I arrived back from Canada rejuvenated and raring-to-go. I was ready to conquer my now-quelled fears and get this next leg underway. What a difference my trip home had made, my uneasiness was gone and had taken with it the giant clouds of doubt and turmoil that had hung over me for so long. I was bubbling over with optimism and hope, which is good because, as always seems to be the case, another shoe was about to drop.

We had asked Sheldon to give our hull a scrub in preparation for our upcoming jump. It would be our longest passage so far and a clean hull would make a lot of difference in our speed. In addition, we were at least six months overdue for a cleaning, making it all the more necessary. We had anticipated the growth would be bad, but when Sheldon said we had mussels growing, we knew we had to act quickly and Charles immediately scheduled an appointment to have the boat hauled so we could clean and inspect the hull for damage. (Sheldon was willing, but quoted us eight hours for the job!)

When mussels grow, in order to attach, they send out tendrils called byssus threads. These threads are incredibly strong and once they take purchase, can infiltrate and compromise the integrity of your hull. Definitely something we didn’t want! Luckily, the appointment was only five days away at the only yard in the area that could take us, Monterey Bay Boatworks. *Sigh*, we were headed back to the boatyard, our last visit ending a mere month and a half ago and lasting a traumatizing two months. I hoped with every fiber of my being that we wouldn’t find damage, otherwise we would be spending the foreseeable future on-the-hard in Monterey, our southward progress halted indefinitely.

After notifying the Harbour Master of our plight, they thankfully agreed to extend our stay in the anchorage past the allowed 30 days as we waited for our upcoming haul-out. In the meantime, we shifted our thoughts towards maximizing the value of our ‘surprise opportunity’. As gutted as we were, we still needed to take full advantage of the situation. Charles ordered a line-cutter which we had decided upon after our Halfmoon Bay ‘brush with death’ (see A Paucity of Pots as we Head to Half Moon Bay), ordered a new cutless bearing, bought new zincs to replace our spent ones, and got our feathering prop out so that it could finally be reinstalled, increasing our efficiency.

As we waited for haul-out day to arrive, we distracted ourselves by continuing our exploration of Monterey, walking Cannery Row and bringing to life the novel of the same name, Charles having read our ‘baptized’ copy while I was gone.

The number of arriving sailboats began increasing as the southward cruiser migration ramped up, focused on San Diego and beyond. We ran into other boaters headed towards La Paz, their journeys less encumbered and fraught than ours, their ability to move freely, enviable. We did what we hoped would be our last provision in Monterey and just generally tried to enjoy the time we had left trying to stay positive. With our sights firmly set on the boatyard 3 days hence, we forgot that disasters rarely waited their turn, we were about to get a jarring reminder.

It was 3am, two days before the boatyard and both Charles and I were sleeping soundly thanks to the gentle rocking of the waves. Suddenly, there was a little ‘bump’, a tiny hiccup rousing us, followed by another, stronger this time, startling us both upright, the surge of adrenaline like a lightening strike down my spine, willing my body to move before my brain could process or even awaken. We were hitting bottom, the impact increasing with each wave. In a flash we were out in the cockpit, the darkness pervasive, the pinpoints of light from town exacerbating our blindness. Were we closer to the wharf? It looked like we were closer. Had our anchor dragged?

With our keel jarringly bumping bottom, Charles at the bow yelling instructions, and me on the helm, heart pounding, doing what he asked, we were able, after about 20 minutes, to maneuver out to deeper water, the danger diminishing, the panic subsiding. With limbs shaking, we hauled up our anchor and moved further out away from the beach and wharf, making sure to avoid the location of our original anchoring snafu from weeks before.

Post-game analysis revealed a sandbar over towards the wharf that, unless zoomed in all the way on our charts, was unmarked. A weather shift in the night had changed the direction we were facing so instead of being pushed away from the wharf, we were being pushed towards it. The wharf looked closer because it had been. It was approximately 100 feet closer, but we hadn’t dragged, our anchor alarm hadn’t failed, our anchor had held. We just happen to have swung into a new position over a small shallow spot. A far cry from the imagined running-aground scenario that we had startlingly, terrifyingly woken to. By 4am the drama was over, we were anchored further out and the adrenaline was starting to dissipate, being replaced by the sleep that had been so rudely interrupted.

As I am sure you can imagine at this point, we were feeling pretty ‘done’ with Monterey. Around every corner seemed to lurk our next mishap, like airplanes circling, waiting for their opportunity to descend, a never-ending stream of new setbacks appearing as soon as each one lands. Every move we made seemed to be met with resistance or obstacles and I noticed that I was holding my breath.

Haul-out day could not come soon enough. By the morning of, I just wanted to get it over with, finished, behind us. While I was below getting ready Charles began to haul up the anchor so we could begin making our way in towards the boatyard. We wanted to be in position and ready to be lifted as soon as possible because today, time was of the essence. With one ear tuned to Charles beginning to bring in chain, I could hear that something was off.

As I came out to the cockpit, Charles was at the bow taking photos in the direction of our anchor. As I neared the bow and peered over, I saw an oil slick forming, we had gotten caught on something again! I was really starting to dislike this anchorage. This time thankfully, we were able to free ourselves, but in the process we dislodged or ruptured whatever was down there. Charles noted the coordinates and passed the information along to Sheldon so he could investigate and mitigate if needed, the seeping, oily slick likely not good for the health of the bay and its critters.

