The S.C.A.M.P. sailboat, one previous owner's critical review

At the risk of being considered a heretic: A couple years back I bought one of my dream boats, a Gig Harbor Boat Works SCAMP -- and sold it after less than a year of sailing it. After being asked several times why, I decided to compile a list of some of the qualities and characteristics of the boat that I found to be undesirable, based on my personal experience. I also thought it made more sense to share my experience here, and have one place to direct people to. 

First, though, let me make clear: I in no way mean to disparage the design. The SCAMP has a preponderance of positive feedback and a devoted following of many satisfied owners. This post is simply a list of some things about my boat that made it not a good fit for MY needs. Your experience with your specific SCAMP, in the waters where you sail, may be completely different than mine -- and that's OK. I'm not going to debate or justify my opinions. Feel free to disagree on every point if you choose. There are a lot of boats out there, and you should sail the one you most enjoy. For me, I have never loved and hated a boat in such equal measure. The positive attributes and opinions of the SCAMP have been well documented elsewhere, so this is a critical review. If you don't want to read negative opinions of your favorite boat...do not read any further!

First, a little history. I became obsessed with the SCAMP the first time I saw Howard Rice crashing through whitecaps on Port Townsend Bay in the famous Small Craft Advisor ads from past issues of the magazine, and reading all the glowing reviews and articles of the little boat's prowess meant I knew I was going to own one at some point. 

Who wouldn't want one after seeing these pics?

Following the first Salish 100 I sold my second Montgomery 15, and found a gorgeous SCAMP in Southern California that came with all the amenities and upgrades I was looking for. After paying the shockingly high asking price for a 12-foot boat, I drove to California and picked up Scud (yes, that was the name, ugh) and brought it back to Everett, WA, my home port. I sailed the boat for around a year, culminating with my taking it on the second Salish 100....for one day. What follows is my experience with the boat, and why I sold it to buy another Montgomery 15, a boat I find superior in nearly every way that matters to me.

Scud, on my first day launching the boat

Leaving Olympia on the first day of the Salish 100 cruise

Cruising in a Gig Harbor Boatworks S.C.A.M.P, or: How you too can pay as much as possible to be as uncomfortable as possible  

Trailering: While the light weight makes towing the boat a breeze, the smaller tire size means faster tire wear, a rougher ride, and higher temps for the wheel bearings. The bow support on the Carnai trailer that Gig Harbor Boat Works supplied with the boat doesn't match the angle of the bow, so the pressure point at the upper edge of the bow support is starting to wear through the gelcoat. Pull the support off, turn it 90 degrees, and badly bend it to get it to (mostly) match the angle of the bow. 

Setup: There is no doubt that a mast as lightweight as the aluminum Gig Harbor Boat Works one is a pleasure to step (that "SCAMP ramp" is sure slick), but that is where the pleasure ends. After stepping the mast, make sure the bungie cord that is all that holds the mast in the boat in a capsize goes "in the hole" (from the detailed instructional video). The yard, boom, sail, and associated gear all live in one very heavy bundle (probably twice the weight of my M15 boom and mainsail), which has to be pulled out of the forward storage area, and maneuvered around perpendicular to the boat so it can be opened up. Then the mess of lazy jacks has to be sorted (and sorted again) so that you can use those thin little lines (make sure you're wearing gloves) to hoist the heavy bundle up above the "veranda", where it starts to swing uncontrollably in any wind. Getting ahold of it, you then sort out the main sheet to control the surly bundle, and hope you remembered to tie the halyard to itself, or the entire mess has to come down again and start over. You then must raise sail in order to set the correct adjustment of the lazy jacks, because doing so underway once you've raised sail means going forward to the mast as the boat veers wildly off course, despite having the tiller locked. Lowering the sail again, you see that the front of the yard comes almost straight down, so control it or it will punch a hole through the deck (or your head) as the bundle settles obstinately into the lazy jacks. Now it's time to try and store your gear.

Storage: The boat has a great reputation for the amount of storage available. The only problem: access to it is horrible. The storage area forward is honestly huge, but that cute, upswept pram bow means that anything stored forward immediately slides backwards and ends up in a giant pile below the access hatches. Those same access hatches that are too small to get your torso through (only your head, one arm and shoulder), so even if the gear you stored forward stayed put, you couldn't reach it. Fortunately (?) it is all in a huge pile in front of those hatches, but the thing you are looking for is always at the bottom of that pile. I hope you added lights, because there are no windows to see what you are looking for since the incredibly expensive bronze portholes are OUTSIDE, in the "veranda". Yes, they do look cool if you can afford them. (You can't.) Frustrated, you look to the other hatches in the cockpit seats that you will be sitting on later. These hatches are PERFECT for a six pack, as long as you only put one can in at a time. Again, there is an absolute ton of storage down there, but with no dividers, and no way to add them (because of the tiny hatches), anything small enough to actually be stored down there will migrate at will to wherever it wants. It's chaos every time you look for anything needed down there. You somehow manage to find a way to store everything and just hope you can find it later, because it's time to launch and go sailing!

