Amanda and I took a vacation to the Oregon coast for the weekend. We visited friends in and around Portland, enjoyed the Rose City Comic Con, and camped at Fort Stevens on the coast for a few nights. We wanted to make the trip in case our East coast transition happens sooner than expected. With school coming to a close, but still enough time to see folks and places, it was a must-do this past weekend.
We spent a day in Astoria, perusing the used book stores and the waterfront. We came across a museum that was more than we wanted to spend per person, but there were some coastguard cruisers hanging out behind it and we had a look. I also wanted to go to the marina to look at the sailboats, but compromised to go to the docks on our way back to the campsite. Lucky for us, we went to the only marina we needed to see.
Amanda standing in front of the display anchor outside of the maritime museum
Back in Hammond, Oregon we pulled off into the public marina parking lot, parked, and headed to stroll the docks and look at all the marvelous vessels. To my surprise, I saw a familiar visage on the far dock, a spitting image of the photo Cynthia sent me. The masts looked wrong, with mast steps up the main that made it look like aluminum, but the figurehead and doghouse were unmistakable. Amanda, mocking me as I started power walking trying to find a way to the dock to get a better look, said, “I’ve never seen you move so fast before!”
“I swear it’s a Fung-built Walloon!” I replied as I hurried around the maze of docks. I was a man on a mission. “What are the odds that we come to the right dock? Only 40 were ever built, and out of those who knows how many are still surviving!” Back in 2014, around the time we purchased Drumbeat, I saw one Walloon schooner for sale up in Vancouver, BC. Beyond that, I haven’t been able to find any information on other surviving vessels.
Look at our find!
Nice transom!
Finally I found the correct entrance, and sure enough it was a Walloon! The Snow Queen out of Portland, undergoing what looked like a refit project. Even so, she looked beautiful. I’m not sure if she is a sister ship of Drumbeat (12 were ordered by the Navy, one of which was Drumbeat) or her cousin. Either way, what a find! We walked around her dock and reminisced about our visit with Drumbeat. Snow Queen looked a lot less intimidating than Drumbeat did, but we were seeing her in her element, swimming in saltwater, around other enormous vessels. I think this was reaffirming for Amanda that it wouldn't be an insurmountable project, sailing her or fixing her up.
The bow of Snow Queen
Amidship
I also discovered my GoPro microphone was shot. I thought it was because of the waterproof housing that all I ever heard was static, but alas it is the device itself. So again, there is no audio, but here is a short video of our find. As for other information, it is a Robin Fung built vessel, launched in 1967. We left a note in, I'm sorry to say, a used peanut butter and jelly sandwich bag, poking out of a cockpit seat and hopefully well-enough secured. I'm hoping to hear back from the person currently restoring her.
Well, I'm sad to say it, but I lost a good friend today. I'll never forget the first time I took White Raven out to sail, or the first time I actually made it off the dock with the boat. Sailing in the rain under main alone, I felt like the world held no bounds for me anymore. She taught me so much about myself, gave me confidence to go along with my academic knowledge of sailing, and took care of me when the weather got rough. I understand that a boat is just an object, a tool, a toy, but I know that vessels have feeling deep down in my heart. White Raven may be just a boat to the rest of you, but I think we had something between us. The rumble of her keel when she'd get up to hull speed, letting me know she was happy. The whistling of her rigging when the breeze was just right, egging me to push her just a little more. Her content as she gently swayed while lying at anchor. Plastic, iron, aluminum, and wood: they may have no soul as individual parts, but when combined to birth White Raven, they became alive.
Amanda running the helm on our first sail with White Raven.
Though I am sad to have let her go, she went to a good home. Jim met us along the river this morning in the lull of the wind. We set up White Raven for the last time, launched her and fiddled with the motor a bit. The motor ran, though was still having the issue of not idling. It sounded like Jim had assessed the problem, a leaking manifold seal. I'm going to take his word for it. After waiting for some motor boats to launch, we raised sail and spun the boat for a straight shoot off the dock. And with the motor in gear, we were off downriver. Rather than waiting for the wind to get to us, we motored around the bend until we came upon some slightly disturbed water. Though only slightly rippling, it was the only breeze that could be seen on the otherwise glassy expanse.
