Provisions, fuel, too much clothing, everything was set. I got the motor running, walked her backwards out of the slip and in one motion grabbed the pulpit, swung the bow out to the channel, and swung myself aboard with the forestay. As I walked to the cockpit her bow came slowly around and soon pointed where I could give her some throttle. Then we headed out into long main channel of Los Angeles Harbor. Gigantic and Titanic describes the scale of the Harbor. Like Giants and Titans the great ships and cranes loom everywhere. Some ships are birthed, piled high with tens of thousands of shipping containers each able to hold little Roxanne with room to spare. Other ships are being tugged around and others still are further out and it takes a moment of careful attention to determine whether they are anchored or moving as their enormous scale make it sometimes hard to tell.
The channel brings me alongside the San Pedro waterfront. I can't help but look at the rising hills and wonder which ones Henry Dana strode. The wide, shallow, gently sloping coastline covered in rocks, tide pools, and sea grasses that the Pilgrim's crew had to slip and slide over to reach the ships boat have long since been filled in and paved over. Before the ports were built the area was the entrance to a massive river fed wetland whose tidal influence spread far inland. Dana mentions visiting a rancho and I am going to guess it was Rancho Los Cerritos as its closer to Los Angeles than Rancho Los Alamitos. Both were once part of a Spanish land grant to Manuel NIeto that stretched from the Los Angeles river to the Santa Ana river and from the ocean to the mountains.
Once in open water but still within the breakwater I raised the main sail, let out the Jib, sailed past the L.A. light and set a compass course for 202. The sail over was beautiful with a welcoming pod of dolphins acting as my escort for several miles while I was white knuckled to the tiller. About halfway across came failed foresight. Some water and food next to me would have been good as leaving the tiller wasn't an option. Little by little the outlines of the island became clearer, foggy visions of island geology collapsed into quantifiable detail. Then the most beautiful bright white pile of bird guano you ever saw, plastered on a huge low rock, appeared above the horizon. This would be Bird Rock and it is always a welcome sight as it's the entrance to the Harbor and means you are just three miles away. Oh yes, did I mention I was towing an 18 foot white and yellow canoe?
"An' forward tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!" As I approached Bird Rock the apprehensions began to pile up. I had to drop the sails, haul in the lines and side tie the canoe and then call Two Harbors on VHF to request a mooring ball (copy Two Harbors, J9, um uh, where is J9?). The flopping tiller made the operations more complicated than necessary yet before I knew it I was motoring slowly down J row. Ahead was my buoy and gauging the wind I cut power and turned toward it. Roxanne ghosted to a stop right as I reached the bow and grabbed the pickup pole. As fast as possible I brought up the hawser, cleated it, and then turned, hauling up the spreader line while walking towards the stern. Pulling up the stern hawser I cleated it also. That was it. As well executed as I could have dreamed. Then standing on the bow looking out at the beach and swaying palms I experienced the mixed feelings of victory and relief that can only be found in winning a battle with ones self.
Once all was settled aboard I paddled the canoe to shore. As it is a canoe it is treated like any other kayak or paddleboard and can be beached anywhere with no fuss. Well, a small fuss and that is landing her when there is a swell running. I have seen more than one unwary person get wiped out by a one foot wave while beaching a kayak or dingy. For a canoe the trick is to wait just outside the "breakers" for a larger one. As soon as you are on the peak paddle like mad in order to follow the wave as high as possible onto the shore. When the wave reaches the high point step into the bow of the canoe and stand. When the water recedes your weight holds her in place and you simply step out, with dry shoes, and haul the canoe to a safe spot above the tide line. I performed this with great care having no desire to be on "Boating Fails of the Week".
On the island every view is interesting and beautiful. As I walked the paths of the Isthmus I felt a change. I was no longer on the outside of the sailing world looking in, I was on the inside looking out.
To be continued...
The channel brings me alongside the San Pedro waterfront. I can't help but look at the rising hills and wonder which ones Henry Dana strode. The wide, shallow, gently sloping coastline covered in rocks, tide pools, and sea grasses that the Pilgrim's crew had to slip and slide over to reach the ships boat have long since been filled in and paved over. Before the ports were built the area was the entrance to a massive river fed wetland whose tidal influence spread far inland. Dana mentions visiting a rancho and I am going to guess it was Rancho Los Cerritos as its closer to Los Angeles than Rancho Los Alamitos. Both were once part of a Spanish land grant to Manuel NIeto that stretched from the Los Angeles river to the Santa Ana river and from the ocean to the mountains.
Once in open water but still within the breakwater I raised the main sail, let out the Jib, sailed past the L.A. light and set a compass course for 202. The sail over was beautiful with a welcoming pod of dolphins acting as my escort for several miles while I was white knuckled to the tiller. About halfway across came failed foresight. Some water and food next to me would have been good as leaving the tiller wasn't an option. Little by little the outlines of the island became clearer, foggy visions of island geology collapsed into quantifiable detail. Then the most beautiful bright white pile of bird guano you ever saw, plastered on a huge low rock, appeared above the horizon. This would be Bird Rock and it is always a welcome sight as it's the entrance to the Harbor and means you are just three miles away. Oh yes, did I mention I was towing an 18 foot white and yellow canoe?
"An' forward tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!" As I approached Bird Rock the apprehensions began to pile up. I had to drop the sails, haul in the lines and side tie the canoe and then call Two Harbors on VHF to request a mooring ball (copy Two Harbors, J9, um uh, where is J9?). The flopping tiller made the operations more complicated than necessary yet before I knew it I was motoring slowly down J row. Ahead was my buoy and gauging the wind I cut power and turned toward it. Roxanne ghosted to a stop right as I reached the bow and grabbed the pickup pole. As fast as possible I brought up the hawser, cleated it, and then turned, hauling up the spreader line while walking towards the stern. Pulling up the stern hawser I cleated it also. That was it. As well executed as I could have dreamed. Then standing on the bow looking out at the beach and swaying palms I experienced the mixed feelings of victory and relief that can only be found in winning a battle with ones self.
Once all was settled aboard I paddled the canoe to shore. As it is a canoe it is treated like any other kayak or paddleboard and can be beached anywhere with no fuss. Well, a small fuss and that is landing her when there is a swell running. I have seen more than one unwary person get wiped out by a one foot wave while beaching a kayak or dingy. For a canoe the trick is to wait just outside the "breakers" for a larger one. As soon as you are on the peak paddle like mad in order to follow the wave as high as possible onto the shore. When the wave reaches the high point step into the bow of the canoe and stand. When the water recedes your weight holds her in place and you simply step out, with dry shoes, and haul the canoe to a safe spot above the tide line. I performed this with great care having no desire to be on "Boating Fails of the Week".
On the island every view is interesting and beautiful. As I walked the paths of the Isthmus I felt a change. I was no longer on the outside of the sailing world looking in, I was on the inside looking out.
To be continued...
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