SF boat living

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rlaggren
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SF boat living

Post by rlaggren »

Seemed best to plunk this into a new topic.

I've been here 30 years, so I don't notice the SF aura like I used to. Boat-wise, well, officially it's mostly illegal to live aboard around here, but... Avoid the Nazis and don't be an ass and things usually work OK. I like dock people, mostly. I spent a year in SF Marina and the company there is pretty amazing. There's rich Arabs on 75' gold platers and there's Betty down on the end of the dock raising her 14 year old grand daughter on a 20 year old 30' sail boat with a resident husky and a couple large revolvers to greet strangers - I liked Betty, but she scared me some. She _did_ arrange for her dog to locate my stupid gd cat who get stuck under one of the dock fingers - had to rip up a couple planks at 11:30pm to get her but I guess it's better than up a tree. When SF put in a new harbor master, former correctional office I heard, he tried to get anal about the rules; but he didn't have a clue what toes he was stepping on. The rich Arabs and the resident lawyers reestablished the status quo smartly - good influential neighbors all, they kinda blind sided the new/former harbor master. But before things resumed their natural order he was requiring all the boats to get to his dock under their own power for an inspection and he did NOT approve of old Betty. Since Betty had sold her sails and her motor was DOA, there was a quick scramble by a couple mechanics who kept their fishing boats next to her to cobble up a mount, find somebody's outboard and get it installed. A close call but alls well that ends well.

I'm now in SoSF and we're mostly blue collar here. The harbor badges are decent and the afternoon winds keep the place from filling with leisure boats like SF. There's a few guys tempted toward thievery now and then but it's rare; this harbor master is no fool and they know he knows and unwelcome people tend move on sooner that they might intend. The slip one over is a professional A-hole who loves his dog and coddles his woman and keeps the area clear by throwing a screaming fit at any interloper that makes the mistake of parking his boat too near. A very handy neighbor, almost as good as the Arabs. <g> And so far he's always managed to patch it up with the harbor master.

This enchanted life style however is not immortal. The economy has delayed condo/hotel plans here and in Oakland and given another few years of life to the old harbors. Eventually developers will gentrify everything, put in concrete docks, arc lights, gates, pave the parking lots, raise rents and purify the place for easy packaging and sales appeal. They did this at Jack London Sq in Oakland and while it's pleasant enough in a way, they straight out killed the harbors. Think of the concrete courtyard of some corporate headquarters - not made for humans. Apparently I'm not the only one to think so because they're 1/2 empty. What is funny is that about 1 mile down the estuary one of the original robber-developers of the east bay owns a tract of land with about 1/2 mi of water rights and he hasn't done a single thing to it for 50 years - and all his rickety, tilting, slat board nail popping docks are full! And his ware houses are _crawlling_ with artists and trades and very small businesses hidden behind groves of metal sculpture, bamboo hedges, 40's chevy trucks, rotting fishing hulks, the whole nine yards. Anybody's guess how long he'll leave them alone, but it sure is a nice respite from ... the other stuff.

Well, that was a fine ramble. Hope it doesn't discourage anybody about the bay area. Still the best sailing in the world, though I don't get out enough lately.

Rufus
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Post by stuartcnz »

Thanks for this post Rufus. What is your boat? And any chance of some photo's of the area to give some context?
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Post by Dualfuel »

Rufus,
Thanks for the ramble. You have done a good job describing a place I have only been to on "street view" Fascinating. I can't imagine sailing in salt water. You make the distinction between the different dock peoples and it reminds me of the type you encounter on the lower warmer lakes. Its all Bikinis and Mai Tais, while up on the Lake, its Parkas and Cocoa. When you encounter someone off Keystone Bay or if youse are hove to in Fisherman's Cove, you are just damn glad to see them period. I realize the Lake isn't the Pacific, but if you are fishing off Stanard Rock and you see that blackness in the west, while the seas are picking up, you can end up just as dead.
Image Exactly 10 minutes after this was taken I got blown down but got it righted before the coast guard could save me. Look at how calm the water was...flat and then Wham! It was blowing 30s.
DF
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Post by rlaggren »

I'll try to tidy up a bit and shoot some area pics. I incline toward the view that a dock looks like a dock, usually, but what the hey. <g>

> salt water...

