Bill Grunwald Memorial
Row
|
|
May 6, 2000
By Bill Stoye |
|
Friday morning; I’m dragging myself with Anne in tow over the Santa Cruz Mountains in route to Elkhorn Slough,
just going thru the motions, for some reason I don’t seem to be able
to muster up much enthusiasm. Joan, my wife says, "just go,
it’ll come", I promised Bill and Wendy Doll a ride, Ursala
Grunwald goes thru a lot of time, effort and money putting on a feed
for any TSCA members and guest that care to come, Bill Grunwald and I
had rowed this slough many times together; this event is not about me.
|
|
Driving the speed limits and keeping to the
trailer maximum speed limit is relaxing, a break from the Silicon
Valley, high tech road stress. On Elkhorn Road there is a spot prior
to reaching Kirby Park where the slough unfolds before you, it always
gives me a boost when I see it; this time is no exception. Enthusiasm
is creeping in.
The plan is to take my time rigging, have a
bite for lunch, launch, go for a little sail, maybe to the Hwy.1
bridge, then anchor out near the launch ramp with a good book and
I’ll be nearby and ready in the morning for the event.
|
Bill Stoyes's
"Anne" - Click on the Picture to see a larger
version!) |
Anne is an eighteen and a half foot Bud McIntosh daysailer,
draws 11 inches, centerboard up, without the rudder, and16
inches with the rudder; designed as a sloop, converted to a
yawl after sea trials here on Elkhorn Slough with a temporary
rig. Jake Roulstone and I felt if the temporary yawl lash up
worked here, it’ll work anywhere, it does.
Pulling off Elkhorn Road onto the Kirby Park access road there
are new gates and signs that read, "Gates close 10:00pm, Open
5:00am." Hmmm! "Well, I guess it should be OK to park
overnight, I won’t need to get in or out. It was OK last
year."
Rigging is tedious but completed, have a bite to eat and plan
the single-handed launch. Backing down the ramp and getting
out of the truck, I become aware of eyes on me, a gentleman
has parked his car at the top of the ramp and makes no bones
about watching my every move, likewise for a police officer
who pulls up alongside him. The launching goes particularly
well. Whew! The cop car pulls away.
Making Anne ready to get underway single-handed, the gentleman
gets out of his car and walks down on the dock for closer
observation, not a word is said between us, he never offers to
help and I don’t ask, wanting the experience of getting
underway single-handed. Move Anne to the leeward side of the
dock facing to windward, fore and aft dock lines looped around
dock cleats and tied off to the onboard deck cleats, lower the
centerboard halfway, unfurl the mizzen, raise the jib, not the
mainsail, too much wind, cast off bowline, the bow falls off,
cast off stern line, sheet in the mizzen, sheet in the jib; we
are under sail! Looking back at the dock, the gentleman
smiles, I smile, it would look smooth if I wasn’t shaking so
bad. Close scrutiny rattles me.
The tide started to ebb about 1:30pm, a half an hour ago; the
wind is its normal northwesterly at about 12 to 16 knots and
the sun wants to break thru the thin overcast, really nice
sailing conditions; Anne and I are doing just fine. Jake tried
to show me how to steer the boat without using the rudder
during the yawl rig sea trial, that comes to mind, so we’re
going down river just trimming sails; it becomes tiring paying
that much attention, and I take back control using the tiller.
It’ll be a piece of cake going to the bridge, into the wind
but with the current, we’ll be bucking the current on the
return run, with this much wind it’ll make no matter.
Under "Jib and Jigger," what a way to go; it’s pleasing how
well Anne goes to windward and becomes so manageable under
this combination of sail; of course it helps to have a
favorable current but she’ll move against one also. Tacks are
going good; we’re now across from a farm that has cows jammed
into a feeding lot, sorry conditions. On a port tack, "the
water looks a little thin up ahead, better come about;" Anne
gives a shudder.... "She hit! Get up the centerboard, get her
head around; too late, it won’t go, fall off and jibe, this is
driving us on harder, get the sails down, break out an oar and
pry off, oh man, the oar blade broke off, it’s the rudder, the
rudder is stuck, geese there’s a lot of force on this thing,
can’t get the retainer pin out, push down on the head of the
stock, pins out, got to try and pry us out of here or it’s
going to be a long stay. Come on Anne we don’t want to be here
all night! Oh man, the water’s getting thinner! Maybe I’ll
have to get out and push. How firm is the mud? Will it support
me? What if I can’t get back in the boat?"
