group of huge, ancient sequoia trees when we first arrived. We drove right through the park, above 9000 feet and gaining fabulous views of granite mountains and sheer cliffs. We drove out past the Mono Lake with its weird pinnacles of white rock, to the ghost town of Brodie high in the Sierra Nevada. A century ago this had been a thriving gold mining town of 15,000 people, but was abandoned in the 1930's when the mining finished. The surviving buildings have been left exactly as they were but weatherproofed. By peering through windows, many of the artefacts of home life, school life, shops and hotels, could be seen. It is amazing how people survived out there, miles away from any other civilisation. There is still only a dirt track to the village, and the temperature ranges from forty degrees in summer to minus thirty in winter.

We drove back through the park in the afternoon enjoying different views, and then up to Glacier Point, directly above the Yosemite village. This was the place to be to see the sunset, which was well worth the long drive there and back along twisting roads. The sights we had seen were so awesome we considered we had got the best out of out of our short visit, even without actually having entered the Yosemite village. The last day we drove over to the Napa Valley and made such good time that we were able to visit three wineries, tasting their wine and seeing how it was made and stored. We visited a family run winery called Goosecross; Sterling, where we were taken up to the large, Greek-style mansion in a gondola on a cable; and Beringer, where we visited the tunnels carved into the hillside to store the wine. Unfortunately we were not very taken by any of the wines, except there was a very nice port wine at Beringers, of which we bought two bottles.

Back on the boat we tried to sort some boaty things. We got some new wash boards made up for us to finish off, did some internal varnishing and painted the bilges ready to take future stocks of food. It took a long time to organise the purchase of an Iridium satellite phone but impossible to source a new log and depth sounder set suitable for a steel boat. Unfortunately the rate of exchange between the dollar and the pound is getting worse every day. Until a month ago it was 2.00 dollars for a pound. It is now down to 1.70 dollars. So everything is now costing us much more.

One day we made another trip over to SF city by bus, underground, and cable car. The public transport system works very well. We travelled on the ancient cable car across the city from Union Square in the south to the north shore, over the hills. We had lunch in a soda shop designed much as it might have been in the fifties with malts, milk shakes, burgers, and jukeboxes full of the old fifties and sixties music. In the afternoon we walked through the Golden Gate Park, round a lovely lake that had lots of wildlife, round the Japanese Tea Garden, and through the Conservatory of Flowers. Out the other side of the park we came to Haight-Ashbury, home of the Grateful Dead pop group, where the hippies hung out. There are still a lot of youngsters sitting around on the sidewalks and some strange shops along the street trying to keep alive the memory of the sixties.

Alameda was a pleasant island and the weather had been just perfect with hot sunshine and a breeze by day and cool nights. Whilst enjoying this, there had been some really nasty weather going up the coast, but Sunday was the day we snowbirds were leaving San Francisco Bay. The weather looked quite reasonable for several days. We were not in too much of a hurry as we would prefer to stay behind the "Baja Haha" a rally of 180 yachts which would be leaving San Diego on 26th October and sailing the same way as us down to Cabo San Lucas in Mexico. Solana, Naida, Kristen and Ned on Bristol Blue, and ourselves left Sunday 10th October, and Peggy and Chuck on Alert left the next morning. Angus and Rolande had had to return home for a wedding and would not be leaving SF for another week. As we left the Golden Gate behind us, the Blue Angels (the US equivalent of the Red Arrows) began their air display by performing a loop the loop over the top of us before flying inside the bay for the rest of their display to honour Fleet Week.

Monterey.

Sunday night the group of four yachts anchored in Half Moon Bay. We made an early start the next morning and motored pretty much together to Monterey Bay. During the afternoon the wind decided to blow a little stronger and we managed to sail for an hour and a half with the spinnaker and give the engine a little rest. This ensured that once again we were at the back of the fleet, but that’s not a problem. We had two days exploring Monterey and Peggy and Chuck on Alert caught us up.

