Living On The Hook
Now Playing: Living On The Hook: Hen Rock Cove
I got out of the isthmus because of reports of strong NW winds that would have kept me bouncing around for two days.

My back was still killing me and the thought of pulling up two heavy anchor rodes of 80' of chain each were more than I wanted to deal with if things got out of hand and I had to leave in the midst of a windstorm.

So while the wind was calm, I got in the dinghy and I tried to pick up my first anchor, which was sitting under an anchored ketch near the cliffs. I was able to gather up the 250' of nylon rode ok but, when I got to the chain it was difficult to get the leverage on it with my bad back and no bow roller to ease the chain over the stern of the dinghy. I had to stick my arm in the water a couple of feet down and pull the anchor up and over the edge and then lean back on the thwart (seat) of the dinghy and use my weight and the dinghy as a fulcrum and lever to break the chain out of the sand, rocks and kelp to make any progress.

The old guy in the ketch enjoyed my lack of progress with his morning coffee only a few yards away. At least he offered no advice.

Dave is a young, blonde guy who was anchored upwind of me for the last few days in his Columbia 40. He's on his way to Puerto Vallarta.
He spent each day surfing around on his inflatable while standing up. While holding onto a bowline up front and controlling the engine with a throttle extension he'd fly as fast as he could through the water powered by a 15 horsepower outboard. He looked like a sea god being pulled on a chariot, like Aphrodite being pulled on the shell by the dolphins.

First, he'd dart to shore, then stop at any boat with people in the cockpit, chat for a few minutes and then speed off to a new location. When he first visited me his first announcement was, "I'm retired...I mean retarded". He is a bit hyperactive. I got a few such short visits over the next couple of day. Soon, his socializing scored him a rather plain looking woman companion who also rode around with him all day, although the boat ran much slower and he had to sit down.

He got up for some coffee and saw me struggling with the anchor, hopped in his chariot and sped over to help me. Even with his being twenty years my junior he had difficulty bring that anchor up even my second pair of arms. But, we got it up with bruised arms. He was out of smokes and refused to pay the high price at the local store, so I gave him a pack in thanks and thanked him for his help.

I got back on the boat and used a piece of line and the jib sheet winch, tied a sheet bend (a knot that grabs a straight piece of line) on the anchor line and cranked her in. When I got to the chain, I tied on a chain hook and cranked the chain up until I could budge it another inch. I threw the engine in forward, and broke the anchor out and dragged it to deeper water, then pulled the remainder up by hand with an aching back. I need a windless. I'm too old for this crap.

I motored seven miles down past Long Point and checked out the first anchorage, Button Shell Cove. The Marine Institute has a campground there with a few moorings and room for a few boats to anchor. It still had too much wind for my taste. I went around the next point to Hen Rock Cove. It was fairly protected from the west wind and was calm. I took a day of rest here and did nothing but read H.G. Wells'," The Time Machine" to give my back time to heal. I had to grab open windows or the dodger's railings to get up. Couldn't get up using my muscles.

It's a little scary to be in a fairly remote anchorage at night and know that if an emergency should arise, I'd be unable to do much about it. But, other boats anchored around me soon. Fishing boats, dive boats and a few other sailboats filled up the anchorage behind this big rock on the cove that just didn't look like a hen. Later I saw a much larger rock deeper into the cove that did indeed look like a hen lying on her nest.

This was a pleasant anchorage and has a good diving reef. Lot of people came by to snorkel it. There's a Red-tailed Hawk that has nest high up on the cliff in a rock spire. I watched her come and go all day as I read or slept in the cockpit under the sun awning.

There's no T-Mobile coverage here or even just around the bend from Two Harbors. I kept thinking I'd row the dinghy around the point and see if I had any messages. Glad I didn't, it would have been a waste of time. I was expected a call for an upcoming press junket and didn't want to miss it.

As it turned out the next day a producer was hunting me down for a last-minute shoot the next day.
However, I was feeling better and had my body twisted down in the bilge in the aft-cabin tightening the prop shaft-packing gland that was leaking too fast. The bilge pump was going on every twenty minutes. I was a whirlwind of activity, fixing lots of small, irritating things that I'd ignored for months.

By mid-afternoon an east wind was blowing strong, towards the rocks all day and built up some swell. So, I upped anchor and went back to Two Harbors, making lunch en route and checking on the dripping frequency of the packing gland. It's supposed to be ten drops of water per minute to serve as cooling/lubrication for the prop shaft. I counted seven. Close enough. It always loosens up until it drips a stream anyway.

When I reached Bird Rock (a guano covered islet, white in color. There used to be a picture of a guy at the store with snow skis and poles supposedly skiing the rock) outside Two Harbors, my Blackberry started beeping like crazy as all the messages poured in. I got the call for work but had no desire to make a six-hour crossing at night and without a reserved berth for the boat. I got the call for a weekend of press junkets later that night.

Had a clam night at anchor here. Got up early and got my laundry and shopping done and stopped to talk with a Canadian guy from Vancouver, B.C. on steel sailboat on his way to Mexico. May entertain and record an interview with them later.

I'll cruise back to the mainland tomorrow to work the weekend as well as the following weekend.
I'll have to come back and finish my tour of the island after that and then I'll move onto a secure mooring in Avalon and see what kind of dent I can make in the community both economically and socially.

My Canadian neighbors just left their mooring and are anchoring next to me. It's a bright yellow and green craft, very salty, flying the
Maple leaf on the wind vane.

Ciao for now,

Noel Diotte
coverunner@tmo.blackberry.net
310 376-7057

Coverunner Radio - Ocean/Island Music
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Sent wirelessly from the sailboat, "Shearwater" off the Southern California coast.