Remembering there is a swim ladder on board, I hang it off the
stern just in case, stepping over the side, cautiously step
out onto the mud, it just barely supports my weight, there is
no way that I can do much pushing. Calm resignation or
acceptance comes over me, as I’m aware that this is where
we’ll be ‘til high tide. I had printed out the tide table for
today and tomorrow and promptly left it on my desk, but I
recall a high tide about midnight, as close as we are to the
high tide line it’s a good thing that it’ll be a six foot
tide.
Leaning on the wash boards trying to prevent sinking further
in the mud; surveying the mud shoal and reflecting on what to
do next, it dawns on me, "if the wind maintains this direction
and force there is no way we’ll be able to get off when the
water returns, we’ll just get driven up further, I need to put
an anchor out. I’m already in the mud, what’s a little more?"
It’ll need to go out about sixty feet or so, to where the
shoal drops off. Getting out the anchor and chain, as I take
the first step with the extra weight in my hands, I sink in
the mud up to my knees. Two or more steps tell me this is not
going to work. "Maybe I can drag it along on all fours, like a
turtle." The anchor has eighteen feet of chain; I’ve been
trying to get the courage to shorten it and this is on my mind
as it adds considerably to the weight. I’d like to get the
anchor out further but "this will have to do, I’m out of gas,"
struggling in the mire is strenuous, "this would be a bad time
to have a heart attack, take it easy." Getting back to the
boat seems even tougher, finally reaching the boat, hanging on
and resting for a few minutes before stepping onboard. The
swim ladder’s a joke; it’s just a matter of stepping into the
boat, like stepping onto your front porch step.
In the boat it’s a mess, mud everywhere, looking at myself,
soaking wet, black with mud, I look like Br’er Rabbit when he
got through with the Tar Baby. "How am I going to clean up
this mess? First things first, change your clothes. Oh...my
wallets in my pocket, good thing it’s mostly plastic."
Stripped of my wet muddy clothes a tour boat with a dozen
passengers onboard picks this moment to cruise by, a towel
comes in handy, the skipper asks "Are you OK?" I assure him "I
am", and ask him "When is high tide?" He tells me "7:30pm."
"I’m sure that’s wrong, he must have misunderstood me, that’s
low tide!" On his return he comes by again, this time I was
dressed, and he ask "Do you need to contact anyone?" "No, I’ll
just be here a little while... Thank you!"
Throwing out clumps of mud, rinsing off the wash boards with
buckets of water and sponge, next the seats, drying them with
a towel, have to do a good job, Wendy will be onboard tomorrow
in her finery. Next the floorboards but the race is on, in a
few minutes there’ll be no water to reach with the bucket.
It’s a draw; time to take a nap.
About a half hour later, getting up from my well needed rest,
It’s a little early to cook dinner, starting to get cool,
winds blowing harder, the hand held wind meter is showing a
minimum of 12 knots, frequently at 18 and gust to 30 knots.
Strip again and put on my long underwear, no tour boats this
time.
May as well pump out the bilge; the piston style hand pump
exhaust into the centerboard trunk, as I pump, water geysers
out of the centerboard pendent hole like a whale spouting, the
slot for the centerboard is completely sealed off with mud due
to being aground. "Well that’s not going to work!" And I had
thought, "It’s so cool, having the pump exhaust into the
trunk."
Sitting down on the floor boards gets me out of the wind, I’m
cold but not unduly uncomfortable, read a little of the book I
brought; ‘Blind Mans Bluff’, true submarine stories, running
aground is not so bad compared to this stuff!
Go into the galley, get out tonight’s dinner; Trader Joe’s
beef stew, instant potatoes in a cup, and a banana. As I’m
"cooking" my meal, a very humbling thought occurs to me. "Our
friends and fellow TSCA members, Clifford and Marion Cain have
traveled around the world in a 23 ft. yawl.... I couldn’t make
it to the Hwy.1 Bridge from Kirby Park! Oh man!"
Back to reading the spooky sub book, the wind has abated and
clocked around to the south with an easterly component,
directly onshore and building back up, but not to the force it
was from the northwest. Building a little fort using the
duffle bag and anchor box, helps block the wind. I’m glad I
put the anchor out despite the risk; it’s never a good thing
getting out of the boat and into the mud though. Anne and I
still need the tide to be higher than normal. As I’m reading
there’s a flash of light on the pages, looking up the sun has
started it’s evening show. The thin cloud coverage helps the
show, what a treat! The flashing on the pages occurs another
half dozen times before the sun extinguishes itself.