Monterey is the oldest colonial city in California, founded by the Spanish in 1770, and Alta California's capital prior to the state becoming part of the USA in 1848. The Spanish influence is still much in evidence, and with the palms and cacti we feel we are definitely getting into the warmer south. The town has many literary associations, including John Steinbeck's Cannery Row which is located here. The sardine canning industry collapsed in the 1950's, but one of the old cannery buildings has been transformed inside into one of the world's topmost aquariums. There were huge tanks with large and small specimens of the local sea life. Some had glass walls from floor to ceiling, about forty feet high, where I could just sit and watch for ages. One unusual exhibit housed a mock up of a sandy islet surrounded by water, containing fish, moved by a wave machine. Here were many different sea birds that had been rescued. They were free to fly around this particular area but were mostly happy to wander around their island and stretch of water. Some would be released back into the wild when recovered, but some would never be able to and would be looked after in the aquarium. It was wonderful to be able to get so close to these birds. The sea otters were great to watch, but there were also wild sea otters around the boats in the marina, along with the seals and sea lions.

An area on the outskirts of Monterey, called Pacific Grove, has become a tourist attraction during the winter months because thousands of Monarch butterflies migrate there from the northern United States. It was early, but there were already several hundred when we visited, clinging to the eucalyptus trees, and at first, hard to spot, looking like dead leaves until they fluttered their wings. When Alert was sailing towards Monterey in the afternoon, they had a swarm of these butterflies fly over the yacht.

The Channel Islands.

No, not Jersey and Guernsey, but the nine islands off the coast of southern California. Our little fleet of yachts left Monterey on Thursday 16th October and for a few hours enjoyed a good sail south before the wind died. Our intention was to sail for two days to Santa Barbara, the first port in southern California after Point Conception, which is where one pilot book said we would leave behind the Pacific swells and the weather would get much warmer.

We motored through the first night, and by the next morning realised we were running out of diesel, so we detoured to the little fishing village of Port San Luis Obispo. Diesel was available on a very delapitated wooden pier, partly over-run by sealions which had taken up residence and can be a real nuisance in this area. We were then about twenty miles behind the rest of our fleet, though we were still able to make contact by VHF radio. Then, a couple of hours out of Port San Luis, we ran into really dense fog. Shortly after dark, a little way north of Point Conception, the fog cleared and we found we were surrrounded by oil rigs whose lights made them sparkle like gigantic Christmas trees. We reckoned we would make Santa Barbara before daybreak, so we stopped the engine and spent three hours slowly sailing with the genoa. Then at the next radio call, I heard that Kristen had phoned Santa Barbara marina and was told there was no room, so everyone was going on a further twenty miles to Oxnard. On went the engine again and we arrived at Oxnard at eleven in the morning. Oxnard is a very new beach resort with a large marina and an intricate network of canals, Florida-style, designed to allow every house to have a boat mooring outside. The Channel Islands Harbour was a beautiful sight with lots of palm trees, low level buildings and the blue sky, which compensated for the tiresome passage.

We planned to meet Jan Maes, our friend from Belgium, at Oxnard. He was coming to visit us for a three week holiday. When he phoned and I told him we had just been at sea for fifty hours, his response was, “lucky sods”! The days waiting for him passed quickly working on the boat, drinking, talking and laughing with our friends in the evenings. It would have been a long walk to get to the shops, but going by dinghy was easy and enjoyable. One evening the Channel Islands Yacht Club invited us all to join them for a fun evening including a meal, and we had a great time. Just a few minutes walk from our moorings was the huge sandy beach facing the Channel Islands. We were in 'Bay Watch' territory and we'd already heard Malibu Bay Watch respond to a call from a motorboat with a leak. There was much reminiscing about the television series of the same name and the pneumatic Pamela Anderson bouncing around on the beach.

