I once owned a sloop
&
I sailed across the Pacific on one!
I recently wrote about two of my death-defying endeavors: Sky Diving Adventures (1972-1973) and Scuba Diving Adventures (1974). They were both short-lived endeavors, each lasting only a few months.
Now it is time to relate my slightly safer Sailing Adventures covering six years (1973-1978). They consist of two overlapping compilations of experiences:
⛵️ My Own Sailboat ⚓️ (including stories from April 1973-1978) is featured in this missive.
⛵️Crossing the Pacific⛵️ (including stories from May 1973 - July 1974) will follow soon.
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Sailing Adventures, Part 1 of 2
⛵️ My Own Sailboat ⚓️
⛵️ Sailing Terminology
Before I start, I would like to introduce some nautical terminology that you can refer back to if needed.
This diagram shows the main components of a sloop*.
1 – mainsail 2 – staysail or jib 3 – spinnaker 4 – hull 5 – keel 6 – rudder
7 – skeg 8 – mast 9 – spreader 10 – shroud 11 – sheet 12 – boom
13 – mast 14 – spinnaker pole 15 – backstay 16 – forestay 17 – boom vang
* A sloop is a sailboat with a single mast, typically with one headsail (staysail or jib) in front of the mast, and one mainsail aft of (behind) the mast. It may also have a spinnaker (a large sail set forward of the headsail).
There is an entire vocabulary that has evolved in the sailing world that allows sailors to understand immediately what is being said without further explanation.
As an example, on a boat, there is no such thing as a rope* as a landlubber* knows it. Instead, it is called a line*, and there are many kinds of lines. Every single line that has a job to do has its own name.
* On a sailing vessel, a rope* is generally the term used for the raw material used to make the lines that are used on board.
* A landlubber* is a person unfamiliar with the sea or sailing.
* First, there are all the moveable lines* that are used to pull up and adjust the sails. The line that runs up the mast to pull up the mainsail is called the halyard, and the line that brings the sail down is called the downhaul.
* The lines that are used when sailing to control the moveable corners (clews) of a sail are called sheets, and each sheet will refer to the sail that it controls. (For years, I mistakenly thought that a sheet was a sail.) So when you trim (adjust) the mainsail, you use the mainsheet; if trimming the jib, you will adjust the jib sheet.
⛵️ My Own Sailboat
In April 1973, during and between my sky diving and scuba diving endeavors, I bought a 26-f00t Seaquest* sloop with three guys, which we berthed at King Harbor in Redondo Beach.
* Seaquest boats are constructed in North Carolina, so not many are seen on the West Coast.
Top left: My son Mike, age 9, at the helm with me in May 1973. Mike loved sailing it as much as I did.
Top right: My boat under sail off Redondo Beach in 1973.
Bottom left: Myself at the helm with a friend and Captain Horny (on the right) in 1974.
Bottom right: Captain Horny in the stern with my son Mike, age 10, at the helm in 1974.
I didn’t have any sailing experience before buying this boat, except as a passenger on friends’ sailboats. After we bought it, I took a few sailing lessons on dinghies* in Marina del Rey. Fortunately, my boat partners already knew how to sail and were happy to give me further instructions.
* A dinghy (plural: dinghies) is a small boat for recreation or racing. It can be an open boat with a mast and sails; it can also be a hardshell (rigid boat) or inflatable rubber boat with paddles or an engine.
⛵️ My Boat Partners
My first three boat partners were Captain Billy, Captain Horny (his last name was Horn), and Jerry (a one-armed attorney). After three years, Jerry sold his share to Dick (a fireman). Dick later sold his share to Ross (a one-legged New Zealander).
I knew Captain Billy and Jerry for a year or more before we bought the boat together. I skied with Billy a couple of times, and I rode to the Colorado River with Jerry in 1972 for a rafting trip through the Grand Canyon – the same trip that I first met my future husband Stan and Suzanne (my girlfriend from my sky diving and scuba diving adventures).
I didn’t know Captain Horny until Billy and Jerry recruited him to be our boat partner.
* Jerry lost his right arm as a child of 9, but he didn’t let anything stop him, and he participated in many athletic activities. The same was true of Ross, who scrambled easily over the boat with his prosthetic leg, and he even played tennis with me.
It was wonderful having boat partners. We each put up cash for our quarter of the purchase (as I recall, we paid a little over $5,000 for the boat), and my monthly share of the boat slip fee was only $52. At least one of my partners was usually willing and able to join me if I wanted to sail.
