Those dreams began for me as a


boy in Ventura, California, within the gunwales of a home-built Sea Shell pram with a cast iron centerboard and a bed sheet sail, my first boat. Sailing became the passion of my life and by the time I was a young man in the 1970’s with more balls than brains, I owned a Cal 25, moored on the Columbia River near the airport in Portland, Oregon. The occasional trips down the river were always a high, of course, as were the occasional bareboat charters in the San Juan Islands, but I hungered for stronger stuff. The idea of a personal voyage of discovery germinated and began to grow: It was to be a trip from Astoria into the North Pacific, beating up the Washington coast, around Cape Flattery, then running down the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, and back again. And all in my own 25-foot sloop. I found two other young men, also


in their twenties, willing to go with me; my brother Eric, and the husband of a co-worker, Matt Carver. Eric had been sailing almost as long as I had, and if he had the edge as a competitive sailor, I had the edge in seamanship (the following story notwithstanding). We had spent a lot of time sailing together and trusted each other completely on the water. Matt, a budding engineer, barely knew how to sail, though his dream was grander than either Eric’s or mine at the time: He was building a 40- foot live-aboard from a bare hull, with visions of sailing it around the world. They both “signed the ship’s articles” and the voyage was on. We decided to make the trip the last week of July and the first week of August, 1976. The Cal 25 was a fast boat for its


day and size, fiberglass-light with sweet lines, a fin keel, and a flush deck, providing an efficient foredeck and more room below. She was great for the gentle waters of Southern California where she was made, but no one would ever accuse her of being a blue water cruiser. Still, she was my baby, the ship of my dreams, and we were determined to make the trip in her. Her sail inventory was minimal, just the main with two reefs, a working jib and a 140 genoa. Our auxiliary engine was a ten horse, long-shaft Merc hanging off the transom (but kicked up under sail to reduce drag) with two five gallon


gas cans stowed under the cockpit seats along with the rest of the loose gear. Our navigation equipment consisted of charts of the Washington coast, the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the San Juans, a pencil, dividers, parallel rules, a portable radio direction finder, depth sounder, knot meter and compass. The safety gear included a “custom” man-overboard pole I had fashioned from a 12-foot fishing rod blank with float, flag, and life ring, a radar reflector in the rigging, strobes and whistles on the life jackets and safety harnesses for


the crew. I couldn’t afford a VHF radio, and our real sense of security in the event of an offshore emergency came from the EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) mounted on the interior of the aft cabin bulkhead and the half-inflated life raft folded over and lashed down over the hatch on the foredeck.


* * * Eric, Matt and I are in Astoria


stowing the duffle bags, ice and groceries, rechecking the rigging, throwing a final charge into the 48° NORTH, SEPTEMBER 2010 PAGE 55


A Little Closer to


By Tom Olsen


Columbus


Is there a sailor alive who hasn’t dreamed of making offshore passages to unknown ports in a vessel of his own, to be connected in some small way with the spirits of Columbus and Magellan? I don’t think so.


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