sailingt

SAILING THE MAJIC...

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The Journey Begins

Susan Ceniza and Santos Fultze take the long route from Cordova, Alaska, to Coos Bay, Oregon, on s/v Majic, via the Inside Passage. email them at: [email protected]

Journal Entry: A Letter Home. Written Wednesday, May 24, 2000, Ketchikan, Alaska.

We left Cordova almost a month ago at 6:30 p.m., Wednesday, April 26. It was about one hour before peak tide -- a necessary condition so that the tide will help us go a bit faster. It was a drizzly day, but with the Alaskan flag flying at the spreader beside the mast, and the U.S. flag flying from the stern of the boat, it felt like a wonderful start to a long journey. Kevin, Shari and Sarah had just left, leaving us with seafaring books to while away the time, and a beautiful journal in which to record our travels. Jay and Gil helped us off the slip, with lots of good wishes and laughter and canned salmon and last-minute advice. It was a great send-off. Cordova is a very nice place and its people are warm and friendly. We will miss it very much, but the sea is calling and there are many more places to see and people to meet before we get home to the Philippines. As Santos said, "The adventure begins." He has been dreaming of this for 25 years.

The sun peeped out of the clouds as we left the Cordova marina. Good omen. Blessings.

We put up the main sail as we left Orca Inlet and rounded the point that will lead us out to Orca Bay and Prince William Sound. The wind was a good 13 knots and that meant good sailing. Just as we turned the boat to catch the wind, it died. "It never fails," said Santos. We waited a few minutes and finally decided to motor it. It wasn't sailing time.

Part of the Dream: To explore the famous Inside Passage, the many-channeled seaway connecting Alaska, Canada, and the Pacific Northwest.

Unfortunately, most of the passage was not "sailing time," as this boat going down Graham Reach shows. Days were usually without wind, or the wind was right on the nose.

We didn't go far that night, just around to the other side of Hawkins Island (the other side faces Cordova), and anchored in Windy Bay.

April 27 -- Woke up just before 7 am. So much for an early start. But what a sound and peaceful sleep! If Cordova harbor was quiet, then Windy Bay was in a cone of silence, except for the ticking of the clock. Woke up to a beautiful, misty morning, warmed up with breakfast as the heater refused to work and help us unfreeze. Started the engine around 8am, raised anchor and we were off to the south, to Hinchinbrook Entrance and from there, commence the crossing of the Gulf of Alaska. Santos said we might meet a gale there. Hello? Could you run that by me again? A gale? But the morning was so beautiful that did not seem possible.

We motored again as we headed into the wind. Tried to listen to the weather channel on VHF, but reception was too choppy. All I could make out was the gale forecast for Saturday and Sunday. Forecast for Prince William Sound was NE winds at 20 knots and small craft advisory. By 10:50 am, we were meeting 3-4 foot waves with white crests and swells below. Wind up to 16 knots. Rough ride. I worry about through hulls and the sea state, but all these seem normal to Santos. I recall that he has gone through 16 foot seas and never worried about it, so I begin to feel better. For a while, anyway.

12:30 p.m. -- We passed the f/V Rhonda Renee, a bowpicker going back to Cordova or thereabouts, off the Mid Ground Shoals Buoy. Very choppy seas with about 6 foot waves, and we were still heading into the wind. Almost immediately after we passed the bouy, we met with confused seas. Made the ride even more rough. Waves crested into each other and we kept moving from side to side.

4:00 p.m. -- Passed Johnstone Point a while back. Dolphins came to play around the boat, and saw my first whale blowing nearer shore. An oil tanker passed slowly in the distance, going to Valdez. Gentle swells. Smoother ride. Saw Hinchinbrook Entrance a few miles in the distance -- the way to the Pacific Ocean.

8:00 p.m. -- Skies still lighted by the sun. Saw birds migrating north. Passed Hinchinbrook lighthouse. We are now on to our next waypoint, Kayak Island, that huge elongated piece of land that juts out into the Gulf, making sure that you have to go about 50 miles or so from shore if you mean to make a straight line for Icy Straits. We will probably get to Kayak tomorrow morning. This will be our first night on a passage. Santos and I alternated watches.

