Oh lord your ocean is so big..part 2

The fog was unrelenting. We could see almost to the end of the block, but not much further. Occasionally it looked as if the sun was about to peek through, but it failed to overcome the power of a december morning in SF. Sigh. We weren't just sitting around though, we were running through various systems to see what worked and what didn't. Hedley the Harbor Master came by and gave us a letter of passage. I've since found out his true title is 'Wharfinger' which is even cooler, but I don't know what it means.

After 8:30 the local chandlery openned and I went in to kill some time. The place looked like it'd been there since the Barbary Coast days. For those of you familiar with Petaluma, it was like Tomassini's Hardware on a much bigger, older scale. It was abundantly clear that these guys only dealt with Fishermen. There was no yachty crap in sight. All business. I poked around and bought a couple of buckets and drooled over the old school boatbuildings tools, and rigging equipment. Then back to the boat to collect Gary and go get 'second breakfast.' After second breakfast we wandered out Hyde St. Pier and saw a Hicks Marine Engine running. These things are ancient gas motors designed and built in SF from the early part of the century. They are very very cool and mezmerizing to watch. By this time it looked like the fog was beginning to lift so we got back on board and started up the motor.

After squeezing out of our berth (luckily there was nowhere near the shenanigans of last week) and only bumping the boat across the way we made our way to the fuel dock. Our arrival wasn't graceful, but it was gentle. Gentle enought that the fuel dock guys didn't hear us coming and luckily didn't see our hamfisted attempts to rope off until we'd gotten it figured out. We topped up on diesel, as a big troller came in for fuel. His technique wasn't as dainty as ours. He powerslid his huge boat sideways so it slammed into the dock with a deep WHUMP and made all the pilings shake. Ah! so that's how it's done.

With fuel aboard, and a little backing and turning to get pointed the right way (ever watch a 16 year old try a 3 point turn? That's what we looked like, but with more scampering around deck and panicked hand signals) we headed off into the Bay and fog.

Once we got passed the S.S. Jerimiah O'Brien we (ok, I) got immediately intimidated because I couldn't see anything more than a few hundred feet away and I couldn't hear any fog horns next to the din of our motor. We threaded between some more fishing boats coming in, and managed to stay out of the way of a fast moving ferry we could barely see. I couldn't do it. It was too scary, we didn't know what we were doing and I really didn't want to get run down by a frieghter or fishing troller so I turned around.

After the panic subsided a bit I realized that if I just put it in gear and steered from the forward station (out on the bow) I could hear everthing, and see much better. Once bundled up and seated on the cabintop I got to piloting our way towards alcatraz. I couldn't really tell what direction we were going (no compass) but it felt pretty good. I maintained a state of cat-like alertness to any movement or sound. It was pretty exhausting. After what seemed hours of not blinking and spinning my head around at the faintest whisper of sound (while trying to distinguish the fog horns of the golden gate, and alcatraz from container carriers coming out of the east bay) the sun started to come out. Which was a good in the long run, but bad in the short run. The fog was getting thin enough to be illuminated, but not so thin that you could see through it, basically it got really bright and confusing, as opposed to simply grey and confusing. Right about this time the visibility got even worse and just as the fog started to close in I caught something very big and very very fast moving out ahead of us (so fast I thought I my eyes must be playing tricks with me). I would've guessed it was a ferry, but that's only because I didn't think we had drifted into any major shipping lanes yet. Both Gary and I were squeeking "Ack! What is that? Jesus it's fast! WTF?" Then right out in front of us was a loud fog horn and this big black shape started to condense out of the mist. CRAP! he was running back to get the throttles I started turning hard to starboard and clanging our bell when we realized: it was Alcatraz! We'd gone much farther than we'd imagined and were right on the backside of Alcatraz. Whoohoo! Our first milestone reached we moved off a little bit (so as not to hit the rock wall that came up out of hte bay) and started heading north. The fog stopped at the midline of Alcatraz so as we moved towards the eastern shore it grew solid and our visibility lengthened to such a degree that I could begin blinking and breathing again.

It was such a stupendous sight in the fog, that I deeply regret having left my camera down in the cabin so I got no picture of it, but it was stunning. Gary might have one, but it was something that had to be experienced like a sunset. Elated Gary and I broke out the snacks and started crossing the bay proper. There was no shipping traffic in sight (not a good sign actually, I'd rather know exactly where they are so I can plan ahead) and we motored across towards Angel Island. The water was a deep green with light swells and a brisk breeze. As we looked around we noticed that only the water had cleared of fog, Marin, SF and the East Bay were like big wispy pillows. It was to be that way for most of the day. Clear over us and dark and gloomy everywhere else.

Now that the panic had disapeared we began to take note of what a great boat the Edith E was. Smooth and gentle in the swells, she was the most comfortable boat I've ever been on (most of my boating experience has been in 1970's era fiberglass sailing boats that tend to pound in a seaway). I can why people personify boats, because they do seem to exhibit personality in the way that cars (at least modern ones) can't. Piloting a boat is not like a car, and its hard to let go of that kind of training. You can take your hand of the wheel for awhile, and especially because we are going so slow (4-6 knots) you get time to look around and notice the small things like a piece of seagull down that is floating on top of the water, almost perfectly dry until it gets caught in your bow wave. We were both totally smitten, and couldn't figure out why didn't everybody do this all the time. It was a beautiful morning out there and I only wish I'd had more people with me to share in it. Next time, I guess.

Angel Island was still had a wispy cap of fog on it's upper slopes but at the water it was clear and bright. Our next major milestone was coming up, the lee of the island and crossing the Racoon Straights. That would put us across the major part of the shipping channels and get us close to a number of marinas should we run into problems. To be Continued...