9AM in the morning, and the wind was already blowing in the high 20's, and we were down to our staysail crashing away to windward. We'd both been up all night, stuck in a tight anchorage that quickly became a lee shore, leaving us hanging from our stern anchor with the bow only 4 boat lengths from some nasty looking rocks. We left the anchorage in a hurry before dawn, and the boat is not put away for this 65 mile passage between Santa Cruz Island and Catalina. Below decks clothes and cushions are everywhere, topsides we haven't run our jacklines, put the trysail on deck, or the other checklist of things we normally do. On top of that, we have our stern anchor and 250 feet of nylon rode sitting on the cockpit sole, and the Monitor self-steering is out of commission due to a nasty interaction with our stern anchor line during the night.

Despite our state of relative disarray we were happy to find the wind as we went through Anacapa Passage, it was great to be sailing in the sort of wind Pisces loves, and given the weather forecast for a primarily light wind day with local isolated heavy weather, we both jumped at the opportunity to get some good sailing in before we passed out the other side into more light air.

An hour later and the wind and seas had continued to build steadily. Average wind speed was now solidly in the 30's with gusts higher, and the seas were becoming steeper. At this point we knew it was time to take care of some of the boat 'chores' that we had put off. Turn downwind, lash the anchors at the bow, run a jackline, get the trysail onto it's track on the mast, and drop the staysail.

Now it's decision time. We can run before this building gale towards the S, taking us far offshore. We can gibe over onto starboard, run before the storm and attempt to find refuge behind Santa Cruz Island to the W. We can head back upwind and try to continue making way towards our destination, or we can heave to and wait it out. At the core of our decision was the belief that this must be an extremely localized weather phenomenon, which led to a disbelief that this could really last very long. Running off to the S would take us far out of our way, and possibly prolong our exposure as we rode along with the moving system. Running towards Santa Cruz Island was a decent option, but we both had some trepidation about approaching an unknown coastline during these conditions. After several hours of trying to make way upwind, we didn't think we could continue to hand steer for much longer. Heaving to seemed our best option: the boat would take care of itself without the need for one of us on deck, we would stay closest to our destination, and presumably the weather we were experiencing would pass over us quickly as we lay stationary. 10:38 AM, up went the 70 square foot storm orange trysail, lash down the helm, and get busy waiting.

NOAA weather radio reporting wind speed at Anacapa Island Buoy (approximately 15 miles to windward) of 40 knots continuous, gusting to mid 50's. Leecloth set below, Julia seasick. Motion below is okay, following a pattern: quiet and surprisingly comfortable for a minute, then a larger set of waves rolls through, boat lifts up up up, down quickly into the trough, the bow falls off to leeward leaving us more beam on to the following wave, which grabs us and corkscrews us more violently. I spend about 45 minutes on deck trying to adjust the trim of the trysail and the tiller to get us to head up more, no luck. It is extremely cold, 48 degrees before wind chill, spray everywhere, everything is soaking wet already. Finally I go below and convince myself to lie down in the quarterberth and get some rest, a minute later we lay down slightly more than normal, and gallons of water pour down the closed companionway, drenching our charts and hitting me squarely in the face. So much for rest.

At 2PM NOAA is reporting winds at Anacapa of 45 knots continuous, gusting to 57 knots. Conditions where we are have changed as well, the waves are much larger and steeper now, with the top 3-4 feet of some of the larger ones breaking and curling like you see on a beach. It's raining now, and when I go up into the cockpit to try and scan the horizon for other boats the rain is hitting the winches so hard it's making a 'pinging' sound like hail. Looking around is bleak, the horizon in every direction is just angry sea. To windward you are stung with rain and spray and see nothing but steep waves, to leeward you see the foaming backs of the rollers, and the wind just ripping across the surface of the water, flattening down the backs of the swells and blowing foam off the top.

4PM, we can't wait passively anymore. Maddeningly, only 20 miles to the N and 20 miles to the E winds are light, and here we are stuck firmly in a Force 9 gale that is giving no signs of abating. There's one hour of daylight left, and neither of us are happy about the idea of continuing this fight into the dark. We try motor-sailing to windward, and while we can make about 3 knots to the E-NE it's absolutely brutal work. Wearing wool socks, seaboots, foulie pants, pants, long undershirt, wool sweater, hoodie, foulie jacket, scarf, wool beanie, and it is still freezing cold. Harness clipped in, one hand on the tiller, the other wrapped around the windward winch for stability. You get good at anticipating when a wave will hit the boat and ducking your head so that the brunt of the spray hits the foulie hood rather than your face. Helming requires constant attention, there's no way to sustain this for long, especially not with daylight ending. We try running before the waves again. Over 6 knots with the trysail alone, helming is even harder. A slight misalignment to a wave and we get laid down 40 degrees on our beam. That's the end of that, and at 5:30 PM we heave to again.

6:00PM, since heaving to we have not been able to get the boat to lie comfortably, and the occasional wave breaks hard against the hull, on the deck, or in the cockpit. At one point we take a good deal of water in through a dorade. At this point Julia comes up with the suggestion that we run the engine in slow forward to help drive the bow up to the wind. This helps greatly, bringing us to about 60 degrees off the wind, not perfect, but far better. For the next hour I sleep below while Julia takes a watch.

7:00PM, the boat tacks itself through the eye of the wind for the second time. Even through our exhaustion we realize this must mean conditions are abating. Back up on deck to find wind down in the mid 30's. We can make way against this, and we jump at the window to get further east away from the storm. Over the rest of the night conditions continue to moderate as we motorsail towards Catalina Island.

9:00AM, After a long night running on adrenaline and coffee we are safely moored at Cat Harbor on Catalina Island. It's been about 48 hours since we got any real rest, but it's sunny out and we have this mooring for up to a week. Put the boat away, lunch, and then 18 hours of sleep. It's been exactly two weeks since we started cruising.


Postscript:
While we would never go out seeking weather like we got, now that it is in the past we both see it as an invaluable experience. Pisces proved herself beautifully, as did the gear and decisions we had made prior to leaving. Let me tell you, a piece of safety gear that costs $500 seems like the biggest bargain in the world when you are in the kind of weather we saw. Having trust in your boat and equipment is crucial, and we give heartfelt thanks to Gary for building such a strong boat, Joe at Leading Edge Sails for building us our Trysail, Jason at Argo Yacht Rigging for doing our rigging, and Ethan at Engine Rite for our beautiful little Beta.

One of the most interesting things we learned from this experience was the necessity not only of storm tactics (running, heaving-to, etc.) but also the necessity of storm strategy. We did the right things, but in retrospect we never took the time to develop an overall strategy of how we would deal with this unexpected storm. For example, we hove to early on, hoping to wait out the storm even though early in the storm might have been the best time to try more active tactics, it was daylight, we weren't exhausted, the wind and waves were relatively small. Later in the day when the frustration had built and we wanted to switch to active tactics all these factors were stacked against us. It is crucial to take the time early in the storm to create an overall plan factoring in how to minimize the impact and duration of the storm, what order to attempt different storm tactics, and how to ensure the crew is fed and rested.

Like any good sea story, there's much more to it than we could fit above, and as time goes by it's possible the wave height will grow a bit, the wind will become just a wee bit stronger. If you're interested, we're glad to share more of our experience and what we learned, but, as also befits a good sea story, drinks will have to be on you.

33 26' N 118 30.2' W