Allport Marine SurveyTony Allport, SAMSŪ AMSŪPrincipal Marine Surveyor Steilacoom, Washington, USA Serving the Puget Sound Region Including Olympia, Tacoma, & Gig Harbor |
Blind Mans Bluff
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By Tony Allport The fog rolled in quickly on the southwest shore of San Juan Island. It was a sobering turn to an otherwise pleasant day, demanding a higher level of concentration and caution as we guided Pleiades on to Fisherman Bay on Lopez Island. We had an excellent idea of where we were in relation to the land and what our heading was thanks to the miracle of GPS paired with digital cartography; a marriage made in heaven if ever there was one. Still, I slavishly adhered to our course, out of habit I guess. In the old days, precise steering from a known position was your only hope of ending up anywhere close to where you wanted to go in the fog. My wife, Ann, stood watch on the bow blowing our fog horn every two minutes. Our six year old son, Alden, snuggled into her side acting as assistant lookout and chief timekeeper. 
Unexpected encounters in the fog are generally not welcome, and we were not looking for company of any kind. Without radar, we were in the dark about what the other boats in the area were doing. Most of them seemed oblivious to the requirement and wisdom of sounding an audible signal to indicate their position. We were vaguely aware of their presence by the occasional sounds of their engines wafting through the fog.A boat appeared suddenly ahead of us and crossed our bow at close range. "F@#%ing idiot!" I muttered, snatching back the throttle and veering sharply to avoid him. There was a radar antenna mounted on his cabin top so perhaps he knew we were there. But he gave me no warning of his presence. We were startled next by a whoosh, like the sound of a bottle rocket. A tall sail like fin sliced the air as an orca whale rolled into view. We are always thrilled to see orcas but we were taken aback to find one so close now. Another one blasted her pent up breath between us and the first whale. We could smell what she had for lunch. The first one was cool but this one was way too close. I braced for the possibility of a third whale rolling right into Pleiades. Ann and I exchanged astonished looks, and waited... "Geez, I've never been burped on by a whale before," Alden murmured, completely unaware of his gift for deadpan. Convulsing with laughter, I felt all pretense of caution and responsibility slip away. As distractions go, this one was good, but we still had a job to do. Soon a ketch materialized on our starboard side. "Now what?" I stood up straight and gave them an appraising look. The name on the transom was Tenacity IV. That might have been a clue. There were two couples on board. The skipper waved his hand held VHF radio at me so I picked up mine and made contact on channel 68. He said he was headed to Cattle Pass and then on to Friday Harbor and offered to lead us in. I am not sure what prompted his kindness but I suspect he interpreted our fog horn as a distress signal and came to our rescue. His offer implied a measure of confidence in his ability, and I noticed the radar antenna mounted on his mizzen mast. I thought that the way things were going, it couldn't hurt. "OK," I said. "We only do about five knots so don't go too fast." A few minutes passed before they resumed their course. I began to wonder what they were doing. Perhaps they were busy plotting one. Then they took off at a pretty good clip with us struggling to keep up. According to our instruments they were angling in sharply toward the rocky shore. "What are they thinking? They must have some trick up their sleeve," I muttered. I was intrigued. Ann, on the other hand, was alarmed by their actions and warned that we should abandon this wild goose chase and trust our own navigation. "I am curious about what they are doing," I replied. "And besides, they might need help." 
Were they trying to follow a depth contour along the coast to Cattle Pass? Our depth sounder only indicated increasingly shallow water. They couldn't be trying to actually make visual contact with the shore and follow it around; the coast isn't that clean of rocks lying offshore. I was running out of explanations for their actions, but it was pretty clear they weren't using radar or GPS. "I didn't realize they intended to walk to Friday Harbor," I quipped. Ann only grimaced. It was exciting to be blundering about in the fog with the lead boat poised to take the brunt of any miscalculation. The women on Tenacity's foredeck nervously gripped the headstay and peered ahead into the fog. A raucous commotion of seagull cries filled the air as they vacated the safety of their fog bound ledge. The women on the bow screamed "ROCK!" and their husbands dutifully put the helm over. They waved us off vigorously as they passed going the opposite direction. Ann gave me a stern look and with a shrug I diverged from our guide and resumed our original course. The radio crackled about twenty minutes later with the triumphant report that they had found it. Their amphibious assault on the shore eventually led them to Goose Island in Cattle Pass. "I am relieved to hear it." I said. "We are coming up on a waypoint just to the east of Goose Island." "Oh..." Came the reply. "It sounds like you know what you are doing then... Well... think we do too, now." There was laughter in the background. I hope I didn't transmit too much of my own when I wished them a safe trip and thanked them for their help. |
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Installed August 15, 2006 - Last updated December 24, 2011 - Hosted & Maintained by Don Robertson