Felicidade visits Bug Bay

On April 10, the plan was to go for a solo overnight up at Roosevelt Lake. I thought I'd head up alone because I wanted to do some work on the Potter in addition to the sailing, and the kids get bored watching Dad putz around on the boat. I packed up the night before and got an early start (for once)-- I was on the road by 7:30. The forecast was for winds of around 15 mph for most of the weekend. Perfect sailing weather. But while I was driving through town I noticed that the palm trees were getting blown pretty good. It looked like the wind was already blowing 15 mph, with some stronger gusts. This made me a tad nervous, but I kept going under the assumption that this was just a local effect out here in the flat valley and the winds would be calmer up at the lake. And if they weren't? Well, I could always overnight in the dry storage lot, if they would let me.

When I arrived at the lake, my theory about the winds being less at the lake went out the window. From the road the lake looked lumpy, and there were a lot of whitecaps. Gulp. The foliage beside the road was flailing back and forth. When I parked the car and got out I estimated that it was blowing 16 - 18 mph steady with gusts to 20. Closer to the lake things looked pretty woolly. I decided to go for it-- I could always pull out if things were too rough. While in the marina office arranging for the launch and pullout , the lady at the the desk said the forecast was for 30 MPH. "Be careful out there," she added. Gulp.

I got the boat set up in short order and soon was being towed down to the ramp. There were 3 boats ahead of me and I had a chance to observe the conditions at the ramp. The wind was blowing almost directly from the East, which was the opposite of the usual direction. Of course, the wind and sea were right across the ramp. There was a fair amount of chop, and some actual swells. This was going to be interesting. I watched as one bass boat launched; he got his stern to the swells and was nearly swamped before he motored away from the ramp. It looked like he shipped some water over the stern. I wasn't worried about getting swamped, but my freeboard is such that I needed to be pretty assertive about getting away from the ramp before the wind sent me into the weeds. Since the lake is so high, a temporary ramp was built by the marina, out in the weeds near where I had seen the RVs parked back on Felicidade's first sailing adventure. The ramp is kind of shallow and various drowned bushes closely surround the launch area. If the wind got hold of the boat I'd be blown into the foliage, creating a fine spectacle in front of the various fishermen waiting to be put in. I resolved that I would not make a spectacle of myself on this trip.

Soon it was my turn. The outboard started up fine, bless its little Tohatsu heart. While it warmed up I put the rudder down as far as I could on the shallow ramp. I clipped my harness to the boat and gave Mike the Ramp Guy the thumbs-up. He shoved me out into the lake. The Potter does not like to motor that much, especially in reverse. With the daggerboard up, it is like a big chunk of styrofoam skittering across the water. I gunned the outboard and tried to aim the stern into the wind and make progress against the wind and waves. The wind caught the boat and spun us around clockwise; fortunately that was what I wanted to do. Well, pretty much. I hadn't planned on doing it quite so close to the ramp. But no matter; once pointed in the proper direction, I switched the outboard to forward and we motored out into the lake. I remembered to lock the rudder fully down.

Once we were clear of the weeds the swell became apparent and Felicidade was rocking like I've never experienced before, taking the waves on the beam. This worried me because the daggerboard was not down; I didn't know how much swell it would take to roll the boat. I angled into the wind to try and take the waves at an angle; now the boat was pounding (thank you hard chines), but I felt a bit safer. I immediately began cranking the daggerboard down. The effect was dramatic; with the board down, the motion of the boat smoothed out and it felt much more secure. I put the motor in neutral and went below to lock the daggerboard in place. The boat promptly turned broadside and settled down. Even broadside to the swells, the boat's motion was easy.