On 22nd October Jan arrived, and after giving him a day to get over his jet lag, we left this idyllic spot to visit the Channel Islands. First was Santa Cruz island where we met up with Rolande and Angus on Periclees again. We were keen to visit the Painted Cave, one of the largest sea-caves in the world, 600ft deep, narrow but with an entrance tall enough to take a yacht. The sea was too deep for anchoring outside so first Andrew and Jan went into the cave using the the inflatable dinghy with the outboard, while I stayed to mind the yacht. Inside the cave it got smaller and darker like going down the throat of some enormouse sea-monster. Then they realised that the swell, slight at the entrance, was being funnelled into waves that now surfed them forwards, and threatened to break and swamp or hurl them against the rocks. From deep in the pitch-black cave came the bellows of sea-lions, strangely distorted by echoes. It was a dangerous and frightening moment, but luckily they managed to turn the dinghy round between swells, and make their way out. So when I went in, I was too nervous to go so far, but it was a wonderful sight looking out and seeing Sentinel framed by the triangular entrance. Although it was called the Painted Cave, I only saw a slight variation of colour in the rocks.

A couple of miles from the cave was a rather exposed bay where we anchored. Not long after we were on board Periclees enjoying the company with a few bottles of wine, the wind must have got up and a nasty swell started to roll us about. We rolled for the rest of the night, and what with the wine I did not get a good night’s sleep.

The next morning fog was shrouding the mainland. We left Periclees and headed for the eastern end Santa Cruz island, managing to keep clear of the fog. We anchored in Little Scorpion Bay, took the dinghy to the beach and walked a little way up a canyon. There was an abandoned ranch here (the island is now all protected park, and has no permanent inhabitants) with remnants of farming implements and machinery littered around. This bay was more sheltered, and we had a more peacful night before an early morning start towards Catalina Island, 70 miles to the south-east. En route we heard a mayday from a yacht near us which reported a pregnant crew member had gone into labour. "Let's go," I said, "I always wanted to be a Delivery Skipper!".

It was three in the morning when we arrived in a deep inlet on the south side of Catalina island, where after an abortive attempt at anchoring we picked up a visitor's buoy. The tiny village of Two Harbours here has a bay on both the north and south coasts, separated by a strip of low land on what otherwise is a mountainous island. There was a one-room school for younger children, an expensive general store, a gas station, and a pub with restaurant. That afternoon we scrambled up a track up to the top of the high hills, starting near our anchorage, went along the top ridge and then down the other side to the village. Some of the path at the beginning and end was so steep I travelled on all fours as if climbing a cliff! But it felt good to have achieved it, there were spectacular views at the top, and a cold beer to be drunk at the bottom.

Next day we had a good sail for the fifteen miles to Avalon, on the eastern end of Catalina Island. Avalon is a real tourist trap of a town, reminiscent of the villages on the French Riviera, and inundated by day-trippers from Los Angeles. It was a nice surprise to find Bristol Blue and Naida arriving here at the same time having sailed down the north side of the island. We were early enough to walk around the bay to the rather splendid Art Deco casino building, see most of the town and have dinner out.

We had decided to return from here to Los Angeles, in order to rent a car and see something of California with Jan. The most convenient place was Marina Del Rey, in the resort town of Santa Monica. Friends who had recently been there told us of a friendly yacht club which would not charge us for using their moorings. By the time we reached the entrance to the harbour, it was dark and then dense fog closed in. Marina Del Mar is one of the largest marinas in the world, with eight enormous basins branching off the main channel accomodating over 6,000 yachts, and it was extremely difficult to find our way with no visibility at all. But with me on look out in the bows, and Andrew watching the radar and calling out instructions to Jan on which way to steer, we got close enough to be met by one of the club members in a dinghy with a flashlight directing us into the vacant slip in front of the club house. I doubt if it would have been possible without radar.