My various boat partners and I sailed, played poker, and partied together for five years, from 1973-1978. I never dated any of them, and they were all good friends.
⛵️ Naming Our Boat
We could never agree on a name for our boat. Two of my favorite candidates were Between the Sheets and Seamen ’n the Lady. Just imagine sending out an SOS for help: “Mayday, Mayday, this is Seamen ’n the Lady!!!”
* Officially, SOS is just a distinctive Morse code sequence (dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dit) that is not an abbreviation for anything. In popular usage, it is associated with phrases such as "Save Our Souls" and "Save Our Ship.”
* Mayday is derived from the French words “m’aider" that mean “help me" and is a shortened form of “venez m’aider,” which means “come and help me.”
⛵️ Sailing to Catalina on My Boat
⚓️ Meeting My First Mate*
* My First Mate as on a sailboat, not as a first husband. 🤪
In early May 1973, shortly after I bought my boat, I drive to Ensenada, Mexico, with girlfriends Marlene and Sandy for the long weekend of Cinco de Mayo celebrations. My birthday is May 5, so that is always a special occasion for me.
It is also the weekend for the annual sailboat race from Newport Beach to Ensenada*, so there are lots of sailors to party with. During the festivities, I meet an interesting guy named Roger. He has come down on a friend’s powerboat from the Los Angeles area. Roger has never been on a sailboat and seems interested in sailing on mine.
* The Newport to Ensenada Yacht Race is a 125-mile journey that goes through the night for most boats. It has a rich history in Southern California, starting in 1947. It began long before many of the nearby harbors existed, just as yacht clubs were starting to form and as the sport of sailing was growing along the coast.
Roger and I keep in touch over the summer, but it isn’t until October that I see him again – I am rather busy during the intervening five months:
I sail frequently with my boat partners.
In late May, I meet the owner/skipper of a 63’ sailboat named the Orient and join him on a race out of San Pedro; he will be racing his boat to Hawaii in the upcoming TransPac* in July. He later invites me along on the return voyage.
* The Transpacific Yacht Race (TransPac) is a bi-annual offshore race starting in San Pedro, California and ending off Diamond Head in Hawaii, a distance of 2,225 nautical miles. Started in 1906 and hosted by the Los Angeles Yacht Club, it is one of yachting's premier offshore races and attracts entrants from all over the world.
In June, I drive to Yosemite with a girlfriend for four days of hiking & biking.
In July, I fly with my son to Michigan and leave him there for the summer.
In July, I complete my first and only parachute jump at Lake Elsinore (see a previous missive).
In July, I take first place in an Aerospace Corporation tennis tournament.
In August, I sail across the Pacific from Hawaii to Los Angeles on the Orient for a month (stay tuned for the upcoming Part 2 of my Sailing Adventures titled, ⛵️Crossing the Pacific ⛵️).
In September, I sail on the Orient to Cat Harbor on the western side of Catalina Island over a long weekend.
Did I mention that I also manage to perform on my job as an electrical engineer at The Aerospace Corporation during most of that time? But I digress.
In October 1973, after my extensive six months of sailing experience, I want to try sailing my own boat to Catalina Island. My boat partners are all occupied on the weekend I have free, so I invite my new acquaintance Roger to join me (despite the fact that he has no sailing experience).
⚓️ Sailing to Avalon
Roger and I depart early on a Saturday morning in October from my slip in King Harbor in Redondo Beach. It is a lengthy 32 nautical mile (nm)* sail to Avalon, which is situated on the northeastern end of Catalina Island. We won’t be able to see Catalina until we sail around the end of Palos Verdes Peninsula. Even then, the island is not always visible from sea level until we get closer.
Map of our route from King Harbor to Avalon Harbor, on Catalina Island, a distance of 32 nm. My boat averages 3-4 knots*, and it takes an average of 9 hours to reach Avalon with decent winds and/or motor assist.
* A nautical mile (nm) is based on the circumference of the earth, and is equal to one minute of longitude; there are 360 degrees around the equator, and each degree has 60 minutes. A nautical mile is slightly more than a statute (land measured) mile (1 nautical mile = 1.1508 statute miles, or just miles as we use it on land). Nautical miles are used for charting and navigating.
* A knot is one nautical mile per hour (1 knot = 1.15 miles per hour). The term knot dates from the 17th century, when sailors measured the speed of their ship by using a device called a "common log." This device was a coil of rope with uniformly spaced knots, attached to a piece of wood shaped like a slice of pie. The piece of wood was lowered from the back of the ship and allowed to float behind it. The line was allowed to pay out freely from the coil as the piece of wood fell behind the ship for a specific amount of time. When the specified time had passed, the line was pulled in and the number of knots on the rope between the ship and the wood were counted. The speed of the ship was said to be the number of knots counted.