Time to raise the mainsail. I had put in 2 reefs back on the land, so I was ready for the wind. The trouble is I could not keep the boat pointed into the wind. It was blowing too hard, and the sea was too choppy. No matter what I did with the motor and tiller tamer, the boat quickly peeled off and assumed its natural beam-to posture as soon as I went forward to raise the main. As we drifted downwind at about 2 knots I pondered how to raise the mainsail without being pointed into the wind. This had never been an issue before. How do you heave-to with no sails up? I finally just climbed up (harness snapped in) and muscled the main up. I got it most of the way up, though there was a bit of loose sail at the bottom. I wasn't going to worry too much about that; I could deal with it once I got into the lee of some land.

Sail up, I sheeted in the main, leaving the motor idling in neutral, and away we went. Well, kind of. Felicidade refused to turn through the wind. I could not tack to save my life. I learned an interesting characteristic right then of my high-sided Potter; in high wind, choppy seas, with a double-reefed main, good luck trying to tack through the wind. If I gunned the outboard I could do it, but not under mainsail alone. OK, good to know.

I shut the outboard off and jibed to run downwind on a Westerly course. I was originally going to head East through the Windy Hill pass, but since (a) that was directly upwind, and (b) there was probably a reason why Windy Hill is called that, I decided to run downwind until I could get in the lee of the land. My new plan was to get in calmer air and get the main fully hoisted, then roll out the foresail. Running was relatively peaceful. The boat was making 5 knots, and behaving nicely. The baggy main bothered me, but we'd fix that soon. Life was good.

We sailed on a dead run and rounded the point about 30 minutes later. In the lee of the land things were much calmer. I finished hoisting the main and rolled a bit of the genoa out. Then we turned South and started towards the opposite side of the lake. My plan was to head West along the opposite shoreline, exploring two coves which I had seen from the highway as I drove up. One of them looked particularly interesting and I thought we might spend the night there. Despite the frisky weather and waves, the Potter was sailing quite well. We had a nice run down to the first cove, which was behind a picnic area, under a bridge. I didn't go under the bridge to explore further because I wanted to do some more exploring.

I kept going West to the second cove. Once I got there I could see that it wouldn't make a good spot to camp, so I turned and began beating back up to the NE. I wanted to go check out the cove where the kids & I have beached the boat and hiked around in the past.

It was taking a while to beat back to the NE, so I shook out the reefs and rolled out the genoa. The wind had calmed somewhat, so I was not over-canvassed. We made good progress to weather.

Eventually we got there. Outside of the cove, I dropped the main, rolled up the genoa, and fired up Mr. Tohatsu. We motored slowly into the cove past a couple of bass boats. I steered us to the far North end of the cove, a creek wash that I had considered as a possible spot to tie up overnight. The wash was too shallow and weed choked on previous visits, but now the lake was almost completely full and I thought it worth a try to investigate the potential roost. on the way in I took a couple of soundings but the water was deeper than my lead line. No anchoring here! The wash in question was totally submerged and in fact was now extended to the right. (the picture was taken when the lake was a much lower level FYI).

This was potentially an even more snug location to tie up so I followed the meandering path. Dead bushes poked up all around us, and there was a lot of floating junk as we slowly motored in to the head of the wash. we were just about to nose up to the beach when there was a slight crunch and we stopped dead. The daggerboard had obviously touched down and we weren't going any further.

Right about this time I noticed that there were about a gazillion little bugs flying around the boat. They seemed especially fond of the outboard motor. That did not bode well for an overnight stay, I decided, and I switched the motor to reverse so I could make my retreat. Or at least that was the plan. Felicidade refused to budge, and was in fact was stuck fast. Hmm. I revved the outboard full blast, to no avail. I tried rocking the boat. Nada. It was apparent that the daggerboard had lodged on something.

Well, I wasn't going to let this stop me; I cranked it up while a cloud of insects orbited my head Now we could extract ourselves, dignity more or less intact. I backed Felicidade out and turned around in the first water of sufficient area. We motored slowly back the way we had come. I remembered to lower the daggerboard as we left the wash.

