Street Murals in Morro Bay

When I came back to Morro Bay to pick up my van I realized what great street murals there are in town. Murals are a fantastic way to make art in the public domain. Everyone gets to enjoy it; they tell a little story of the place and its culture; and they're infinitely more interesting than drywall finish.

These three murals are all on Main Street of Morro Bay, on the Taco de Mexico building, and just south of it.


The Morro Bay estuary under moonlight. It captures all the romance of the place.


The Harbor Entrance with a Coast Guard boat mid rescue. The Morro Bay entrance is in the top 10 most dangerous in the nation due to the swell conditions.


Fishing boats in the harbor. The bay had a thriving fishing fleet until recently when regulations have turned it into a costly industry.

Moving houses, moving boats

"The brothers that help each other move keep moving."

In February I went down to Orange County and helped my brother move from Fullerton to Aliso Viejo. He rented an Uhaul, hauled furniture, the fridge, and the foozball table. Er, actually there was no foozball table.



Then in May my brother came to Morro Bay to help move my boat. I don't have as much stuff, or as much space, but the mess can substantial. Not much different than his Uhaul really; except that my home is like a snail carrying everything on its back, and transporting it is like riding a rollercoaster which moves chaotically across the water.

Sailing? or Gambling? enroute to Avila

I was exhausted; ready to sleep in, when Dylan woke us up at 5:30AM. "Sun's coming up, we've got to go!" Gale force winds or not, we were going. My brother is such a champion for motivating the mission. Not bad for a Orange County family man and 9-5er who enjoys spending weekends indoors! Who would've thought! We coil the lines and motor off.

I access my state of mind: whereas during yesterday's shakedown cruise I was anxious, even a bit scared, today I'm exuberant. Feeling goooooooooood. Then, as we're raising the mainsail, still inside the harbor, I hear a thrilled hoot. "Yeeeeeeeeeeeah!!" Keith happens to be driving by in his car, waving at us. I wave back and feel a great surge of confidence. I like coincidences. "That's a good omen!" Dylan probably figures I'm a loony superstitious old salt by now.




The second good omen was just offshore, on the red marker buoy: a sea lion was laying out in the sun. Yesterday the seas were much rougher and no marine animals were frollicking. Today, even the dolphins were playing nearby us, as we cruised past the breakwater and ominous horn of the harbor entrance. Yes! Yes!




The VHF radio had a different opinion however. Coast Guard forecast on channel 22 warned sailors of "Gale force winds: if in port, stay in port. If at sea, immediately seek a safe haven." The time was 6AM and the wind was 5 knots, calm. Seas were bumpy but manageable. We figured that if we got around Point Buchon, halfway to Avila, before the wind picked up too strong, we'd be alright. That was our gamble, aboard the our trusty 1964 sloop.

A mile offshore, the Al Azar lay creeping along; they didn't make much headway in the past three hours. The wind steadily increased, and as we approached Point Buchon I decided to take the conservative approach and reef the sail early. We'd go slower but safer. All books say: "Reef early. That is, shorten sail as soon as the thought crosses your mind. You won't ever regret it."





Flying downwind 2 miles offshore of Diablo Canyon Powerplant, I decided to jibe to get away from the coast some. As I was preparing the jibe a wave knocked the boat around, sending the boom into an uncontrolled swing across to the other side, leading to a great "R-r-r-r-iiiiiip!" 5 feet of the mainsail lay in tatters, and while Dylan held the tiller I brought the mainsail down.

Under the jib alone we sailed at a respectable 4 knots. Around 12pm the wind really started to whip the sea into frenzy. The Port San Luis breakwater was visible, and we took a beam reach into the harbor, heeling the boat over 30 degrees in 25 knot plus gusts. The Raza sailed straight into the Avila Beach anchorage, between the two piers, without us hardly having to steer her, arriving around 1pm.





Although the wind still buffeted the boat, the anchorage was wonderfully smooth and hot. After tying up next to the Al Azar (it seemed calm enough), we re-organized the chaos inside the cabin, and eventually went to shore. Revelling throngs were milling about in the beach enjoying the Memorial Day weekend. Today's Beer Festival left a trail of college girls in bikinis and high heels struting about with hunky-dory dudes swigging on beers. After being in the harshest elements offshore, this hedonistic scene was too much to fathom. We scampered back to relax at home, which was bobbing gently. Home was no longer in Morro Bay. It was at approximately 35 degrees 26 minutes North, 120 degrees 68 minutes West, and happily so.

Al Azar's insane departure

The 29ft Ericson sloop, the "Al Azar", is literally in shambles, it's already 10PM, but Chris determined to leave tonight. His eyes are twitching in sych with his scraggly beard, possibly in anticipation of the task at hand. The bow pulpit is sitting on the dock, along with the piles and piles of his gear. He picks up his friend Sarah from Napa, who has no idea what she is in for. She has never sailed before and also is pregnant.

"Kristian come help me mount this thing - 3 bolts on each stanchion is plenty." Chris lives by the 3/4 rule; the fourth bolt is probably not fully necessary after all. His bow pulpit has had major damage - he ran into a breakwater with it - so it's very wobbly, even after being mounted.

