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| Our yard - no moss there. (The green traces are our drainfield runs.) |
It is no longer Summer in Seattle. And it ended with a BANG, on Saturday, August 29.
| (Courtesy of SailFlow) |
Amazingly, it was well-predicted. In fact, when all of my weather sources converged to predict damaging winds, Jane and I made an emergency run up to Anacortes with our winter fenders and second set of docklines. Tho it felt strange to be getting ready for winter in the heat of an August day, it turned out to have been the right thing to do.
And it was a doozy. When it was over, half a million people were without power in the Seattle area, and two had been killed by falling timber.
But it brought rain. Glorious, glorious rain. We have had rain on every single day since the storm, including today (9/03). And *snap* just like that, it is now fall.
I guess I'll be getting the lawn mower out of mothballs...
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2 comments:
I happened to be coming to the end of a San Juan Islands cruise that particular weekend, and my girlfriend, upon hearing the forecast, ordered me to get our 35 foot sailboat to Friday Harbor ASAP. We arrived there the 28th, and spent most of the following day assisting boaters who were seeking shelter amidst the storm winds. The intense winds died down later that afternoon, and we departed for Anacortes the following day, Sunday, where my girlfriend loaded up her car for the drive home to Seattle. We said goodbye, and I navigated our boat southward for the return to Everett Marina, choosing the Swinomish Channel route and the protected waters of Skagit Bay and Saratoga Passage as prudent. My destination for that evening was Utsalady Bay, a protected anchorage at the north end of Camano Island. I reached the bay after sunset, anchored for the night, and planned to make the second leg home to Everett at first light. The next morning I pulled anchor and set off, and failed to listen to the weather forecast, thinking that calm conditions would surely prevail two days after such an intense storm. My blithe indifference and careless attitude towards weather conditions would soon be proven completely reckless. Within the first hour, a steady southerly wind began to build, and the sky became a leaden gray. The wind created an annoying chop of short period swells, leading to a rhythmic pounding as the hull slammed down with a shudder every few seconds. Refusing to consult the weather forecast, I stubbornly continued my passage as the winds steadily increased and the chop became steeper. I could barely manage one knot in the face of these conditions. But, instead of reevaluating my options, I became determined to make for home, despite the fact a delay of a day would have been of no consequence. I could easily have returned to the snug anchorage and whiled away the day relaxing and puttering about the boat. But I did not. What followed instead was 8 hours of changing headings, dropping anchor repeatedly in exposed coves, and generally having a miserable time in winds that gusted over 50 knots. I finally straggled in to Everett Marina at sunset, windblown, exhausted, starving, drenched, and utterly spent. Strong winds meant I was unable to enter my slip for the night, and docked on the guest breakwater pier, where the night watchman saw fit to ticket my boat for unlaid moorage, the final insult to my worst day ever on the water.
Wow! That was quite the ordeal! I am glad you made it to a safe harbor.
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