A tale of intrepid sailing antics at the southernmost end of the Inside Passage

“Ah, that’s better,” Katie said, as we turned into Hale Passage and caught a break from the swirly side swell.

“Much less vomity,” I agreed.

We’d been sailing for 18 hours straight on an overnight shakedown sail. A dress rehearsal, if you will, for the R2AK. I flew in from Montana and we reunited at Wild Card around 9 AM on Wednesday morning over egg sandwiches and coffee. Then we disemboweled the boat, organized her contents, and repacked her just like we plan to for the big race. 

Two bins of dehydrated food and a few water jugs were crammed below the cockpit. Our quiver of headsails was arranged in the v-berth. Our personal items and sleeping bags were stuffed into waterproof dry bags and placed on respective bunks. We each set out a single bowl, spork and mug near the gimbaled camp stove. The music speaker was strapped to the boom. Sunscreen and water bottles were stashed close at hand in the cockpit. 

Side note: all of this took a while because we had to pause a lot to talk to our passing fans. For real. With a slip on the main channel out to Bellingham Bay and a conspicuous, weird bike strapped to our stern, a lot of people pause to ask questions like: “Are you ladies sure you’re sane?” and “Do you want our number in case you need an emergency tow?” (Answers: mostly and sure.)

Next, we spiffed up our safety gear. Katie strung jacklines around the deck so we could clip our life jackets to them while scrambling about the boat. She also rigged up some excellent preventers to keep our boom from swinging (and whacking us in the head) when sailing downwind. We installed handy-dandy GPS locator beacons in our life jackets, as well as lights and whistles. And we checked our AIS transmitter, VHF, radar reflector and other various wonky boat things that help us communicate.

Then we donned our super-fancy, banana-colored storm suits (thanks, Patagonia!) and sailed off into the sunset. 

Ok, actually we pedaled slowly into the bay where we raised our sails. Then promptly changed out the headsail because it was too big for the mounting winds. Then hurriedly stripped off layers when we started sweating in the lovely 70-degree sun. So, yeah, ideal dress rehearsal.

Our plan was to practice sailing at night. We would head toward Point Roberts on the Canadian border, then double back to Sucia Island to anchor, hopefully by brunch the next day. That would be perfect timing to wait out the predicted 30-knot winds coming from the south.

It started off swimmingly. The sun was out and the wind was following. Our spirits were high. Our bellies felt normal. We had a sunset beer.

Around 11 PM, however, I started complaining. As the most seasoned passage-maker, one would think I could handle the discomfort of night sailing better than most. But no. I didn’t.

That’s because my previous night sailing involved: 1) a much larger, drier and more comfortable boat that didn’t fishtail like a greased squid every which way through confused swells, 2) engaging the autopilot, and then playing guitar, reading or writing while occasionally checking an empty horizon, 3) a carrot-like destination at the end of the sleep deprivation, like Tahiti or the Bahamas. 

Aboard Wild Card, however, watches entailed refreshing splashes of cold ocean to the face, woman-handling the tiller 24/7, and wrestling out of four layers to try to pee while simultaneously trying not to puke. Fun! 

Since it was our first team sail at night, we decided to keep two people on deck for safety. This meant rotating who was off-watch and resting every two hours. “Rest” is a deceiving word, though, as it was tough to relax in the coffin-like aft berth (much less sleep, unless you’re Melissa who is used to working night shifts in the ER) while rolling up the wall one minute and into the cooler the next. 

So, yeah, I was complaining. More than Melissa, who handled her first night sail with remarkable aplomb and a deft hand on the tiller. And WAY more than Katie. 

Captain Katie remained remarkably cheerful, distracting us into lovely conversations and pointing out the positive parts of sailing at night. Even though she was seasick, too, for the first time in her multi-decade marine career. 

