May 20, 2006
A Whale of a Story…. No, really!; Stuart Island West of San Juan Island.
Position: 48’41.32’ N, 123’11.78’ W
Captain: Arieyeh J. Austin
Time on Water: 10 hours, 45 minutes.
There comes a time in every persons life, at least so they say, that one has to look into the dark, cold concrete of reality and realize that they are not an eternal creature. That, despite their greatest efforts, they are not omnipotent beings capable of controlling the world around them. Rather, that we are all simply riding a great roller coaster of events, in series, and that as one day falls like a set of dominos, it will effect the one after it until we all come to an inevitable end. I think that sailors come to this conclusion sooner then the rest of society. There is a direct correlation between the sea and a persons understanding of nature. Granted, it may take some of us longer to reach this state then others dependant on not only how much time we spend on the water, but also on how thick headed we are. Now I, for one, happen to be rather thick headed… at least my wife keeps telling me so. Hence, you can see why I, of all people, thought that I was above mother nature on the 20th of May, 2006. So, as all great stories go, I will begin this one with the phrase, “So there I was…”
So there I was. I am not sure even to this moment how I got there, surrounded in 5 foot seas and 30 knots of wind. Upon reflection I think I would use the word ignorance, or perhaps even a diluted sense of reality. Use what ever phrase you wish, I knew we were in way over our heads. We had departed from Matia Island south of the Straights of Georgia, North of the San Juan Islands earlier that morning on our way to Stuart Island. We had been traveling North through the islands from Olympia, WA, for the past three weeks. Having now reached Matia Island, it was now time to return home. Our boat, Friendship Sloop Society number 178, was a Jarvis Newman 25 footer, based on the pemequin 2 lines. We had purchased her several years before from Mrs. Robbinson, who had kept her in Maine. Having re-christned her, “Nesaru,” which means “Sky Spirit,” we had brought her from one coast to the other and was enjoying exploring the Puget Sound and all of its spectacular and hidden secrets.
We had departed at 8:30 that morning. The seas rolled and tumbled with the force of 15-20 knots of wind from the South / South West. Nesaru was holding a steady 7 knots, with all sails set at a close reach. We had no real difficulty reaching Stuart Island, benefiting greatly from the tide. It was upon reaching the view of protected and sheltered waters that all hell broke loose. As we began to lower the sails, drained from the high winds and rolling seas, Barb (my wife) yelled forward to me that she was having difficulty starting our inboard 13 HP Westerbeak engine. Now, a brief note should be made here as to the distribution of responsibility aboard our little vessel. I had been taught to sail on the Great Lakes of Michigan by my parents, most likely before I even knew how to walk. I understood the rigging of our boat and how to trim her sails properly, as well as how to navigate and chart a course. I also have gained a rude understanding of electrical issues, having installed AC power on Nesaru upon her purchase and refitting her with a new DC system. In contrast, my knowledge of diesel engines is comparable to our 2 year old daughters understanding of astrophysics. Barb, on the other hand, used to build and repair engines with her father when she was a child. Hence, as a dumbfounded look of, “Duhhh,” crossed my face at her comment, it would quickly be replaced by a look of utter fear as I began to evaluate our situation. Even as another wave broke over our railing and drenched me to the bone, I knew I could offer her no assistance. I was as impotent to my wife on this matter as the mussels growing on our uncleaned fenders were.
Given the prospect of drifting away from the island in these seas or doing something, we hastily heaved too and lowered the Jib and Main, leaving the Staysail up to counter the tide and keep us steady. The wind had increased from 15 to 20 knots, and I was having a difficult time keeping her steady. Barb, in the mean time, had hastily tore the engine cover off and was beginning to attack the engine with a ferocity that I can only describe as, “intense.” Other words do come to mind, but Barb gets to proof our log entries, and so I will leave it at that. As motor oil and fuel filters began to fly over my shoulder, and the bay and other vessels safe at moorage there began to fade from view, a gazed uselessly over the rub rail of our little boat into the foam of the ocean. I could think of nothing else to do expect prepare flares, and I began to subconsciously sing, “… does anyone know where the love of G-d goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours” Imagine my surprise when I realized I was singing the words to Gordon Lightfoots, “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”… how fitting.
About the same time I was about to commit Harry Carey, I noticed something I the water moving rapidly toward us. At first I was puzzled. Thousands of small bubbles were making a be line toward our starboard stern, approximately 100 meters out. I began to watch them intensely until they disappeared 30 meters from the boat. I do remember thinking how odd it was, but made nothing more out of it then that. Barb continued to work on the engine, and the waves were rolling all around us. One or two more minutes passed by, and I noticed the same set of bubbles approaching our boat again at a more then rapid rate of speed. This time they started out at 100 meters again, but unlike before they came to within 20 meters. They were about 6 meters wide, and moved at about 6 knots toward us, decapitating the further away they were from the boat. I yelled for Barb to come up and see this oddity over the wind. As the response was less then motivating, and clearly signaled that her level of frustration over the engine was increasing, I turned back to the sea. Again, the bubbles began to race toward us on the starboard stern. This time they reached to within 10 feet before vanishing alongside Nesaru. On this last pass, however, something new entered this strange rhythm. The depth sounder alarm suddenly began to scream, and I noted it said we were in 7 feet of water!
OK… 20 knots of wind, no engine, strange bubbles and 7 feet of water… I’ve had enough. As Barb sticks her head oil covered head out of the engine compartment and inquires as to why the depth sounder alarm is buzzing, I calmly (ya, right) scramble down the companion way and rip out every chart we have on the area. Convinced we are about to hit a shoal or uncharted reef, I can find nothing that would cause us to be in 7 feet of water. Confused, I return to the deck. Barb is sitting in the cockpit looking intensely at the water, the oil stick still in her hand. The look on her face says it all as she turns to me and says, “What’s with all the bubbles?” We both find ourselves drawn to the edge of the boat now like a jelly fish to a spring break swimmer. The bubbles continue to swarm around the boat, but every time they pass by us the depth sounder screams a foot or two less! What were we to do? I did not know what calamity was about to occur, but did know I had no interest in being part of it.
The last pass was our breaking point. As the bubbles moved toward our stern, I noted that the water beneath them was much darker then the surrounding area. The shape that was under that cluster of impending doom was at least twice as large as Nesaru. As it passed under our hull, the depth sounder screamed in at 1 foot. At that moment the entire hull jolted. We braced ourselves in complete control (in other words panic) as Nesaru spun 30 degrees to port. Jumping to the other side of the boat, we could see the dark shape racing away from us on our opposite side, bubbles in pursuit. We called harbor assist.
Several hours later, one mechanic, and $150.00 poorer, we found ourselves in Roch Harbor, San Juan Island. We were told that there had been air in our fuel lines, which had caused the engine to seize on us. This phased us little, however, in contrast to what else we learned. The harbor master told us upon registering that there had been several sightings of a Grey Whale in the area throughout the day…. No, really.
