We passed the mouth of the Columbia a few hours ago, so now about 20 miles into Oregon. So far, the most interesting part of this trip to me has been the nearly continual cell phone reception. It’s a little sad, but nice. After all, it’s not like I’m headed out to sea; I’m just motoring down the coast. Sometimes I forget that, and think that it should be harder than this (knock on wood), but on this trip I’ll take it. The boat and its motor have been amazing – absolutely perfect. That thing just churns away hour after hour, keeping the same temperature and oil pressure – no problems whatsoever. All we’ve had to do is supplement the fuel tank with the jerry jugs (I got 4 additional 5-gallon cans of diesel that we lashed to the stern pulpit), and check and top off the oil level (she seems to burn just a bit of oil).
The day is so easy, sunny and warm that I decided to throw out a line. We’re not going to slow down and troll for salmon, and if there are any tuna out here right now I doubt they’re dumb enough to hit the excuse for a tuna jig I put on the line, but hey, it’s still fishing. There are 3-5-foot swells from the SW, and almost no wind. We’re just continuing to chug along at 2400 RPM (usually about 7 knots through the water) towards Newport, where we’all definitely stop to fill the tanks, rest, and consider next steps. We should be into Newport about 5am Saturday, and then have the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to try to make more south. Eureka is still attainable, but we’ll check the status of that storm before leaving Newport.Food has been good. Soup, sandwiches, “boat snacks” (like Triscuits and hummus), coffee, tea and Vitamin Water. And maybe tuna for dinner. Ugh – I forgot to get wasabi. This morning I said something about how sleeping from 1-5 felt like about 20 minutes. Well, I’ve been sleeping very well considering the rolly seas (they haven’t always been as mellow as they are now – last night/this morning we were getting some 6-8ft swells with 2-3ft wind chop). The challenge is to not wake up every time the boat rolls, so I end up falling asleep sort of spread out flat. Sea change: no more side sleeping.I’ve said to many of my friends (and said to myself, very honestly) that I didn’t know what this was going to be like. Would I love it or hate it? Would the nothingness out there relax me or drive me nuts? It depends heavily, I think, on who’s sharing the boat with me. I like Capt Rich – he’s a good guy, a good conversationalist, a reader of good stuff… but he’s 20 years, a body, a beard and a second X chromosome away from my dream sailing partner from the Taco Traveler post. Being on the ocean, though… I’d always hoped I would love it as much as I *want* to. Only thirty-six hours out, and even just motoring - with almost no real sailing - I have to say at the moment that this is a life I could do.TT