The club members at the Pacific Mariners Yacht Club were indeed very friendly. There was always someone in the premises ready to help with anything and we were invited to join their Halloween party the following night. This was a fun night with nearly everyone dressed up, plenty of food and drink and a very good band. Andrew was on good form and danced a few dances with me. The winner of the fancy dress competition was a beefy guy dressed up to resemble (very badly!) Pamela Anderson complete with blond wig, falsies and a skin tight Bay Watch swim-costume. Later we walked along Santa Monica beach with its lifeguard lookout posts and rescue equipment just as we remembered it in Bay Watch, though behind the beach were tacky tourist traps, T-shirts, tattoo shops, body-building, clairvoyants, leather gear etc and some very eccentric people wandering along the embankment, like a Rasta on home made roller blades and the steroidy body-builders at "Muscle Beach" lounging amongst the weight lifting equipment. At one spot there were twenty or so people dressed as chefs posing around, we could only imagine it was some sort of performance art.

Grand Canyon and Death Valley.

We rented a car and drove to the Grand Canyon, 450 miles away. The journey wasn't entirely without incident. We spotted a minor road on the map which looked as if it would be a real short cut for the last hundred miles. After 50 miles we reached an Indian Reservation, and the 'road' petered out into a rough dirt track without any signs to confirm where it went. It was about to get dark so Jan insisted that we retrace our way back. We ended up on Route 66, once famous in legend and song as the highway from Chicago to California, but long since bypassed and now degenerated to a country road along which are forgotten and partly abandoned villages, lost in time. It was getting too late to make the whole distance, so we stopped at one of these, Seligman, and checked into "The Historic Route 66 Motel", where fading photographs implied famous Hollywood Stars had stayed back in the 1930's. It seemed rather unlikely unless they were as lost as us.

We reached Tusayan, the new holiday village at the edge of the Grand Canyon National Park where we were to stay, next morning just in time for the helicopter flight we had booked, only to be told the wind was too strong and the flight was cancelled. For the remainder of the afternoon we went on a jeep tour off road through the forest part of the Park, ending at the South Rim of the canyon to see the sunset. The tour bumped us along the dirt tracks and we were introduced to various points of interest in the forest. It was overcast when we reached the canyon and we thought we would be disappointed, but then the setting sun shone under the clouds turning the upper peaks within the canyon to a fiery red. The layers of different coloured rocks and their craggy shapes were breathtaking. But there is no point in trying to describe the Grand Canyon, either you have seen it, or if you haven't, no superlatives would do it justice.

The next day we took a whole day trip in a more comfortable air-conditioned van, along the rim of the canyon. The tour advertised "Canyon Dave and Dora the Explorer" but our guide was actually Tanya, an engaging young geology student who certainly knew her stuff. Every so often we stopped for a geology lesson as we sat around her on camping chairs inspecting the various features of the canyon through binoculars. We went through the forest to the east of the canyon out to where the Navaho Indians have their reservation, then along dirt tracks into the desolate Painted Desert to see petrified trees that once must have been washed there by a river, though it was so hot and arid it was hard to imagine. On the way back through the forest Andrew spotted a herd of elk, another species to tick off our checklist!

We finally got our helicopter flight early next morning, in a little six-seater out across the canyon from the south to north rim and back. The views were just amazing and the camera kept on clicking. I was so glad we had not missed it. (This is Jan imagining himself as our pilot. The real pilot was called Dora - I resisted asking if she had parted company with Canyon Dave.

Our plan was to return via Las Vegas, and this took us over the Hoover Dam, built across a narrow gorge at the end of the Grand Canyon. It is not the biggest dam, but looks a magnificent structure in the spectacular surroundings, specially with a new suspension bridge currently being slung over the gorge high above it. I was fascinated by the story of its

construction during the Depression, specially the process of diverting the Colorado River before the actual dam could be built. Four huge tunnels were dug through the rock to channel the water away from the building site. The resulting Lake Mead, behind the dam, is the largest man-made lake in North America and took several years to fill.

