SMALL WONDERS
YOU DON’T NEED A FULL-SIZE YACHT TO GO CRUISING, AS ONE INTREPID SAILOR DISCOVERED ON A WEEKLONG ADVENTURE ABOARD A 10-FOOT SAILING DINGHY EXPLORING SAN FRANCISCO BAY.
San Francisco Bay is a big body of water to explore in a 10-foot sailing dinghy, but sometimes you just have to go with the boat you got. By Benjamin Shaw
WHAT’S
the right size for a cruising boat? There are as many opinions as there are sailors. I’ve done plenty of cruising on boats from 25 to 50 feet, but I’d never considered a 10-foot sailing dinghy for anything more than a daysail. But when I found an autumn week that was free for sailing in San Francisco Bay, this was the boat I had on hand.
I’ve always admired the wisdom of Lin and Larry Pardey’s advice to “go small, go simple and go now.” I wasn’t sure what it would entail to sail and live for a week aboard a small, open boat. But learning was part of the adventure. I prepared my gear, made sure the boat was shipshape, and off I went.
At its heart, cruising is about taking an adventure. It’s about discovering beautiful, secluded anchorages and infrequently visited backwaters. It’s about meeting new people and making new friends. It’s about challenging oneself and being self-sufficient. I was delighted to find that even aboard the tiniest of vessels, all of these things still held true.
I had planned the trip as a way to learn more about the local waters of my adopted home. I grew up on the East Coast and spent much of my time on Chesapeake Bay. But having lived in California for only five years, I still have a lot to learn about the large, shallow estuary on the West Coast.
Navigating San Francisco Bay can be challenging on a boat of any size. Strong winds, tricky currents, chilly water and plenty of commercial traffic can make for dangerous sailing, especially when much of it is often shrouded in fog.
I decided to set sail towards the end of September, a month that usually brings tranquil conditions to the region, with lighter winds and less fog. I was careful to travel with the tides, usually in the morning before the strong sea breeze kicked in.
The boat I had was Puff, a beautiful plywood mahogany sailing dinghy. Designed in 1951 by William Ashcraft, the 10-foot Melody class sailboat has a centerboard, one sail and a central thwart that makes rowing comfortable. The Melody is often mistaken for the more popular El Toro class, but it’s 2 feet longer and 8 inches narrower, with a beam of only 3 feet, 3 inches — not much space in which to live. But I called it home for seven days, gunkholing around the bay, tying up or anchoring out each night.
The first day, I sailed out of Sausalito and headed north into San Pablo Bay where I dropped the hook a few hundred yards off China Camp, a former Chinese-american shrimping village on the eastern banks of Marin County. In the late 19th century and early 20th century, this village bustled with thousands of residents who pulled three million pounds of shrimp from the bay every year. The last resident of China Camp died in 2016, and the buildings and pier, now a state park, were quiet as I heated dinner on a camping stove and settled in for the night.
Living on a tender, 10-foot open boat is like camping atop a high wire. Every move is calculated so as not to tip the boat. Simple tasks require painstaking care. Simply laying out the bed meant moving all my gear (anchor, rudder, oars and dry bags with clothes and food) to the starboard side so that I could fit a sleeping pad and bag to port.
No, sleeping was not comfortable. The same thwart that made rowing possible made turning over impossible. But as I rocked to sleep with my head inches from the water, an unobstructed view of the full night sky unfurled above me. It was more than enough reward for the lack of a comfy bed.
I got underway before dawn the following morning in order to catch an ebb tide south. A California sea lion, silhouetted against the sunrise, popped in and out of my wake as I sailed and rowed towards Richmond in the East Bay. Passing the picturesque East Brother Light Station, I came to Red Rock, an uninhabited, 5.8-acre island that I’d wanted to explore since first laying eyes on it from the Richmond-san Rafael Bridge. Russian hunters used to land on the island to trap otters and, like so many other islands, it’s rumored to be the site of buried pirate treasure. I pulled my red boat onto the red beach to get a closer look. The only treasures I spotted were the San Francisco skyline sparkling in the distance and a red-tailed hawk perched in a lonely pine tree.
Despite my diminutive craft, other boaters greeted me as a kindred cruiser. In fact, my excursion piqued interest from many. Sailors I had never met offered me places to tie up for the night. My hosts were keen to hear about my trip and share sailing stories of their own.
In Richmond, I tied alongside Moli, a 45-foot aluminum sloop owned by a friend of a friend named Randall Reeves. Randall was busy preparing his boat for a yearlong, nearly nonstop adventure called the Figure 8 Voyage, which would take him south from San Francisco, around Antarctica, north through the Atlantic and then through the Northwest Passage before returning home. No one has done this before. Randall was heading offshore in days, but he didn’t hesitate to welcome me aboard and include me in a bon-voyage party with his family and friends. We chatted aboard his boat, because hosting guests wasn’t much of an option aboard Puff. Randall and I shared
ideas about rigging and discovered mutual friends. He took me in as a fellow adventurer and wanted to hear all about my little excursion.
Sailing clockwise around the bay taught me a great deal about the local currents, wind and traffic. One afternoon, a flood tide nearly pinned me against the Berkeley Pier, a dilapidated dock that extends 3 1/2 miles into the bay. The third, windless morning I rowed nearly 5 miles up the Oakland Estuary, as ferry wake after ferry wake echoed off the breakwaters. Later, caught between a strong current off Pier 39 and an incoming Disney cruise ship, I was forced to do some quick maneuvering, giving tourists on Fisherman’s Wharf a better show than the lazy sea lions they’d come to watch bask.
But it was the last leg of my cruise back to Sausalito that had me a bit nervous. To complete the circle, I had to cross the mouth of the Golden Gate, a stretch of water called The Slot. The prevailing westerlies funnel between headlands, the ocean swells sweep under the bridge, big ship traffic barrels in and out, and the fog often obscures the whole show. It can be a nasty stretch of water. Many ships much bigger than my tiny vessel have been lost trying to navigate the Golden Gate.
The fog added to my worry. I hadn’t seen a wisp of it all week, but as I sat at anchor in Aquatic Park off Ghirardelli Square that morning, the whole Bay was covered in a white blanket. I waited anxiously for it to burn off. I had a schedule to keep if I wanted to hit the slack tide and get across before the afternoon sea breeze picked up to over 20 knots.
Finally, around 1100, the clouds began dissolving. My stomach was in a knot as I carefully prepared the boat. Putting the sponge and bailing bucket where I could reach them, I secured everything else that might bounce around during the crossing. I tucked a reef in the sail and hoisted it aloft. I raised the anchor and we were off.
Soon the boat was racing along, bouncing over ocean swells. I hiked out to keep little Puff from heeling too much and taking water over the leeward gunwale. Quickly, my mood changed from one of anxiety to one of elation. I realized I could do this, without capsizing, as long as I paid attention. A few waves broke hard into the boat, over the bow and amidships. I sailed with one hand and bailed with the other.
We screamed northward on a close reach, occasionally hitting five knots. Alcatraz zoomed past to starboard, then Angel Island. To the west, the Golden Gate Bridge poked out of the lingering fog, its horns bellowing. I hollered too, with exhilaration. I made the crossing and conquered the Gate, alone, in less than an hour — in a 10-foot sailing dinghy.
But the real revelation of my weeklong adventure was that cruising in a very small boat, while challenging in unique ways, is very much still cruising.
Benjamin Shaw is a journalist, editor and multimedia producer who has recently launched the Out The Gate Sailing podcast focused on sailing and adventures on and around San Francisco Bay. Listen in on itunes, Spotify, Google Play or your favorite podcast player, or online (Outthegatesailing.com).