Chris starts piling gear onto his starboard deck. "As long as the port side is clear I can run the decks." Surfboards, aluminum rods, pieces of wood, all kinds of mixmatch get wedged between his deck and netting. The thought of what tomorrow's forecast gale force wind might do to his gear makes me cringe.

"The tide's already ebbing, I've gotta move!" It's 1AM and he's counting on the ebbing tide to slingshot him out of the harbor. His inboard diesel engine is sitting tamely on his cabin floor, since breaking down on arrival to Morro Bay. All he has for propulsion is a borrowed 5 horsepower Nissan outboard which regularly sputters.

Worse, the Al Azar has a large hole in the keel. A month before, his anchor line wrapped around his keel and sawed right through it; the Harbor Patrol put a quick fix to seal the leak. "Don't leave the harbor without hauling the boat out of the water and fiberglassing that hole!" they had advised. But the Morro Bay Boatyard owner was not very cooperative; and Chris' patience wore thin so he decided to leave on Memorial Day weekend, with the Tabula Raza behind to keep an eye on things.

Keep your fingers crossed!

By the time he was ready to leave at 2AM, and I cast his lines off, I was so stressed out I didn't think I'd be able to leave the next day - particularly because the forecast called for 35-40 knot gale winds. Chris is officially the king of unprepared-ness, reckless-ness, and put himself on the edge-ness. We more humble, slightly better prepared folk, bow down in reverence.

Nonsense on the Floating Dock

Mike from the "Imagine", sailing from San Francisco down to Costa Rica, looking happy after the passage from Moss Landing.












Chris from the "Al Azar" holding the beer gut proud; or is he pregnant?



The three boats shared this little real estate for a few weeks.




Kristian from the "Tabula Raza" in full diving regallia and binoculars in hand.




"Imagine That!"

Overkill on anchor chain

Since I'm a novice sailor, and usually fairly reckless with my equipment, I try to take a few conservative measures, just to even the score. So I upgraded my anchor rode to make sure if I anchored in some crazy surfspot I could feel confident about holding strong. Previously the Raza had 60 feet of chain with 200 feet of nylon line - which is already a respectable amount, especially with a 35 pound Bruce on the end. Now I've got a massive 210 feet of chain (5/16in)with the 200 feet of nylon line for backup.



The paint was painted white every 15 feet, with red paint on the links to indicate how much chain I've already put out. I use this system every time I anchor, because otherwise it's hard to tell how much chain is left. It's very practical.

Not too long ago, Chris fouled the anchor line on the "Al Azar" and the nylon line actually sawed through his keel, opening a gaping hole and nearly sinking him. I heard you can't go wrong with an all-chain rode. It's just really really heavy, especially when I had no bow roller. Chris gave me a roller though, and after a few modifications (ie sawing off bits of the toe rail) I managed to install it properly. Now all I need is a manual windlass, if I want to spare my back, which has already been getting quite sore.

the Renabel and the Rock

A hallelujah-praise-the-lord type shot of a beautiful fishing boat in Morro Bay. The "Renabel" is for sale at around $50,000.

The Shakedown Cruise - we're ready for carnage.

In a test of our perseverance, the weekend of the departure was marred by very strong winds and choppy seas. Arguably a perfect time to toss the boat around and see what breaks. My brother Dylan arrived on the Thursday of Memorial Day weekend; we sat at the Hofbrau of Morro Bay discussing our options with fellow sailors Chris and Keith, as the wind buffeted the glass.
"North to San Simeon? Maybe we'll make it to China Cove, which is just halfway."
"But what's the anchorage like there? We can leave at around 4 AM and see what it's like offshore."
"Or we'll just go for a day sail..."

Forecast called for 40knot plus winds from the northwest, with hectic seas of 10 feet at 9 seconds. Anytime the wave height (10 feet) is larger than the swell period (9 seconds) then it'll be very rough and choppy. The small craft advisory turned into a full gale warning. The 40 year old boat was groaning at the prospect of such a beating, but we cast off at 4:30 AM - heart in throat.



In the spirit of the shakedown cruise, which has the objective of "shaking down" whatever loose nuts and bolts (and larger hardware) need to get replaced before the big trip, a few things got knocked off the boat: including the sail track on the boom and this morning's breakfast. "I thought this only happened in the cartoons!" Dylan was astonished at the extent of his seasickness. "It can only get better from now on" he said with a twisted smile. He may be a family guy, but he's a trooper.

We scampered back into Morro Bay and rested, repaired, and slept for the day while the gale whipped the very spark in the air. The plan was to leave early the next morning and head south to Avila Beach. Real early, before the wind got strong.



9PM. As we dined at Pizza Port, contemplating this might be our last meal should be gale consume us, Chris announces he's also leaving - and on top of things, his friend Sarah from Napa Valley is coming too - and she's pregnant! "She should be arriving any minute now." What?! The pizza is delicious.

Back at the Tabula Raza, in the pitch black, the lads haul me up the mast, to recover the topping lift (an important line which came off the block). I'm 30 feet up in the air, headlamp illuminating the mast in front of me, nothing else exists. I breath and look around; the view of the city lights is fiery, along with the calm and hazy air, I feel like I'm inside the dragon's belly.