Stopping and raising the motor, we lazily enjoyed the little puffs that came about. Tacking back and forth in the fluky air left plenty of time for stories and to get to know each other better. Jim told us about his sailing career with his last boat, a San Juan 21. It's nice to know that I am not the only one who feels like I'm always learning. I'm really glad I held the boat for Jim; I've put White Raven in more capable hands than my own. The day was going along quite pleasantly, and then something abnormal happened: the weather forecast was turning out to be true. The wind started backing, allowing us to run before the incoming storm. Lucky for us too, as the breeze started building quickly.
We ran, wing on wing as much as could be done. The wind kept shifting a bit from WNW to W and would send the jib scurrying behind the main as we ran. With a strong shift northwest, we jibed, and I quickly caught the boom as it was passing, to ease it over to the other side. The tiller became heavy and responsive; I could feel the power lifting us along and I felt free in the moment. The wind began to pick up to about 15 knots, and White Raven was humming away even without the jib assisting effectively. As the wind picked up a bit more I eased the main out slightly and we decided to drop the jib. Jim moved to the bow, uncleated the jib halyard and eased the jib down into the forepeak. The breeze heightened. Again I eased out the main to the very end of the sheet and turned to have the wind coming more abeam. Lucky for us, it was a straight shot for home. The wind was pushing us easily at hull speed, even with as inefficient of a rig as I could muster while still aiming to port, so I dropped the motor to increase our drag. Onward we pushed toward the dock.
One good thing about low river levels, poorly maintained marinas, and a swing keel is being able to ease yourself into a mud near the edge of the dock. At 5.5ft clearance, we were about 1.5ft too deep to make it over the sandbar, so I aided our stop with the river bed. This made dropping the main a breeze without needing to turn into the wind. Once we stopped, I handed Jim the tiller and I went on deck and released the main. I really had to help get her down with the breeze as strong as it was; inch by inch at first, then foot by foot I dropped it into the companionway. Once that job was done it was down to releasing the keel bolt and raising the keel to free us from the bottom. I think that was the first point when I started to feel nervous: cocooned by the damp dripping mainsail, easing the keel winch back and forth to release the bolt. I felt trapped under the sail and that combined with the rocking of the boat, by wave and wind, made me feel disoriented under there. But I freed her and once I felt the change in motion, I quickly added a few more turns to the winch and jumped back on deck. We were now a drift, heading slowly toward the dock and a motor boat waiting to be lifted back onto its trailer. I ran to the bow, grabbed the bow line and guided Jim toward the dock. We came in with a bit of a thud, but I stopped the with about ten foot buffer between us and the motor boat. All in all, I'd say it was a successful sail.
It was awkward seeing the trailer backing down the ramp on Jim's SUV, but it sat nicely in the water without being drowned like when my van is towing. I jumped into the water and guided her back onto her pads for the last time, tossed Amanda the dock line to realign the stern and held her in place while Jim took her out of the water. I was in a sad reflection as I packed up the boat for the last time, easing down the mast and lashing everything down. The worst of the wind lashed out about then, but we were comfortably cradled on the trailer and the mast was already battened down for the long haul to White Raven's new home. Then it was just down to a few signatures and that was it: White Raven was no longer ours.
Trying to seem impressive, as if the drizzle was a storm along the Cape.
I was a bit sulky the rest of the day, but I knew I couldn't keep her. Life is moving forward for Amanda and me. There have been talks of job opportunities, moving on to what comes next, and of course dissertations to write. The sailing season is over now for me, but maybe I'll be on Drumbeat for the next. I am really happy that the last sail was a good one - you always want to leave on a good note.
