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| Sockdolager comes home! Photo credit: Bob Triggs |
Oliver Wendell Holmes once said that home is “Where we
love.” That would perfectly describe how
it felt to come home to Port Townsend, Washington, where word spread like electrical voltage
among our friends along the waterfront that Sockdolager’s emergence from the
fog bank over the Strait of Juan de Fuca was imminent. We were just as eager to see them as they
were to see us.
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| Broadband radar: our new eyes in fog and rain. |
All day we’d steamed along in fog and rain, the first
precipitation in more than a month. In
the photo above, Jim watches our new broadband radar, which shows things we
can’t see in the busy murk, like big outbound ships that swerve out of their
usual lane to drop off pilots, and the breakwater at Dungeness Spit.
It was definitely a social media homecoming, because from my
phone I could post things like “Point Wilson just sighted through the
fog!” Our friends Val and Mike Phimister
called: “WHERE ARE YOU?” Eagle-eyed Kaci Cronkhite spotted us first
from her vantage point at Fort Worden. “I see you out there in the fog!” she
wrote on her Facebook page, posting the photo below, and word spread that we’d
been spotted. Facebook erupted in
Woo-Hoos as Anna Quinn suggested that everyone meet at Sirens Pub at 5pm. Oh
boy!
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| Sockdolager coming in through the fog at Point Wilson. Photo credit: Kaci Cronkhite |
When Northwesterners go without rain for too long, they get
a little out of sorts. All that
sunshine, and it was evidently the first full month of July in 70 years with no
rain, begins to play with the mind.
Normally, a sunny day comes after a period of cement skies and rain, and
can be enjoyed guilt-free because everyone feels they’ve earned it. But a whole month of bluebird days can cause
a slight to moderate discomfiture to the psyche. Northwesterners are moodier than Southern
Californians; we need rain, not just
for the landscape but for our very souls.
We like cement skies. So, to be coming home on the only rainy day in
many weeks felt especially celebratory.
“Oh! You brought the rain with you!” would be, on such a day, high
praise in these parts.
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| Getting closer! Kaci posted this photo on Facebook to update everyone that we were rounding the buoy. |
Home has also been called “A place where you can scratch any
place you itch.” (Henry Ainsley.) If
that’s true, then to a wandering sailor, the entire planet would qualify as
“home.” As it should. A perspective like that makes you think and act as if your back yard, what you're supposed to take care of and be responsible for, is not just what's platted on a local tax map. One could also say
it as Anatole France did: “Wandering
re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the
universe.”
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| Approaching Point Hudson. Photo credit: Bob Triggs |
We spotted Kaci and another friend, Bob Triggs, grinning and hollering and waving greetings from the beach. We grinned and hollered and waved right back. And
then, quietly and without fanfare, there stood Leif Knutsen, taking
photos from the end of the long pier.
Big smiles all around. Though we
knew friends were waiting at the Boat Haven Marina, we could not resist a
little spin into Point Hudson, a victory lap of sorts, to wave and pay a little
homage, if you will, to Carol Hasse’s Port Townsend Sail Loft and Brion TossYacht Riggers.
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| Sockdolager with soggy flags a'flyin'. Photo credit: Bob Triggs |
After nearly 11,000 miles, Sockdolager’s sails and rigging
still work flawlessly, and these dear friends at Point Hudson, along with rigger Bob Doyle in Everett, were as much a part of our voyage
as reassurance can be on a dark and windy night.
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| Sockdolager enters Point Hudson for her victory lap. Photo credit: Leif Knutsen |
In true Port Townsend fashion, the Sail Loft crew was
hanging out the windows whooping, Brion Toss was applauding from the ramp, and
Ace Spragg and friends were whistling from the Maritime Center’s balcony. The whole harbor erupted in cheers, and
puzzled onlookers quickly asked what the hoopla was about.
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| Point Hudson victory lap. Photo credit: Ace Spragg |
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| Point Hudson-waves, whoops and cheers. Photo credit: Kaci Cronkhite |
Time to head for our slip at Boat Haven. We figured correctly that friends had called
the harbormaster to find out what slip we’d been assigned, but another surprise
was waiting as we turned the corner.
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| Coming into Boat Haven. We recognize friends we weren't expecting! Photo credit: Don Marken |
Sailing friends Don and Karla Marken had come all the way from
Anacortes to take our docklines. Wanderers
like us, they divide their time between sailing a 20-foot Flicka during summer
and an apartment in Mexico in winter. We
pulled into our slip and they took and tied up our lines. Big hugs all around.
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| Docking. Photo credit: Don Marken |
Don handed me a bottle of champagne, Jim said, “No need for
glasses!” and popped the cork. We passed
the bottle around like it was pirate rum.
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| Jim with Karla and Don Marken, about a minute after we docked. |
Suddenly, a beautiful drumming and singing began from the
foredeck of a nearby boat, and we turned toward it as a
Native American Elder, who is a dear friend of ours, sang us home. We
stood transfixed. I do believe singing
like that has the power to realign the stars.
More friends arrived.
Kaci handed me a bouquet of daisies, and Leif gave us the use of an old
beater car for as long as we needed it. Our friend Gordon gave us hugs and a packet of the season’s first smoked king salmon.
Val and Mike arrived at the dock in time for a chat and to
drive us to Siren’s Pub, where more friends gathered to celebrate. I had my first Siren’s burger in two years,
and tried unsuccessfully to show some restraint in the enjoyment of it. We love gourmet food, but the joys of a
burger and beer are awfully good, especially at our hometown pub.
We spent the night on the boat, but Jim slipped off to the
local grocery store and returned with the only thing still missing after two
years.
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| Ice cream NOW, Behbeh! |
The next day, with Leif’s loaner car, we began moving stuff
from storage back into our little house.
I had to take this Beverly Hillbilly shot.
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| The Beverly Hillbilly |
Later, our friends and fellow Dana 24 owners Carl and Patty
Kirby sailed in and we enjoyed the reunion. Jerry Fry, a local ham radio instructor, told
us he had been able to listen to our Pacific crossing transmissions on the Puddle Jump Net
until we were well south of the Equator!
“Then you went around the curvature of the Earth,” he said, “and I
couldn’t hear you anymore.”
Nearly two weeks have passed since that beautiful
homecoming. Flocks of geese fly
overhead, honking and gathering in larger numbers for the migration south. Is autumn coming early? To view the seasons changing from just one place
will be a different pleasure. We’re living at home, now have wheels,
internet, and hot running water that comes out of a pipe—holy mackerel! The first day, I took four showers and Jim
took three. Because we could. We will curb that shortly, but it was good. We’ve also rediscovered hardware stores. And bookstores.
Though the novelty of life ashore may wane, our appreciation
of its comforts never will. Nor will the
desire for more adventures under sail.
Our eyes are turned north toward British Columbia and Alaska. But first, Jim will build his workshop, and then, for me, a writing studio. We need to spend a spell of time at home before taking off again.
There will be more posts on this blog as things of interest
crop up. For example, I’m working on several new posts, including: preparations for voyaging; a "best of" roundup; and a post on blogging and staying in touch, along with what we’ve learned as the numbers of readers of this
blog have expanded; plus more ideas as they develop. There will be
articles forthcoming in Good Old Boat and 48 North magazines as well as other
publications.
There is also a book in progress. I want it to be good, so it can’t be
rushed.
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| Photo Credit: Mary Bradley Marinkovich |
“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he
comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.” - Lin Yutang