Launching: The boat is so light it is very easy to launch. But before we can actually go sailing, we have to get some ballast into the boat, and that means filling the clever water ballast tank. The tank is already filling at this point because the plug is out, so there is a hole in the bottom of your boat and water is rushing in. You do know where the plug is, right? Unfortunately, the tank won't fill all the way on its own, so you need to find a way to finish filling your boat with water. But first, you need to reach down into the tank and put the plug back in. That water is cold, isn't it?! And now your arm smells like fish and fishing boat oil. You might be tempted to just use a bucket to fill the tank, but remember, there is a high side and a low side to the boat. If you're reaching over the boat on the low side, the water that you put in pours back out as the boat heels from you reaching over and pulling another bucket full of water aboard. You may not notice, though, because of all the water that's already there from you missing the tiny access hole with the bucket. Eventually you will get smart and utilize a bilge pump to pump water INTO the boat (after finding a way to connect a hose that reaches the tank hatch). Close the annoying hatch, and mop up all that water, because you'll be sleeping there tonight.

Sailing: Fire up the motor, it's time to go sailing! You think about just using the oars to get out of the marina, but they are so tightly stowed that it is impossible to get to them, and once they are out they take half a day to store again, if you can find the tool used to connect them together. It doesn't matter, because you can't see past the "veranda" when rowing anyway. Make sure you remember to lower the rudder and centerboard, and push off. Pay attention while leaving the marina, but you'll probably have to stand up because the "veranda" is so tall you can't really see forward while motoring either. Sure sounds like a neat feature though, "the veranda". Nevermind, you're now out of the marina and it's time to raise sail! You undo the sail ties, and start hoisting sail. My goodness, that yard is heavy, isn't it? No winches here! Hopefully it's not too windy, because the sail billows out uncontrollably if it catches the wind, and the boat veers wildly, at risk of capsize if you don't get that sail up immediately. There is no way to sweat the sail up that last bit, so hopefully you're wearing gloves and have a strong back, and can hoist it quickly all the way. Now tighten the downhaul, a critical adjustment for the balanced lug rig. It needs to be really cranked down tight, which would be an excellent place for a multipart purchase, but you don't get one on this boat. Make sure you're wearing gloves, and crank it down as much as you can (it's not enough). That's ok for now, as there's not much wind. But there sure is a lot of chop today! You kill the motor and raise it up, or try to. The overhang on the fiberglass version means that in order to raise the motor you need to slide it outboard as far as possible so it can barely clear the transom. (Untangle that mainsheet wrapped around the motor.) Dig out all the cushions you can find to pad your butt from those hatches, and your back from the coaming which hits you right at the bottom of your ribs where your life jacket stops. Try to get comfortable because at this point the boat is hobby-horsing dramatically, and the mast swinging forward and back accentuates the movement while the boom and yard slam against the mast. Dang, you sure wish there was more wind because the boat is stopped dead in the water by that chop. The short waterline and flat bottom that makes the boat so great for the .01% of the time it is sitting on a beach sure doesn't make it very comfortable in this chop, as it pounds and slams off of each wave until all of your teeth are gone and they no longer hurt. Finally, the wind fills in and the boat takes off with the SCAMP's surprising turn of speed. I thought the "veranda" was supposed to block some of this spray coming aboard? That's ok, we still have that towel from filling the ballast tank to wipe that water up. After all, remember you're going to be sleeping down there tonight. Hmmm, the wind sure is building out there...it's time to reef! Uh-ohhhhh....

Reefing: There is no way to heave-to to safely reef. I would read that sentence again because IT'S IMPORTANT. Your first time trying to reef you do the same thing you would do on any sloop: you begin to lower the sail to the first reef point and...augh!!! The wind grabs the sail and tries to capsize you as it billows out uncontrollably!!! You try to reach the reef point on the clew but the boat has turned broadside to the waves, is rolling scarily from side to side, and every time you try to pull it in the boat almost capsizes. There is nothing to do but immediately drop the entire rig, dodging the yard as it tries to impale something. After you compose yourself and your heart rate dips below 200 BPM, you tie in the reef as the boat tries to throw you out, rolling on each wave like a drunken bucking bronco. You now have to get that sail back up before the boat again tries to capsize as the sail fills with wind. Somehow you manage it, but now you have a dangerous mess of lines hanging in loops from the boom, ready to decapitate you in a gybe. Even Gig Harbor Boat Works says in their long and detailed rigging instructional video, "The reef lines are really great at getting tangled". This demonstration video has the guy walking around the outside of the boat to correct a tangled reef line. You realize this is much harder to do on the water (unless your name happens to be Jesus), and you can't reach them so you just hope in a gybe you'll see them coming and duck, and remember to bungie them up and out of the way next time. 

