...is what I just woke up from. Eight hours of deep rest, the kind you don't even change position during.
I sleep like that only rarely, and only after great exhaustion.
Boating, which I did plenty of yesterday, is supposed to be pleasurable and relaxing. I had fun, but I certainly got tired.
Being the injured dude with the mostly-useless right hand, I had planned to wait for a relief crewman to drive down and crew back up the river with me. I had also planned to wait for the flood tide, so as to get a bit of a push up the river and save fuel. The tide change wasn't until 11 am, though, and that would have barely put us in at dusk, if nothing went wrong.
I got up early, re-bandaged my hand to make it somewhat more useful (I could then grip with four fingers, but still no thumb), and called my buddy at 0600 and told him to get back in bed, I was starting on my own.
I "kicked the tires and lit the fires" (Roger Ramjet talk, not very salty, is it?) and shoved off at 0630 at HIGH tide, which is much more forgiving of mistakes with the sand bars five feet deeper in the slough waters I had to negotiate to get out to the main channel of the Columbia River.
The river was still lumpy from the half-gale of 25-30 knots which had been blowing until midnight, and was only just down to a fresh breeze, so I cruised on two engines at 1200 rpm, burning about 4/gallons/hr. I made only a miserable six knots against the current.
It was going to be a long day.
The morning dragged by along with the fine scenery, but with my 15,000 BTU Red Dot cabin heater on, taking the low-60's temperatures wasn't bad at all. I fiddled with my Eton 350 long-range radio until I got Longview, still miles up the river, but KBAM 1270 plays classic country, and the likes of Hank Williams (both Sr and Jr) and their contemporaries kept my spirits up.
An hour up, I passed the normally-fearsome Cape Horn, but it threw no worse than a one foot chop at me, which on Lofoten Girl, means that I don't worry about spilling coffee. Up river of Cape Horn, it actually got almost calm, but the current increased, and I was down in the middle five-knot range.
These are the times that try men's souls. In the engine space sit two of Thor's best hammers, a pair of well-tuned Crusader 270 hp thunderbeasts. I was forced to tell those hammers that they may only yawn and not yell. In this glass water, in the old days, I would have let them run, and at 3200 or so, would be making 25 knots and the boat would be more flying than pushing water.
Nevermore, quoth the Raven, black, no doubt, due to wallowing in the ever-more precious crude oil.
About 10 am, I can see Walker Island up ahead, and I spy a sailing ketch motoring smartly down it's entrance slough. That would be my good friend Charles and his lady, Linda, who had reported to me last night that they had experienced 30 knot winds in their anchorage, and had to use every cleat on the boat to tie S/V Orion to the float in the lagoon. I had used 5 dock lines and 4 fenders myself, in a snug harbor, but they must not have had much sleep overnight. No matter, Cap'n Charles radioed that he was preparing to sail upriver. I joshed with him on Ch. 68 and said he would probably go backwards with only a 6-knot breeze to run with and a 2 1/2 knot ebb tide against him.
He hoisted the rags anyway, and soon their beauty enhanced the riverscape. When he had turned out of the Walker Island Slough into the mainstem, I was 1 1/2 miles behind him, but after only another 20 minutes or so of him sailing and me motoring at six knots, I passed him easily. He took the hint and puled in the rags, and lit off the trusty Lehman diesel, which at 90 hp in his 33' Nauticat motorsailer, gives impressive performance. He stayed a half-mile or so behind me as I made Longview, passed under the Lewis and Clark Bridge, and set course for Rainier, just a mile upriver of the bridge.
We were soon tied snugly up to the inner dock at Rainier, and looking forward to lunch at High Noon.
While tying up, a Coast Guard fast landing barge ties up and the senior part of their crew asks us where to eat and we direct them to El Tapatio, where we plan to grit down ourselves. I had no clue they even had any of the smart 30-footers, each capable of 30 knots and landing a pair of ATVs or a single Gator on any beach on the river. Live and learn. The junior part of the crew got to stay aboard, and on the outer dock, that was no rest at all if they were weary. They were part of a task force securing an old WW2 LST, abandoned in a nearby slough by it's owner, which had become a nest of meth labs and had had so many metal parts removed that it was in danger of foundering, so it was ordered taken over. The Coasties had posted a Security Zone around the LST, unusual, since they usually only do that for Navy and their own large cutters. If you enter a Security Zone without permission, you may be fired upon without warning, and the fire, usually coming from the marine version of an FN MMG, will be to kill, not warn.
We all had a pleasant lunch at El Tapatio, including an old friend I had not seen for almost 20 years, who has moved to Rainier.
After my pleasant Combo Plate of enchilada and tamale I stroll back to the dock to get underway. The port engine won't start. Dead. Finito. Not a peep. First, I think it's the neutral safety switch, but the usual running the shift lever through the range while holding the key in crank does nothing. Then I crawl down into the engine space and trace all the starting wiring, and it's all properly hooked up. I jump the starter solenoid and the starter spins, but doesn't engage the flywheel, which is normal. I piddle around then decide to take her upriver on one engine the rest of the way (30 miles).
The hours and the scenery pass by, with the starboard engine now running at 1800 rpm, and the tide changes, so I zoom up to the impressive speed of 8 knots, and finally get back to the Yacht Club at 7pm. I put her in the Guest Dock, since that requires no tricky cross-current and cross-wind maneuvering as I would have to do to enter my own berth. My pal David comes aboard, and we start with the basics (he's a former USAF radio tech, among his other talents). He thinks of fuses. I tell him I looked at the primary fuse panel already, and they are all good. He says, "look again". I look again, and find a tiny aux panel tucked away under a wiring loom, and it has a burned fuse. Neither of us has any idea what circuit that fuse protects, but I change it anyway. David proceeds to the flying bridge, and looks under the steering console at the ignition switch, which has another fuse panel nearby, with another burned fuse. I get another replacement out of my spares. We try the engine, and get a satisfying VROOOOOM as she lights off.
I get a DOH! moment, slink back onto the boat after taking my power cord back aboard, and pull Lofoten Girl around to my own slip and tie her up.
The DOH! moment is soon forgotten aboard Dave's boat over a glass of Dewar's, and then I prepare myself a late supper of pasta and smoked salmon, a side salad and kim chee, and hit the pillow after Leno's monologue.
So endeth the major voyage of Lofoten Girl for this year. There were a few highlights along the way, such as this ship, seen upbound at Longview yesterday, headed for Portland anchorage. She has been out on the Pacific, observing someone's missile tests, probably the Nork's and the Mad Mullahs'. Those are 35-foot wide tracking antennae on her. I saw a downbound spy ship of some sort, with a dozen satellite tracking domes on her, near St. Helens a little later. Verrrry interesting. She had no name on the bow, no number, and I wasn't in a position to observe her stern as I was negotiating the entrance to Multnomah Channel at the time.
