San Simeon is sort of a fanciful spot. The water is fairly clear and has a nice green color that evokes exotic anchorages. The pockmarked and stratified rocks on the shore of the bight are fascinating and above them there are groves of tall pine and eucalyptus trees — some of which are draped in a bright green moss. North of the rocky shore, there is a wonderful beach. Just past the expanse of beach, the shoreline has a number of buildings in the Spanish style used by the missionaries who built this place. High up on the mountain one can see the turrets of the Hearst Castle. It would be easy to imagine being in some cove on the Mediterranean. Yet here is this great spot right here on the West coast of the USA.
This fanciful place that defies expectations started some thoughts on reality. I know that many think that sailing around is a fanciful way of life that enables one to escape reality. In fact, I think a firm grounding in reality is absolutely necessary at sea and probably optional for land dwellers. At sea, one must know where the dangers are — unseen and seen, Sight of land and rocks is straight forward, but there are many rocks that lie just below the surface, and a vast expanse of water may be only ankle-deep. Good charts and navigation skills work well with those dangers. Then there are tides and currents. Tide tables and currents are often published, but the publications are only predictions which can be very wrong if winds, currents and even rainfall are different from the ones used in the predictions. That gets us to the big unknown — the weather.
With all the generations and generations of recorded personal observations and now satellite and sensors strewn across the planet with powerful computer models running day and night, one would expect that the weather would be well known in advance. Amazingly, even the current weather seems elusive to weather reporters which is why I have always thought that a window should be mandatory for every forecaster. Sadly, from many of the weather observations we have heard, even such a simple thing as windows in weather offices don´t seem to exist.
Many sailors find themselves becoming amateur weather forecasters. The best technique is to obtain the raw prediction data from 500MB to the surface which is available from the current state out to 96 hours. Then, one records the actual conditions one is in. Then one decides what must have happened to explain any difference. Based on that explanation, one re-interpretes the forecasts. With some of the new models, there are significant differences over a few miles whereas the traditional NOAA data has nowhere near that much fidelity. We often find the high fidelity forecasts very useful in coastal waters. Nonetheless, sometimes forecasts deviate far more than can be expected with higher fidelity predictions.
Unfortunately, our mast-top weather station has been inoperative since we launched and that has made determining our actual conditions difficult. Even so, it has often been obvious that the predictions are very wrong. And then we wonder, what is really happening. As we sped down the Big Sur coast, the winds went from almost dead calm to around 25 knots. I am sure that big rise was unforecasted. The waves were probably about the forecasted height, but the period was much shorter than forecast and that made for the really uncomfortable ride.
With a forecast for bigger waves with very short periods, we left San Simeon so as to be in the more protected harbor at Port San Luis before their arrival. That worked out well and there was certainly a big swell coming into the port during our several day stay. Finally with a forecast for smaller, long-period waves, we departed Port San Luis to round Point Conception. I think the waves were about as high as forecast, but even longer in period. This made for a very comfortable ride. Unfortunately, the forecast winds never arrived and we motor sailed all the way to Cojo anchorage.
Cojo is a nice place to get out of Northwest wind and waves. Moderate Northwest winds and waves were forecast for the night — actually for the next couple of days — and both Brenda and I expected a peaceful sleep with light to moderate winds blowing off the shore — there was no lee shore to worry about. The hazard of that anchorage in Southeasterly winds was obvious by the hulks of two sailboats up against the cliffs of this remote place. Actually, despite the wind-block afforded by those cliffs, there were remarkably large breaking waves hitting the entire shoreline. Despite the waves, Mahdee was pointed straight at the cliffs to the Northwest.
Brenda had just gotten into bed and had the Nokia tracking our position at anchor when she said something is wrong, we are moving in a straight line to the West. I could hear the wind starting to whistle in the rigging so I jumped out the companionway door into the black of night — I did mention that Cojo is in the middle of nowhere. I searched to see the faint anchor light of the Westsail on the other side of the kelp and the Nordhaven trawler. But looking up into the sky at the brilliant stars, I spotted Polaris, and the North star was sweeping down our port side.
I announced to Brenda that we were turning and pointing to the Northeast, but did not appear to be dragging. Mahdee kept turning and I got out the binoculars with the lighted compass to take bearings and headings. Mahdee´s turn stopped at a heading of 080 magnetic. The wind came up to about 25 knots and that wreck-strewn cliff was almost dead astern — we had a nasty lee shore.
