PITCH is a long established regatta held Labor Day Weekend on Bellingham Bay. It started as a regatta for level rating IOR classes. At the time of this story IOR was dead and the regatta had morphed into a one design regatta. The good folks in Everett decided that was a good weekend to hold a regatta for the rest of us, those without class. They called it Son of PITCH. We raced the regatta yearly. Yours truly would then deliver the boat home to Olympia, often solo; with a stop in Friday Harbor, among other places. This was the drill for several years.

On more than one of those deliveries I caught a State buoy off Clark Island. This time I was looking for one on the east side of the island. The last 100 yards to the buoy was a very slow coast. I ghosted up to it, sails limp and barely drawing. The buoy was set in close to the beach so the Force 3 to 4 sea breeze was blocked. That was one of the reasons I chose this side of the island, because it was sheltered. The other reason was that I knew the current flowed fast along the west side. I wanted to do some exploring in the Zodiac. I did not wish to fight it or the wind.

Once the sails were down and covered I opened all hatches to dry the boat. I pulled the half inflated Zodiac into the cockpit and proceeded to pump it back into shape. Then slipped it over the side. In went: the foot pump, my camera, and some food. After a check of the mooring line, I was off.

It was an easy row to the south end of the island. When I got there many nervous looking seals were collected in the kelp near shore. A look out at the channel told why. A pod of Orcas was passing by.

There is a shoal extending off the south end of the island, charted 20 feet or less, all the way out to The Sisters. Which is why I was there. Much to look at. I followed the shoreline west. The wind calmed some, making the rowing easier.

After following the shore for a while, the south shore started to become the west shore. It was time for my pre dinner snack; what those on the other side of Haro Strait might call a tea. But certainly not a proper one as it was without the starring beverage. So I beached the Zodiac on a short stretch of pebbles between rock outcroppings.

The beach was sheltered. The rocks on either side were as high or higher than yours truly standing. In the Zodiac or sitting on the beach I was well hidden. To see me you had to look directly into the gap between the rocks. I thought of the rum runners and how impossible it must have been to stop them, as I proceeded to eat.

Of course my view out was equally limited. However even with my limited view I could see something was looking wrong. The weather had been dependable all week. Warm sunny days brought a sea breeze: light in the morning building to Force 4; before dying off with the sun. But while the afternoon had been progressing, the wind now seemed to be building. And from the wrong direction! I put the food away. Time to put back out to see what was going on.

The wind really was from the east now, Force 3 and building. Better go back to see about the boat. It was a slow hard row against the wind. Waves were building over the shallows. Staying close to shore they were not a real problem but still made the rowing hard and slow. Keeping at it I worked my way back to the east side of the island.

At the south east corner of the island I could see Sugar Magnolia. The wind was blowing directly onto the beach. One to two foot waves were breaking as they reached the beach. The boat was close enough in to be effected by the building breakers, going up and down like a hobby horse. I was thinking the bow would soon bury, which would not help the sails on deck dry. Water might even get in the open forehatch.

I cut the corner of the island by picking up the Zodiac and carrying it. That worked so well that, rather than fight the cross wind and waves, I carried it along the beach., all the way back. When I was directly down wind of the boat, I launched through the breaking waves.

The row out to the boat was slow, hard, and wet. The Zodiac could not make progress directly against the waves. They were too big.. The bow would climb steeply, only to come crashing down, all momentum lost. I had to “tack” my way out to the boat: take the waves first on the port bow, then on the starboard. I took a lot of spry, water sloshing around in the boat. But the boat did not care. Neither did I; I was wet but not cold.

When I was directly up wind of the boat, I shipped the oars and drifted down on her. The soft sides of the Zodiac let us bounce together without worries. The bow was going up and down at least a couple of feet with each wave. But I caught it and worked my way back to the cockpit. The stern was moving up and down as much as the bow.

I was afraid of loosing something transferring it to the boat. So I worked back amidships, the middle of this teeter-tooter. Into the boat went the camera, food, and pump. I double checked the tie before tossing up the oars and climbing aboard.

The first thing, go foreword and let out a little mooring line so that the boat and buoy were in better sync. Making double sure the line was well tied. Then I tossed the sails down the open front hatch, closing it behind them. To my surprise they were dry. The waves had not even dampened the foredeck. Still they were dry enough for one day.

I sat in the companionway to think. We were safe for the moment. Still I did not like being this close to a lee shore in a strong wind. There was too much up and down to cook in the cockpit. It would not take long to round the island. I would easily be clear of the rocks on the south end well before dark. Maybe even be anchored on the other side by then, if the buoys were all taken.

But we were so close to shore that should a breaker catch us wrong, the boat could be on the beach before the sails got a chance to draw. The iron Genoa was out of the question. The prop only works when you can keep it in the water more than half the time.

On the other hand, the State buoy was a good bet to hold. My lines were good. I had plenty to eat that did not require cooking; I could even cook in the cabin, which was more amidships. Moving seemed a worse choice. So I decided to relax and enjoy the ride.

It was a nice evening for sitting anchor watch. I stayed there until the wind died down sometime after sunset. Despite my soaked cloths, I was warm the whole time. It was a warm wind. Sitting wet in the wind wearing just cut-offs and a T-shirt I was perfectly comfortable. The air was warmer as we approached sunset than it had been when I first arrived.

This gave me my first and best clue as to where this wind came from. The other clue is that it did not reach other islands. We had the same basic weather for a week, yet this was my first experience of this wind, and also my last, though the weather held for another week. So this seems a local down slope wind.

Down slope winds are fairly common around mountains. The same heat low that creates the sea breeze pulled the air down the mountain. It warmed as it descended and compressed, and gained in strength as the sea breeze died. Down slope winds tend to take the same route down the hill and so are predictable. I would not be surprised if the sailors in Bellingham know more about this wind.

Late next morning, close to noon, I sailed very slowly off the buoy, into a building westerly sea breeze just past the lee of the island. I was wondering if Mona, “the Queen of Pender Harbor,” was at their cabin this late in the season?

Steve Worcester, Star 6932