A battle is raging between the Ebb and Flood Tides, it’s
repeated three times a day, the ocean is battling with the
slough to change direction, you just know the ocean is going
to win, it seems to take forever, the Ebb gives in and the
tide starts its Flood. The anchor has been dry for about four
hours, and now the water is lapping at it; watching progress
of the waters return, it is creeping back, the tide has it’s
own pace, waiting for release from our incarceration is an
exercise in patience, the flood gains momentum. "Better put
the book away and start paying attention to getting off the
mud bank." The rudder is sitting on the aft deck, this and the
outboard can’t be installed until there is sufficient water,
galley has been put away, the oar, rather push stick is ready,
things are in reasonable order.
Water has surrounded Anne, I’m confident we’ll be able to
float, but still unsure of being able to overcome the wind
blowing onshore, there’s no way we can sail off. Did the
anchor get put out far enough to be able to install the rudder
and outboard? She’s starting to float; taking a little strain
on the anchor line, when she’s afloat the stern will fall off,
(weathervane). Testing the feel of the anchor line, slight
movement can be detected, she inches forward and stops; "don’t
rush it, the anchor may drag." Keeping a steady pull on the
anchor line she now moves a foot and stops, another foot, a
couple more.... "She’s free!" Bringing in the anchor line till
it reaches the chain puts us in sixteen inches of water with
eighteen feet of chain out. Now I’m glad I have all that
chain.
Fumbling with the rudder, trying to line up the pintles and
gudgeons is an exercise in brail. It’s very dark, there should
be a sliver of a moon but it and the stars are hidden by cloud
coverage, trying not to use the flashlight because every time
it’s turned on night vision is lost for five minuets. Install
the tiller, retaining bolt, washer, nut and safety pin by
brail. The outboard bracket is in place, hang the outboard,
attach the safety lanyards, and we’re ready.
The outboard has only been used on the boat twice, so we don’t
know each other very well, it fires off on the second pull,
life is good. Take in the anchor while the engine idles, rush
back, crack the throttle open a little, she bucks the wind,
we’re out of jail! It’s 9:45pm.
Being high and dry behind us, under power, heading back to the
launch area, things are looking up. It’s a good thing there’s
a few farm houses around in the hills, without out their
lights shining on the water I wouldn’t be able to tell where
the water ends and the land starts. The little 1.2hp outboard
is doing a fine job, running just above an idle, can’t hardly
see, being cautious, don’t want to run aground again, there is
no way to "read the water", steering where I think the water
should be, the slough starts it’s bend to the north. This is a
bad area, local knowledge tells me the east side of the slough
is very shallow and the "channel" sort of hugs the west bank,
trying to thread a needle it the dark. The outboard sputters,
Anne shudders, the outboard stops, it’s quiet, and we’re
aground!
Take off the rudder, more pushing, pulling and prying, the
damage I’m doing to Anne’s rub and toe rails is eating at me.
Getting into deeper water the outboard won’t start, "it must
be flooded;" now the incoming current is carrying us into a
creek that I really don’t want to go into. Putting the rudder
back on and rowing out of there with one oar isn’t easy. Back
in deeper water, try to restart the outboard; it fires off,
underway again.
This sequence of events occurs a few more times prior to
dropping anchor across the slough from the Kirby Park parking
lot after midnight. The dock was banging away while we were
launching and I feel it would be better to anchor out than tie
up to the dock. In the process of putting up the boom tent, I
see a police car pull up along side my truck and trailer; it
looks like he may be writing out a ticket. Can’t be worrying
about that, need to get some sleep; no patience to wait for
the self-inflating air mattress to inflate, roll out the
sleeping bag and out like a light.
Awakening to the sound of an airplane flying, a Cessna with
floats is buzzing around; he’s breaking the law flying so low,
needs to be something like 500ft away from people! I slowly
come to and realize this is a beautiful model being flown with
a good deal of expertise, the "pilot" grease’s on a number of
water landings.
We’re high and dry again but this time I’m pretty sure we’ll
get off about 10:00am, in time for the Bill Grunwald Memorial
Row. Hot oatmeal, a banana and two bad cups of coffee do for
breakfast. TSCA members are filing into the parking lot and
launching their boats. Jake Roulstone and his son in-law,
Kenny Starr, paddle over in Jakes big cargo canoe and check up
to see how we’re doing.
Afloat, outboard’s idling along, Bill and Wendy Doll are
ferried out and transfer at sea. No wind, yet, beautiful blue
skies, putting along, Bill’s taking soundings with the stick,
(used to be oar), we’re able to stay in the channel, life is
good and calm is being restored to my world. Wendy, wearing
her brand new and very nice windbreaker, "her finery", passes
out a few goodies. Things are going well but Bill made a
mistake; he didn’t rinse the grapes! A conflagration ensues,
the damage control party arrives, and peace is quickly
restored. He should have rinsed the grapes.