We spent the night in Las Vegas after driving along the "Strip" seeing the colourful casinos, with plenty of time during the many traffic hold-ups. We had a drink in the Hard Rock Café, ate in the Planet Hollywood complex under an artificial sky and were treated to an artificial thunderstorm, and explored the New York New York complex where I lost a few dollars playing a Chuck-a-Luck table for a while. What amazing buildings these were. Not only did the outsides replicate the architectural highlights of New York, Paris, ancient Egypt or Rome, inside were themed streets, shops and restaurants in similar styles, although gaming tables and slot machines always dominated.

Las Vegas is a desert town and not far away lies Death Valley wedged between two mountain ranges, though to find it is not easy. The picture below shows our first view from the mountains 5,000 feet above. Death Valley is notoriously hot - a temperature of 57ºC has been recorded. Even so it is not entirely dry. Artesian wells have brought salty water which over the years has crystallised leaving a rough, spiky white crust over much of the valley floor. At the lowest point, 280 feet below sea level, the water table comes to the surface creating a shallow, very salty lake. The mountains take extraordinary shapes, looking in places like thick batter poured down and coloured by the salts to many bright colours. One place is so colourful it is known as Artist's Palette. As we drove out I was amused by a sign directing the way to the 'Death Valley Health Center'. Late that evening when we returned to the yacht in Marina Del Mar I felt I had had an overload of awesome sights.

San Diego.

While we still had the car, we did a major shop at the supermarket and Andrew had his doctor’s appointment. The specialist told him how well he was doing, he would soon be off the medication and should not need any operation. It sounded very encouraging, though the guy saw Andrew for less than five minutes, and Andrew was sceptical. However, it has given us the encouragement we needed to plan for our travels over the Pacific Ocean next year.

Friday 7th November the wind was light and we motored most of the fifty miles to Newport where we anchored just after dark. Our pilot-book marked several large anchorages, but as these tended to attract vagrants the local policy has been to replace them by marinas and moorings. The only remaining anchorage in that huge harbour is a tiny triangle where we had barely room to swing, and we were warned we might well get the maritime police come and check us out. So early next morning we set off towards San Diego.

By midday the wind filled in and we had a good sail, first with the spinnaker and then wing on wing with the genoa, making five to six knots. By late afternoon we were near the little port of Oceanside. San Diego was a further 45 miles, so rather lazily we opted to stop overnight in Oceanside. This still left one day to reach San Diego from where Jan could return. But in Oceanside we met Tom and Shirley on Rio Nimpkish, one of the yachts we had met down the coast, who told us that gales were forecast for the next day. Sure enough, during the night the wind started to blow and it rained hard with forecasts of very rough sea conditions. We were relieved we hadn't tried to sail through the night to San Diego.

I telephoned Rolande on Periclees and discovered that they were in San Diego along with Bristol Blue and Naida. They were going to a free barbeque put on by the Downwind Marine store and perhaps we could join them. So we managed to rent a car and did just that, followed by a visit to San Diego's Maritime Museum. The museum is actually a collection of historical ships that can be explored. They includ the Star of India, two replicas of classic sailing ships, Surprise and Californian (which we watched sail in - see left), a Russian submarine, and a couple of others. I think it must take a special kind of sailor to be able to live and work in a submarine. It is even more cramped than Sentinel! The crew had to ‘hot bunk’, one out and one in, as there were only half as many bunks as men.

Back in Oceanside the next day, we used the car to drive Jan to a hotel near the airport in LA ready for his flight home, and we prepared to leave Oceanside. There were no problems sailing to San Diego and the winds were good. We saw the collosal 105ft trimaran Oracle doing sea trials and got just about close enough to take a photograph. Oracle is a contender for the next America’s Cup race series. Its tall narrow main sail made it look from a distance like a lighthouse out at sea.

