Crossing the Bar

Bob’s Account continued from yesterday…

Morningstar comes back on deck as we approach the entry buoy to Comox Harbor. We now have to turn sharply from 280 degrees to 200 degrees magnetic and line up with two stick markers in order to successfully cross the shallow Comox Bar, which is charted at one to two fathoms (6 to 12-feet… Chiron draws 6-feet 4-inches), with rocks to the north and sand bars to the south. As we make our turn we take the weather directly abeam and Chiron starts to roll from side to side. Crashing noises from below send Morningstar down to secure things that we have never had to secure before. Then she wedges herself into the nav. Station and begins to call out our range and bearing from the computer. We had set the exact course for crossing the bar the night before and now she lets me know how we are doing moment by moment. Once we make the turn we are committed to the crossing – no turning back.

Morningstar’s Account from inside Chiron

Bob warns me that when we change course to make the run in, it could get rough… an understatement! All hell breaks loose. I hang on while anything not fastened down flies through the air… books, papers, sunglasses, the HP printer. In the wild melee, I catch a flash of black and white shooting past me like an errant missile, and hear a terrified “Yeowwwww!” Bustopher in a panic, always going the wrong way. I can do nothing but hang tight and watch the boat’s progress on the computer screen. From my place at the nav station, I can see Bob through the hatch opening. He stands solidly behind the helm as Chiron is hit abeam by each breaking wave and the tidal rips. I call out to him every few seconds, “You’re right on course.”

Bob’s Account continues…

At the wheel I brace my feet wide apart as the first wave slams us. I can feel the vibration of the engine, and every impact of the waves throughout my body. Salt spray blinds me. I can only catch quick glimpses of the red stick buoys in the distance – still in line – looking black in the storm’s darkness. Morningstar’s disembodied voice floats up to me every few seconds… “Still on course”… “Hold your line”… clear, reassuring – it is a link to warmth and order and certainty below deck. I am totally in the moment. I move to anticipate, then compensate, trying to read the rhythm of the oncoming waves and the counter-moving tidal current. No thinking – just reflex. There are so few feet of water between the keel and the sand bottom here. The compass is swinging wildly. Useless. Each roll puts the starboard rail in the water. Then Morningstar’s voice, calm… “Maintain this heading.” Focus. Only a matter of minutes. Just 1.51 nautical miles from the starting turn to calm waters. We are well tested.

Entering Comox Harbor, we are finally sheltered from the wind and the waves quiet. From around Goose Point, a Canadian Coast Guard boat emerges – slows to check on us – sees that we are OK – gives us a wave and then powers on. We saw no other boats on this day.