Thankfully the delay was minimal and we made our way to the boatyard to get ready for being lifted, time was ticking whether we were out of the water or in. You see, there technically was no space for us at the boatyard, Charles had talked them into letting us spend the entire day in the slings on the lift and had assured them we would be ready to splash by the end of the work day. They needed the lift first thing the next morning and we promised to be out of it. Any delay on the lift-out would be cutting into the amount of time we had to get every task done before they lowered us back into the water at the end of the day, and the minimum cost of the lift would remain the same regardless of time spent on land or tasks completed.

We pulled into position at the ramp and the giant wheeled Travelift began lumbering along the elevated track above us, slowly making its way towards the end then stopping. There was a problem, we were too long, we stuck out too far, our roller furling was hitting the immovable cross-beam of the lift, they couldn’t get the slings under us. My heart sank. Thankfully within minutes there was a solution that originally involved removing both of our newly re-installed sails and disassembling the freshly re-assembled roller furlings (ugh!), until Charles suggested he back-in instead, and remove the much easier back-stay which involves no sails or rollery-movey bits. I vote for that option!✋

Two hours later: Magick Express Haul-out, Take Two, …Drumroll please,… after securing the mast and removing the backstay, Charles reversed into position,… the Travelift lumbered,… the slings slung, and, and, just like that our 82,000lb home was airborne, suspended, cradled, as the powerful lift rolled back along its track towards land, then slowly, carefully, lowering its precious load until the keel balanced gently on two awaiting wooden blocks. It all went off without a hitch. I exhaled a tiny bit.

And about the worry brought on by my overactive imaginations of our hull as a thriving and resplendent underwater ecosystem? Well that worry was quickly replaced with relief when we saw the reality. If there was damage, it would be minimal. I exhaled a tiny bit more.

Once the boat was secure, we inspected the hull for any signs of compromise, thankfully finding none. We did however find a healthy colony of ghost shrimp (see video) and some chomp marks from rays feasting on our algae layer. I set about looking for and dislodging the worst of the growth, while Charles began removing our propeller in order to re-install our more efficient feathering max-prop after removing it years before to have it refurbished. We were very happy to be getting it back on.

It is standard practice that boatyards power-wash the hulls when boats are hauled out. This is an effective way of removing most of the growth with very little effort, not to mention, it is soooo satisfying to watch.

When it became clear that we had managed to avoid any hull damage and would indeed be headed south the next day with our good weather window, I left the rest of the cleaning to the power-washer and headed off to move the car to the boatyard, Charles had managed to swing a deal where we could leave the car within their fenced lot for a few weeks until we could get settled into our next long-term stop and then come back to retrieve it, having now decided to keep the car past Monterey.

With no agreement that the kids could fly, we were forced to hang on to our vehicle as it was the only way we could transport them for visits. In addition, car rentals had become scarce and expensive during Covid and we were hesitant to give up our most sure method of getting to the kids quickly. It just meant we had more ‘figuring out’ to do, but it was doable, and I would even go so far as to say that Charles got a kick out of the challenge, the interactions, the thrill of a great bargain, a relationship formed, the comradery that comes from deal-making. He also liked knowing that my thrifty side would be happy and proud of his efforts and he always likes making me happy and proud.

By the time I had returned and secured the car for our absence, the power-washing was nearing an end as was the installation of the propeller. There was just one problem, a teeny, tiny, little, very-difficult to replace and completely necessary screw had slipped from Charles’ grasp and fallen, careening and ricocheting to the littered pavement. We needed that screw and we needed an eagle-eyed archaeologist/hero to find it. I sternly told Charles to drop what he was doing and back away, the less ‘help’ he provided, the better. I got to work using my ‘looking superpowers’ and within a few minutes had located the tiny part. Crisis averted, and more importantly, I retain the title of the ‘Reigning Champion of Looking for Things’, Charles having to bow to the master yet again.

With the hull clean and undamaged, the propeller installation completed, and the new zincs in place, all of the work we could do, was done. The line cutter we had ordered did not show up in time, and neither did the cutless bearing, so we made arrangements for them to be held at the boatyard until we could get back to pick up the car. But, most importantly, we had made our end-of-day deadline with time to spare and as the boatyard began wrapping up its business for the day we were lifted, carried back out to the launch, and lowered. We had done it, we had hauled out, completed our tasks, and splashed, all in the same day. Not only had we escaped the boatyard, but we had escaped with no damage and had managed to make some bonus improvements and take care of a few things that had been sidelined. Things were looking up. Maybe, perhaps, could it be that finally, our luck was beginning to change?

Back in the water, Charles took advantage of having to remove the backstay by swapping out our leaking backstay adjuster and replacing it with our other newly refurbished one.  By 7pm we had the boat back together and were eating dinner tied to the fuel dock. We would be fine here overnight, as long as we were gone by the time the fuel dock opened for business the next morning. We were hesitant to venture back to the anchorage, not wanting to tempt fate again, our aversion understandable and repeatedly reinforced.

We were done taking chances with this 200 year old anchor trap, we were ready to go. We had a good weather window and Charles was excited, planning on getting us underway at 4am. With our long, but accomplished day over, we headed off to bed, we had another big day tomorrow and it would be a very early start. If all went well, we would be south of Big Sur tomorrow evening. We were finally turning the page.