The only navigational gear I have on my small boat is a compass and a map. I set my compass for the heading to Avalon and keep the bow pointed in that direction as we sail.
The day is pleasant with light winds, but later on we add the inboard engine when the winds die down.
I teach Roger how to assist me in raising the mainsail and jib, and I even let him take over the tiller at times. After a long day, we get to Avalon without incident.
Top left: Myself at the wheel on the way.
Top right: View of Avalon and its harbor on Catalina Island from a hilltop above.
Bottom right: First Mate Roger at the tiller on calm seas.
Bottom left: Roger holding a paddle for the rubber dinghy that we brought along on the deck so we can get to shore.
⚓️ Avalon Harbor
Roger is again handy when he ties us to a buoy in Avalon Harbor. There is not much dock space for boat slips at Avalon, and most boats tie up to stationary buoys lined in rows in the harbor.
We are carrying a rubber dinghy with paddles (which can also be used as oars) to take us to shore. We spend an hour walking around the port area in Avalon, have dinner, then row back to the boat ready for a night of sleep.
The next morning, we row ashore again to see more of the small town and have breakfast.
⚓️ The Return Voyage
At ten a.m. as planned, we leave Avalon for the return sail home. It is another beautiful day with a brisk wind. With both sails up and filled, I adjust my compass to a northwesterly setting to guide us back to King Harbor.
⚓️ The Storm
By noon, large clouds are moving in and the winds and waves have picked up considerably. Soon the horizon is no longer visible, and I have to work harder at the helm.
I have never been in a bad storm in my boat, and when I sailed it previously, I always had one of my boat partners with sailing experience along to help. Now it is only myself and poor Roger. I can no longer have him relieve me at the helm.
Before long, a heavy fog also moves in, and we can see nothing around us. For what seems like forever, I struggle to keep the boat moving on the proper heading.
⚓️ The Rocks
Around four p.m., the fog lifts slightly and I can barely make out the surf breaking directly ahead of us!
And there I am,
you’d never believe it,
I think I am going to die!
I realize that we about to crash onto the rocks below the steep cliffs of Palos Verdes Peninsula!
Coastline off Palos Verdes Peninsula in light fog
I come about immediately and turn the boat sharply away from the danger. Just in time, I succeed in preventing disaster and we are able to head away from the rocks and cliffs.
⚓️ The Long Tack Home
Back into the storm and heading northerly, we tack constantly all the way back to Redondo Beach for hours. We finally reach King Harbor and pull into my boat slip at 11:30 p.m. We are wet and cold and exhausted!
⚓️ Aftermath
Analyzing what happened during the next couple of days, I realize that, due to my inexperience, I failed to take into account the tides and winds in the Santa Catalina Channel, both of which were carrying my boat much further east than I realized. As a result, we ended up way off course, close to the southeastern tip of Palos Verdes Peninsula (see the map above).
Not too surprisingly, I never hear from Roger again.
⛵️ May Day! May Day!
Five years later in 1978, my former husband Mike A buys his own sailboat, a 43’ sloop which he plans to live on. He has not yet moved it from San Pedro to her new home in Marina del Rey.
Mike A had some sailing lessons, but he doesn’t feel comfortable sailing his new boat without experienced help. So for her maiden sail into the open ocean with a few friends, he asks if I and one of my boat partners will join him as backup.
Right: Mike A’s 43’ sloop under sail.
Bottom left: Map showing San Pedro and the Los Angeles Harbor below, Marina del Rey on the upper left, and King Harbor where I keep my boat.
Top left: Three years later in 1981 – Mike A behind our son Mike (now age 18), and two of Mike’s friends; aboard Mike A’s boat.
I recruit Captain Horny, and on a bright sunny afternoon, with Mike A at the helm, the group of us motor out of San Pedro into Los Angeles Harbor among all of the large freighters coming and going, and into the open ocean (see the map below). Captain Horny and I hoist the sails and we spend an enjoyable, uneventful few hours at sea, taking turns on the wheel. It really feels good to be at the helm of a larger boat again – there is a big difference between 43 feet and 26 feet.
When we return to port, we lower the sails and are under engine power through Los Angeles Harbor with Captain Horny at the helm. We maneuver out of the way of the huge freighters between the piers and the large rocky breakwater shown below.
