Blog Entry
August 24, 2008
Newport Oregon
It was another overnight passage to Newport from Westport. We left at 6 in the morning, and had expected an assisting current to get us down to Oregon, but we had a half a knot up to 2 knots against us. This counter current makes the captain very unhappy, and he needs a *gentle* reminder that, like so many things in life, there is nothing he can do about it, so he might as well sit back and enjoy the ride, and not make his first mate grumpy with his complaining! It was frustrating though. Some say that the contrary current goes out 20 miles from the coast, but we spoke with Ken on Genesis, a power boat that left Westport shortly after we did, and he said that 10 miles off shore where they were they had the current with them.
Once we hit the Columbia River, which we did so at about 1pm, we started getting a push from the flood, and continued with about a 1 knot push until about 2 hours shy of Newport. It was a fog free passage, and warmer than the last overnighter from Ucluelet to Westport. Passages are stressful, but there is a serene beauty in them as well. I took this sunset photo of Ken as I was preparing to rest before my 10pm to 2am watch. (see photo under Newport) Ken reviews the chart and makes a light list, which includes lighthouses and other visual or auditory aides to navigation we will pass in the intervening hours. As the sun sets, our eyes turn from the sea and sky horizon to the electronic concentric horizon of the Garmin.
Night watch is a time of solitude, reflection and routine. I focus in on the dimmed radar screen, adjusting it to 6 to 8 and sometimes 12 miles of range, and back down again. I scan the visible horizon, which sometimes is distinct, if there is light from shore or the moon. Other times it is a matter of picking out any illumination in the darkness. Oftentimes fishing boats, which use their spotlights to attract fish, will appear as a golden glow on the horizon.
I much prefer to be out of sight of shore at night: a sailor knows that close to shore is dangerous, with it’s accompanying risks: more ships, logs and off lying rocks and reefs.
My greatest pleasure was to open the hatch to begin my night watch and see the immensity of the heavens stretched across the black bowl of the sky. It is humbling to feel like a speck of existence. The Milky Way is an enveloping presence, cradling our fragile globe in it’s galactic swathe. There were so many visible stars that the only constellation I recognized was the Big Dipper. This night, we had just over half a waning moon, and she rose in the east like a piece of carrot colored cheddar cheese. The stars are jealous of the moon, this most bright asteroid stealing their collective subtle blinking beauty. Other than for her grand entrance, I wished it had been a moonless night, as she took me away from my nascent love affair with the stars.
Newport
It’s hard to wake up at 6am, after just a few hours of sleep, put on all those damn clothes and go outside into the weather. Not even a moment to have a cup of tea! After about an hour, the sun slowly rises, as does my alertness. Ken got to rest about an hour and a half until we were within the approach to Newport. Can’t miss Newport, with it’s long arching bridge over the marina, see photos. We pulled into the fuel dock, where we were able to empty our pooper tank--hooray! We hadn’t been able to find a functional pump out station since we were on the inside of Vancouver Island. Right next door was the transient ‘J’ dock, and we saw Ken and Fay from Genesis. We parked on the other side of the dock from them, right next another Ingrid, Firewater, piloted by Richard and his wife Doris. Richard has hull number 26 (we have hull number 6), bought the boat new and outfitted it himself. Has lived aboard for 30 plus years.
It was soooo great to be back in Oregon! I was surprised how much I had missed home. I’m a bit chagrined to admit that I have become accustomed to grocery stores where you can buy anything your stomach desires, and then some. Newport has a great shuttle bus system, and we rode for free because we are staying at the marina. Wine cost 8 bucks a bottle, bread, $3.50 instead of $5, milk and cheese were reasonable too. I felt secure being back in Oregon, and I was happy. There are certain things that become part of you after you become a certain age, like turning on Public radio and television. I am a product of civilization, of Americana, of—dare I say it? The corporate world! How does this bode for the possibility of living outside the US? I have a better idea now.
We stumbled across the ‘world headquarters’ of Rogue Brewery, right next to the marina, see photos. Rogue does not refer to the Rogue Valley, but rather to an independent, go your own way sort of rogue. The owner, who still works in the bar every week, is a dog person. He had a black Lab who was his best pal and ‘brew master’, until he was hit by a car in 2006, see photos. He was old by then, had lived a long life. He lives on in a huge banner that is hung from one of the beer tanks, see photo. Ken went home but I stayed to have a pint of their signature beer, Dead Man, and watch the waning days of the Olympics, men’s platform diving. I stumbled back to the boat, mildly inebrietated and sleep deprived, but unmolested.