I learned to sail off Chicago on a summer whim racing. I found out about the importance of bulwarks - that's where you lodge (you hope) when the boat heals and you slide to the low side where the next move is _in_ (and often the boat doesn't right for a while cuz the skipper bent too much sail but damn to H if he's going to head up and lose position; I got to stand there about 5 minutes with the water rushing over my ankles cuz it was too steep to climb back up. You WANT a bulwark (toe rail to some) at least tall enough to walk on comfortably with the boat on its side. I really like racing... Other peoples boats! Best way I know to learn what boats are really capable of and what to worry about and what not. Especially you learn what happens and what to do when things break cuz winning skippers push Hard and keep breaking stuff.

San Francisco bay has beautiful racing weather. Light in the morning, picks up around noon and by 2pm its blowing 20 and gusting 30; does that until about 5pm and goes light by about 7pm. Practically set you watch by it. It's pretty safe because the bay doesn't have enough fetch to generate waves. Once you get outside past the headlands, though, you deal with the big boys and better pay attention. Whole different world out there.

Where I'm berthed it's a long 3-4 hours to Alcatraz; I don't go out much for the past 9 years anyway. 2000 I made the mistake of fending my Westsail off a concrete breakwater (engine died just wrong) and felt something slippery and looked down and saw my left thumb bone and nail - no pad. I was alone and couldn't just stop (especially since I figured it'd hurt like hell when I did), so I just kept sailing and got blood all over everything; still find it around. Docked at a neighbors end tie walked over and had tea in his party boat while the paramedics arrived. Pissed me off big time because the medic tooks a look at my hand wrapped up and asked me if it was bloody and then backed away and told me to keep it wrapped and don't get blood on him!!!! Man, maybe he had reasons but that was sure not what I expected from those guys. Anyway, I haven't been out much since, although I got patched up OK. Partly that's the insurance issue (none), but I'm not as gung ho as once was. But I've got a little 26' columbia that needs more work than I thought when I got her, and in the right circumstance I could start sailing some more.

The thing about boat living is you don't have a garage and most of us don't have a shop. I've got a few feet here and there with friends but it's not the same when you got projects. I keep looking for a good (ie. affordable) space but that might not happen in SF.

Rufus
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Post by Dualfuel »

The wisest fool on the lake.