Now we're sailing! Except all that excitement makes you have to pee. You try to lock the tiller long enough to go grab the pee bottle from the bottom of the pile of gear under the forward hatches, but the second you let go of it the boat wildly rounds up, and you realize you can't let go of the tiller for even an instant. That short waterline and flat bottom just doesn't track as well as you had hoped, does it? You wish you had a jib to set up self-steering or heave-to, but not on this boat. That tanbark lug sail sure looks cool, though! Drop the rig all the way again so you can pee, and then raise it as fast as you can without capsizing. You are going to need the practice anyway, and the workout is getting you in such good shape! So is holding yourself steady as the boat rolls in the chop while you try not to pee all over yourself. 

Anyway, it's already getting time to find your anchorage. You turn the boat downwind and notice an alarming rolling action. It's the dreaded "death roll"! Sheet in the sail a bit, head up a bit, get things under control. Do NOT capsize the boat because it is not self-righting, and Puget Sound water is COLD. For safety's sake you will be wearing a full dry suit, even in July on a 100 degree day, because you just never know. World adventurer Colin Angus says, "Here in the Pacific Northwest the greatest danger is from the cold water, and often I see people ignoring this. If you’re in a canoe a few hundred yards from shore there’s actually very little separating you from death. If the boat capsizes (especially in spring, winter or fall), within minutes you will be incapacitated and death will follow." (In all honesty and joking aside, this was the reason I sold the boat, I never felt truly safe in it. Howard Rice I am not. I'm a lot more of a coward than a Howard.) 

Anchoring: Where are you storing that anchor? Not in those huge cockpit seat storage areas, that's for sure! You probably have it and all the chain and rode in a container in the cockpit, fighting for space with the fuel containers, oars, coffee cup, bailing bucket, etc. You know you are supposed to anchor off the bow, but you can't go forward, so you have rigged up a complicated clothes line system (hanging off the side of the boat while sailing) to run the anchor forward so you don't have to. You drop anchor, struggle to clothesline the anchor rode to the bow, and look forward to a relaxing evening anchored out. 

No place to organize anything, gear just gets thrown everywhere

Livability: Don't be bashful just because you have to use the toilet where everyone can see you! That is, except those in front of the boat, because no one can see past the "veranda". Sneak in there as far as you can and do what you gotta do. Now it's time to set up everything for the evening. Your SCAMP has a factory cockpit enclosure that Gig Harbor Boat Works makes available, if you can get a second mortgage on your house. Anchoring around noon will give you just about enough time to get it set up before dark. You wonder what to do with the mainsheet, and how to control the boom/yard bundle, and after removing the plastic board the mainsheet is attached to, you eventually tie things up inelegantly so they are out of the way. Hopefully it's not windy out, because the boat will roll drunkenly in the waves, and the huge cockpit cover that gives you so much more room than you actually need creates massive windage. Pour an offering to Neptune, because if something terrible happens and the boat capsizes or you drag anchor, you are trapped inside with no way to get out! 

You finally find all the cooking gear and food at the bottom of the pile up front and have dinner, enjoying the uncomfortable hatch covers you are sitting on, wishing there was some way to lean back and relax. But unless you brought some kind of chair (that is now at the bottom of your gear pile), there is no place to comfortably sit. That's disappointing, because when you lean back against the cockpit seats the trim which covers the raw fiberglass edge falls off. I guess Gig Harbor Boat Works didn't glue it on. How much was this boat again?! Never mind, you need to get to bed anyway, so you can get up in time to store all your gear and take down the cockpit cover. (3 AM should do it.) Where is your sleeping bag? That's right, you managed to stuff it down one of the cockpit hatches. You pull it out and notice it's wet! In fact, everything in your gigantic, inaccessible cockpit storage areas is wet! It turns out Gig Harbor Boat Works forgot to seal the top of the centerboard trunk after building the boat, and the vacuum release hole has been spraying water into your storage area all day! Both cockpit storage areas are connected (the easier to sink the boat), and so everything in both sides is wet. Fortunately, not much fits down there, and the forward storage area is still blissfully dry. You hope that it doesn't rain tonight, because you realize that the neat "SCAMP ramp" that makes stepping the mast so easy also makes the perfect gutter for funneling rain water right into your sleeping area. The same sleeping area that is now wet from spray coming aboard all day while pounding through the waves. Start mopping the cockpit floor, because that's where you have to sleep. You dig out your comfy air mattress from the bottom of the pile of gear up front and air it up. The cockpit floor is almost wide enough for your shoulders, and you wedge the mattress in between the seats, and now you are walking on it because there isn't room to move in the confined space. Make sure you have the boat balanced, or you could be sleeping with your head lower than your feet. Gear ends up thrown everywhere, and in exhaustion as you drift off to sleep under the "veranda" you have a sinking feeling that this boat might not be quite as amazing as everyone thinks it is. 

