On VHF channel 16, I hear, "calling any boat in the Yellowbanks anchorage". I respond, "this is the Black Pearl, do you have a copy?" My primary VHF radio has had some faulty connections so I'm using the handheld unit. "Hi Black Pearl, this is sailing vessel Guayana, change to channel 68" and I respond "changing to channel 6-8".
On channel 68, Guayana expresses their concern "with the easterly wind, which is making me a bit nervous". The infamous Santa Ana winds blow out of the east so doubtless this fellow was concerned about that possibility - but this wasn't the case today. I respond saying this is a "back eddy caused by the heat in the island" and the north-west wind should come in strong before sunset.
They seem satisfied with answer and finish with "over and out". I then make the most of the heat and take a shower in the cockpit - fill up a gallon of fresh water from my tank, and soap myself up, shampoo and conditioner, with speedos on. Just as I'm drying off the first few puffs came down the hills, then it blew like mad.
The only time I've seen comparable winds were at San Miguel Island, anchored at Cuyler Harbor. The island gently slopes up on the windward side, forcing the airmass into higher altitude, which is hurling down unimpeded for hundreds of miles along the California coastline.
Then suddenly the topography of the island falls into a cliff face leading into Cuyler Harbor, which accelerates the wind tremendously, like a roller coaster coming down a hill. Although the wind blows right off the land, which would normally just ripple the surface of the smooth bay, the wind had such strength that one foot waves were being produced in a fetch of 300 feet.
Similar conditions were happening at Yellowbanks, which sent the Black Pearl jackknifing back and forth, pitching in the mini-seas, the dinghy tied up 40 feet behind. I was heating up some Indian lentils on the pan, quite enjoying the fury of the wind outside, when I noticed my dinghy was upside down, capsized! though it was still tied to the sailboat.
Incidentally, when I had crossed the Santa Barbara Channel a week before, rough conditions as they were, there was hardly any water in the dinghy; I was surprised how well it rode out the waves, while I had gotten pumelled.
The dinghy actually has two hulls, which makes it remarkably stable, much like a trimaran. However, like any multi-hull, one of its great weakness is the fact that once it flips over, there ain't no coming back.
Somehow the gale had picked up the dinghy and flipped it over. Now, it was a relatively simple matter for me to pull on the line, using the winch as necessary, and then once it was abreast the sailboat, flip it right-side up. But this little exercise had come at an interesting time - in the lee of my obsessions about getting a 30+ foot trimaran as my next sailboat. Food for thought.
Throughout the incident, I lost the kayak paddle that was inside the dinghy and whatever else wasn't attached - a sponge and a towel. That added the tally of "shook-down" valuable items to #5, just after the discovery the previous day that the BBQ metal hose was missing - probably washed overboard in that mischievous rogue wave in the Channel.
I might have also burned down the boat, because the Indian lentils were still cooking in the stovetop that whole time... but nay, knock on wood.
Now alongside the sailboat (which hasn't drug anchor, thankfully), I put on the foul weather gear and try to bail out the water-logged dinghy. Feels like we're in a critical storm, with spray flying and wind gusts above 40 knots, though the skies are clear with stars twinkling happily.
Much the same as the description in Two Years Before The Mast, by Richard Dana, which I'm currently reading, talking about the gale off Point Conception which blew for days under perfectly clear skies.
After a few more hours of the mast shaking, the rigging quivering, and everything rattling about, the gale ends as suddenly as it started.
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