We immediately turned the VHF radio to the weather channel. It reports that we currently have 10-15 knots of wind from the NW and that the winds will become light and variable below 10 knots later. Nothing about a strong Easterly blow. We were monitoring channel 16 and there were no notices of strange weather.
We pulled out the cruising guide books to help us make a good decision. Fagen´s book states Cojo is a great anchorage in most conditions but that one should immediately leave Cojo in Southeast winds. Well the true winds are South of East — how much South of East is a problem? We used Fagens book for our arrival and he is very explicit that one should arrive in daylight so as to navigate through the kelp beds so as to be in the calmer water between the kelp and the shore. We did that and had to pass within 20 feet of the Westsail because it was sitting just outside the kelp and the passage through. He also notes that one should never attempt to enter Cojo after dark because not only are there no navigation lights, but the kelp is impossible to see at night. This makes one wonder how to leave at night now that the kelp is invisible, there is a Westsail 32 in the passage and, now that the wind has changes, the kelp is probably in a different place too. Departure doesn´t seem like the right plan — at least not yet.
Brenda usually can´t sleep in tense situations like these, so she volunteers to take the first anchor watch. I can usually sleep, especially knowing that Brenda is on watch because she notices everything. I get into bed with my salty clothes on just in case a quick response, or getaway is needed. I can´t sleep. I keep thinking that the forecast is completely wrong, so what big change has happened. I think about the warnings by Fagan about the Southeasterly winds and the wrecked boats. With the Easterly blow, the entire Santa Barbara Channel allows for a big fetch to Cojo. This is a kelpy anchorage and kelp can foul the anchor which will reduce its holding and let a boat drag anchor. I wasn´t worried about that when we anchored since the forecast was for moderate NW winds. Nonetheless, I think we have good anchoring technique and that may mitigate the kelp´s negative effect. I keep thinking and hoping that the wind will die down before the fetch builds waves that could surge-load the anchor and pull it loose.
As I lay trying to get some sleep so that I would be ready for a late anchor watch, all I could do was listen to the whistle of the wind in the rig.
My thoughts went something like this: I think the wind is calming, the whistle is gone … no, there the whistle is again … well maybe the fetch is more to the Southeast … no, there come some waves … Mahdee is bucking into building waves on her bow and this is not good … the waves are gone and Mahdee is riding smooth … I think the winds are increasing … Mahdee is bucking into waves again and this is not good … I wonder how we will get out of the kelp without clogging the raw water intake with kelp or fowling the prop … the wind seems to be dropping … uh oh, Mahdee is bucking again …
I was tense and for me, this not knowing and uncertainty was far worse than our night coming down Big Sur. On our Big Sur passage, I knew we had sea room and I was at the helm where I had control of Mahdee. Steering was a chore, but Mahdee was responsive and that made me comfortable. At Cojo, the lee shore and unforecast high winds almost 180 degrees from the forecast direction in an anchorage that was marginally safe now all added up to stress.
Finally the whistling stopped and Brenda and I slept fitfully for the remainder of the night. The next morning we changed our destination from Santa Miguel island for the calmer weather forecast for Santa Cruz. I was initially for keeping to our original plan since the forecast might be wrong. But, Brenda argued with a logical analogy that there was little sense sailing into the path of a hurricane thinking that the forecast could be wrong. I couln´t argue with that logic, so we set a course for Santa Cruz.
The winds were extremely light and blowing from the SE — directly where we wanted to go. Then the radio announces a weather alert for Santa Cruz Island. Severe thunderstorms with water spouts and cloud to water lightning and high winds. Depending on the forecasters — who all use the same NOAA weather data — the winds would be either from the South or from the North — so which forecast do we believe? There are no anchorages on Santa Cruz that are safe in both North and South winds. Ironically, Santa Miguel, our original destination, was now forecast to be much calmer weather than Santa Cruz.
In the end, Brenda and I are tired of dealing with big weather uncertainties, so we turn to Santa Barbara and tie up to a slip in the harbor. Now we are protected from winds no matter their direction and intensity and if lightning strikes, there will be lots of other boat masts around us that might get hit instead of us. And, we discovered that this is a nice harbor. We had a nice meal out, and have purchased fresh groceries and we will top off with water. We would never have come here if we had had better weather information. So that´s a good thing.