Waking up the next morning sore and bruised from crawling around on this 12-foot marvel the previous day, you accept the fact you've made a huge mistake, and that this is not the boat for you. You should have never sold your M15! Despondently, you eat breakfast after finding all the cooking gear in various places (some wet and some dry), and go through the arduous task of taking down the cockpit enclosure. Once you're finished it's time for lunch, so after a brief snack you sail back to the launch area to haul the boat back out, ending your week-long cruise after only one day.

Recovery: It's a downwind run back into the marina, and your huge balanced lug rig is far too powerful to safely sail up to the dock. It sure looks cool, though. Wishing you had a small jib so you could just sail in, you drop the motor and fire it up for the 50 yard trip to the launch ramp. Once the boat is tied up, you grab your car and prepare to back the trailer in for recovery. The trailer is so small you can't see it, so you are embarrassed as you back down the steep ramp with your hatch up, hoping nothing in the back of your car falls out. Put the car in park, set the brake, and guide the boat forward and try to line it up correctly on the trailer before winching it on. You easily pull the light-weight boat out, and after reaching your entire arm back down into the fishy water of the ballast tank to pull out the plug, watch the water drain out of the tank like a stallion after a night of heavy drinking. Then head back to de-rig the boat so you can head for home. 

But nope! The boat is not lined up correctly on the trailer! The runners on the bottom of the boat have to hit the rollers just right, and you have to pull the boat in and out of the launch ramp multiple times until it finally is lined up correctly on the rollers. And this WITH trailer guides on both sides of the hull! (The same guides that fall off as you drive home from sailing. They are simply held in with short wood screws, and the screws back out on the drive home. Yes, you checked them before you left.) One of the tires that appeared to be in good condition disintegrates on your way back home, requiring a long and very expensive tow, since the tires are an odd size and no one has any in stock.

This is the way a boat cruises when you can't find a spare tire 

Resale value: Fortunately...great. You sell the boat at minimal loss, buy another Montgomery 15 for half as much, and live happily ever after.

The End.

The 2019 Salish 100, Day Seven and Recap

 The tide was predicted to be favorable around 10:30am so it was a good morning to sleep in, have a late breakfast, and reflect on the trip that I couldn't believe was almost over. A contrary current through the Port Townsend channel is almost impossible to overcome in anything but a powerboat, so there was no rush, although I could see some boats departing early. I assumed some boats were making for other destinations on the last day, although I wasn't calling the cruise complete until I stood on the dock in Port Hudson, or more importantly had had my fill of ginger ice cream from Elevated.

I motored out of Mats Mats Bay, again paying close attention to the channel markers (it wouldn't do to wreck your boat on the last day, especially after yesterday's challenges!), and once out in the Sound again was able to raise sail and bear north. The wind only lasted about an hour, and then the sun came out for a scorching afternoon, and glassy water. The only real progress being made was drifting with the tide, so after trying to catch every whisper of wind for an hour or so, it was time fire up the motor and get going. It was pretty obvious no one wanted the cruise to end. There was endless chatter on the radio, with jokes, laughter, and a warm sense of camaraderie and community, it was really fun.

Approaching the Port Townsend channel I was surprised to see some dark clouds racing towards us and it actually started to rain pretty hard as I passed underneath the impressive bridge. Surprisingly (from the look of those clouds) no wind developed with the rain, which fortunately didn't last long, so it was mostly motoring for the last day. Ah, well, that's how it goes. 

I was a bit ahead of most of the fleet from starting my motor before most of the others, and as I entered Port Townsend bay I could see an absolute behemoth of a naval sub traveling down the southeast side of the bay. I alerted the fleet to stay well to the west side of the bay. There were navy gun boats everywhere, buzzing the tiny boats of the fleet with their massive engines and resulting huge wakes. In my opinion they were being kind of jerks to the skippers of these tiny cruising boats who don't deal with massive wakes very comfortably. Being a foot or less off the water and seeing a massive rolling wake approach you is intimidating, and was completely unnecessary from the navy guys who should (and probably did) know better.

Beyond that it was an easy trip across the bay and into a slip at Port Hudson, completing the trip and my first Salish 100! I felt a massive sense of accomplishment, and also a sadness that it was all over. All things must come to and end though, and it was time for a shower, dinner, and social time with the skippers and crew from the cruise at a small watering hole near Boat Haven Marina, where most of the boats were already pulled out and sitting on their trailers, ready for the voyage home. I would make that trip tomorrow, choosing to spend one more night aboard sweet Vanilla, with evil Cupcake tied up a few feet away, plotting her next mischief...

Calm water just outside of Mats Mats Bay

The fleet approaches the Port Townsend Channel

Vanilla leads the pack

Cupcake does her best to slow us down

Passing under the bridge

 Great view from above!

A little rain for motor sailing, not bad though

Tied up at Port Hudson. Vanilla in front, Arnie's Iku Turso in back. We did it!