Angel's Gate Lighthouse on the San Pedro Breakwater at the entrance to Los Angeles Harbor; Palos Verdes Peninsula can be seen in the background.
All of a sudden, smoke rises from below deck – something no one wants to see on a boat! I take over the helm while Mike A and Captain Horny rush below to determine the cause. They yell up that we have an engine fire and they are using the fire extinguisher on it. At the same time, the boat slows down with no engine power, and starts to lost steerage – we are drifting toward the rocks.
Mike A rushes back on deck and makes a Mayday call on the boat radio. I am powerless at the helm, and the boat keeps heading toward the breakwater! Mike A and Captain Horny are grabbing anything they can to try to fend off the rocks, when the Harbor Patrol arrives just in time and tows us back to our slip!
Mike A lived aboard his boat for the next twenty-some years. He last had it berthed in Dana Point when he moved ashore. I don’t know if he still owns it.
⛵️ Stan Never Sailed on My Boat
My partners and I enjoyed our boat for five years before selling it in 1978. I dated Stan for the last three years that I had it, and I never succeeded in getting him out sailing with me.
Stan had sailed on the Charles River in Boston when he attended MIT – his name is still on the dock registry, and he can check a boat out to sail at any time. The difference is that there are no waves or swells on a river, and Stan used to get very seasick on the ocean.
⇦ Stan sailing on the Charles River in 1960
⛵️ North or South
It was always enjoyable to get out on the water and sail; however, the only problem with sailing in the ocean off Los Angeles is lack of variety. Each time we went out, we would ask where we should go that day – north or south?
We normally didn’t go farther north than the northern end of Manhattan Beach (where Stan and I get to on our weekly bike ride). If we went south, we could sail part-way around the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Each route was very scenic, but it got a little boring after several years. The farthest north that I recall going was to Marina del Rey, where we had the boat hauled out so the hull could be cleaned.
The only other real choice was to go to Catalina Island (as I did with Roger in the story above), but that required an entire weekend. After my horrendous adventure sailing back from there, I never chose to repeat that trip. To my knowledge, none of my partners ever sailed our boat to Catalina either.
⛵️ Selling the Boat
After we owned the boat for three years, I started dating Stan steadily, and I thought about selling the boat (especially since he wouldn’t sail with me). However, my partners didn’t want to sell, and I didn’t push it. After two more years, my remaining partners (Captain Billy, Captain Horny and Ross) and I finally agreed that it was time, and we sold her.
For all these things
must come to pass,
but the end is not yet …
⛵️ Epilogue
I have searched high and low for any photos that I might have of my boat partners – in my photo albums, in boxes & boxes of unmounted photos, and in my hundred thousand digitized photos. Except for the two above of Captain Horny, I can find NO PHOTOS of Captain Billy or Jerry or Dick or Ross! They were not only my boat partners, but also close friends, and I played weekly poker with them and shared other activities with some like skiing and tennis.
After my partners and I sold our boat in 1978, Stan and I had such an active, adventurous life of our own that my boat partners and I just drifted apart. It wasn’t long before we lost touch altogether.
I did hear after the fact that Jerry, the one-armed attorney, died in his Manhattan Beach home on The Strand in 2010 at age 81. I have searched for any information on my other partners on the Internet and elsewhere to no avail.
Stan no longer gets seasick while sailing. We discovered this in 1988 when we sailed with friends to Catalina on their large sloop. Stan wore a patch behind his ears to prevent motion sickness. When we arrived back in home port, he discovered the patch was on the bottom of his foot (where it would have been useless)!
But he still won’t sail to Antartica across Drake’s Passage on a cruise ship with me (one of the most treacherous voyages for ships to make). It’s the only one of my wishes he has ever turned down.
My son Mike followed in his parents footsteps several years ago when he leased a 43’ sloop with friends. It was moored in King Harbor, not far from where I once had mine. His wife Carrie became an able First Mate. In 2019, he transferred his lease and no longer has the boat.
2018: Clowning it up with my son Mike on his sloop in King Harbor – the heavy fog kept coming in, so we never left port that day.
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It is time for a sea shanty …
Listen now to one of my favorite songs, The Sloop John B, that has been running through my head while I have been writing this missive … and it’s not sung by The Kingston Trio or The Beach Boys, but by real sailors and fishermen from Cornwall. Just click on the photo to play it.
⛵️ The Sloop John B 🧜♂️
by
🎸 Port Isaac’s Fisherman’s Friends 🪕
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