(a recap of our landing…)

We made our approach heading toward the public docks. Our plan was to “buzz” the docks to see where the best place to land was. Tink spotted a nice spot on the upriver-inside dock so we spun around and came in slow. We powered down the motor and got the lines ready for docking. Our primary mission was just to get seated on the dock, the thought of leaving the next morning didn’t really hit yet, so as we made it in the docks, our bow was facing the wrong way…

In the tiller, I could feel the current pushing against the boat. Coming in nice and slow we landed and I jumped out like a man on a mission… Slowing the boat and tightening up slack lines… We made it..

Meeting the nice Hunter People.

We made our way up the ramp, but not without noticing a sign that read, “The Hunter Boats Association.” Right off the bat I knew what that translated into…”The 2000+ model Porsche Club.” All of the men were nicely dressed in their Columbia or nautica shorts, Hawaiian polo shirts, & Sperry Topsider Shoes.. The ladies were in their weekend sailing outfits and fully equipped with a non-breakable West Marine wine glass in hand… Oh how nice!

Coming close and hanging out wasn’t really an option to me.. Those Yachties were guarded by ferocious pair of white poodles… I made haste up that walk way… “liberty call at last.” It wouldn’t be fair to say this experience was new… Tink and I had been to St. Helens before, but this day we weren’t day sailing. Our plans were to scout the town (i.e. look for a Starbucks or something) then head back to our boat for dinner. I remembered last time that there was a tiki-looking pizza parlour that appeared that it might have a bar.

We headed that way past the older looking theater and curio shops.. the time was somewhere around 7pm and the town was quiet.. Not a soul to be seen in any shop… “closed” signs decorated the landscape only contrasted by maybe one open sign which was quickly dowsed after 7:30… Small town… So small that the iconic green maiden of black gold coffee didn’t appear anywhere on any street that we walked down. To my luck that pizza place was open and we made our way in.

We sat down at a nice table with lifted stools with a back. Tink likes stools with backs on them, but it was also next to their restroom. An aged woman with a 60′s style apron appeared at our table to start us off… Their selection of beverages was simple. Any fancy named beer was a micro brew… any generic name was a domestic.. “A pitcher of Bridgeport Pale Ale please…”  I said… Here I suppose I could say that this really was borderline micro brew/domestic.. but either way I wanted something at least decent enough that Tink would share. I’m often criticized as cheap so I’ll just say in passing that a full pitcher of beer at $11.25 hit harder then the buzz it generated. We ordered on the side a plate of mozzarella sticks and after a proper relaxation we left to cook some fine stew.

The hunter people seemed like they were growing with every new 40′ hunter boat arriving… All of them seemed like the real parrot head types to me, but for most of the evening Tink and I were ignored…  That is until a 41′ hunter pulled up on the adjacent dock. It was twilight and I wanted light.. I lit a Coleman lantern and sat down… Like a pack of flies our boat was nearly surrounded on the dock by these hunter people all (without thanks or mention) taking advantage of what seemed like the only light. Of course to not say something was rude.. So one or two asked us about the boat.. I knew the importance of conversation and tried to remain talkative & social. Little did we know… but the lesson here is “he who has the light out on the boom sets the party ”

The evening was pleasant and we were acknowledged which was nice, but no matter how much we tried to blend.. They were hunter people and we were in a Coronado… Ahh oh well. We’ll find our crowd soon enough…

More to come…

~J out

Edit:

One saving grace from after landing was the founding of a new drink.. “The St. Helens.” Based on pretty much what we had on board..

In a plastic cup you put 1/2 Sprite or 7up and 1/2 Coconut Rum.. Stir with a screwdriver or plastic knife and enjoy with or w/o ice.

Sailing smoothly with the motor on towards St. Helens. The wind blew softly over our faces and all seemed fine. It was coming close to 3:30pm, but we didn’t have time on our minds.

The wind kicked up in its usual afternoon gusts… this opened the river for some sailing opportunity. Tink wanted to raise some sails and do some real sailing. I, of course, thought the wind was blowing a little hard so I suggested just a jib. A jib was all we needed and worked great for out needs…

We brought her into the wind and hoisted the jib up the fore stay then bringing her back. The sail blew up like a balloon and carried our boat on a port side tack upwind. Tink was feeling very adventurous and somehow convinced me to hit the kill button on the motor. It was very silent after the motor switched off. We went back and forth though the water on tacks making our way to that lighthouse that signifies St. Helens ahead.