Just a couple of tiny little boats amongst all the big yachts

I sold Vanilla shortly after the cruise was over. I wanted to fulfill my dream of an even smaller boat, a SCAMP from Gig Harbor Boat Works. Unfortunately, I was never as happy with the new boat as I was with my little Montgomery 15. I sold the SCAMP and I'm already searching for my next Monty!

The 2019 Salish 100, Day Six

Thursday, June 27th

I decided to get off to an early start, and the wind that everyone was worried about last night was already up. I had some difficulty even getting off the dock as the wind had me pinned, and I was in an awkward position for motoring back into the narrow channel of the marina. After an embarrassing 180 in the wrong direction I sorted myself out, and motored out of the marina and into Apple Tree Cove. The water in this bay is VERY shallow, even drying out at low tide, so wind and waves pile up here, making for some very confused seas. This plus the ferries churning up the water can make things interesting, to say the least. While some boats were looking forward to some "sporting conditions" for the day, I was very nervous, having sailed these waters many times before, and remembering a few times where the conditions around Foul Weather Bluff and off of Point No Point had seriously scared me. And that was in my previous boat, a Flicka of over 6,000lbs displacement! Doing it in my Montgomery 15 of only 750lbs displacement had me really nervous as I looked out at dark clouds and whitecaps. I knew the boat would be fine, I just wasn't too sure about ME!

As I left Apple Tree Cove and headed east I misjudged the ferry schedule and had to give the little Honda full throttle to get out of the ferry's way -- oops! At least I didn't get the horn blast of shame. I hate being a nuisance to those guys, they work hard to keep things on schedule, and avoid all the dumb pleasure boaters who can't stay out of their ferry lanes.

As I left the marina I had Cupcake tied up tight to the stern of Vanilla, and as rough as it was I decided to leave it that way to try to keep the dinghy under control. Once I got away from Kingston it was blowing pretty good, but everything seemed fine and I decided to just keep motoring to get through the worst areas as fast as I could. The organizers had warned us to stay as close as possible to shore. This was both to pick up the contrary current running north, as well as to avoid the potentially deadly tidal rips that give this area its well earned reputation.

I was within about a mile of Point No Point when I saw a small boat having difficulties. I immediately called the support boats to alert them to a potential problem. It turned out that the boat had lost its rudder as the large waves had lifted it right off of its pintles and gudgeons! It took 15 or 20 minutes for them to get the rudder reattached, and with the support boats aware of the issue, and no immediate danger to the other vessel, I motored on.

The closer I got to Point No Point, the rougher the seas got, and the more the wind strengthened. Waves were now into the 3 to 4 foot range, with regular whitecaps. I skirted right by the beach, shallow enough to see the bottom, making fishermen curse under their breath as they had to haul in their lines to avoid being snagged by my boat. I had no choice -- 20 yards farther offshore and the waves were truly frightening. 

As I zipped past the point I realized Cupcake was in trouble, and possibly so was I. The dinghy was jumping like a wild bronco, slamming into the back of my boarding ladder and trying to tear itself apart. I had to let out some of the towline to give it room. The dinghy started lurching crazily back and forth, slamming back on the towrope, then rushing forward barely missing my stern, and risking getting the towline tangled in the prop. Ordinarily, you would match the wave pattern for the dinghy and main boat so they are both on the crests and in the troughs at the same time, but it was impossible in those confused seas, and the extra drag of the dinghy pulled me to a virtual standstill. All I could do was let out all the towline I had, and hope for the best. I looked back to see the dinghy sliding back and forth, up and down the waves in an erratic, crazy fashion, lurching hard at the end of the rope every few seconds. I couldn't worry about Cupcake though, I needed to focus on keeping Vanilla moving forward...

...and it was at that point the motor died. 

Dammit! Out of gas. 

My boat immediately turned beam onto the seas and started rolling heavily, while the dinghy kept pulling violently at the towline. Somehow I managed to refuel and get the motor going without getting thrown out of the boat, and I turned once again northwest and downwind, totally focused on getting past Foulweather Bluff. 

(Now why it never occurred to me to raise my jib and sail under better control than motoring I will never know. I guess once you are in those conditions, your mind says, "Stay the course!" in the hopes that you won't make a bad decision, and make things much, much worse. Live, learn, and do better next time.)

What seemed like only a few minutes later I glanced back to see how Cupcake was doing...no Cupcake!!! I grabbed the tow rope, and hauled it in to find that Cupcake had somehow unshackled herself and decided she was done with my lack of seamanship, and was off in search of a better skipper. Under the circumstances I couldn't blame her. Scanning the horizon I could see Cupcake about a half mile back, bobbing like a cork, happy as you please. 

At this point I nearly despaired. How was I going to turn around in those conditions and motor AGAINST those waves and wind to go get Cupcake?! (Another boat had lost an expensive oar, and had decided it wasn't safe to turn around and abandoned it. Fortunately another boat saw it and grabbed it.) I called the support boats, advising them of my situation, and letting them know I would try to go back for my dinghy. I was terrified to go back, and sorely tempted to abandon her. I set my nerve though, and swung the bow around.

