Chapter 6: Gale Warnings & Rip Tides
The next morning we rise early and head out. Sailing in the Straits of Juan de Fuca We are hoping to get Port Townsend Post or read comments (60+ nautical miles), but will settle with either Port Angeles or Sequim Post or read comments. We start off motorsailing. I am looking forward to today as I have never sailed down the southern side of the strait in clear weather. At about 11.30 AM, the westerly picks up with a vengeance. In about half an hour we go from very light conditions to probably 25 knots of wind and large 4 - 10 waves. We are sailing with a single reefed main and about 25% of the jib furled. Things get a little exciting at times, but we generally experience a full-on rage of a sail. Occasionally we get a bad series of waves and the boat starts to broach a little, but I always get her back in control. Patience is in her element and is performing excellently while the crew rock and rolls to the Best of the Doobies. We are back out in the middle of the strait and pass Race Rocks Post or read comments at about 2.30 PM. Race Rocks Wind and sea conditions remain about the same for about three hours and we average 6 - 7 knots with the current flooding in with us. Abruptly at about 3.00 PM the wind dies to about five knots. We are disappointed and start motorsailing again.
Our disappointment is short lived, and the wind is back with us about half an hour later. We have a very enjoyable sail for about two hours in twenty knots of wind. At 5.00 PM the Canadian weather station upgrades their forecast to include gale warnings for the Straits of Juan de Fuca Post or read comments tonight. The U.S. weather frequency continues to broadcast only small craft warnings. The gale warning causes me concern. I have been in the straits before when the Canadians have issued gale warnings - it was no joke. In addition, we are going to miss slack water at Point Wilson Post or read comments by about an hour and will face an ebbing tide setting against a strong westerly wind. I have had to fight the current at Point Wilson before and it too is no fun. We debate turning into Sequim (a beautiful spot by the way), but I ultimately decide to continue all the way to Port Townsend. In retrospect, this turns out to be a huge mistake.
We sail on. As we approach Point Wilson, the seas become increasingly big and the wind increasingly violent. In short time, we are in very steep breaking seas. The magnitude of these seas is not evident as we approach from behind them - all of a sudden we are simply in the middle of a very foul sea. We clip in our life harnesses. I later read a book that explains bad seas always look significantly smaller from behind. At any rate, we are about one mile northwest of the Point Wilson buoy. Things are getting very rough and a particularly bad wave breaks on the Avon (we had at least taken the precaution of taking the engine off) and capsizes it. The Avon promptly becomes an unwanted sea anchor dragging upside down off our transom. Due to conditions, we are unable to stop and right it. Despite a raging wind and a fair amount of sail, we are very making slow forward progress due to the ebbing tide and accidental sea anchor. Because of the condition of the Avon and the very scary nature of the waves, I decide to go inside the Point Wilson buoy. I have read that in these types of conditions it is possible to go inside the buoy, cut the point very close and by-pass the worst of the rips. As we edge in towards the point, the waves get much less violent and we are again able to make decent forward headway. Henley is below on the depthsounder and is calling off the depths, "27 feet, 25 feet, 22 feet, 17 feet…". Things are very scary. We have no depth, have a howling westerly (the U.S. weather station broadcasts that it is 30 - 40 knots at Smith Island) and are rapidly running out of sea room. We are currently protected from the full fury of the ebb by Point Wilson, however a mere hundred or so feet off our port beam, the water is a maelstrom of rip tides and breakers where the ebb meets the westerly wind. As mentioned in the books, there appears to be a slight area of "calm" directly in front of Point Wilson. I consider trying to shoot through this gap, but ultimately decide that due to the lack of sea room it is less safe than going through the middle of the rips themselves. Jose does a phenomenal job of hastily furling the jib while I start the diesel. With main up and the Mercedes running at a record 3500 RPM, we tack and head northeast - across the full ebb. We get utterly lambasted by three big breakers and the prop comes out of the water a couple times as the Patience gets rolled way over on her beam. Jose and hang on for dear life. We survive, tack again, and try to make Point Wilson again. We make 1.5 knots over the ground as we fight the ebb dragging the upside down Avon which is amazingly still there.
We barely squeak by. Finally, out of danger, we right the Avon in front of Point Hudson Marina Post or read comments and it is miraculously undamaged. The strain on the Avon and its towrope must have been incredible. My already high opinion of Avon inflatables is increased immeasurably. We dock at Point Hudson Resort, cook lasagna, and drink strait shots of rum. Hours later I am still shaking from the experience, but glad to be alive.
Lessons learned at Point Wilson? Pretty simple in hindsight.
  1. If you are ever in a similar situation, opt for Squim.
  2. When crossing open bodies of water don't be lazy - deflate and stow your inflatable.
  3. If you end up in a similar situation, realize you can find a measure of relative tranquility inside the Point Wilson buoy - but carefully watch your depth.
  4. Always, always respect the rip tides off Point Wilson. This is not the first time I have had bad tide related experiences at Point Wilson, but it was absolutely the worst and most dangerous I have ever experienced. Patience is a very seaworthy sailboat that displaces 36 tons. It scares me to think what these conditions would have been like in a lighter sailboat, or even worse, a powerboat.

The following day we depart Point Hudson for Seattle. We (thankfully) have an uneventful motorsail home in the currently placid waters of Puget Sound. At about 6.00 PM we tie up at our familiar slip at Elliot Bay Marina Post or read comments . This ends what has been a trip of a lifetime for me. I feel fortunate to have spent so many weeks in a part of the world I love with my family and friends. I look forward to many more voyages aboard the Patience. Happy sailing and good luck to those of you that sail around Vancouver Island.

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