Oh lord your ocean is so big..part 3

The sun was out, the motor was humming, and we were on our way. We'd pointed the boat due north and took our positions up in the bow. It was almost warm, the watery sunshine keeping the worst of the bay chill off of us. The motor had come up to temperature and from then on the dials remained perfectly still. A good sign, as my biggest fear had been losing the motor while trying to get across the shipping lanes. Now all I had to worry about was springing a plank, losing the rudder, breaking the steering gear, blowing a hose or seacock, or...

But out on the water those worries died away. We were checking the bilge every 10 minutes or so just to make sure we weren't caught off-guard by some unseen leak. It was smooth sailing. The boat moved through the water like a duck which is much more comfortable than moving through the water like a cork. When we encountered bigger swells she just raised her nose a little and the waves got pushed out of the way. Our major wave testing was accomplished by catching the wake of the high-speed catamaran ferries. Those things just fly along. They are shockingly fast. We instinctively took photos every time one passed, but of course you can't get the sensation of speed from a photo.

We were chugging along at our sedate pace of 6 knots, making our way towards Angel Island. I've heard the old yarn about how being out to see isn't boring because the sea is always changing, and there always chores to do. This rule proved true almost immediately even in the bay. The, dare I say it, fluid nature of the water is entrancing. Changing from what only can be described as sea-green, to blue to muddy brown and back again as we passed different currents and depths. In the middle of the bay there were odd patterns in the water caused by massive upwellings, or clashing tides. Rafts of reeds, seaweed, and garbage floated along usually providing resting places for sea birds. It was endlessly compelling. The subtle complexity of the water reminded me of camping in the sierras and hearing all the gentle fractal layers of sound that you don't notice until it's time to sleep. I feel almost sheepish that this bay has been sitting there all my life (and much longer, I know) and I'm only discovering it's offerings now.

Angel Island was approaching on our left and we wanted to stay pretty close to shore as it was plenty deep for our little boat and the current is less there. For those of you unfamiliar with the bay, Angel Island sits just offshore of the Tiburon Peninsula and the water between the two is some of the most turbulent on the bay. Angel Island acts like a giant thumb on the end of a garden hose and the water that passes down the straight there moves with incredible velocity and strength. These forces have also carved out the seabed to over 100', some of the deepest in the bay. The change at the surface is readily apparent. In the lee of the Island the water was green and fairly calm. There was almost no discernable movement of the boat over the waves, just the reassuring throb of the motor and seeing the coast moving steadily, albeit slowly, to our stern. Towards the inside edge of the island, there was a clear line in the water where the current took over. Immediately the water turned a deep dark blue and the swells increased dramaticaly. Gary and I scampered to the bridge in the cabin as we were getting soaked up foward. Our speed seemed to drop to nothing and the boat was plowing through the swell with aplomb. We cackled and whooped with excitment, as we knew this was likely to be the most exciting part of the trip (provided we had no mechanical failures). I got a sense of what it must be like to take a little boat like this out in the Pacific to fish, and my respect for those old guys rose even higher. One thing seemed clear, this boat was built to deal with conditions far beyond what Gary or I could. The limitations of this boat are purely found in its skippers.

All too soon we were out of the current and back up in the shallows of the bay. Our two major milestones were behind us, and we could'nt quite see our third: the San Rafael-Richmond Bridge. I'd been looking foward to this part of the journey the most because we were in familiar territory, and there were numerous anchorages and marinas to dive into should anything go amiss. Our course would take us by several Marin County Parks, and China Camp. Having spent several summers as a park aide, I'd always wanted to see my old workplaces from the water, and now I would get my chance. On our left was the Tiburon Peninsula, well known as being one of the most exclusive areas in the bay. The houses peeking out from the trees were impressive, if only for the amount of glass each one held. Marin from the water is deeply wooded, and because of the bay's shallowness here (less than 3 feet in most places) we had to stay well off shore. Most of the cities that are on the water in Marin are either in a different part of the bay, or nestled back into the hills and are only reachable by narrow dreged channels. The effect is that very little activity is seen from the water, certainly none of the hubbub of SF or the east bay. In fact in all the bay area, I think Marin (with the exception of Sausalito) ignores the bay the most. This was a blessing for us, as there was very little waterbourne traffic to deal with as we headed north.

With the worst of the bay behind us, and smooth, if muddy, waters ahead we decided to break out lunch. Gary's partner Karen (aka Spud) is an ex-chef, and packed us food for our journey. Neither one of us had inspected the stores when we brought them aboard, so we were suprised to see that lunch was going to consist of crackers, fine cheddar cheese and sardines. Now I like fish, but sardines? Hm....we'd have to see. Gary explained that it was a proper fisherman's lunch, and damn it we were driving a fishing boat weren't we? True enough. He tore off the cover and 8 little headless fishbodies were floating in oil. Luckily she'd gotten the kind without heads, otherwise I'd be going hungry. They fall apart when you pick them up so it's not unlike trying to make a PB&J without a knife. I'd scoop out a wad of sardine (without looking at it because the combination of the shiny skin sluffing off, and the blackish innards spilling out was too much) slap in on a cracker and cover it with a chunck of cheddar and then cram it in my mouth before it all slipped off onto my lap. Wow. It was actually pretty good, and it was perfectly fitting for our experience. By this time we'd gone back up foward and were steering only occasionally to keep us on course. Unfortunately, we were getting low on coffee. In fact, even with rationing, we'd be out well before we got home, and that was a problem. Now getting coffee in Marin is about as hard as getting stuck behind a BMW in traffic, but access to Marin from the water is a time consuming premise, and we were full-steam ahead for Petaluma (which at this point our Conrad references had taken over, and we resorted to refering to our destination as 'the heart of darkness.')

Out of the haze loomed the San Rafael-Richmond Bridge and dotted around it's bases were numerous barges and crane boats. They are retrofitting it or repaving or something so there's a lot of activity going on below. You can see some of it when you cross, but it doesn't compare to seeing just how many 'boats' are tied up to moorings, or pilings under the bridge. The water here was muddy and opaque, as it would be for the rest of the trip. We were out of the flushed part of the bay, and into the delta-fed, turbid, shallow waters. Beyond the bridge lay San Pablo bay, which is very big, and very shallow, many areas are a foot deep or less. If things went bad there we could beach it and have a long wet walk to shore, if the bay mud didn't suck us down.

Gary was piloting as I was wandering around the boat putting things away and taking pictures of the bridge. The current around the bridge was confused and turbulent, and the boat began yawing slightly. Gary kept a steady hand on the wheel as kept an eye out for traffic and hazards. There was some construction debris in the water, and lots of smaller tugs moving about. The current under the bridge was impressive, there was a little bow-wave on the upstream side of the bridge pylons, the bay was acting like a very broad river. Once under and out the other side things calmed down again. San Rafael was to our left and the Chevron refineries were to our right. I could see the 'two sisters' off in the distance. These are two rocks covered in birdshit just off the shore of the park I used to work at. I was always curious to see them up close, and I can now say, yup they are two big rocks covered in birdshit.

We were now out of San Francisco Bay, and going up San Pablo Bay towards the mouth of the Petaluma River. It was 3pm, and we were down to about 8 oz of coffee.

To be continued....