This trip out started because I wanted to avoid my neighbor Clark’s big auction. But, as I write, the cars are jockeying for parking on our dead end street. The irony is that my family and I avoided a dead end but still ended up having to endure the auction.
We put in at the Lily Pond which is a small launch just below the north entrance of the canal. It took us awhile to step the mast, arrange the sails, and launch. But, launch we did.
In the water, the outboard started on the barest pull. A good omen to me, a mechanic and believer in machine against nature.
There was the barest whisper of head wind from the mouth of the canal. I used the outboard to take us from the Lily Pond to about a mile west of the light house. Once on the Lake proper we encountered glass and blue skies. A mere breeze and the discovery that the wave runners and screamers on the beach could still be heard even when one needed binoculars to see them. I took us another mile off shore.
The Lake reminded me of last July or August when we took a newly born Ben out for three days on the boat. Then, we’d put in at Lac La Belle late in the evening with a west wind on our stern. I’d just installed the regulation white fresnal light that I’d read up on about on the coast guard website. It was a real kick for me to sail wing-in-wing across Lac La Belle. We were ghosts aboard a silently lite ghost ship. That night we dropped our anchors across from the xxxxxxx light house at the mouth of the Lac La Belle. The next day we sailed across Bete Grise and west along the underside of the Keweenaw peninsula. That evening I took us around the east end of Manitou Island and was shocked by the five-foot seas on the north side of the island. I came about and brought us quietly into Fisherman’s Cove. The cove is a wonderful place to weather the Lake’s westerly rollers, it’s a narrowing cove that ends in a steep 50 foot pebble anchorage right on the beach. I powered down the outboard and was greeted by a black swarm of mosquitoes. They were easily the largest flight of the pests that I’d ever seen. I gathered driftwood and discovered that we had no matches aboard the boat. I soaked a paper towel with boat gas and held it near the battery while I sparked a wire across the terminals. The trick was getting the flaming paper to the beach before it burned my hand too badly. I got both, a smudge and a burn for my trouble.
The next morning was beautiful. We explored a bit of the island with a sleeping Ben on board. There was a mysterious set of numbered telephone poles by what appeared to be a road pushed through the rocks. For our lives, we could not figure out what it was for. We also discovered a secret row boat for someone who fishes the small lake on the island. I wonder do they ever get big fish?
Eventually we left the cove and island, under power, and headed around the north side to see the lighthouse. The wind was dying and by the time we reached the western end it was dead. So we looked at the Gull Rock Lighthouse and decided to head back for Bete Grise. No wind, so I motored and motored. Late that afternoon, four miles out of Bete Grise, I shook the tank and realized we simply didn’t have enough gas to motor all the way back to Lac La Belle. Fine, it’s a sail boat, lets sail. So shut off the outboard, dropped my keel, raised my sails, and stubbornly waited for the wind. We eat supper. We talked. We waited.
I have heard and read various accounts of the dangers of Lake Superior. Her moodiness and unpredictability. There’s the infamous wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald and all those boats before her. She has even claimed the lives of airplane pilots. As a boy, I played with the fifteen-foot September rollers driving all the warm surface water to pile up on the beach. I have seen the violence with my own eyes. This night, as we sat in our little boat upon a sky blue mirror I realized, that if anyone died, it would be from boredom. Only it wasn’t boring.
Eventually, Emely and Ben went to bed while I sat manning the tiller. As the sun went down over Mount Houghton I started seeing the brightest stars I have ever seen. The coast is unlit and the only man made lights were the police radio repeater tower towards the point and the navigational beacons. I found in the starlight, it was easy to take bearings on the lights from the Huron Islands, Gull Rock, Stannard Rock, and the XXXXX light at Bete Grise.
Suddenly, on my starboard cheek I felt the hot land breeze. I tacked to take advantage and put down another mile before the breeze quit. And there I sat.
In today’s world of instant gratification, instant messenger, and spray foam, sitting out all night in a sail boat waiting for the wind, takes something that is in short supply and rarely used, patience. It took me awhile to realize that sitting here was all right. We had enough gas to put the boat on the beach if someone absolutely had to get off. But beaching made no sense because the coast is uninhabited and nothing could be gained from a landing. Any thing we needed would have to be provided by ourselves and our boat. If I waited there’d eventually be wind. But to wait, alone, with only myself, took some getting used to. After awhile I decided that I was okay with myself. Then I enjoyed the night.
I was busy staring at the stars and the contrast between the land and sky for a while until the sky opened up with the Aura Borealis. Sheets of green fire poured down on me from the north. Then red fire. Then white fire fell. Shimmering sheets and flashing ribbons. I was enthralled.
I jumped off the cockpit seat, as from the corner of my eye I saw a huge red light bearing down on me from the east. Ha! The moon. I’d seen a light on the horizon earlier but mistook it for a returning fishing boat.
And so it went all night. I used every little breeze to bring us closer and closer to Bete Grise (French for gray bay).
I was lined up on the Lac La Belle channel when I saw the beautiful pre dawn glow lighting up the vast expanse of Keewenaw Bay and Lake Superior beyond. With the coming of the sun, came the lake breeze which took us into the channel. I used some precious gasoline to move us through the channel and out into Lac La Belle. On the Lac it was a gentle west wind. I tacked back and forth across the entire length of the lake. It was now just natural to move the boat with the sails and not even worry about the motor. I stood in the bows, steering by hanging off the fore shroud.
The dawn fleet of sport fisherman gave us and our sails the right of way as the passed going out into the Lake to set their downriggers. It was the end of a timeless story that has been played out from the beginning of history. The grizzled mariner returning to port after a long voyage sailing close to god and the sky.
That had been a year ago. This July we were on the western side of the peninsula with an easterly wind blowing away from what was normally a lee shore. Ben was a year old. Babbling and getting into everything. Emely was better than thirty weeks pregnant with our second child. I had the confidence from making my first sail of the season in 25 knot winds and not wrecking the boat nor scaring the occupants. That was Memorial Day and I learned the most valuable lesson that a captain can learn. Appear genuinely confident regardless of any circumstance. Captains are stoic. If you aren’t stoic you are not a Captain. The reason is simple. In gale force winds a sailboat under sail cannot be run by committee. Orders have to be given to handle the boat. They must be given in a loud, clear, unemotional voice, that commands instant obedience and confidence in the order.
With this spring’s lesson in mind and last July’s calm conditions prevailing my family and I sat in our boat and enjoyed our afternoon, eating our lunch while the boat gently gurgled its way north towards Bucky’s Beach. It was shaping up to be pretty boring. It turned out to be anything but.
One lesson that we learned from last July was to have four times as much gasoline aboard then we’d possibly imagine using. So, I was confident about motoring. I motored and sailed when a breeze struck up. North, and North we crept. After six hours we were three miles north of the North Entrance Light.
It was about seven thirty when we felt the hot breath of the evening shore breeze begin to blow. I woke from my lethargy and began handling lines. The boat rose up and started sailing.
She’s a keel boat but was built to run up on the beach so her keel slides up. With the keel retracted she draws only a foot of water. She has a 19 foot length but an eight foot beam. She is as stable as a craft as I have ever been on.
I was beginning to enjoy the challenge of these hot wind gusts. My main sheet and jib sheet weren’t carelessly cleated off any longer. I held them like living things while my arm worked against the pressure of the tiller. I enjoyed racing along the foreboding western coast of the Keewenaw Peninsula while the sun became occluded in the haze in the west. I felt confident enough to sail on into the darkness. That changed pretty fast.
The first thing to destroy my fearlessness was the sounds of a general mutiny from below decks. Our little bodied seaman first class was disputing with the first mate over the rations being issued. There was screaming and yelling. As captain, I realized the futility of involving myself in the dispute. Besides, the hatches were battened and I hand my own challenges. The wind was picking up.
There was a suspicion growing in my gut. The pieces of the puzzle included the weather report for the weekend, our course, and the chart. I like to keep the chart on my knee. It’s important to me to know exactly where I am at all times. I realize on a clear day, in a boat that is making less than a knot, that it would seem silly. BUT, I learned once while leaving Bete Grise that fog can strike the lake so fast that it seems like a solid wall. So what was on that chart that drew my attention? What was wrong with the wind.
Suddenly the tiller came alive in my hand and the boat heeled over. She kept heeling and I blew the sails. I started reaching along the beam and drawing wind back into the sails. This was no land breeze. This was wind! We were approaching Hutchison Shoal and Five Mile Point. I had my hands full with the lines and the boat was gracefully heeling slightly. She was racing! The water was dark and foamy as it raced astern. It was exhilarating but I felt something in my gut too. I have learned to trust my gut more than my mind.
There was a click in my mind and it all came together. The weather had called for 5 to 10 knot winds from the east. Our course took us along the windward side of the Peninsula. Five Mile Point was the place where the peninsula began curving around to the east. What these three things meant was that the wind in my sails was no shore breeze it was the big easterly blow that was getting stiffer as we rounded the peninsula. The wind would be only getting stronger, as I raced into the night, cheek pressed against a rocky windward shore. We were in trouble. Or soon would be. And then suddenly we were in trouble!
It’s the little things. There was no hole in the hull. Just a line that slipped through the cleat and slid toward the bow, out of reach. It was the jib sheet. I couldn’t tack and damn sure couldn’t come about ‘til that line was secured.
I learned everything I knew about sailing from reading C.S. Forester’s Hornblower series. It probably was insufficient preparation but in this case I remember Captain Horatio “Running to the leeâ€
bikevision

