Fog is a fact of sailing the northern California coast. Fog can limit every operation of a vessel. Fog can reduce visibility and sound. Fog is unpredictable, it may envelope you completely one moment, and then vanish like a ghost the next. These facts I learned the hard way.
One of the most unforgettable trips I've taken, was off the California coast, sailing north to Drakes bay. It's only 25 miles from the Golden Gate and I decided that it would be my first coastal destination. I had been living on my old 25 foot sloop for most of that year and, feeling fairly confident about my sailing skills, I thought I was prepared enough for a short trip up the coast. I spent the day before departure studying the charts, and planning the route. All went well on the passage up to Drakes bay. The afternoon and evening were pleasant and all the winds fair from west to north west. I did, however, arrive much later than anticipated so, after setting the anchor and securing the boat, I went straight to sleep.
The next morning I looked out expecting to see the long rolling beach and tall cliffs of Drakes bay. I looked out to find nothing, but a thick white veal. The fog had rolled in during the night; it was thick like wet cotton hanging in the air. I was completely encapsulated in a bubble of moist, ethereal cotton. The air was still; the fair winds had died in the night. The morning was cold and I had some extra time to spend so I made breakfast and coffee and thought I would wait contentedly until the fog burned off to make my way back home. I waited and waited, all morning and into the afternoon. 15:00 and still the fog clung like thick cigar smoke to the coast. I thought maybe the fog was local, maybe it would clear as soon as I got clear of Drakes bay. At this I decided that it was passed time to leave. I immediately plotted my course, weighed anchor, and began feeling my way south.
I had to motor instead of sail for lack of wind, which I believe, allowed the fog to hang so long and so thickly. As the outboard motor burbled along, I had to keep an extra sharp eye and ear out for coast-wise traffic. This part of the coast is one of the busiest in the world and a trawler or ship could have easily run me down. The thought of meeting head on with a fast moving ship chilled me worse than the cold fog itself. I knew better than to panic and concentrated on the task of getting home, hoping that keeping alert to my state of mind would prevent fear from impairing my judgment.
It was getting on in the evening, the light was fading and the fog had not relented. And as the light faded I began to feel worry creep in. What if I could not see my way to the Golden Gate, I might miss it entirely or worse be run down by a trawler or merchant ship in the dark. None of these thoughts were helping my confidence and I soon began to second guess my position. I was growing tired and, my thoughts began to blur. I decided to stop and listen for a fog horn, or a buoy bell, anything that would confirm my position. I turned off the motor and all I heard was my own fear. My heart wilted and I decided to call the coast guard and see if they could pick up my position on radar and confirm that I was where thought I was supposed to be. They were encouraging, but could not find me. At this I decided to wait it out; the fog was not going anywhere and neither was I. I dropped the anchor to help hold my position and prevent my drifting. Going below to study the chart once again, I was horrified by the discovery that all the lights and the radio usage had killed what little battery power I had. The lights dimmed and the radio would no longer transmit. That was all I could take. I crawled into my bunk and waited.
There I was laying on my bunk looking into the dark pitch, too exhausted to do much more than listen to my own heart-beat, my breathing tight and deliberate, too scared to sleep. I didn't dare fall asleep, I didn't dare do anything but rest and hope that the fog would lift. Every nerve in my body was electric, my senses acute. My hearing most of all was crisp, almost super- natural I listened intently for any sound that might indicate the approach of another vessel. The struggle to keep my wits about me had become my greatest task. I had to remain calm and vigilant.
The story of the Jack Jr. and the seven men that lost their lives to an oil tanker in the fog at night was foremost in my mind. I kept remembering the tragic circumstances of the sailors before me. Men who lost there lives before me. All in the fog, the cold unforgiving ocean swallowing up ships, the jagged rocks on shore. It was frighteningly clear how tiny, and frail, and vulnerable me and my boat where to these elements. The elements that now held me hostage and helpless.
I could hear the halyards and rigging violently slapping the mast of my tiny sail boat as she swung and pitched and bucked and lurched, to and froe, back and forth, up and down, in motions I had never experienced on a boat. In the sloppy swell she wallowed, no wind to push her along home or steady her motion against the sea. It is times like these that prayers are made and promises broken.
I went out on deck every hour or half hour to check the anchor and look and listen. I do not know the exact time but I know it was early morning when I saw in the distance a light. There it was yellow flashing on and off. I jumped down into the cabin and opened the light listing book. There I found what I so desperately needed, a buoy listing, a mark with which I could at last find my way home.
The light at Duxbury reef was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. I rushed to haul up the anchor, started the motor and made straight for the light. Upon reaching it, I confirmed my position and headed for The Golden Gate bridge. As I approached the bridge I saw how the fog had only lifted a few feet off the water. I could only see as far as the bottom of the span. All of the towers and cable were still shrouded in fog.
Under the bridge I went and to safety I arrived