The timing of the maneuver was critical, and I will say it was luck rather than skill that brought the boat around facing south again. Vanilla slammed off of every wave, and the motor was out of the water more than it was in it as the throttle raced every time the prop came out of the water. It was a wet and wild ride, but eventually Cupcake was only about a boat length away. 

Now what was I supposed to do? 

I didn't want a wave throwing the dinghy on top of me, or worse, making her punch a hole in the side of my boat. Luck was again on my side, and with faith in my harness and tether, I stretched out at the right moment, and as she tried to race past me I grabbed ahold of Cupcake with a death grip. The waves immediately tried to tear her from my grasp, but I was able to hold on long enough to get the shackle clipped on to the bow eye again. I let out about twenty feet of line, and turned back towards Foulweather Bluff, as Cupcake resumed her crazy, erratic dance at the end of the towline.

Whew!!

It felt as though the wind was easing off as I approached the bluff, and my buddy Arnie in his Montgomery 15 came up alongside about 50 yards away, as white-knuckled as I was. He was motoring too, so it wasn't just me choosing the arguably safer approach. Passing Foulweather Bluff the wind mercifully dropped off enough that we could cut our motors, raise our jibs, and finally sail. The sun even broke free, and we had a beautiful sail the rest of the way to the Mats Mats Bay entrance.

The entrance to the bay is unnerving and tricky. You can't even see it from the water until you are almost on top of it. There are buoys that you line up to make sure you are oriented correctly to avoid the submerged rocks which make the approach dangerous if you are not entering it just right. Then as you enter the channel, staying well to the north side, there is a sharp 90 degree turn to port, and as you make the turn you see beautiful little Mats Mats Bay, completely protected .

I quietly motored in to the northwest corner of the bay and dropped my anchor. Testing it I found it to be dragging, and pulling it back up I saw it was clogged with weeds and grass. Fortunately I had another anchor better suited to that type of bottom, so I swapped them out, felt the anchor bite as I backed down on it, then shut the motor off and collapsed in the cabin, exhausted. I made a snack and a cup of well earned coffee, then sat up on the bow until rain threatened, when I snuck inside for a nap. Safe, warm, and dry...but geez, what a day.

Sorry, no pics of the day's rough water adventure, I was a little too busy to take photos! 

Arnie motors past as the wind and waves finally calm down

Still some sizable rollers, but nothing like before

Safe in Mats Mats Bay

Cupcake, looking all innocent, and none the worse for wear after the nightmare she had nearly caused earlier in the day

Waiting out the only significant rain we had the entire cruise

A small cabin, but cozy, especially when it's pouring out!

A beautiful rainbow to cap an exciting day

The 2019 Salish 100, Day Five

Wednesday, June 26th

Surprisingly, despite hearing the occasional scampering of little feet above me during the night, I slept pretty well. There were some filthy little footprints on deck in the morning, but we escaped more or less unscathed, with only a little bit of cleaning up to do after last night's trash panda party.

Today we were facing another significant challenge, and that was to get across the ferry lanes without being run down by one of those car-carrying monsters. Typical WA State Ferry stats are
Length: 460 feet, beam: 90 feet, draft: 17 feet, passengers: up tp 2,500, vehicle capacity: over 200, and 4 engines with 16,000 horsepower, and a top speed of over 18 knots!
It goes without saying that we did not want to get in their way. The problem was going to be trying to organize over 100 boats, leaving at different times, and traveling at different speeds, into a safe passage through the ferry lanes, with ferries crossing every 15 to 20 minutes!

There was no wind to speak of, so another quiet day of motoring lay ahead. Fortunately for me, with an outboard motor this was a non-issue, but I was wondering how the human-powered boats were going to get across those ferry lanes without getting into trouble, or worse -- being run down. The plan was to have groups of similarly paced boats leave at predetermined times, in between the crossings of the ferries, to minimize boats being strung out in a mass of chaos. It ended up being very similar to herding cats though, with boats spread out all over the place, exactly what the organizers were trying to avoid. The VHF radios were going nonstop, with skippers giving updates on their status, organizers and chase boats trying to keep everything under control while updating us on the ferry positions, and the usual fun banter.

I motored east a bit to get an earlier view of the eastbound boat coming out of Rich Passage, and when I thought I had enough time I started to cross the ferry lane. Nope! Less than five minutes later I realized there was no way I was going to be able to get across without ending up in the path of the westbound boat! They travel so fast that I seriously misjudged the ferry's speed, and before I knew it that monster was barreling down on me...so I turned tail and ran! When I could see he was well clear and I was sure the eastbound boat had passed safely by I made my second attempt at crossing, and made it through without issue, the motor going flat out just in case. There were a few scary moments for some of the rowing craft and some of the becalmed sailboats, but eventually everyone passed through the ferry lane and we slowly made our uneventful way north to Kingston. The entrance to the harbor was very windy as usual, but being so close to the marina I kept motoring in.

