If September can sometimes provide a lovely Indian summer postscript to our delicious northwest summers, it can also bring a dismal foreshadowing of our mild, but wet, winters. We’ve been getting a little of both here in the Gulf Islands this year.
While you’re tied up at a dock somewhere it’s easy to crank the electric heat up a bit and go back to your game of Tetris or whatever and enjoy the nice days while ignoring the others, but if you’re still out on the water, you’d better have some way to cope with the cold and wet, or you find yourself spending most of the sunny days recovering from the rainy ones. The heavier winds, from unusual directions, also demand new considerations, both when sailing and at anchor. Some of the prime anchorages that are enjoyed under prevailing summer weather patterns turn into bouncing, howling traps in the southeasterlies that start roaring through this time of year, and the calm morning/windy afternoon pattern that the Pacific High brings with blue summer skies cannot be relied upon when planning the sailing day any longer.
We’re still in well-protected waters here and there are a multitude of marinas and anchorages available within an hour of almost any location, so we deal with the weather challenge under way simply by keeping a close eye on conditions and regularly monitoring the forecast. Foulies are more frequently to hand, and harnesses and jacklines will be ready.
Anchoring safely is actually easier now that there are fewer boats out. We can more easily pick the best protected locations, and are free to put out as much scope as we can stand without worrying overmuch about getting in anyone’s way. It’s tempting to want to go in and hit all those previously crowded bays that are difficult to visit during the summer high season, but we also have to evaluate their protection from different angles than we are used to, and not all of them measure up as well in the fall as in summer. Ganges, for instance, is a spot we were looking forward to returning to and anchoring in for some extended spell, but it is just a huge maw waiting to catch the next southeaster coming in. The holding is still excellent, but how one sets the anchor and where you position yourself in relation to both shoreline and other boats can change dramatically. We’ll duck in for a few days only if the weather promises to be fairly settled.
Safety aside, comfort is the next big factor for late summer sailing. We are usually able to catch most of our above-deck leaks during the spring showers and fix them before we head out for the season, but there are inevitably fittings that work loose or caulking that springs and there are a few drips below. These are comparatively easy to deal with next to the condensation problem, though. Cool and wet go hand in hand, and no amount of insulation or ventilation will prevent it. Likewise, no sort of warm clothing or number of layers will make you happy if the boat is dismal and chilled.
For our primary heat source, we have aboard a fixed diesel heater from a major Pacific Northwestern manufacturer who I will not name, because I hate the thing. I hesitate to call it a complete piece of crap, because when it works, it works quite well; but the design is intricate and fiddly and not really suited for the marine environment. The longer I live aboard, the more I come to prefer simple, robust, reliable equipment; this stove is none of those things and is prone to all the sorts of histrionic events that delicate, feeble equipment can fail from. Nonetheless, on those occasions when we need it, it can throw out big bundles of heat and cheer the cabin right out of any dank, frigid mood it might be in.
This time of year, though, it’s often over-kill, and more trouble than it is worth. One of the few benefits of having a small boat is that it doesn’t take much to heat it, and when it’s over sixty or so, rain or shine, I can get up in the morning and scatter a handful of tealight candles about the cabin and have it warm and dry by the time Mandy crawls out of the v-berth.
Much of the trick to keeping the cabin pleasant is to simply pay attention and stay ahead of conditions. A little heat early on does wonders for comfort throughout the day. So does taking maximum advantage of any dry or sunny periods to open up and air out. Cushions and clothing get strung up along the lifelines and we look like gypsies… but so do all the other long-term travelers nearby. It’s like wash day all around the anchorage.
Another discipline is simply keeping water out of the cabin in the first place. We vent whenever we are cooking anything steamy, keep the head closed off from the rest of the cabin and opened to the outside after showers, and mop up and ring out any puddles otherwise introduced to the interior. When it’s raining, we take care to restrict our movement from outside to inside so that any wet clothing or shoes are left abaft of an imaginary line near the galley… close to the head and companionway, where they will be unlikely to contaminate our living quarters further forward.
With practice, all this becomes nearly automatic, and it’s easy to stay comfortable and even take pleasure in the most dismal fall weather. Now if only I could find a battery operated Tetris game….