Post by bikevision »

DF, great post!. brings me back to the days of childhood out on Lake Michigan.

at one point my dad had a 60's 28ft owens single engine cabin cruiser. we spent many a summers bringing her back to sea worthy. the true test was a warm summer night that would show the true fury of the water. i grew up on the water, my father restored wooden boats for a living, and was never afraid of not making it back to shore, but this night would show me real fear. we were about 5 miles offshore, when a storm came out of no where, and we were soon in 6-10ft swells. at first it was fun, my brother and i sat with our feet hanging off the bow getting soaked with every wave, then my step-mother started to freak out on my father and we soon realized we were in trouble. we scrambled to along side the cabin and found out life vests (didnt even know we had any till then). my dad was trying to turn us around but with such a big boat and only a single engine she was not the easiest thing to manuver. after several tries we got the order to hang on it was now or never! we started making the turn as we were coming down the backside of a wave and barely made it around on the front side of the next. now we just had to make it back to shore. my step-brother was freaking out. he was just getting introduced to the water and still got seasick. there wasent much for the rest of us to do but hang on. inside the cabin it was hot and stuffy. so i headed back topside with my dad. i watched as he worked the throttle as we went up and over the waves, once safely back in the channel i seen the look of fear on my fathers face for the first time. he managed to hide it out on the lake but now we were safe in the channel and i relized that we just dodged a bullet.
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Post by rlaggren »

I didn't know this until I had sailed for several years, but I now figure the most important piece of equipment in any boat after the running gear is at least one and better two good anchors (with good rode) - stored ready for quick use. Sometimes the shore plunges down too quick to find a holding before you hit or get blown away, but more often you can hook up and park yourself before things go totally bad.