The harbormaster in Kingston was just wonderful. It was obvious he was very excited to have us all there, and went above and beyond to make sure all the boats had a berth for the night, although most of the fleet was rafted up with multiple boats in each slip. I lucked out and only had a single boat in front of me, so no one would be crawling over my boat to get to the bathrooms in the middle of the night.

I was very excited to be in Kingston because my wife was coming over from Seattle for a quick visit, and I was really looking forward to seeing her after so much time alone. I took a wonderful shower (the Kingston Marina has great showers!), and once she arrived we ate our fill at Jaime Les Crepes across the street, had ice cream, then walked the docks, socializing and enjoying the afternoon before she went back home. Feeling kind of lonely I headed for the big evening BBQ that Kingston Mercantile had planned for us. I had a nice time, ate some more good food, sang some sea shanties, and listened to the final skipper's meeting before heading back to the boats for what I thought was going to be a relaxing evening.

It was when I got back to the boat that I overheard some skippers talking about tomorrow's weather forecast. Yikes...!

Rachel Doss and Guppy enter the Blake Island Marina for resupply before heading north

Tom Graham's gorgeous CLC Pocketship on glassy seas

Looking for monstrous ferries in the distance

Trip Slaughter's CLC Skerry high, and dry. Kingston Marina in the background

Great food at the BBQ in Kingston

And great company!

Day Five, estimated mileage

The 2019 Salish 100, Day Four

Tuesday, June 25th

My plan was to get off to an early start, motor all the way to Blake Island Marine State Park and get a slip for the night. I had anchored off of Blake in the past, but I had no dinghy then so was unable to go ashore. This time around I was really looking forward to exploring the island. Winds were predicted to be light to nonexistent so I knew it was going to be a boring day under outboard power, and I had nothing but sympathy for those who were going to be rowing all day.

Today's route was beyond simple: exit Gig Harbor and turn left! It was a straight shot up Colvos Passage with Vashon Island on the right, past the Southworth/Fauntleroy ferry and on to Blake Island dead north. Colvos Passage defies all logic, and the tide runs north no matter which direction it is flowing elsewhere. Amazing! Today we would pass the halfway point, about midway up Colvos Passage.

Compared to yesterday's excitement this was an easy and uneventful day. This makes for boring adventure writing I'm sorry to say, so pictures will have to tell the story.

Exiting Gig Harbor, the Gig Harbor lighthouse

The rowing begins. Tacoma and Mount Rainier provide nice scenery while 

Edwin Slaughter pulls at the oars.

Vanilla and I motoring north, too lazy to raise sail

Even under power it ain't a bad way to spend a day!

Almost through Colvos Passage

Once out of Colvos Passage and through the Southworth/Fauntleroy ferry lane I motored along the east side of Blake Island. Anchored in the bay on the northeast corner of the island was the most beautiful sailboat in all of the Pacific Northwest, the magnificent Adventuress! I passed by near enough to wave before turning west and making my way into the narrow entrance of the Blake Island Marina.

Shortly after arriving and tying up in this peaceful, idyllic boater's sanctuary, I heard what I can only describe as "the party" arriving. Apparently Argosy Cruises visits Blake with one of their humongous tour boats, blasting hideous disco and hiphop at ear-damaging levels, 'cause...summer outdoors, right? A huge crowd of outdoor enthusiasts disembarked this vessel and wandered around sort of aimlessly, looking like they had no idea how to enjoy themselves without "the party". Fortunately, this floating day-rave was only staying for a short while, and before becoming too much of a nuisance the music cranked up, and "the party" motored off to take their revelers elsewhere.

But that is not what Blake Island will be remembered for, oh no...

                             

Passing to the east of Blake Island, the spectacular Adventuress lies at anchor

Snugly tied up and ready for visitors 

Ahhh, the peace and quiet...

...until "The Party" pulls in

Time to go for a walk and explore before dinner

Almost immediately after arriving they came out of nowhere. Dozens, hundreds, maybe thousands for all I know. Raccoons have taken over the island! They were like rats, crawling everywhere and trying to steal anything edible that they could get their creepy little hands on. They were fearless, crawling right onto boats when people's backs were turned, breaking into boats to steal food, and then disappearing under the dock before you could do anything about it. It was very unnerving, and we worked in shifts to keep them off of each other's boats while we were away. No matter what you were doing, or where on the island you were, they were right there, just waiting for an opportunity. After a while we got used to it, but still...creepy.

The evil Trash Panda!

Despite the trash panda invasion it was still a beautiful island to explore. And the evening was filled with socializing, and walking the docks talking boats and cruising. I was even able to enjoy dinner with only a couple of half-hearted attempts at animal piracy, easily repelled by clapping and forceful commands of "OFF! NO!!!"

