It’s not every day someone asks if you want to sail a boat from Vancouver Island, Canada, to San Francisco. And it's certainly not everyone's instinct to immediately say “yes.” But for me, that was the only response.
My sailing journey began back in 2006, in the bustling city of Shanghai, China. Brett even joined me on a few sails on Dianshan Lake aboard my replica boat of a Flyin Scot. But nothing could have prepared me for what was in store aboard Beagle Spirit.
Originally, I thought I’d write this blog as a log of everything that happened on the trip, but I quickly realized: the highlights deserved their own story.
Sea Life: A Close Encounter with Giants
The ocean is a stage where the creatures of the deep come to play, and watching them in their natural habitat is awe-inspiring. Whether it's their massive size or their grace as they glide through the waves, it’s always thrilling. But nothing quite prepares you for when they come close enough to smell their—let’s just say—not-so-fresh breath.
On our first day heading offshore from Bamfield, we were greeted by whales. Not just one or two, but a seemingly endless parade of them. They breached the surface, crashing through the water like aquatic titans. At one point, we were surrounded on both sides. Then, while I was at the helm, one whale surfaced right in front of us. Instinctively, we threw the boat into neutral. Kay had warned us that humpback whales don’t use echolocation, so they’re blissfully unaware of any nearby vessels. We estimated we'd seen at least 100 whales that day—an unforgettable sight.
As if the whales weren’t enough, we also had dolphins racing alongside Beagle Spirit, their sleek bodies darting just beneath the bow. It was as if they were welcoming us into their world.
Night Sailing: The Ocean’s Dark Embrace
One of the moments I was most looking forward to was night sailing on the open ocean. I’d sailed at night before, but always within the San Francisco Bay. This was different. No lights, no landmarks, just the vast, dark expanse of the Pacific.
When it’s overcast with no moon, you lose all sense of the horizon. Ocean and sky blend into one. Your only guides are the instruments, the rhythmic sound of the waves, and that old-school magnetic compass. The waves would come without warning, their power invisible until they crashed against the hull. Safe behind Beagle Spirit's sturdy dodger, we braced ourselves against nature’s forces.
One night, the wind died down, and Kay and I agreed it was time to fire up the motor if we wanted to reach Crescent City by daylight, ahead of a gale. Brett joined us to help lower the sails. I ventured out onto the deck to unhook the boom brake, carefully clipping my lifeline as I went. At that moment, it struck me just how tiny our world was—if someone were looking down from a plane, they’d see just a single, glowing speck in the middle of the Pacific. But for us, that speck was everything. A fragile bubble of life floating on the water, surrounded by endless darkness.
Another night found us in heavier winds, needing to reef the sails. I grabbed the helm while Brett and Chris worked the lines. The boat surfed the swells, each crest like a miniature mountain we sped down. The compass became my North Star as the boat danced between the peaks and valleys of the waves, each one capped with glowing foam as it was swallowed by the night.
Constant Motion: Life at an Angle
Imagine living in a house that never stops moving. Every moment is a balancing act, whether you’re walking, cooking, or even just trying to sleep. Thankfully, Beagle Spirit had plenty of handholds to grab onto when the ocean decided to throw you across the cabin.
Sleeping was its own challenge. Our bunks were equipped with lee cloths to keep us from being unceremoniously tossed onto the floor as the boat rolled. It’s an odd sensation, knowing that while you are sleeping, only a thin layer of fiberglass separates you from the deep blue. After a while, you start to understand the boat's rhythm—how fast it’s going, how high the swells are—all through the sounds of water rushing by.
The kitchen was a different kind of adventure. Cooking while everything moved required finesse. The gimbaled stove kept our meals level, but the rest of the galley? That was a war zone of flying utensils and sliding pots. It was like trying to cook in an earthquake, and we all took turns laughing at ourselves when a rogue wave would send us flying.
The Crew: Familiar Faces in Faraway Places
Chris and Steve were the perfect companions for this journey. Steve and I go way back from our days at HP, and Chris knew my sister and her husband from many river trips. Funny how small the world gets when you're bobbing around on 52 feet of fiberglass.
In the close quarters of Beagle Spirit, we got to know each other well. Chris and I shared many watch shifts and bonded over our strangely parallel pasts: both of us had worked at Pizza Hut, and we’d both broken our right legs playing soccer in college. Who knew?
It was great to catch up with Steve and learn about all of his past and future adventures in retirement. Steve always looked graceful while tending to the hard jobs on a pitching deck. I imagine the daily yoga has something to do with that.
The Captains: Brett, Kay, and “Lucy”
Brett and Kay were the masterminds behind this incredible voyage. Seasoned sailors, they were always ready to explain the intricacies of every maneuver, making sure we all felt like part of the team.
And then, there was “Lucy”—the unsung hero of the crew. The boat's autopilot, Lucy worked tirelessly, steering through calm seas and towering 10-foot swells, never once complaining. Honestly, I can’t imagine doing the trip without her.
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