There’s a good size flotilla of rowboats and kayaks ahead of
us and quite a few late starters and stragglers behind
stemming the flood tide. Reaching the area near the cow lot,
the breeze picks up. Those familiar with the area know we
either have no wind or a lot of wind, little in between; today
is no exception. We raise sail, put away the outboard, and
proceed to have a delightful sail. Bill D is at the helm;
Wendy and I tend the jib, tacking our way to a cove near the
Moss Landing, PG&E Power Plant, and drop anchor. The
self-propelled vessels are having a harder time of it,
fighting both contrary wind and current.
The Hwy.1 Bridge precludes boats that can’t readily lower
their mast from going under to the Elkhorn Yacht Club for
lunch, that’s us. Unsure of how we are going to get there, we
hail down a little outboard launch going by, in it are two EYC
members out for a joy ride, we hailed the right boat. In the
yacht club lounge the TSCA members and guest are all wearing
big smiles. I think they’re happy to just get there; it was a
tough pull.
Elkhorn Yacht Club has been gracious over the years allowing
TSCA use of their club through fellow members, Bill and Ursala
Grunwald; Ursala has now been carrying that on as well as
providing lunch for the whole group on her own since the loss
of Bill. This year, Ursala outdoes herself, what a spread!
There is a table with appetizers, various kinds of crackers,
cheeses and cold cuts, there’s a salad table, a selection of
entrees and for those that believe, "dessert should be eaten
first, because life is too short", a dessert table to die for.
Even I couldn’t sample everything.... believe it!
A small dent put in the food, exaggerations told, boaters make
their way to their craft, getting underway for the return trip
to Kirby Park. With the favorable wind, anyone with a
handkerchief sets sail after the bridge. Andrew Church gives
Bill, Wendy and I a lift to Anne, rigs sail while streaming
off the stern, we raise Anne’s main and jib, the mizzen was
left set and sheeted in, Andrew lets loose, Bill raises
anchor, Anne falls off and we’re under sail; Bill sets the
new, never used whisker pole, I furl the mizzen, Anne wants to
run.
Exhilarating! What a good ride. Bill suggest turning back and
sailing with the rest of the fleet. Good idea but I’m tired
and want to get the boat on the trailer, unrigged and on the
road; lots of unrigging to do.
Clifford and Marion Cain are within hailing distance as we
enter the turn of the dogleg that swings north to Kirby Park.
"Need to be alert here, it’s shallow," no sooner thought than
done, hitting bottom the rudder digs in and we come to a
screeching halt. "Not again!" Bill and Wendy go to the leeward
bow, the rudder lifts out of the mud, and we sail off. "Where
were you two last night, when I needed you?" As we go by the
Cain’s, Clifford mentions something about us finding the
bottom again; it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
A parking ticket is waiting for me when I return to the truck.
While retrieving the boat on the trailer with plenty of help,
the rest of the Armada arrives, and they get their boats and
gear stowed. This has been a particularly good event; arduous
conditions on the outbound leg, refreshing and exhilarating on
the return, great vittles; a good turnout of people and boats,
familiar faces and some new. Looking at the smiles on faces, I
think most have enjoyed themselves. Ursala is pleased with the
turnout as well as the event sponsor, Jake.
We read about Alden, Atkins, Culler, Gardner, the Herreshoff’s
and others, but to me, no one has done anymore than Bill
Grunwald to put people in boats and has done so, single
handedly and so quietly, avoiding notoriety! He promoted his
boats by attraction, just showing up for events with his
craft. His boats are up and down the West and East Coasts, in
Alaska, Australia, and even in Patagonia. The last time Bill
and I rowed together he said to me "you must have rowed this
slough about thirty times now;" thinking about that, he was as
close as I could come with a number; he was always thinking.
If you told him you were going to row from Santa Cruz to
Soquel, he could tell you how many strokes it was. If the tide
was favorable (high) in the slough, we would take Bill’s
"short cut;" the "short cut" added another mile to the row, we
saw more that way. Bill was quite and it was hard to know what
was on his mind but I do know he loved Elkhorn Slough and
introduced everyone he could to it, including me. When the
influx of kayaks appeared, he felt it was a good thing; they
would help to keep the slough open for our use. I am sure Bill
would be pleased with today’s event, if it were at all
possible for anyone to speak for another.
|
This event is not about me.
Best Regards;
Bill Stoye
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