Which brings me to our first affirmation interlude: CAPTAIN KATIE IS AMAZING. She has put so much time and love and thought into making Wild Card the best vessel she can be, and into making our team strong and cohesive. She rewires electrical stuff. She rigs up safety gear. She drills in beer-holders. She chats merrily with passing strangers. And she sends her teammates upbeat texts with smiley emojis while doing all of it. We love you so much, Katie!!! 

Back to the voyage at hand…the sky started to lighten by 4:30 AM, thanks to the gods and the upcoming solstice. Which is about when the wind picked up, too. By 7 AM, we were overpowered and had to double-reef the main and lower the jib.

We looked longingly at our planned anchorage on Sucia: so close, yet so far since it was directly into the howling wind. We changed course instead, pivoting toward Inati Bay on Lummi Island.

Which is where we started this rambling missive … rounding Portage Island into Hale Passage, with Katie and I breathing sighs of relief as the waves flattened and the wind comfortably off the beam. I headed below to wake Melissa and take my turn “resting”.

Until Katie yelled, “Oh, shit, the boom just fell off again!”

Again, you ask? Yes, the boom had fallen off the previous afternoon when an old cotter pin failed. It was an easy fix. But that’s because we weren’t tired, hungry, seasick and navigating 30-knot gusts. Also, we had up a headsail when it happened, so we could still steer without the main.

Alas, the second failure did not go so smoothly. Katie managed to woman-handle the 50 pounds of anchor and ground tackle out of the cabin in record time. Melissa bike-sprinted like a champ while still half-asleep, and I untangled then secured our rode (which might have briefly fouled up in the bike’s propeller).

The good news? We still had 3 feet under our keel at the end of the debacle! Also, the Lummi Elementary students got to watch us (barely) avoid running aground in front of their school! Total bonus.

After many deep breaths, we decided to take advantage of the anchorage to eat some breakfast and let the adrenaline fade. We fixed the boom again. And then the real work started: pulling up a very dug-in anchor without a motor while the wind relentlessly tried to push us on shore.

It took nearly an hour and several different sail/pedal/pulling configurations to get the anchor up. But we did it. And, holy hell, were we proud of ourselves!

Next up, we raised our brand-new “gale sail”, donated by ATN Products. This storm jib wraps easily around a TuffLuff or a furler. It’s our new favorite sail!

Twenty-three hours and 110 miles after setting out, we arrived back on the dock in Bellingham. We were greeted with encouraging texts from our husbands and a few supporters … including our biggest fan, Mark Aberle, Wild Card‘s previous owner. He’d followed us via our AIS transmitter overnight, and gave us brownie points for getting out of a sticky situation without calling for a tow. Thanks for the pep texts, Mark! 

Then we tacked roughly 1,208 times as we sailed directly into the 37-knot gusts funneling through Hale Passage. We even averaged 5 knots of boat speed while close-hauled. I felt very safe aboard Wild Card during my final “rest” in the coffin berth while Melissa and Katie hooted and hollered through face shots of spindrift.

We were also greeted with much-needed coffee from our slip neighbor, Steven. The caffeine helped us pack up four sails, though it wore off quickly once we left the marina. Melissa fell asleep in her driveway, slumped over the wheel. I nodded off while talking on the phone to my son before dinner. And Katie hit her bed at 7 PM and slept for 13 hours straight. 

All told? It was exactly what we needed from a shakedown sail. We learned that this shit is hard, and that we can handle it. We also learned that we should have the anchor mounted on deck and that we need a stouter gooseneck for our boom. Also, that we shouldn’t eat rehydrated Drunken Noodles for dinner before sailing in sloppy seas. 

Two weeks and two days until Wild Card sets sail for the Port Townsend start line. Gulp. We got this.

Last affirmation interlude: We only “got this” because of ALL OF YOU! Huge thanks and deep bow of gratitude to our sponsors and donors and friends and family. You are the reason this is possible. You are the reason we keep pushing when it feels easier to quit. You are the reason we will make it to Alaska in June. We love you!