We motored around the cove a bit more, looking for a potential spot to anchor that would be far enough out to avoid the bugs, but shallow enough given the limited area to swing. Nothing presented itself, and I decided to bail. Once the lake level went down this would be a good spot, but not today. We headed out of the cove. Once clear I hoisted the main and genoa, and shut off the outboard. I decided at that point to revisit the first cove across the lake behind the bridge.

We sailed on a broad reach to the other side. I started the motor and took down the sails, and we pottered in under the bridge. For a moment I was worried that we wouldn't clear the underside of the bridge; it was close, maybe 3 feet clearance. it was hard to tell. I stopped just before we went under and stared at the bridge, trying to decide if we would fit. Some fishermen in a nearby bass boat stared curiously at us as we pondered the situation.

After a moment, I noticed that the bridge was inclined slightly; I found that I could move West a few feet and there should be plenty of room. We did that, and cleared the bridge with room to spare. We motored around a bend into an intimate little bay surrounded by steep hills covered in flowers and saguaro cacti. Three bass boats were drifting about, their fishermen casting lines. The water was active with fish that were jumping after bugs. It was altogether a very peaceful scene.

There were a lot of bugs, but they seemed to be uninterested in Felicidade and her mammalian skipper and left us alone as we slowly nosed up to the shoreline. I fetched a dock line and took a loop around a rotten stump of dubious holding power, then cleated it on deck. I went back to the cockpit to take it all in. In the late afternoon sun, it was a nice spot. I climbed up the hill above Felicidade to check in with The Wife on the cell phone. The hillside was very steep and loose. I worried about rattlesnakes and scorpions as I slid about. At the top I had a nice view of Felicidade down below. A huge Saguaro cactus provided an interesting contrast to the tiny boat below it.




























I survived the scramble back to the boat and relaxed while a progression of bass boats silently meandered by. I was intrigued by the fact that the boats were obviously being propelled by electric trolling motors; what I couldn't figure out was how the motors were being controlled. I never saw the fishermen adjusting anything like a tiller or throttle. The boats just mysteriously seemed to troll around, perhaps controlled by ESP. I eventually decided that there must be foot switches, or something, controlling the motors.

Soon it was cocktail hour and I poured a glass of Two Buck Chuck. I made a couple of sandwiches and enjoyed the twilight, sitting in the cabin and gazing out the companionway at my private little bay. I missed the kids (my usual sailing companions) but all in all Life Was Good.

As the light faded I decided that calm as it was in this tight little bay, my rotten stump shore anchor was probably not too seamanlike. I went ashore and tied another line off to a large rock, just in case. I noticed while doing this that a huge cloud of bugs had taken an interest in my mast, and were trying really hard to form a solid insectoid ball in the air above the lowered mainsail. I took a picture. I don't know what kind of bugs these were; they resembled mosquitos, but when I offered my arm to the insect ball they did not seem interested. OK by me! I resolved that once the light faded I'd close up the cabin in case the insect cloud wanted to move inside with me. My ports are screened so I was confident that I could keep the critters outside.

In the last light, I saw a puff of air rippling the water in the approximate center of the bay, even though I felt no breeze. I surmised that it was probably cooler air coming off the hills around the bay and hitting the water. It was kind of neat to see, and a reminder that even in this protected place I might encounter some wind during the night. I was glad I had supplemented the Rotten Stump Anchor.

Bedtime arrived. I slept fitfully. A breeze did come up in the night, blowing wavelets against the hull and making annoying gurgling/thumping noises. The boat was solid and didn't move, though; I think the daggerboard was keeping the boat more or less in place and not allowing it to swing against the shoreline. But the damn gurgles kept waking me up. Note to self: find a way to prevent gurgles.





























In the morning I climbed stiffly out of the V-berth and was treated to an idyllic scene. Sill water reflected the glowing hills as the sun came up. Life Was Good. I drank coffee and ate breakfast while contemplating my good fortune at being in this nice place on the Good Ship Felicidade.



















































































As I finished breakfast and the first bass boat silently appeared around the corner, I thought about how I was going to leave the bay. There was the faintest of breezes rippling the center of the bay; I decided that I would try to sail out, not wanting to disturb the quiet beauty of this place with the noisy outboard.

