Amid all the grandeur, humbled again.

As we celebrated the conclusion of our preparations, three days after our first intended departure date, the sun fell to the southwest behind a fog that enshrined the Bridge and surrounding landscape. It was just as we were used to seeing it. The sky was tinted light red- the resemblance of this winter view of home to its typical summer likeness was not lost on us. We sipped beers nestled in s/v Ardea coozies and pondered...

On Thursday we awoke to more summer weather. There was a decent breeze early and fog all over the Bay. Dana managed to finagle some breakfast buffet tickets for himself, his super-employed girlfriend, Robin, Taylor and me, so we ate in style at the Doubletree. The morning went by quickly. Friends and family came down to the docks around noon to see how similar our vessel looked to the Merry Prankster's schoolbus. And to say goodbye of course.

It was emotional for all of us. I already miss my wonderful family and all my dockmates and friends at the marina. Despite the anticipation, all the time and effort, and the excitement for what lay in store, I found myself struggling with the thought of leaving my family for so long. Our trip is open-ended though, and I reminded myself that we meant to include the possibility of shortening it and that we respected the fact that we really don't know how we will feel about cruising sailboats even a month from now. So we take it slow and remain open.

We pushed off around 1300 waving goodbyes and following Eventide who carried some of the incredible people from Berkeley Marina out with Ardea. The fog broke and we had a great sail out to Angel Island. Eventide with a reef in her mainsail was doing laps around Ardea.

After Eventide turned back, we sailed up Raccoon Straights and got a visit from our SFYC friends, Rob and Forrest. They drove alongside and we all joked about the obvious hilarity and excitement regarding three large dudes on one little boat loaded down with everything you could imagine and embarking. Spirits were high, but once they left we didn't have much time to mess around. The Bridge was again covered by a heavy fog bank and the sun was getting pretty low. It would be nearly dark before we made it to Mile Rock and our pleasant afternoon sail was going to get cold pretty quick. Before we hit the fog bank, we were all in foulies and harnessed.

Though visibility wasn't great, we didn't have a problem navigating out to the Ocean. We could see the commercial traffic on our plotter using AIS and we had radar and charts to keep us out of the shipping lanes and away from the rocks. We tacked a narrow beat up the North side of the waterway with the outbound shipping lane to port and the Marin headlands to starboard. The fog dissipated gradually while we made our way West. As it coasted from within the clouds, we gauged our visibility from an incoming tanker's position on the plotter; we could see to about 1 nautical mile. We tacked as the tanker passed to port and headed southwest.

Golden Gate Bridge barely visible.

The seas were rather large- about 15 feet every 15-20 seconds. None of us has ever been seasick, but all of us were close. Nobody wanted to go below. More than a minute or two in the cabin meant growing nausea for Ardea's crew. Internal conflicts plagued us quietly; I waited an inordinate amount of time before getting another layer to combat the cold that settles in with night and the sedentary act of sailing 14,000 pounds of displacement hull. Chittick decided to wait on getting the next chart out. Dana became much less motivated to make coffee. We were all feeling it...

Then the waves got steeper. About 3.5 nm west of Ocean Beach (naturally). It was uncomfortable for a bit. Enough so that we fired up the engine and made a faster and more westerly course. It was a bit disconcerting at the time, but it's all relative.

Night settled and we decided to have two-man watches for the time being. It was our first day- an emotional and exhausting one- and we were still in fairly heavy fog. Dana and I sat the first watch. We sat silently in the cockpit for a long time, each of us living in our own heads. There was a lot to process. And our bones shook.

Chittick had been sleeping on and off for about 2.5 hours of his 3 hour break when Dana and I checked the plotter and saw a chance for respite. We were about 10 nm offshore at that point and while the waves weren't nearly as steep, the wind from the southwest was blowing strong enough that we put two reefs in the main and it was a bumpy ride. We were hungry but couldn't eat and tired but couldn't sleep. It didn't take long before we decided to gybe and aim for Half Moon Bay. I said, in a quiet monotone that perhaps only the combination of lingering near-sickness and freezing cold can generate, “just thinking about it makes me happy- we should go.” We figured at 1930 that we could be at anchor by 2130, make some dinner and get a good night's sleep. It sounded real nice.