The place to arrive in San Diego is the small visitor's marina run by the marine police, but it was full and the first night we had to spend in a nearby megayacht marina where we were charged $95 (£65)! We were able to enter the harbour marina next morning and met up with some of our friends. Having arrived before us, they now planned to leave for Mexico as soon as they had arranged their exit papers, and we were going to follow when we had laid in supplies for a Pacific crossing next year. Our plan was to haul out Sentinel ashore somewhere, clean and paint her sadly neglected bottom last done in Trinidad, and go home for Christmas. However, at this point we discovered that it would cost us twice as much to fly to England from Mexico than from San Diego, so we decided we would stop here, even though the cheapest marina would cost far more per month than what we had been charged last winter in Sidney. Moreover storing a boat ashore is impossibly expensive in San Diego, and in any case no yards were willing to let us work on the boat ourselves, they insist the yard does it at high cost. The same also seemed true of the nearer Mexican ports (from which we might conveniently return to fly from San Diego). So we were in a quandary.

Although it is cheap, the marine police allow only 10 days in the visitor's marina and, in a measure to get rid of vagrants and derelict boats, only three days in any of the few very small anchorages. We spent much of the first ten days renewing the head gasket on the engine, which had been smoking badly. During this time there seemed much of interest going on around us. One day the police brought in a small motorboat. Two guys were handcuffed and marched away, then the boat was ripped apart by the police and three cartloads of packages, presumably of drugs, were dug out of compartments aboard. Of course, San Diego is just 10 miles from the Mexican border. One day a yacht sailed in from China. It was a replica of a C15th Chinese Junk, the Princess Tai-Ping, which naturally caused considerable interest, specially to customs officials.

There were also a number of the displaced vagrants who had come into the visitor's marina presumably because it was cheap, and we were treated to a rare assortment of eccentric characters living on the most woebegone craft, invariably without engines. They were towed in by equally decrepit boats, and then out again when their 10 days were up. The yacht next to us was piled high with old ropes and ancient, broken gear, and the woman living on it spent all day yelling abuse at a man who was apparently trying to persuade her to move ashore. Her pets were forever scratching, the cat kept running away, the boat stunk of stale cat litter, and we were very glad when she left. When our time was up we got permission to anchor in one of the small anchorages near the town of Coronado, which would have been pleasant except the only space was immediately behind that same shouting woman! While there we took the opportunity to grind off all the rusty spots on deck in preparation for painting, this not being permitted in a marina.

Our next destination proved something of a lucky mistake. I phoned a nearby yacht club to ask if they would allow us to stay in their marina free for a couple of nights. They sounded pleased to do so, but it was only when I put the phone down that I realised I had called the wrong club! I had booked with a small yacht club some distance away in the town of Chula Vista, as far south in San Diego Bay as is navigable and very close to the Mexican border.

We decided to try it anyway, and were very glad we had. The people in the yacht club proved most welcoming. When we mentioned we were looking for somewhere for a couple months, they suggested that we speak to the California Yacht Marina, from whom the yacht club leased their visitor's berth, and we discovered it would cost only two-thirds of the price of the cheapest San Diego marina. This sealed our decision, so we have booked our flights from San Diego from mid December to mid February and decided we will haul out later once we reach Mexico, where even if we have to let the yard do the antifouling, we can do the rest of the work without paying the earth for the time spent on land.

Saturday 6th December was Chula Vista Yacht Club's Christmas dinner. Everyone provided some food and a wrapped present worth around fifteen dollars. The turkey dinner was wonderful with about twice as much food than was eaten. Then a member dressed as Santa, with his own bushy white beard, played his part magnificently. After the meal, he auctioned off the wrapped presents from under the tree, proceeds to the club fund. He would say if they were heavy or light, whether they sloshed or rattled, firm or squidgy, but of course no one knew what was inside. It made a fun evening and as many "presents" sold for much more than they were worth, it must have raised getting on for $1,000 for the club.

We are spending the last few days before we return home buying canned food - about £1,000 worth! - repainting the deck, and replacing some boat equipment, in preparation for our Pacific crossing next year.