August 24, 2008
Newport Oregon
It was another overnight passage to Newport from Westport. We left at 6 in the morning, and had expected an assisting current to get us down to Oregon, but we had a half a knot up to 2 knots against us. This counter current makes the captain very unhappy, and he needs a *gentle* reminder that, like so many things in life, there is nothing he can do about it, so he might as well sit back and enjoy the ride, and not make his first mate grumpy with his complaining! It was frustrating though. Some say that the contrary current goes out 20 miles from the coast, but we spoke with Ken on Genesis, a power boat that left Westport shortly after we did, and he said that 10 miles off shore where they were they had the current with them.
Once we hit the Columbia River, which we did so at about 1pm, we started getting a push from the flood, and continued with about a 1 knot push until about 2 hours shy of Newport. It was a fog free passage, and warmer than the last overnighter from Ucluelet to Westport. Passages are stressful, but there is a serene beauty in them as well. I took this sunset photo of Ken as I was preparing to rest before my 10pm to 2am watch. (see photo under Newport) Ken reviews the chart and makes a light list, which includes lighthouses and other visual or auditory aides to navigation we will pass in the intervening hours. As the sun sets, our eyes turn from the sea and sky horizon to the electronic concentric horizon of the Garmin.
Night watch is a time of solitude, reflection and routine. I focus in on the dimmed radar screen, adjusting it to 6 to 8 and sometimes 12 miles of range, and back down again. I scan the visible horizon, which sometimes is distinct, if there is light from shore or the moon. Other times it is a matter of picking out any illumination in the darkness. Oftentimes fishing boats, which use their spotlights to attract fish, will appear as a golden glow on the horizon.
I much prefer to be out of sight of shore at night: a sailor knows that close to shore is dangerous, with it’s accompanying risks: more ships, logs and off lying rocks and reefs.
My greatest pleasure was to open the hatch to begin my night watch and see the immensity of the heavens stretched across the black bowl of the sky. It is humbling to feel like a speck of existence. The Milky Way is an enveloping presence, cradling our fragile globe in it’s galactic swathe. There were so many visible stars that the only constellation I recognized was the Big Dipper. This night, we had just over half a waning moon, and she rose in the east like a piece of carrot colored cheddar cheese. The stars are jealous of the moon, this most bright asteroid stealing their collective subtle blinking beauty. Other than for her grand entrance, I wished it had been a moonless night, as she took me away from my nascent love affair with the stars.
Newport
It’s hard to wake up at 6am, after just a few hours of sleep, put on all those damn clothes and go outside into the weather. Not even a moment to have a cup of tea! After about an hour, the sun slowly rises, as does my alertness. Ken got to rest about an hour and a half until we were within the approach to Newport. Can’t miss Newport, with it’s long arching bridge over the marina, see photos. We pulled into the fuel dock, where we were able to empty our pooper tank--hooray! We hadn’t been able to find a functional pump out station since we were on the inside of Vancouver Island. Right next door was the transient ‘J’ dock, and we saw Ken and Fay from Genesis. We parked on the other side of the dock from them, right next another Ingrid, Firewater, piloted by Richard and his wife Doris. Richard has hull number 26 (we have hull number 6), bought the boat new and outfitted it himself. Has lived aboard for 30 plus years.
It was soooo great to be back in Oregon! I was surprised how much I had missed home. I’m a bit chagrined to admit that I have become accustomed to grocery stores where you can buy anything your stomach desires, and then some. Newport has a great shuttle bus system, and we rode for free because we are staying at the marina. Wine cost 8 bucks a bottle, bread, $3.50 instead of $5, milk and cheese were reasonable too. I felt secure being back in Oregon, and I was happy. There are certain things that become part of you after you become a certain age, like turning on Public radio and television. I am a product of civilization, of Americana, of—dare I say it? The corporate world! How does this bode for the possibility of living outside the US? I have a better idea now.
We stumbled across the ‘world headquarters’ of Rogue Brewery, right next to the marina, see photos. Rogue does not refer to the Rogue Valley, but rather to an independent, go your own way sort of rogue. The owner, who still works in the bar every week, is a dog person. He had a black Lab who was his best pal and ‘brew master’, until he was hit by a car in 2006, see photos. He was old by then, had lived a long life. He lives on in a huge banner that is hung from one of the beer tanks, see photo. Ken went home but I stayed to have a pint of their signature beer, Dead Man, and watch the waning days of the Olympics, men’s platform diving. I stumbled back to the boat, mildly inebrietated and sleep deprived, but unmolested.
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