The race where I got to wade in the scuppers for a few minutes ended at Great Lakes IIRC. Anyway, it was picking up and blowing _hard_ onshore as we came in and about 1/2 hour after we tied up there arose a very large noise - sounded like a fleet of big old 4-engine prop planes coming in low. Turns out it was 2 deepwater tugs trying to pull one of the racers off the breakwater (lee shore) - they couldn't do it, blowing too hard. Boat ground on the rocks all night, total wreck by morning; nobody was hurt much, they climbed off onto the break water and walked to the club house. Must have ruined the guy's day. There's a case where a good anchor _might_ have saved them; but being racers, it's quite likely they lightened the boat in the wrong way or didn't have it ready to deploy quick enough. Anchors are hard to beat for good insurance.

OTOH, he chose to try the entry in really foul weather and that was probably the Big Mistake. Sail boats are pretty hard to sink provided you keep the water out of them. Sounds kinda DUH but, away from land, more boats sink from the top down than the bottom up. Keep the ports and hatches intact and closed and heave to (preferred) or run or sail under a jib so as to avoid getting flipped by a wave you'll likely be there tomorrow. Land is often the most dangerous thing out there for a sail boat and it's best to stay away from it in really bad conditions.

I think more sailboats have been killed by a schedule than any other single disaster. Take the time and DON'T do now that which would be much safer later. Too many skippers try to get back to the office on time.

Re. the 16 yr-old sailing round the world, Stuart's right.There have been a couple others, but common foolishness is not less foolish. Her parents are parenting.

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Post by stuartcnz »

rlaggren wrote:I didn't know this until I had sailed for several years, but I now figure the most important piece of equipment in any boat after the running gear is at least one and better two good anchors (with good rode)
CHAIN!!
I think more sailboats have been killed by a schedule than any other single disaster. Take the time and DON'T do now that which would be much safer later. Too many skippers try to get back to the office on time.

Rufus
I think avoiding a schedule may be even more important than good ground tackle. Though both are extremely important, especially if you want a good nights sleep.
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Post by Dualfuel »

I don't think I am a pansy, but after I got blown down in Keweenaw Bay, I am afraid. I don't enjoy sailing in the canal or the portage. I do enjoy the Gray Beast (Bete Gris) and under the Manitou. I do enjoy being out on the boat off some rocky desolate shore. I prefer being off shore but I am not going out again without a heavy trysail and storm jibe. I am still trying to to rig the mast, so I can have storm sails spread in front of the main sails. Then if I have to blow the main and jibe, I can turn into the wind under power.
The boys asked the other day if I would take them out. I guess its time to get into shape and go out again. I got out my mother's old Kenmore sewing machine, and I found some rubberized tarps. I think I can make the sails. Maybe that'll help with my confidence.
Sorry for the ramble. Its just that I never liked mountain climbing or sky diving, but I do like that boat, even if it does scare me.
DF
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Post by rlaggren »

DF,

> boys...

Start easy so they have good feelings behind them when they get to the tough stuff.

Just had a thought(!): It's _real_ hard to get back into most boats from in the water - even with assistance. It deserves serious thinking and maybe some mods (flip down ladder on the transom that you can reach when in the water? steps molded into the sides or transome?) to make it possible. Then some practice. The boys should love it!

> worries...

Worries are natural when we've seen something bigger 'n us that don't heel when we bark. Can lead to good productive thought. But what's that old prayer that ends up: ... "Lord let me know the things I can do something about and those I can't... And Lord PLEASE grant me your grace to know which is which!". <g>

Fair winds.

Rufus
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Post by rlaggren »

A long while back Stuart suggested posting pics of my back yard. Took a while but I'll take a shot.

High tide. Harbormaster took the day off.
Image

The fleet. (Cormorant)
Image

Sometimes our fingers get acne!
Image

Home sweet home.
Image

And this house barge isn't on my turf but I thought it deserved to be seen anyway! <g>
Image

Cheers, Rufus
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Post by Sharkey »

It might be interesting to have a "Houseboats" topic thread. I can remember seeing quite a variety in Sausalito many years ago, including one that was a scale replica of the Taj Mahal.

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(This is the backside)
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Post by Jones'n4chrome »

AWESOME!
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Post by Rudy »

These stories are so much fun to read. They read like a novel. You all have the gift of the written word. Thanks for posting them. Rudy
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Post by rlaggren »

Yes, the Taj was really a wonderful piece of work. The city had it's head up you know where when they forced the guy out. It sold and I think it's up the Delta somewhere. There was also a complete little "island" with an old Dutch windmill that worked and a couple palm trees! Don't know where that is now; last I saw it was a restaraunt in SF but that was long ago.
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