Pretty soon, Chittick was back on watch and I went below to try to catch a snooze and get warm before we got to Pillar Point Harbor. The rest did me well, though I didn't sleep. Eventually, after encountering an uncharted buoy, Chittick and Dana were on edge. When I got my foulies back on and went topside, I understood why. The fog was thick and the wind was getting lighter. We could see well enough and the approach was simple and well marked, so we decided to press on in the fog. With all three of us on watch, we kept a sharp eye. The seas had dissipated significantly as forecast; we wouldn't have made the approach had they been anywhere near what we had on the way out.

As we got to about 3 nm out and well lined up for the approach, we decided to fire up the Perkins. As usual, it fired up just fine. Then it quit. We turned it over and over and it wouldn't fire again. We couldn't determine what the issue was and we didn't want to run our batteries out cranking it. We figured the engine might be flooded after so much cranking and choking anyway, so we let it rest. The wind was still decent.

About 1 nm from the harbor entrance, the wind dissipated. By now it was about 2100. The swell was still small and periodical gusts kept us making a bit of progress, so we pressed on. We readied the anchor; if we stopped making headway, we could anchor there at a depth of 40 feet or so and wait for Vessel Assist. Eventually, we hailed Vessel Assist and had them on standby to give us a tow into the harbor. Needless to say, the engine still wasn't firing. But when I was talking to Vessel Assist, the harbor patrol at Pillar Point Harbor broke in and advised we keep on sailing. We switched to a side channel on the VHF and he assured us the approach was wide and that we could drop anchor at any point on the way and be fine. So we sailed on, checking in with the Harbor Patrol regularly for the last hour or so.

All in all, it took us about three hours to cover that last mile. At one point, I was on the bow with an oar so that we could maneuver better. Chittick was cursing the 2 knots of breeze that came and went. Dana was trying to work the jib enough to get the boat to tack- even that little swell makes it tough to tack in this boat when you haven't got much momentum. But we made it in and dropped the anchor and were overcome with a sense of relief. Even without an engine, we navigated safely and were prepared for the situation. And we were rewarded for getting on the VHF early, as the guidance and local knowledge of our friend at Pillar Point Marina saved us paying for a tow.

Deeply, deeply exhausted, we ate a small, mediocre meal cooked in a receptacle some of us believe to be a cooking pot and others believe to be a mere metallic storage container. We passed out with some sense of accomplishment, even though we only made it a few miles south of San Francisco.

Easy to understand what's going on when it's a clear day at HMB.

We all awoke slowly Friday morning. The weather was beautiful, but I for one was not excited to find out whether or not Ardea's engine was destroyed. After a good breakfast and two or three hours of tinkering, we got her started up. We had air in the fuel line and due to all of our impatient cranking, we had to bleed the whole system, from the injectors to the secondary fuel pump. It was a pain in the ass, but when it finally fired up, we were all screaming with joy. We suspect the air got into the line through a poorly seated gasket on one of the filters or a loose hose clamp on the fuel line. We had replaced all the filters and the fuel line itself a week or so before leaving. So, we re-checked and re-tightened at all of those spots in the hopes of avoiding the situation in the future.

It's been ups and downs, literally and figuratively, but the first 24 hours of our trip were good for all of us. Though humbled, we're proud of the way we handled the situation and certainly can't complain about an opportunity to learn more about diesel engines. Lessons safely learned, spirits are high again. We spent Friday night relaxing in Half Moon Bay and pushed off again in the morning, this time with smaller seas and a 10-20 knot northerly. After all, it's adventure we wanted...