For a long time we were the only ones taking advantage of the mighty Columbia, but as we sailed along we spotted a bigger boat with main & jib up heaving to & fro on our six. Far away, but gaining speed we watched that boat heave away as another boat behind that one seemed like it was racing it to some grand American Cup finals.

Quite a treat it was to watch our sails pull us forward.. After a while our confidence grew and we began to experiment with speed, direction, and distance. Hours seemed like minutes as we raced along on our 23 ft. sailboat. Nothing here seemed as complicated as we thought.

Watch the wind.. Turn till the sails fill up… Go forward…

It seems like the difficulty comes with trying to explain with sailing terms all the physics at play here. We we’re like a plane.. a plane with one wing.. Flying on our side.. The more wind = more lift = more speed. True captains really must be pilots of the Sea!

Late into the afternoon we spotted that old looking lighthouse. We turned too and dropped the jib, said a prayer that the motor will turn on, and gave that puppy a pull. Vroom it went and a sigh of relief leaped from my lips. We did it…

Pulling in to the docks we went.. We found a nice spot on the inside and tied up, sat down, and relaxed. “That was fun..” I said.. however.. both our knee’s were crossed and it wasn’t long before we headed up the ramp to the marina’s head.

Next Episode.. “The Rich Yachtie’s Party at St. Helens“

~J out

The account of my sailing adventure to St. Helens & back.

My dream for independent sailing was to be able to tackle the mighty Columbia via sail power and to learn the art of motor sailing. This boat our family bought is great for both, but being a “hand-me-down” from several owners and having been rebuilt by our crew, I thought it prudent to do a “shake-down trip.” With any pre-big adventure you need a shake down trip. To tell you where to “beef up” or upgrade. In hiking trips, you find out that your 20 yr. old back pack just doesn’t cut it anymore. In Biking you find out your chain doesn’t spin anymore. In sailing you find the loose turn buckles, loose nuts, motor glitches, and other stuff.

Our trip took off with quite a surprising fo-pah. The motor didn’t start… I pulled and pulled and pulled and nothing did it. With a can of starter fluid at the ready I pondered the inner-workings of a marine outboard. The answer came to me briefly before what the problem might be… Flooded engine. Fuel had pooled into the cylinders and the motor was too soaked to start. Of course there’s your problem so what to do about it? Let it drain? That might take hours and we didn’t have that… Solution 2.. Pump it out. Through a stroke of genius I pulled the motor cord 6 or 8 times with the gas hose not connected. I saw that oily, gassy, filth run out into the river (sorry) and once convinced I re-hooked up the gas and gave it a pull.. Nothing for the first pull, but the second pull turned that innate lifeless motor into a bustling, vigorous, powerful machine. Beaten and bloody.. I collapsed in the cockpit to tend to my busted knuckle. Tink came around and was pleasantly surprised to see that Honda rumble in the water, “Let’s turn it off and turn it on to see if it’ll do it again!” she exclaimed. I sat there lifeless, but the pain in my right hand turned into bewilderment… “you want me to do what?” I remarked sarcastically “Oh.. I guess since you got it running you don’t want to turn it off huh?” she replied… “yeah.” Tink proceeded on to clean the boat down… Every nut and dust particle was swept. Roughly half and hour later we were ready to rumble. 

After leaving the dock, I noticed almost immediately that our rudder & tiller felt shaky and out of place. It creaked, and jolted, and if left un-manned would nearly throw a person over board. Tink made a note in the log of the unusual occurrence and after some convincing “negotiations” made me turn the boat around towards our Marina. 

Toiling over what could have been the matter… I knew if I could get that Honda to run I could get the tiller straightened out… straighten out THAT’S IT! Looking at it closer I realized the tiller was 180 degrees backward. I promptly swung that tiller around facing forwards and we headed out to test my theory… Yep.. Problem solved.. On to St. Helens.

To be continued.

~J out