Woke up around 5:30 am, April 28, Friday. Dawn came gently around us. Actually, it felt like it never left. The sun just brightened up some more. If all the nights at sea are like last night, it would be good. Seas the same as last night. Gentle ocean swells. Still motoring. The night was quiet. A few humble auroras teased the night sky, but they refused to put on a performance. Rounded Kayak Island at 8:45 am. Impressive piece of rock. Right in front of it, I thought it looked like a salmon, though Santos averred that if so, it was a fish he never saw before in his life. But the name Kayak is appropriate. Had to stay away from it about 3 miles as we could not find the buoy and the seas around it had a lot of waves breaking on reefs that stretched out into the ocean. Right after Kayak, we met with tide lines with a few tree trunks floating. Danger. We had to keep a sharp lookout for logs from then on. Our next waypoint is Yakutat. It will take us one and a half days to get there. I hope the gale does not arrive before then.

Sunday, April 30, 9:45 p.m. - We met the gale yesterday, after a series of nasty squalls that started Friday afternoon. This was almost immediately after we passed Kayak Island. Very rough seas and high winds up to 27 knots. At first, we just had nice big ocean swells. Then the squalls came and waves formed on top of the swells. The worst was when the swells were like huge mountains and the waves on top looked as high as a one-story house. We were on autopilot most of the time and this really helped conserve our energies. We hardly slept Friday night. Whenever a squall passed, there would be breaks when the sky would come out and we could see the sun in the daytime and stars at night. Then, it would be beautiful, even with the rough seas. It always felt like things will get better, then the next cloud formation would quickly thicken to become another squall. We met the gale Saturday morning. Strangely enough, it was sunny, with only the cloud trails showing how fast it was travelling on the wind. But the seas grew rougher. Saturday afternoon, we put up the main sail on the second reef to try to stabilize the boat more, but we eventually had to take it down because the winds were too much in front of us.

By this time, I was already very tired and could only wonder at Santos' strength. He bore the brunt of working the boat. By mid-afternoon, with more rough weather in front of us, I asked Santos to look at the possibility of holing up in Icy Bay. We had no chart for Icy Bay, but we had a pilot guide with text description. I was so relieved when he agreed. He made a waypoint for Icy Bay at 3:00 p.m. We were approximately in front of it, 45 nautical miles away. I prayed even harder than I had been. The closer we got to the bay, the happier we were at the thought of being able to rest that night in a safe anchorage.

At 8pm, we were about 8 miles from the entrance of the bay, when a heavy squall formed, coming OUT of Icy Bay! It made our approach very difficult, We could hardly see anything. Thank God for the radar. We hoped that by the time we got to the entrance, the squall would have died down. It did not. It got worse. There

Choppy seas at the Campbell River Channel are smooth when compared to the seas of the Gulf of Alaska. Unfortunately, I was too scared during the Gulf part of the journey to take pictures.

would be times when the boat would lose steerage because of the rough seas. Finally, when we got to the entrance, I used the radio to call, hoping that people in Icy Bay would respond and guide us through. There was no answer. I think the VHF was not working well at the time. When we finally got close enough to the entrance to see anything, we saw a row of icebergs blocking the entrance. Santos felt it would be impossible to try to get in. I wanted to cry, but he was right. So we turned away to head for Yakutat. I was worried that I might not have enough strength to help Santos in any significant way; some strength to spell him once in a while so that he could get a much needed break.

As we moved along, close to the shoreline. Santos saw a ship anchored near the shore. It was heaven sent for me. I suggested that we just go near the ship and maybe find some protection near it. We thought it sheltered there from the bad weather. I tried calling the ship on radio, but no one answered. Was it an abandoned derelict? In the faint and squally light, it was hard to tell. Suddenly, two lights shone from the ship. I felt it was answered prayer. We went closer. The sea depth was about 40 feet as got closer to the ship. Then we saw that there was some kind of bluff that protected the area from the worst of the Gulf waters. Inspite of the 20 knot winds, we knew this was our best chance to get some rest. We anchored about one and a half miles from the ship in 25 feet of water. The waves were a bit choppy, but very manageable compared to what we;ve been through. As soon as we set the anchor, the ship blazed in light. I knew God sent us that ship as a guide.