I raised the mainsail and fetched the paddle from the quarterberth. I had never paddled Felicidade before and was eager to see how that would work out. I untied the dock lines from the rock and rotten stump and threw them onto the fore deck. I gave Felicidade a good shove and jumped on board as she silently drifted away from the shore. As the boat slowly coasted to the middle of the bay I turned the tiller to point us in the right direction; then I started paddling.

I found that paddling was pretty easy-- a touch of rudder to keep us on course was all that was needed and I managed to coax the boat up to half a knot. We made our way towards the bridge and the mouth of the bay. That was just too cool. I felt like a real sailor-man exploring the great unknown.

Near the bridge, a tiny breeze sprang up, and I put down the paddle. Then it died. Back to paddling. I unrolled the genoa, and got a touch more speed out of the faint puffs. The trouble with the genoa, I soon discovered, was that the flaky zephyrs kept switching directions, and I found myself tacking the sail a bunch of times. The sheets kept getting hung up on the shrouds, and the sail was mostly a big floppy pain in the butt. I rolled it up enough to allow it to be "self tacking"; that seemed to work OK as we crept towards the bridge.

Right before the bridge, the wind died altogether. I paddled Felicidade under the bridge. Beyond the mouth of the cove I could see the winds were blowing by the darker hue of the water, and an occasional whitecap. Some of the wind began to reach us, and the paddle went below for good. I was inordinately proud of myself for having left port completely under sail (and paddle).

We sailed out into the lake and once in the wind, turned East for a long run straight downwind. The run downwind was very pleasant. The genoa filled up and stayed full for the whole leg, without me having to set the whisker pole. I let out the mainsheet all the way, set the vang, and snugged up the tiller tamer; Felicidade bubbled along happily at 3 -4 knots. I aimed for the bridge next to Roosevelt Dam and enjoyed myself. Another sailboat presently left the marina and beat upwind; we passed each other about 1 mile apart.

While running downwind I formulated a plan; I would circumnavigate Haystack Island. Adjacent to the marina, I turned to a broad reach and headed North. It was interesting to feel the wind now that we were no longer on a run. I don't know why, but that always surprises me. We made good time towards Haystack Isle. I only needed to tack once.

We passed a semi-submerged, gigantic tire floating out in the middle of the lake; It looked like one of the marina breakwater tires had come adrift. We also passed floating flocks of birds which eyed the boat warily, but did not fly away. At one point a bass boat and speedboat stopped next to each other about 1/4 mile away; One of them had a stereo that was blaring away, and the speedboat had a very loud engine. They talked for a few minutes while we sailed quietly past, then took off in a roar of engines in opposite directions. It was quiet again. I felt sorry for people who had to fly about the lake surrounded by noise, instead of sailing along surrounded by the chuckling sound of the wake.

We successfully circumnavigated Haystack Isle. Rounding the tiny island, when Felicidade was in the wind shadow, I was briefly taken back in time to sailing on SF bay when I was a kid, and getting becalmed in the lee of Angel Island. It always seemed kind of aggravating to have to bob around waiting for the current to push us around the island. But this time the calm only lasted for about 30 feet, and the boat soon coasted back into the breeze.

We set off towards the marina on a beam reach, our mission accomplished. Outside the no-wake zone,I dropped the sails and called the marina on the cell phone to arrange for a retrieval. I noticed that I barely had enough battery left to complete the call; the phone shut off shortly after I finished talking to the marina. It seemed to me that everything was going my way this time. I started the outboard and headed for the ramp.

Presently I could see the marina pickup with Felicidade's trailer getting in line behind the jet skis and bass boats. I amused myself by practicing backing the boat into the wind while waiting for my turn. Soon we were up, and I motored into a perfect landing. The trailer winch strap broke while being tightened, a casualty of 3 years of UV exposure, the only equipment failure to date. In all, a wonderful sailing adventure.