Freeze-dried dinner is fast and tasty

Waiting, just...waiting*

"You have to sleep eventually"*

Day Three, estimated mileage

*These are not my photos and are only used for dramatic effect. They are not far very off from the truth though. Raccoons are an invasive and unmanaged menace on Blake, a detriment to tourism and the enjoyment of the island, and something really should be done about it.

The 2019 Salish 100, Day Two

Sunday, June 23rd

Waking up with an even worse headache than I went to bed with was not the way I wanted to start my day! There was nothing for it though, so it was eat breakfast (a pre-made mix of oatmeal with fruit and powdered milk, and coffee) and raise anchor for the next day's adventure.

Today we'd be doing a sort of dog-leg run further down Dana Passage, turning south after rounding Johnson Point, skirting the Nisqually Reach, before turning north to pass west of Anderson Island and McNeil Island (the former penitentiary). The route would lead us through Drayton Passage and narrow Pitt Passage with the very shallow waters around Pitt Island before we would turn west after rounding Penrose Point and enter Mayo Cove and Penrose Point State Park -- a day's run of approximately 16 miles.

The fleet makes its way north out of Henderson Inlet

The winds were very light again, and the fleet ghosted along at a walking pace. Sailing in wind this light is very challenging and requires constant attention to catch every little zephyr, while trying not to move at all and not to upset the delicate balance of the boat. It also gives you lots of time to chat with boats as you pass by, which makes for a fun and social day on the water. Even with a pounding head and the resulting nausea.

Entering Drayton Passage

Josh Colvin in SCAMP #1

Approaching Pitt Passage

Entering Pitt Passage

Vanilla leads the fleet out of Pitt Passage

The fleet ghosted along all day until we passed Pitt Island, where the wind began to fill in. The closer we got to Penrose Point, the more the wind built until we were cranking along in 12 to 15 knots of breeze, and having a rollicking good time! It was so much fun watching everyone zip around, jockeying for position as we entered Mayo Cove and approached the anchorage. Most of the smaller, shallow draft boats snuck into the tiny, inner, protected harbor (later that night this would prove to be a fortuitous decision). I motored back there to check it out, but decided it looked too crowded for anchoring out. Instead, I went back out to the main anchorage, dropped the hook, took 3 Ibuprofen and drank a ginger beer, and lay down for a short nap.

Tucked safely into Penrose Point State Park

The nap and meds did the trick, and I woke feeling much better and refreshed. I made a lunch of crackers, sausage, cheese sticks, and a banana, and leaned against the front of the cabin top with my feet kicked up, relaxing and watching the other sailors find their anchoring spots, row around, and explore the beach. The breeze was still blowing pretty good, and although the sun was hot, the temperature on the water was perfectly comfortable. This was what I had come on this trip to do, and I couldn't have been happier in that moment! I eventually got up the energy to go for a row, and took Cupcake over to visit Arnie and Dave. We had a nice chat, and I rowed around a bit more before heading back to Vanilla and making dinner. It had been a long day, and at sunset I crawled into bed and turned out the lights. I was looking forward to a peaceful, restful night's sleep. Unfortunately, none of us in the outer harbor were going to be that lucky.

Out for a row in the little demon

Dave and Arnie have rafted up with a Montgomery 17

Dave's mother ship, Naomi, with Arnie rafted to starboard

Looking west as the sun finally shines

Cupcake. Can you see that evil look in her eye?

Bunny Whaler and Grasshopper rafted up, definitely a party!

It must have been around midnight when a thumping sound on the hull startled me awake. Loud, insistent, and too aggressive to ignore. I popped my head out of the hatch, and there was Cupcake, bumping against Vanilla's hull, right by my head. Irritated, I tossed a fender over the side, tied the dink close in so it couldn't move, and crawled back into my warm bag. I drifted off to sleep again...but not for long. Suddenly, I was almost tossed out of my berth and onto the cabin floor, with the boat rocking violently side to side! I jumped out of bed and stuck my head out of the hatch, wondering if I was going to see a whale trying to swamp my boat, or if there was a harbor seal trying to get aboard. There was no immediate threat that I could see, but the boat was still rocking violently side to side. As I looked out across the bay I could see every masthead light swinging in a crazy arc, as every boat on the water was tossed back and forth. I could hear engines start as boats tried to reposition themselves, or pull away from their raftups so they wouldn't be smashed against each other. Anchor chains were coming up all over the bay as boats tried to reset their dragging anchors, and keep from drifting into each other or onto the beach and rocks. My anchor seemed to be holding at the moment, so I hunkered down and just tried to hold on to Vanilla the bucking bronco! This insanity must have lasted for at least an hour before things finally began to calm down, and I was able to lie down and once again try to get some sleep. We never did hear what had caused this crazy wave action, but there were many theories. Some speculated on a small tsunami; others thought a submarine or large ship must have passed by; some thought it was some self-generated wave frequency that continued to build until running out of energy. Whatever it was, I hope to NEVER experience anything like that ever again!

Day two, estimated mileage