Now that we were okay, we looked inside Majic. The insides of the boat looked like tossed salad. A lot of things ended up on the floor. Twice during the rough passage, the boat was tossed on its side. First, the port side went at right angle to the sea, and I was tossed to the floor along with books and other stuff that we thought were fairly secure from such accidents. The second time it happened, I was in the cockpit with Santos and this time, it was the starboard side that went vertical and almost everything on that side fell to the floor. It was only then that I believed what Santos has been saying all along. Majic is a stable boat and it will take more than this to turn her over. Santos' only comment when I gasped was, "Interesting." What an understatement! Sometimes, I wonder at the guy.

Majic, neat and tidy while at anchor, an entirely different state from after a few days in the rough Gulf when its insides were scrambled.

After cleaning up, we still took turns with anchor watch. With the high winds and in an unfamiliar anchorage, we could not be sure if the anchor would hold. The wind went up to 25 knots, but we held steady.

Early this morning, Sunday, we took a closer look at our "guide," the ship. It turned out to be a logging ship and a foreign vessel. When the weather cleared a bit, I was finally able to make out the name on its stern through the binoculars. Its name was Ocean Serene. The home port took a while to decipher and when I finally could read it, I could not believe

my eyes, so I asked Santos to look. I was right. It said, MANILA. I was flabbergasted, to say the least. And I was awed. God showed us a safe harbor through this ship, and it came from home! Tears of gratitude welled up, unbidden. God is so good. The Philippine flag flew, telling me that we will be brought safely home. Santos was as excited as I was, and he asked me to try and get them on the radio again. I did, and the radioman actually responded! They were from the Philippines and he sounded Filipino. I thanked him for their inadvertent guidance and I asked him if this was really a safe anchorage, to which he regretfully admitted that he did not know as it was their first time there. After that, they pulled up anchor and we bid goodbye, wishing them a safe trip. I was worried about them going into bad weather, but Santos assured me that a ship like that would hardly feel anything.

All of Sunday morning, we studied the lay of the land and sea, and Santos figured out that we ARE IN Icy Bay! Somehow, we got directed to one of the best anchorages in the area as described in the pilot guide. The entrance we tried to get into the day before was actually the entrance to the inner bay. If we had gone in there, we would have been in dangerous straits, what with the icebergs and high winds being tunneled by the narrow channel.

More and more, I am amazed at God's wonderful ways. This is becoming a journey into faith for me, and learning to trust in God. Santos was worried that I would give up and leave at the next port. I told him I did think about it, but I know now that this journey is not only about his dream, nor just about us; for me, it is also experiencing God and His creation in a very basic way. In this journey, we are always in the palm of God's Hand. There is no other way but to rely on Him and trust Him to see us through.

When confronted with the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Inside Passage, it is very easy to feel close to heaven. Shown below is the way out of Bishop Bay in Canada.

While we promised each other we will be more careful of bad weather warnings from now on, on the whole it was a good shakedown trip (it sure shook me up!). We knew what needed to be fixed, what needed to be tied down more, and other preparations we have to make in terms of safety and provisioning and navigation. The VHF needed to be fixed, too.

There is so much more to share, but this is getting too long already. Will write more whenever we can.

Right now, we are at Ketchikan, the port of exit before we move into Canada. To get here, we went through a lot of harbors, most of which had no facilities. So much for the hopes of an internet caf� at every port!

Santos and I are fine, and Majic is in great shape. We hope to be in Canada by next week. And we hope we can sail a lot more. We will probably be in San Francisco by end of June or thereabouts.

Henry Bay, near Comox, at sunset.

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the journey continues

coos bay and the oregon south coast

our boat of choice: J30

sailing on majic

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